For today’s Blog Friend Feature, I chose a fabulous blogger that I wish was here with me at Blissdom because I know we would have a blast hanging out. But, unfortunately, she couldn’t be here…so instead, I decided that she would be the perfect to take over my blog while I’m away. And I hope you show her lots of love.
Gigi from Kludgy Mom does it all. She did an amazing series this fall about improving your blogging. She has post that make me laugh, post that make me cry, and posts that make me think. Meet Gigi!
First, I want to thank sweet Shell for featuring me today. I found Shell’s blog through the Ultimate Blog Party last year. I immediately felt welcome here.
A month or two later, when I was still fumbling my way thru blogging, Shell took time to try and help me work on a blog badge. She barely knew me and had scads of followers. She was a perfect bloggy role model and I’m grateful for her friendship!
So you know how it’s sort of easier to be angry or mean at a stranger than it is someone you know personally? The dude who parks his car like a jackhole in the parking spot next to mine? I curse at him. The person on Twitter whose face I can’t see and gets on my nerves? I mutter under my breath and plan her undoing.
But… the mom who irritated me during baseball season? I usually put my Nice Girl hat on and usually find I her…even though I had been previously designing her voodoo doll in my head.
I’ve decided that same theory applies to our body parts. The more we get to know them, the less likely we are to hate them, curse them or want them surgically nipped, tucked, altered, stretched, removed or enhanced. We need to make friends with our bodies!
I know. Easier said than done, right?
Well I think I can do it and here’s how: I’m going to name all of my body parts.
If I have to call them by a name, then I will have to be nice to them.
So I’m going to share with you what I’ve named all of the body parts I currently have an issue with. I hope this inspires you to make friends with your body, too.
My most-hated body part. Yes, the fine Italian-Polish heritage of which I boast has given me what I currently like to call Fatballs on both my inner and outer thighs. There are four of them in all, lined up in a row: outer, inner, inner, outer. My kindergartener would call that an A,B,B,A pattern.
So I think it’s only fitting that I hereby rename my Fatballs Annifrid, Bjorn, Benny and Agnetha: ABBA.
Good day to you, Agnetha. It’s chilly today, isn’t it? And Benny? You have a little goo…um…yeah, go look in the mirror.
I’m feeling better already. Onward!
I have about five really prominent crow’s feet lines on each eye. Kind of like this picture. Although mine are worse.
Crow’s feet sound so ugly: they’re words you want to hate. So for my ten facial lines, I think Jon & Kate Plus 8 sounds better. I haven’t named the individual lines. All those damn Gosselin kids look the same anyway, except the one mean one. I can always identify her.
Sure, sure, muffin top sounds okay. Good enough to eat. But I prefer a more personal moniker to my fat rind. My muffin top shall heretofore be called Otis Spunkmeyer.
Old Looking Hands.
When you pass 40, your hands start to look kind of creepy. Veiny and crepey and wrinkly-like. Also, if you are into coke and meth and heroin and you never eat, you get these hands. Perez Hilton calls them Zombie Hands. They have prematurely afflicted many young Hollywood starlets.
And while I don’t have any age spots currently, I might get some.
So, I’m going to call my left hand Porcelana and my right hand, Nicole Richie. She’s pretty fashionable, anyway. Even with her zombie hands.
The Nether Regions.
So, while my nether regions look perfectly fine these days, I know full well that they, too, will start to, ahem, show the signs of aging. At the rate the hair on my head is graying, it can’t be long.
So if Lindsay Lohan has absolutely no problem showing off her firecrotch, I will have no problem showing off the old silvercrotch in 15 or 20 years. What better designee for my future silvercrotch than the queen of SNL and the Twitter, Betty White? Hellllloooo, Betty!
I had the world’s tiniest boobs before having a geriatric pregnancy and turning 40. Now, it’s the double whammy: saggy AND tiny. So I figure that if I’m going to have tiny boobs, I should invoke the names of women who have PERKY tiny boobs.
From this day forward, my tiny, saggy boobs shall be named Twiggy and Paris, respectively.
My buns, once made of steel, are now sponsored by Krispy Kreme and Ghirardelli. They’re not what they used to be. So when I make friends with my bootay, I want to think of musicians who have CELEBRATED the big butt.
Left Butt Cheek shall now be known as Sir Mix-A-Lot. Right Butt Cheek shall now be known as Mystikal.
I decided to spare you the photos of my butt, or anyone else’s I could take off Google images, for that matter. I’m sure you thank me.
I have big feet. Size 11 big. Size-I-have-to-shop-at-Nordstrom-for-shoes-accursed feet. And the older I get, the more my feet resemble those of, say, an 80-year old guy. But there are plenty of attractive people with biggish feet. When I think of my feet, I want to think “cute.” And when I think of cute people with biggish feet, I think of Hobbits, so, with my One Toe Ring To Rule Them All, I hereby dub my feet Frodo and Sam.
So that’s it. I’ve named all of my hated body parts and I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship! I encourage you to start making friends with your body, too!
Please leave Gigi some comment love here and then go follow her blog!