Slow Clap For Special K

CaptureI give you my 100% approval to throw stuff at me when you read the next paragraph, ahem:

When I was in 7th or 8th grade, I remember shopping at the Gap and being utterly disturbed and devastated when I went from a size 2 to a size 4. I would try to squeeze my ass in the size 2 pair of jeans … only because they were a size 2, and because I was under the assumption that moving up to a size 4 meant that I was gaining weight and getting fat. Alright, I have taken cover, you may throw whatever you want at me, just don’t aim at my face.

This awful and embarrassing memory popped in to my head when I saw the latest commercial out of Special K last night. Now I love me some Special K (and no Special K is not paying me to write any of this) … especially those breakfast bars, the chocolate and pretzel ones … to die for. The problem is I could eat like four of them in one sitting, which defeats the whole purpose of being “healthy”. I gobble it up like a beast and crave 10 more. But that is neither here nor there.

I did kind of fall in love with their “Size Sassy” campaign, for numerous reasons. In our world, obviously, there is such a push to be fit, skinny, in a size 2. Size 2 is king … and also … completely unobtainable for normal women. And you know what, there is nothing wrong with that.

A little secret about me: I never weigh myself. I’m not saying everyone should do this, but this is just what works for me. I’ll only get weighed if my doctor literally drags me to that old-fashioned machine and makes me. And it isn’t because I’m pushing that number under the rug, or turning a blind eye … it is because I feel like I am healthier when I don’t know. Listen, you know when you gain weight, or feel bloated, or even unhealthy. Your body tells you those things. You know when your pants are a little too snug and when you need to do something about it. The hard part is actually getting off your ass and making a change.

And I just want to give Special K a slow clap for changing their messaging a bit and focusing on women getting to what they believe is a comfortable weight and to one that makes them feel good enough to fit in to their “sassy pants”. For some women that may be a size 14, others it may be a size 6 … who knows. Doesn’t really matter. We don’t live in a world of 2, 4, and 6 and for the rest of the people, they can just try Sears (if you get that reference we are officially best friends). We are all different and that is what kind of rules about being a chick (Jesus, let me break out in song).

At the end of the day it is about the fit and look of a pair of jeans, not shaming yourself for not resembling Kate Moss …  am I right? A guy isn’t going to deny you and say, “woof … that girl is rockin’ a pair of size 10 Citizens of Humanity … bu bye :::z snap::: (because that is how I imagine men hit on women in their minds …clearly). No, they are going to be too busy checking out your curves to even give a shit. I’m not a violent person, what-so-ever, but if a guy EVER commented on the size of my jeans I would drop kick a bitch.

So thank you, Special K, I really hope you’ve started the movement to help women stop torturing themselves by trying desperately to lose those annoying 10 pounds, as well as fixating on their weight, and instead help them get healthy and slip into their sassy pants, whatever they may be, over a reasonable amount of time.

If you haven’t seen this kick-ass commercial, check it out here:

Disclaimer: I swear Special K did not pay me to write any of this. I just love a good advertising campaign that supports women instead of putting awful thoughts in their heads about the need to look a certain way that is totally unobtainable. Word.

My Mom Is Better Than Yours … 2013 Edition

Screen shot 2013-05-12 at 12.04.07 PMYes … as you can tell by the photo to the left, I am about four feet taller than my mother. She is this petite, Mick Jagger-esque, 5’4 sassy Italian broad, and I’m a 5’9 half Italian, half Irish monster (thanks, Dad) who is wearing four-inch heels in this photo.

So happy Mother’s Day to all you fab ladies out there. I honestly don’t know how you do it. First of all, as a 26-year-old lady, the idea of having children right now freaks me out to the point where if someone asks me if one day I might want to have kids, my immediate jerk reaction is a “deer in headlights” blank stare followed by slowly but surely backing away from the conversation. But who knows, that may change one day. What do you want from me, I’m 26 and selfish right now. But honestly, the walking around for nine months carrying the kid, the not drinking whilst preggo, then the awful child-birth (I unfortunately have an older sister with two kids who felt it necessary to give me all the nitty-gritty details … YOWZA), and then having the responsibility of making sure that one day said child can become a respectable and prominent member of society … I mean, my God. You don’t just deserve a glass of wine today … take the bottle to the face, ladies!

Yes, today is about showering the ones who raised us, nurtured us, and still allows us to crawl into bed with them while in the midst of emotional breakdowns (not that I do that or anything :::shifty eyes:::). But I think today is a pretty damn good excuse to admire all women out there who do great things in life. Whether you are an aunt, a God Mother, a sister, momma to a dog/cat, a best friend, a co-worker, a humanitarian, you do things to make other people/animals better, whether you know it or not. So I’m tippin’ my cap to all the ladies out there today.

BUT … back to my original point … my mom is the best. You may disagree politely, which I respect, and I won’t bore you with the details of why that statement is 100% accurate, but it’s true because none of this would have been possible without her love and support. I would have never taken a such a strong interest in fashion if it wasn’t for her subscribing to every fashion magazine known to man for most of my life, and to this day still having a better wardrobe than me. I would have never known how to express my personal style if it wasn’t for her pushing me to explore different things whilst shopping. And I would have never known what a strapless bra is … and therefore I would have never known how badly life sucks in it.

So mom, thanks for giving birth to me, at age 40, in Camden, N.J. (calm down … it was in a hospital you freaks), … aaaaand I’m sorry I was like two weeks late, I clearly didn’t want to leave your womb. Hell, I still don’t really enjoy being all out in the open. But thanks for being you … because otherwise I wouldn’t be me.

And don’t worry, I won’t tell Kelly & Mark (my sibs) that I’m your favorite. It’s totally cool … your secret is safe with me!