#385 Hurl

I saw an interesting headline the other day. It said: “Paris and Nicole seen eating together.” Now naturally my first thought was, “Which is the bigger news item here, that Paris and Nicole were together or that they were both eating?” Cause lets face it, Hollywood is a hotbed of anorexia these days. And Paris and Nicole each appear to have tendencies in that direction. Strange. I guess I could understand some people having enough of a negative self-image to terminally undereat. But celebrities? They set the beauty standards that create the negative image in others. There’s a pretty big body of research built up to indicate that America’s obsession with youth and svelteness forces many of our young women to subject themselves to a rigorous regimen of starvation. And it all stems from the notion that every picture and commercial and sitcom our young women are exposed to features willowy radiant women catching men’s eyes while they parade around town in designer gowns and survive on a nary a crumb. Eating like a bird as they say. Which like the descriptions beeline or sleeping like a baby misses the mark totally. The last thing a bee ever does is go in a straight line directly to its destination. It flitters and hovers and darts and dashes all over the darn place from flower to flower to flower. And “sleeping like a baby” to describe a long and contented sleep? Hardly. I’ve had babies. When someone says they’ve slept like a baby it sounds to me like they’ve woken up every two hours with their pants full. Eating like a bird is a similar misnomer. Birds consume twice their body weight on an average day, as their metabolism is so high they burn off nearly every thing they put in. Considering their lazy lifestyle, if Paris and Nicole ate like birds Paris would be as big as a hotel and Nicole would be challenging the Green Acres pig for porking supremacy. But that doesn’t let American girls off the psychological hook. And it’s too bad too. Especially with today’s fashions. The pants fashionistas peddle and push make today’s girls look like they’ve been poured into them—and are overflowing from the waistband. The narrow hips have no relation to the natural female form and the flat ass pushes everything up and over like a Wonderbra gone south. Unfortunately, what works for breasts doesn’t cut it for love handles. Still, I understand not eating more than eating and puking. I suppose from a taste standpoint, at least on the way in, it’s satisfying. But on the way out it’s gotta be pretty dis-tasteful. Hurling is not good. No matter how much it sounds like a Canadian winter sport. And Ralphing or upchucking or hugging the thundermug is even worse. I wonder if the rich Hollywood bulimics have stand up toilets. I would. To me the worst part of the whole blowing chunks scenario has always been the intimate contact with the area where I normally sit.
America, ya gotta love it.