You know that part in “Princess Bride” where the albino coughs out “the depths of despaaaaair”? That line has been in my head all day. That and “some I murder, some I let go.” At least the second line can be sung, and it helps to have music… in something… somewhere…

The depths of despair. I’m in them.

And then there’s this nonsense for when you need the world to make just a little less sense

1) Does this face look like the face of any woman you’ve ever known two months after giving birth (nsfw)?

2) Do these arms look like the arms of any woman you’ve ever known in any capacity ever?

3) This body. How is this body… existing? Where’s the justice? I know these people have all the time and money in the world and can just skip out on being normal people and devote countless hours and dollars to improving their appearance and I shouldn’t get too upset about it when it’s not really a level playing field.

But I can’t help it!

This just makes me angry. It makes me furious. It makes me want to scream and throw things! I hate this. And as much as I hate to say it, I’m really beginning to hate her, too. To hate all of them. Every last one.

I know I know– they’re “nice people,” “friendly,” “so down to earth for Hollywood,” blah blah blah. At this point: I Do. Not. Care. The world isn’t Hollywood. Stop teaching us to strive for and value only those things which are Un-real and not of ultimate importance anyway. Stop dangling unattainable perfection in front of us at every corner , all the while forcing the implication that it is not only possible but also necessary.

Boy I tell ya’– if that town burns down I will mourn the loss of the classic nostalgia pieces, and laugh with joy that the seat of this industry is in chaos. I know I know– I have friends who make their living off of this industry in different ways. But what they do isn’t “Hollywood.” It isn’t this nonsense. They make art, not “Naked Teenage Cheerleader Exhibitionist Lingerie Models Being Attacked by Equally Naked Lesbian Vampires With A Penchant for Busting Hip Hop Moves Before Attacking.” My friends don’t need Hollywood.

But then, with the direction things are going there: Who really does anymore?

The problem I have with being fed such a constant diet of people/images like this one of Alba, this one of Fox to the right (this is her after being instructed to gain 10 lbs…) is that it’s like– Okay. It’s like this:

It’s like eating strawberry flavored candy that has 10 x the strawberry taste of the real thing. You still like natural strawberries (especially if you can dress them up with sugar or chocolate or whipped cream…), but after a while even as good as they are they’re just not sweet enough to quench this desire you’ve cultivated for that intense, ultra-sweet, strawberry flavor. The candy contains traces of the real thing, sure. But it’s all so processed and there’s so much added to it that a real piece of fruit just doesn’t have, that you really can’t compare the two.

But that’s what happens with this glut of these people/images always before us. There’s so much that you can add into these people’s lives that you just can’t have with regular people- the heaps of sugar and the Red No. 3. But when we’re fed such a constant, steady diet of the way they are, the way they behave, look, dress, talk– we think it’s attainable because they’re human and we’re human and we’re told we’re all equal so… But the similarities end there. We *can’t* be like them. Men are told to want them, women are taught to want to be them. But it’s impossible.

I’m afraid I will never be loved for being a real strawberry. For something else I “really” am? Sure. But for being a real strawberry? Seems less likely every time another celebrity bounces back post-partum.

And I feel bad for every last person who can’t enjoy real strawberries any more, because I know they’re still good, no matter how sweet (eye)candy can be.

Enough already. Enough empty shaking of fists. It’s just a front, isn’t it? Isn’t it always.

You know what the problem really is? The problem really is that I want things in my life to start working, and my greatest fear is that everything that isn’t working, that everything that’s falling apart is falling apart because of me. Because of something I’ve done. Or something I’ve neglected to do. Like everything’s crashing and it’s all my fault. My big, fat, lazy, selfish, narcissistic, stupid, guilty fault.


ETA: I’ve gotten a surprising amount of feedback on what was intended to just be a nice, blow-off-loads-of-steam little rant, but most of it in the form of private messages from guys ‘n’ gals of all ages and backgrounds on Facebook so I’m the only one getting to enjoy the incredibly beautiful, hope-inspiring, and utterly refreshing sentiments these little notes contain. But to each of you who’s voiced their opinions on these topics- you guys rock, and it should be little wonder why I call you each a friend. :)



  1. Wow. I think you need to take a step back for a minute.

    The majority of people (or, at least anyone you might care to be actually interested in, you know, those people who actually have the capacity to think above the level of a cucumber) know the difference between Hollywood hotness and normal hotness.

    No, you don’t look like Jessica Alba, and you never will. I’ve seen sufficiently many of your v-logs to think you’re very physically attractive (so I’m not basing this off of what I remember you looking like 10 years ago). If we had enough in common (we don’t, plus we live NOT 400 miles apart), I’d probably ask you out. However, we don’t, so I won’t.

    I’d like to look like that new “Prince of Persia” version of Jake Gyllenhaal, but I know I’m not going to. I can only spend an hour in the gym per day maximum, and that’s just not going to cut it. Plus I like to drink beer. And smoke. I’m not going to stop enjoying myself just so I can have a body that I could never maintain for long enough to land “mondo hot babes” anyway.

    There are people out there who will dig you for being yourself. You’re only 26 (maybe 27?), which leads me to an obligatory “High Fidelity” quote:

    “Only people of a certain disposition are worried about being left alone for the rest of their life at the age of 26; we were of that disposition.”

    You may fear that people are losing their taste for regular strawberries, but I can definitely say that I am not. I guarantee that I’m in the majority.

  2. I would probably say yes, probably buy the first round, and probably not mind whatever CD you wanted to listen to on the way to wherever we went.

    And so yes: perhaps this one came off a little strong… Not that I didn’t mean most/all of it, I s’ppose. But there’s an awful lot going on in Ruthie Land these days and it just makes every annoying, trivial thing seem that much more… unjust.

    As a side note: I’ve discovered in recent years that when I see guys that look like JG in that picture I actually just kind of assume (I admit it’s a bit unfair!) that they must not have anything really enjoyable to do with their lives if they can spend that much time working on their bodies. And I have no use for people who don’t know how to enjoy life!

  3. If you’d say yes, I’ll make a mental note to ask you out next time I’m in Milwaukee. =) [Sweet, automatic date next time I’m in town!] As far as the “stuff in common” thing, it’s probably not just the music. Actually, I think we have similar taste in music. I remember some post you made a long time ago asking for music suggestions and I gave you like a billion things I knew you would love. Anyway, I’m rambling.

    I also assume the same thing about gals who look like Jessica Alba as you do about the JG characters. I don’t want to have anything to do with them. While I do like working out, I don’t like it so much that it pervades my entire life; who wants to live like that anyway?

    Life is too short to not enjoy yourself while you’re here. I’m glad to hear that this post was more an instance of the straw breaking Behnnie’s back than it was a “long-time-a-comin'” deal.

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