I love Cosmo (of course I do! It seems that by no choice of my own, I love everything widely loathed. However, I'm confident enough to be secure in my "inadequecies".) I like doing what I enjoy. :) I'm no follower, even when it risks being teased. And believe me, as somebody who loves fashion and has taken some risks, I've gotten my share of cruel taunts & remarks, especially growing up. :( But you know what? I must confess it made me stronger & more confident. All that hurt manifests itself into the biggest and best "F you" of all. Creative independence. :cheers:

What does chip away at my own self image are the celebrity-fueled magazines such as Us, Star & In Touch. As much as I love to lounge in bed and read them, I have noticed that by giving them up I began to feel kinda better about myself. I also filled my time more productively (this doesn't mean I still won't break down and buy one. I have come down with a cough and respiratory infection and whilst hittin' the Pharm last night, you'd better bet I bought Us Weekly! :D)

In fact, I was just discussing this very topic today. How does a young, insecure girl (which we all are at some point in our lives) feel when she's bombarded by images of a toothpicky Lindsay Lohan & Co.? It's just not the norm. We all know it's a rather sad industry, but it does make you feel a little "less then" when you see a starving Olsen collapsing from the weight of her latest Balenciaga filled with Marlboro Reds.

And note to Nicole Richie: We can't miss you if you won't go away. Pass that memo on to Eva Longoria also, please.

I sound so mean. :( I have no axe to grind with these lovely ladies, it's just..maybe I'm cranky from being saddled with a hacking cough.

Sigh..depressing much? At least it is to me. You can never keep up with the trends. The tips. Or Paris Hilton. Not that I'd want to, mind you, but it's just discouraging. :(

I have always been insecure about my looks. In my mind, I'm the very definition of cool - handsome, clever, delightful to be around, an inspiration to children and animals the world over, and fun. Sadly, in real life, others generally regard me as a non-threatening cross between Jiminy Cricket and Oscar Madison. I have always appeared a bit eccentric, and as I gracefully age, the eccentricity deepens.

I love pretty girls. All kinds, all types. There are no guidelines for my definition of beauty. It could be a pretty face, a beutiful smile, melencholy eyes, or a random combination of features that are greater than the sum of its parts.

That's what makes life interesting. Discovery. Contact. The ritual. The daily accentuating of whatever positive physical traits one might possess to dupe the opposite sex into believing that we are something greater, prettier, BETTER than who and what we really are. Or, conversely, maybe it takes the promise of the opposite sex (or the just promise of sex) to force us to BECOME something better than we are.

Probably a little of both.

So guys feel threatened by the fact that Johnny Depp doesn't really seem to age, and always looks like a million bucks, while we nickel and dime it.

I blame MTV, Hollywood, and my parent's faulty genetic code...

Dear Pentouse Letters.....

Somewhere, Kevy's smut senses are tingling.










(Great, now I'm thinking about Kevy "tingling". The things I put myself through for humor).

Quoted for truth.

Dating Success Societal Beauty Skindeep Media Shallowness Trap @ x2 [gay society]

Also quoted for truth.

Snappity-snap-snap, Mr. Boss.

And for that I am grateful.

Wrong thread. ;)