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I have faced numerous trials and tribulations on the road to becoming the delicious b**ch I am proud to call myself today. The most trying of these was learning to simply be comfortable in my own skin. This is a venture that every person must face. Im afraid to say that few of us succeed in it. BW Ballerina In order to accomplish this state of mind, I simply drilled myself for a series of about four years (also known as high school) that I was a gorgeous, powerful, sexy bitch. Everyday, turning the concept over and again in my mind, unconsciously, intrinsically. Quite honestly, it worked like a charm. I simply know it now. I am a sexy bitch. Why? Because I said so. If I truly believe something, what else matters? How can others intimidate, control, and mold me into something I have no desire to be if I dont let them? Some, including my older sister, may call this arrogance. I call it empowerment. Its truly astonishing, all of this bull we believe we have to go through simply to obtain a false sense of security about ourselves. We toil, fight and labor for the majority of our lives in order to aspire to an image that was fabricated in a boardroom by a team that was most probably comprised of fat, rich white men. We werent born hating ourselves- we were taught. We were taught so that the large group of rich, fat, white men could sell every conceivable potion, mousse, spray, cream, makeup, wax, exercise machine, soap, elixir, diet paraphernalia, books, videos, hair plugs, and cosmetic surgery that would inspire us to dish out just a little more dough for the corporate money machine. Its just plain silly. When you were a toddler, did you wobble your little legs over to the nearest mirror every time you felt a wisp of hair go astray? When you were five, did you worry about how the way you dressed might send the wrong message?' When you were nine, did you shave, pluck, primp, apply and all the other crap we mindlessly do whenever the opposite sex is in sight? F**k no. I remember running out of the house as a kid in hot pink bikeshorts and a polyester shirt, completing the ensemble with a bathingsuit beneath (it was the eighties). Through various venues we discovered as children, and are exposed to increasingly as adults, we are constantly bombarded with images of creepy, vacant-eyed, expressionless, puffed-up, slimmed-down, airbrushed plastic women that apparently represent the woman we should all aspire to. Please. Give me a smile line, a healthy glow, a potbelly, a pulse! Continued On Next Page ( , Page 2) ... AUTHOR: Jenny Stein TAGS: Life world Love time US government living bush Politics BOOKMARK: Digg it | Add to Del.ICIO | Add to FARK ACTIONS: Comment Save Print Register free acount
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