I'm Not Dead! Yet!

Here's something the confuses me.

I'm watching Dr. 90210, a show that chronicles a plastic surgeon and his many, many LA based patients. While right now, he's visiting his adoptive Utah parents (he's originally from Brazil), and it's very touching, something just squicks me out. Maybe it's what the people on the show want.

A woman came in for breast implants. Passable. Her boobs were big anyway, but I'm not judging. What I'm slightly creeped out about is that her mom, her mother, the person who GAVE BIRTH to her says "oh, that's much better." Pause. Aren't moms supposed to think their children are the most beautiful things in the world? Since when do mothers have an opinion on their daughter's breast size? It's like she's seeing her as an object with artificially perfect boobs--euurrrgh.

AND ANOTHER THING. Changing fashion confuses me. All my life, I thought badly of my butt. It was pounded into me that having an ass is somehow undesirable. Now, it seems that round derrieres are ALL THE RAGE. Of course, natural butts still aren't looked at as attractive--you have to have ITSY BITSY THIGHS and a bubble sticking out of your backside. God forbid it's natural. It needs to look surgically enhanced. And still--not the ideal for white women. Damn.

This other woman wanted fat injected in her hands. In her HANDS. to make her look...younger. She showed her before hands. I looked at my own hands. THEY WERE THE SAME. I'm at the height of my youth (which is kind of frightening), and my hands don't need a change like that. After, she jut looked like she had fat hands. What.

I understand getting plastic surgery if you're really unhappy with yourself, you can't breathe right, or it's fixing a legitimate problem. Just if you have the money to inject freaking fat from your KNEES into your HANDS...you should have used that money for charity. Your karma would have thanked you.

Do you see what I did thar?

Oh, life. Why must you be so confusing.

I love Scripps. I love the people here, I love the bonds I've made, I love the weather, I love the professors, I love the classes I'm taking next year, I love my boy, I love my friends.

Why am I sick of everything else?

In exactly one hour and thirty odd minutes, my drama final will be complete. After that, I have to do the drama final AGAIN on Wednesday. I'm so done with that class. I'll miss the people in it, and, goddammit, I'll even miss my professor, it's just the walk. That's it. I don't see purpose in walking ALL THE WAY down to Seaver anymore. It seems like a waste of my energy and time. I've borrowed bikes and scooters to make the commute faster (oh, CORE, how you eff with my conceptions of space-time), but I just want to sit here, in the GJ-Dub kitchen, and keep blogging.

Maybe it's hot outside. Maybe it's my PMS. I don't even know. I want everything to be done. Finished. Finito. I just want to curl up in my bed and watch youtube videos all day long. I want to see Elisa again, dammit. I want to see the rest of my high school friends. Rar. Just, rar.

Angst angst angst. My brain on burrito. There you go.