IS THAT WHAT I LOOK LIKE?! . . .

Caught an episode of "What Not to Wear" with Mabel today. The makeover victim stood 5'1", a self-described "petite" woman. For a petite woman, though, she had a lot of curves -- big breasts, an accentuated and slender waist, wider hips and short, roundish legs. I could see why she would have trouble finding clothes that fit perfectly, and I was so happy that she ultimately found clothes that brought out all of her beautiful parts and made her look really stunning and confident.

But the one thing I couldn't get over was that this simply petite woman looked UTTERLY SHORT AND SMALL, especially pre-makeover, and especially standing next to the hosts, Stacy and Clinton. I had to ask Mabel, "Is this what I look like? Am I this short and squat compared to the rest of humanity?!??!"

I seriously think that I am taller than the 5'2" that I am. I've been told by various people that they also view me as being taller than I actually am (that is, until they stand next to me, and can rest their elbows on my head). They say it's because of my "tall" personality (whatever that means), or the fact that I nearly all of my footwear are heeled, or that I wear flattering clothing, or that my body is mostly proportionately balanced. Blah, blah, blah. There is definitely a premium placed upon being tall, and it's supposed to be comforting and complimentary to me that I am viewed as being taller than I am. It is not good to be short.

But I wonder why I think I'm taller than I am. It often surprises me to look at photographs and see the height difference between my companions and me. It often confuses me when I have to look up at someone I'm talking to. I often give inaccurate estimates of other people's heights because I compare them to myself ... and to myself, I do not stand 5'2". I am at least 5' 5". What am I thinking?!?!? Where did I get these three extra mental inches?

Anyhoo. I told Mabel that if I ever look squat and frumpy, she is to throw me a code word so that I can promptly go home and burn the offending outfit. Short, I can take. Squat and frumpy? No way.


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WHY IT SUCKS, PART THREE THOUSAND AND TWENTY-EIGHT . . .

I am so, so sorry to all of you loyalists ... but New Jersey sucks. It just does.

I have an impeccable sense of direction. I can find my way TO anywhere, FROM anywhere, and OUT OF anywhere. I always know where the river is, where the mountains are, where home is. I can read signs from miles away, even the vandalized ones hidden behind overgrown shrubbery. My gut feelings while driving are never wrong, and I NEVER EVER EVER EVER NEVER get lost.

I got lost today, IN NEW JERSEY. It was supposed to be so easy, too: take this Route to that Route, then hop on the Parkway and go whee, whee, whee all the way home. An easy, breezy, thirty minutes, it was supposed to take. But NOOOOO, the evil forces of New Jersey conspired against me and made me take some random and lengthy tour along all these streets of all these towns that were RIGHT NEAR the Routes I was supposed to take, but never spit me actually ONTO these Routes. And did you know that you're not allowed to take a left turn in New Jersey? EVER?! So of course, I did because I was just so fed up, and by that point, I figured that at least if I get pulled over by a State Trooper (and New Jersey's state troopers are also notoriously sucky -- how appropriate), I could ask him for directions. And did you know that no car with New Jersey license plates will ever let you merge or change lanes in front of them? EVER?! So of course, I bullied my way into any space I could find because by that point, I figured that at least if I was in a car accident, the police would come ... and I could ask them for directions.

Well, I finally found my way home, without a ticket and without an accident, but I am still bitter, for the worst part was that the whole time, I knew exactly where I was. I just couldn't get to where I needed to go ... because New Jersey wouldn't let me!