Why Girls Are Weird (8 page)

Maybe you're one of those perfect people that pay for a gym membership and then always, always go. Every morning you bounce off with your perfect ponytail and your teeth gleam as your perfect little mousy voice goes “I'm off to the gym!”

First of all, if that's you? Be thankful that nobody has stabbed you in the eye. Yet.

I'm not one of those people. I'm not even close. I forget to exercise until someone reminds me. I don't like to run unless my life is being threatened. I certainly only try to break a sweat during sex.

Also, it's hot in Texas. It's particularly hot here in Austin this time of year, and it gets so hot that it's physically impossible to move more than a few inches at a time. You have to remain as still as possible, only shifting to lower the air conditioner. It's the only reason I'm still coming to work, since I don't have A/C in my apartment. It's so ridiculously hot that we air condition
outside
this time of year. Amusement parks like Six Flags don't want a thousand people dropping from heat stroke while waiting in line for the Log Flume, so the outdoor areas have overhead cooling units. Mmm, Lovely Overhead Cooling Unit. Why won't you move into my apartment building?

Still can't understand what kind of hot I'm talking about? You try it. Lock yourself in your bathroom, turn on the shower at its hottest setting, and put on a few sweaters. That's what it feels like to walk outside these days. Go sprint in that, bitch.

There's this wedding coming up that I mentioned before, and I'm pretty sure that as my friend was measuring my hips she was shaking her head and sucking her teeth. I could be horrible here and mention that as she was measuring my hip to foot distance I noticed that the hair on the top of her head was thinning and I could see her scalp. But that would be mean and I'm not a mean person so I didn't say that. I don't know where you heard that.

Since I just about broke down after seeing my measurements on paper yesterday, I decided to grab an old Tae Bo tape and work out. You remember Tae Bo, don't you? With everyone's favorite scary, sweaty black man, Billy Blanks? His name's a registered trademark, don't you know.

Y'all, I got schooled by the world-famous Billy Blanks World Training Center.

I had to do these crazy hop things and then punch and run backwards, like I'm a member of the Dallas Cowboys. I'm pretty sure I saw my downstairs neighbor moving out of the house while I was working out. I guess he was just sitting around until heard me jumping up here for the umpteenth time and said, “Well, that's it. The crazy bitch has broken me.” And then he started loading all of his things in his truck and moved to Montana.

In one particularly aerobic set of moves you lift one knee, lift the other, kick, kick, and then do four jumping jacks while moving back into your starting position. So I'm doing the knee, knee, kick, kick, jumping jack, jumping jack, jumping jack, jumping jack, and I'm feeling pretty proud of myself:

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Knee! Knee! Kick! Kick! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack!
Jumping jack!

Knee! Knee! Kick! Kick! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack!
Jumping jack!

ANNA K
Oh, yeah!

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Again! Knee! Knee! Kick! Kick! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack!

Again! Knee! Knee! Kick! Kick! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Let's go! Let's go!

ANNA K
That's what I'm talkin' about, Billy.

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Again! Knee! Knee! Kick! Kick! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack!

Knee! Knee! Kick! Kick! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack!
Jumping jack! That's it! That's it!

ANNA K
I know that's it. I know! I rule!

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Knee! Knee! Kick! Kick! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack!
Jumping jack!

TAYLOR
ReeeeeOOOOOOOOWWWWW!

TABLE
Crash!

ASHTRAY
Flip!

BOTTLE OF WATER
Splish!

TAYLOR
Weeooow!

ANNA K
Ow! Damn! Ow!

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Knee! Knee! Kick! Kick! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack!
Jumping jack!

ANNA K
Shut up! I fell over a table, Billy! Give me a second to fucking recover.

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack! Jumping jack!

ANNA K
I'm sorry, Taylor, is your tail okay?

TAYLOR
Fuck off. I am so incredibly pissed at you. You know I always stand right behind you when you work out and you know that jumping backwards is a stupid idea, but you did it anyway, and now my tail hurts, and you spilled water all over me, and now you've left me with no choice but to go into your bedroom, find one of your bras, and vomit a hairball into it.

ANNA K
I understand.

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Come on now, I know you're tired. I know you wanna quit. But
DON'T GIVE UP! DON'T QUIT! YOU CAN DO IT, BABY!

ANNA K
Okay, Billy.

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
ARE YOU WITH ME, BAYBEEE?

ANNA K
OKAY, BILLY!

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Keep that hip out when you kick. And don't scream so loud your neighbors call the cops, Anna K.

ANNA K
Sorry.

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Uh-huh. That's good, right there.

ANNA K
Billy, can I ask you a question?

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Sure. As long as you do some shoulder-to-shoulder punches while you do it.

ANNA K
No problem.

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Punch a little higher. Good. Now, what's your question?

ANNA K
Am I officially hallucinating?

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
I'd say that's a pretty safe bet.

ANNA K
That's what I thought.

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Now, a lot of people want to quit when they start hallucinating. Anyone can quit when they start seeing shit and their stomachs are all fucked up and their thighs are trembling and screaming.

ANNA K
It's like you can see into my soul.

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
But don't you think that's a small price to pay for firm thighs? Front kick, back kick. Ready? Go.

GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST
You need to concentrate. Here, let me help you with those kicks.

ANNA K
That's it. I'm turning the tape off.

BILLY BLANKS (tm)
Are you sure you wanna do that? Only fifteen minutes left.

GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST
You can do it, Anna K. I have faith in you.

ANNA K
Of course you do.

 

So, I'm sitting very quietly at my desk today, as my butt is throbbing beneath me. I learned my lesson. I can't just become an athletic person in one day. It's not like I stored up all my past workouts until I decided to take my ass off the pause button. And most importantly, I probably shouldn't do peyote right before I work out.

Love until later,

Anna K

Anna K,

Hi, it's Tess! I'm writing this to you from my school's computer lab. I'm probably going to be in so much trouble now because I was reading your entry instead of working on my history paper, and some people heard me laughing and now they all think that I am a very strange or crazy girl. I'm not crazy, right? Hee!

You know I live in Dallas, don't you? That's so close to Austin! Anyway, if you ever want to come and visit, don't be afraid to ask! I've got plenty of room at my apartment, and lots of hotels close by if you'd like your own place to crash.

I've got to go back to working on my paper now, but I wanted to check in and see how you were doing. By the way, I met this totally crush-worthy guy at a bar this weekend. He thinks I'm twenty-five! Argh! Starting my new relationship out with lies! I guess it's pretty silly to call it a relationship already, since we just met and all, but I really think he's cute and he seemed to be interested in me. That's all it takes. I'm easy!

Later, Tess

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Anna,

Thanks for making me feel guilty about ditching my Tae Bo. My thighs hate you. My arms aren't too thrilled with you, either. Billy, however, should get a kickback.

-Deb

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AK

A) Yes, it stands for Lloyd Dobler. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you the nickname is a total chick magnet.

B) But sadly, I'm hardly the perfect man.

C) I found this webpage searching for sites about Barbies. My niece had a birthday coming up and I wanted to find a rare Barbie for her. I figured Barbie BackwardsLegs might be too advanced for the six-year-old set. Well, that's what I used to think, anyway. I guess you proved me wrong on that one.

D) I think about you when I'm brushing my teeth. Once I thought of you as I unwrapped a piece of gum. Sometimes I think of you as I'm rewinding a video before I return it. It's the little quiet moments. Then you flood in and I wonder what you think about while you go through the quieter moments in your life.

E) More importantly, will you tell me everywhere you are when you think of me? Also, when you're doing this, what are you wearing?

Pittsburgh is mostly gray, mostly cold, and mostly dreary. When I look at it, I think about the history of hardship and suffering that went on here. It's not a sad place, but it has that ache of an old wound—the way your scars feel different to the touch. Everything works and everyone's happy, but the buildings in this city still carry the weight of the Depression and the clouds sometimes look like they're dusted in coal. The town remembers everyone that ever died here and is constantly in a quiet mourning.

The people here, however, fall into what I like to call “The Three P's”: Pale, Pasty, and Puffy. That's mostly because of the lack of sun and the good Polish cooking. If you're ever in town we're going to the Polish Party House. You have no choice.

Print this e-mail out and save it. If you ever find yourself single someday, consider it a proposal for a date. Gosh, I'm getting feisty in my anonymous safety zone, aren't I?

-LDobler

P.S.: More stories about you being all sweaty, please. Or just stories about your breasts.

P.P.S.: FEISTY!

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Small-chested girls and boys of all sizes: Today I give you a set of tits. You wanted big boobs your entire life and today you get to have them. After you've spent ten minutes in the mirror playing with them, get ready to experience the real world of big-tittydom. Here we go:

Your shoulders hunch inward, just slightly—a result of trying to make your chest look smaller while you were growing up, embarrassed to have people staring at you.

The seat belt never stays across your chest. It slides up and sometimes goes around your neck if you aren't careful. You are terrified that you will one day be decapitated in an auto accident because of your 34Ds.

The cuter the T-shirt, the greater the chances it will not fit you. If it does fit in the arms and length, the logo on the front will be stretched so tight across your chest that you look obscene.

The strappy/backless fad? Forget it. Where are you gonna be seen without a bra? There's no way. While you're at it, you can pretty much forget one-piece swimsuits. They don't make any that fit and hold you in. You're buying separates forever.

When you're cold, everyone else is going to know. They won't tell you that you're high-beaming, but will enjoy the free show. You might notice yourself, however, when you scratch your arm on your nipple. Again, the protective hunch will develop in time.

People will “accidentally” brush into you. They like to do this at bars, in tight hallways, and on buses. They will be all “Excuse me,” but will raise or lower their arms so that they brush into your breasts. They may even do the hard shove that presses their chest against yours. They won't thank you for it, either.

Your mother will talk about your chest more than your career.

No running. Ever. Invest in three sports bras and wear two at once, but you're still not going to run a mile. Use the elliptical trainer, treadmill, or Stairmaster.

The sight of speed bumps on the road may bring tears to your eyes.

Never close a hardcover book too quickly. You could get a nipple stuck in there. Yes, it happened, and no, I don't want to talk about it.

Babies grab your breasts. They don't know any better. It's only mortifying when someone jokes loudly, “He's looking for lunch!”

Lovers will try and name them. Don't let them. Keep your dignity. Maybe one great name like “Fantasia.” But not “Bert and Ernie.” “Pooh and Tigger.” “Lefty and Lopsy.” Fuck that shit.

You wear bras all the time. Constantly. Underwires only. No frilly-soft-lacy-pretty things. Industrial strength. Straps an inch wide. You look like a 1950s nurse who's into S&M.

They itch. Once a month, they start itching like a motherfucker. You will find yourself leaning over your desk and rubbing your chest against the edge so it looks like you're just sort of grooving. You will figure out how to use your forearms to scratch yourself. The itching is terrible. And when it first starts happening when you are young, your mother will tell you it's because they are growing. When it's still happening at twenty-five, it's okay to panic, just a little.

Women outwardly hate you because of your chest. Even your best friends.

There will be lines you can break, drinks that will be free, things that you can have, and tickets you might get out of.

There will also be friendships never had, clothes never worn, sports never played, and pictures ripped to shreds in agony.

Your back hurts. Just all the time. A constant state of hurt.

You have a terrible fear of catching a football. It is completely understandable.

New boyfriends won't know what to do with them. They will opt for a mix of lifting and lowering, licking all over the place, hoping to hit a spot you like.

Sometimes you accidentally drop food down there, like popcorn. People think that's hysterical.

Sometimes you'll lean over a table to get the salt and will end up dipping your breast in someone's ketchup. Yes, you'll be humiliated. No, you probably couldn't have avoided it.

You may catch yourself leaning on a table, resting only your breasts on it. Stop. You look obnoxious. I know you didn't realize it. It just happens sometimes.

Find yourself a period play and act the shit out of it. May I suggest
Dangerous Liaisons
?

Did I frighten you or just make you want your own pair of big boobs even more? No, boys, I'm not talking to
you
. I know what your answer is. Even you gay boys. I know you want a fancy pair for special evenings. I'm just talking to the Itty Bitty Tittie Committee here. All in favor of keeping your new knockers, say “Aye.”

Hello? Hello? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Love until later,

Anna K

-----

AK,

Thank you. Never let it be said you aren't accommodating to your friends.

I like how I feel I have absolutely nothing to lose by writing to you. I've never met you and you know nobody in my life, so I can say anything to you (“Right, LDobler,
‘Say Anything'
, asshole”) and not worry that I'm making an ass out of myself. I never have to see your reaction. You keep writing back, so I must be at least slightly interesting to you. And what's sexy? Women who think I'm interesting.

Having said that, I've decided something. I'd like to apply to be your stalker. Officially. I won't ride by your house on my bicycle or anything, but I'll be the one to write to you every day, several times a day, letting you know what I'm doing, where I'm going, and when exactly I was thinking of you. Think of it: You'll never be alone again! Of course, all that love stuff will have to be taken care of by Ian, but I'll be the person who makes you famous. I mean, you can't have fame without creepy fans, right? So here's your first creepy moment with me:

Tonight I will dream of the two of us together trapped on a small rowboat. When you figure out the way to get us back to shore, I'll smother you with chloroform (I hid a bottle in the cooler with the love sandwiches I made before we set off) and I'll hold your passed-out body, whispering how much we belong together into your ear. When you wake up you'll be with me and you'll have forgotten what land looks like. You'll only know us; you'll only know our world. And we'll live happily ever after. WRITE ME BACK OR DIE.

Ha.

-LD

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