Cankles: A Manifesto

First of all, I still don't even think I know what cankles are. The concept makes so little sense to me that I'm convinced I must have the wrong idea. Maybe if I was in the know I would understand le fuss. But until then, I present, WTF: Cankles.
First off, why are guys so horrified? Why is lack of calf muscle definition so horrendous? I thought men wanted women to be feminine and not body builders. I'm lucky enough to have really pronounced calves, as in I have to really use some heft when yanking on tall boots; should I oil the suckers up when strutting at the pool to attract all the wang from here to the Mississippi??
And I can understand if you want a more defined calf- we all have our 'things'- I in fact go for guys with square heads. But to actually call a cankle gross?
You know what's gross? Sparsely overgrown pubic shrubbery. Sweat caught in fat rolls. Scabs. Off-color bodily fluids. Girls with mustaches. Guys who never wipe away their eye boogers. Morning breath. NOT a continuous straight line from knee to ankle. When men nix women because of cankles, the terrorists win.
And why are GIRLS so into this nonsense? I guess it's because cankles are something that, if you're lucky enough to be genetically cankleless, give you some sort of superiority complex. Like high cheekbones. Or non-knobby knees? Other examples are hard to think of because this is all.so.ridiculous. We just laugh with the boys and blame the girls who can't help that they were born with...a straight line from knee to ankle. Can I once again ask: HOW is this 'gross'??
When did this even become a "thing?" I feel like no one talked about cankles in high school. Yet in college I moderated many a male panel of cankle-haters while drinking myself into a stupor to make the situation tolerable. What's next? Someone has underdeveloped delts and EWW GROSS? No differentiation between one's upper and lower forearm, wrist to elbow, and siiiiick no way can they bear my children!? Gah!
Someone stop the madness. Explain to me how cankle-hating is evolutionary and how cankles signify low fertility or poor hunting skills or something. Or just show me, visually, why a cankle is synonomous with the apocalypse. Please. I'm waiting.

People Who Are Rich and I Don’t Know How: Seal

(Real Simple Weddings is sitting on my couch mocking me, because my life continues down the spiral staircase of Real Buttfucking Complicated Weddings. That's my meal ticket, boys and girls. I will write a book on how to survive- oh wait, and thrive!- planning a wedding complicated by the Navy, weather, massive families, parents with big plans, two religions, two parties and a bride who doesn't want to spend any money.)
Ok enough of THAT nOizZ. Today's entry, commence!
Seal is rich. Even before he married Heidi Klum, man had the cheddar. Why this is will always astound me.
1) He made a bunch of songs, yes. Those classic tunes that you find yourself humming to on the radio before realizing it and changing the station immediately. “No we’re never gonna surviiiiiive unlessss we get a little crazy GAH CHANGE IT!” But I can’t think of anyone who would actually purchase a Seal CD. Since the people I know represent a fairly good cross section of humanity, allow me to extrapolate and say that Seal has never actually sold his music.
2) Nobody sees Seal in concert. Because he has 5 songs. And concerts need to last more than 43 minutes, encore of “Don’t Cry” included. Why doesn’t anyone see Seal? Go stand in front of a mirror, say, “Oh, sorry Jen, I can’t go out tonight, I already have tickets to see Seal in concert.” See what happens. Chances are you’ll laugh. Or your mirror will crack. And Bloody Mary will come out like in that scary story Christina Jorge told all the time in second grade that still gives me nightmares.
3) Seal recently performed at Valley View Casino, which is one step away from Happy Glen Retirement Home.
4) (What is Seal’s actual name? Does Heidi call him Seal? OHGODTHEQUESTIONS!!!)
But I’m pretty sure I might have figured it out. No, Seal didn’t help out Jafar, find the genie in the mysterious sand cavern of gold and wish for monetary success. He takes part in Google SEO advertising. Awhile back I wanted a synopsis of a show I’d missed the night before, so I typed in “What happened” and before I could even get to “on The Secret Life of the American Teenager”- NOT ASHAMED- it filled in the blank with “What happened to Seal’s face?!” Ok, so maybe I’ve stayed awake wondering how he got his soulful facial scars. But my weird thoughts are BY NO MEANS representative of the world as a whole. All I can surmise is that Seal pays a small sum to have that come up first on Google, so everyone goes “Oh yeah, what DID happen to Seal’s face?” and then it’s pay per click advertising or whatever so it stores a record of clicks, and Seal’s management gives those stats to radio stations, saying, “People are so fascinated by Seal. We need to continue giving him airtime heavily from 10am-2pm.” And that, my friends, is how Seal is rich. Because the proceeds from “Kiss From A Rose” can only go so far…

I am SO awkward at work, vol. 37

So apparently $3,000 was stolen from the company via something to do with PayPal, and Boss #2 was faxing something next to me and said he’s nervous it was an inside job. Since I am the awkwardest person ever, I immediately sputter “Wow it TOTALLY wasn’t me, I could never do that. I mean not only because I’m honest but I’m just like the worst liar ever…and I’m NOT at ALL wily enough to ever do something like that on the INTERNET!” He snorted his phlegm as per usual, gave me his usual lecherous/piteous smile and walked away, probably to call the cops on me after telling them I essentially confessed. Sigh.

I HAD A GENIUS PARAGRAPH HERE ABOUT BEING ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM IF I WAS BORN TODAY. THEN I TRIED TO PUBLISH THE POST AND IT GOT DELETED. I AM SO MAD THAT THIS IS HOW THOUGHTS ARE ACTUALLY GOING THROUGH MY HEAD RIGHT NOW. IN POINTY ALL CAPS. Seriously I want to stomp and throw a tantrum...

Anyway.

I work in a hallway. That's pretty much how I introduce myself: "Hi, I'm Allie, I hold grudges, oh and I work in a hallway?" This means that people often stop and talk to me. In most situations, I EXCEL at ending conversations by walking away at a good time (not always- I've had many a moment where the conversation clearly died 42 seconds ago and I'm still standing there talking about poop- but no one's perfect). But when I'm at my desk, I have home court disadvantage, which means that if I want to end the conversation all I can do is helplessly look at my computer to imply that I have something to do, when really I'm just sick of talking/can't figure out what to say and your lingering presence makes my soul chafe. And all that's on my screen is People.com and the papers in front of me are lists of the inventory in my freezer because I love to menu plan/make lists/try my handwriting in fun new ways. So yes, I must now get back to my work judging Blake Lively's outfit and plotting broiled tilapia.

I Loves Me Some Compton! (and enchiladas)

At my job once a month I am treated to a splendid day of sending out invoices. I’m not being sarcastic, I love it. I get to waste an entire day folding paper and stuffing envelopes, I don’t need to use my brain whatsoever, I get to let my mind wander guilt-free, and best yet, I can leave NY Times articles open on my computer completely carelessly, because come on, I need something to read while I fold! Everyone in the office thinks it’s terrible that I’m stuck doing invoices so they’re extra nice to me on Invoice Day. And if we’re being completely honest here, folding, stuffing, sealing and stamping ~200 envelopes is the most tangible work I do for this company all month. I mean, what?

Anyway, my favorite part is sending out the invoice to a media company in Compton. As in, Biggie. I think. Hold on, let me see is there’s any “Famous Residents” on Wikipedia. Privileged White Girl needs to do her research. Here we go, from Wikipedia, to ease your mind: “An inner suburb of Los Angeles, Compton has a reputation of one of the most dangerous inner city/suburban areas in the United States.” But alas, no Biggie as famous resident, just DJ Quik, Ice Cube, Dr. Dre and, in a fabulous new piece of information, Jazz from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air! Golly, that musta been sooome culture shock for Carleton when he tagged along with Will!

So tickle me pink that my invoice gets sent out to Artesia Boulevard in Compton! It just sounds so regal and suburban, like it should be a street in Beverly Hills. Holding back giggles, I always let my thoughts drift to more appropriate Compton street names: Bullet Road, Premature Death Place, Crackhead Boulevard, and of course, Drive-by Drive. Because I find my small-minded generalizing so goddamn entertaining, it’s not rare to hear me snort a bit whilst I fold and stuff.

God I love Wikipedia. The best thing in this entry is a picture of clean cut white guys in varsity letter cardigans stealing hubcaps in 1954 as an example of “early crime”- this is what makes me laugh at the ‘50s. There was no danger!! “Oooh, gotta have eyes in the back of my head so Swirly Pete from the diner doesn’t follow me home and give me a noogie in the alley behind Woolworths!”As I write this at work, I can only wonder what Jessica is thinking, looking at my computer from her desk and seeing a Wikipedia page open to the local government structure of Compton. Just research for my "Jews of Compton" travel feature...

People I Hate: Boring Food Choosers (place hyphen where you will)

This one doesn’t garner me much public favor, but I seriously hate it when you go to a restaurant and there’s so many amazing choices your mind boggles itself into a brain knot of orgasmic wonder, but the person you’re with gets the most basic thing.

Examples: California Pizza Kitchen- so many delicious options I’d need 3 hours and the materials to make a pro/con list before making my choice- I went with someone who got a PLAIN PIZZA. Are you fucking kidding me? Yeah I get it, it’s CPK, not some gourmet pizzeria- so it’s exactly the right place to get a pizza smothered in chipotle black beans and monterrey jack with guacamole on top! You can get plain pizza at your friendly neighborhood Little Caesar’s. CPK choices are a treat and a fun experiment and when people puss out on their ordering I get irrationally angry. And I mean irrationally angry. As in, I want to rip your head off and put on Joe’s steel-toed boots and kick you in the crotch so hard you pee out your belly button. This is also how I feel about people who hate Christmas and don’t think chubby babies are cute.

Cheesecake Factory- 789,345,000 varieties of cheesecake. If you order plain cheesecake, I will put you on my hit list. (Also, if you go to The Cheesecake Factory, and a) don’t plan on even getting dessert or b) God forbid order something other than cheesecake, consider yourself defriended in the Facebook of LIFE. Is it called The Carrot Cake Factory? Jesus).

Legit authentic and good places- Maddie dated a guy and they went to this authentic empanada place, where he ordered a beef and cheese empanada. Are you serious? I get perhaps even angrier in this situation- get the stuff unique to that country, that you might not get to try again, asshole! You want a meat and cheese combo, wuss? Go to fucking Chilis. And on your way don’t look both ways before you cross the street.

I know I take this a little too far, that some might think it odd to want to try the pizza with 7 types of artisinal cheese and mushrooms, duck fillet, roasted peppers and herbs de provence on it. Perhaps the double chocolate chip cookie dough peanut butter cup cheesecake with caramel drizzle and flambéed bananas is sweet-tooth overload. But I’m the kind of person who will literally stay up at night with regret over what I didn’t order, and it's better to have chinese pizza-induce runs than wonder about the CPK choice that got away...

Oh and I understand that with the examples I use I sound remarkably uncultured and in no way able to make an informed opinion, YET I use those because they have a spectacular diversity of options which makes it even worse to go plain. Go Creative Or Go Home. Or I WILL kick, kick, kick your butt, all the way to Pizza Hut, where I’m sure you’ll order a plain pie and get a pre-made Caesar at the salad bar. Death.

I <3 Fat Kids

So I was watching my girl Oprah last week, and it was her (annual? Semi annual?) Fat Teens Get Therapized show. Grotesquely overweight teens got to stand on a stage yelling "I HATE ___ (fill in the blank: "How you think my weight is your fault, Mom!" "How I'd rather die than be overweight!" etc etc)!" Then she asks, in her sage Oprah way, "What are you REALLY hungry for?" and bam, instantly, they're like "Oh, companionship. Perhaps some real love. Maybe some intellectual fulfillment."

You know what, Opes? I think that's a load of crap. Here is how our conversation would go if you came to visit me:
Allie: I HATE HOW HARD IT IS TO OPEN MY JAR OF GRAPE JELLY!
Oprah: Allie, stop, and remove your hand from that box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. What do you think you're REALLY craving? Love? Acceptance?
Allie: You're right. It's Mexican food. Not cereal.
Oprah: No, no, what are you truly HUNGRY for? What are your emotional needs that aren't being met?
Allie: Well, some chili always warms the soul. Mmm...rich and meaty.
Oprah: You have to be wanting SOMETHING DEEPER!! Maybe someone telling you they love you just the way you are!
Allie: God dammit Oprah, I don't have fucking emotional problems, I just love to eat!

(Oprah pauses, realizes some snarky short white girl just totally shut her up with Honest to Goodness Logic, and the show cuts to a commercial for her Thursday show, where she will be talking with That Woman Who Left Her Baby in the Car followed by Revisiting That Family That Had to Live Without The Internet For A Week. Later, Allie and Oprah enjoy a hearty feast of chicken enchiladas together. Followed by baked ziti. And pudding. And her paying off my graduate school tuition.)

Because seriously Oprah advisers, we don't have to get so freaking analytical about this. Fat kids may be eating for emotional comfort. But they're also eating because FOOD TASTES AMAZING. And they're fat because they don't have as much willpower as other kids do. Or as many physical extra curriculars. Or "a thyroid problem." But dammit Oprah, stop telling me that I'm craving a goddamn hug because I can't physically walk around my apartment without coming into the kitchen every 6 minutes to eat Wheat Thins.

Just wait a few more days!!!

I have beeeeellions of blog ideas but no time to write! With the engagement, my birthday, the holiday weekend, my OCD need to watch One Tree Hill DVDs in one sitting the night I get them...it's been a busy week. But don't you forget about me. Don't don't don't DON'T! I'll be back in action later this weekend to barely entertain you all once more.