Graham Slams

I know I'm basically obsessed with Ashley Graham at this point, but... but...

C'mon, y'all, godDAMN.

Notes to self: 
-- Obtain first bikini
-- Go to beach
-- FLAUNT

Breasts be with you. And also with you.

There's a freckle at the top of my right breast. For a long time I referred to it as The Freckle of Good Taste -- my shirts would never be low-cut enough to show it.

Yeahhh... Fuck that. Look at my freckle and fear me.

My friends are a good influence, plus I'm old and tired of giving a fuck. My breasts won't be this lovely forever, I might as well revel.

(I'm all bluster until the creepy dude at work checks out my rack. But even then -- he'd be leering at me if I wore a turtleneck. And I can't with turtlenecks, man. So sayeth the Hedberg: "Wearing a turtleneck is like being strangled by a really weak guy, all day.")

I'll still consult The Freckle for family gatherings, and any time I'm forced to be in a place of worship. God is aware of what my breasts look like, He doesn't need to see them. (By the way, God is totally proud of my chest, even though pride is a sin. They're THAT good. Some of His best work.)

</ego trip>

 

#YearOfYes Foreplay

You may recall about a week ago I was fortunate enough to receive an advance copy of Shonda Rhimes' Year of Yes. (How much would it have sucked if they'd said "no" to my request for a copy of Year of Yes?)

Since then, I've only gotten through the first 100 pages, mostly because I'm an asshole, but I also got too busy. But the book came out in stores today, SO:

The first 100 pages are hilarious and inspiring, and unless it somehow ends with a puppy massacre, I have faith the rest will be the same.

I should be able to finish reading and write a full review over the weekend. But in the meantime: she's one of my heroes, the book is at least one-third amazeballs, and you should all go read it. (Unless you don't groove on Shonda, in which case I have no idea why you're reading this -- I am merely her hacky, foul-mouthed henchman.)

Also, I just found out she narrates the audiobook, which means I'm going to go spend $18 (on iTunes) to have Shonda Rhimes read me a story, and probably finish the book much faster.

#YearOfYes #Worship #TGIT (<-- in which "T" is for "Tuesday" this time)

"If I get all down on paper..."

"2 a.m. and I'm still awake writing a song,
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to.
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd,
'Cause these words are my diary screaming out loud,
And I know that you'll use them however you want to."

Anna Nalick​.

TONIGHT.

SO.

EXCITED.

I'm gonna need more eye makeup. (Or, um, ANY eye makeup, because I usually don't bother -- that's some shit the Real Women do.)

*gasp* I. Just. Peed. A little.

In which @TheBloggess is delightful and lovely

I asked, and Jenny Lawson runs her own Twitter, which means SHE followed me. On PURPOSE. 

When I thanked her for following me, she thanked ME for writing something that made her want to follow me. 

And then I died. 

  

Oh, hai.

NBD, just meeting one of my heroes today. (I've met her once before, but hopefully this time I'll be able to use my words.) 

  

"Against Kerry Washington, you will lose."

I read Self magazine because I applaud the bold, innovative way they've cleverly shortened the title from Self-Loathing.

But also, the latest cover model is Kerry Washington, who is my personal Jesus. And in the interview, she says she begins her day by drinking a liter of water with lemon and doing pilates. (Or, after a liter of water, pee-lates, I can only assume.)

Today I was thinking about how I started my morning:

"Well, Self, I swore out loud at the alarm clock and hit 'snooze' 86 times. I hoisted myself out of bed angrily and fumbled around naked looking for an outfit, anything that fits because I'm never sure anymore. And then I shoved Lexapro and two types of OTC drugs into my sinus-infection-addled face with a Dixie cup of tap water from the bathroom sink, followed by an enormous vat of coffee, and now I am finally, but still barely, able to face humanity."

This is why they don't let me talk to the media. And why Kerry Washington never returns my calls.

#TBT/Kelly Clarkson worship

Just in time for #TBT, a friend just posted a list of Kelly Clarkson covers, and it is amazing, but this was obviously the first one I watched. I like the original better, but there’s something to be said for watching it come from a white-girl-angst-ridden blonde with some hips. (Ahem.) 

“Hell on Heels” is also delightful. I always think of that song when I’m Olivia-Pope-strutting in heels.

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