me... photoshopped.

last thursday - valentine's day - a guy at work who's always walking around taking pictures of staff with his fancy dancy camera (he took this one too), stopped by my desk, and said,

"i gotta take a picture of you with that heart necklace on."

"uh. okay." for one who performs ALONE ON STAGE on a regular basis, and aspires to perform ALONE ON STAGE for a living, i do not really like having my picture taken ALONE. maybe it's residual body image issues:

oh, but my big fat nose, my big fat face, my big fat zits will be preserved for all time in this shoddy state.

or maybe it's that residual feeling of undeservedness.

WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT A PICTURE OF ME ALONE? don't you want someone else in here to distract you from all this imperfect-ness?

so he took the pic, and 15 minutes later he emails me this one.


wow. i thought. that looks pretty good. i like that pic. i look refreshed, i haven't exfoliated in ages, but my skin looks so... wait a minute! that big honkin' zit on my cheek is completely gone!

then it hit me.

i've been photoshopped!

i felt so dirty.

out of curiosity, i asked the guy to email me the original version so i could see the difference. no, not to beat myself up over how pimply and wrinkly i am, but to see first person how and why this photoshopping phenomenon is so widely-accepted.


ohhhh... that's why.

go on... click to see the difference. (if you click the pics, they get larger. go on! get to know my pores!)

i don't think i look awful in the untouched one - a female human bean at the end of a long work day, i guess - but you see why some folks might prefer the photoshopped version of themselves. i mean, it's one thing to see the real and touched-up version of faith hill and say, "oh, but she looks just as pretty, just more real in the first one!" and it's another thing entirely to see yourself all human and flawed and then to see yourself all goddess-like and flawless and then choose the real version. i'm just as conditioned as everyone else to think the porcelain-skinned visages in all the magazines and movies is normal and ideal. human looks abnormal to this conditioned eye.

if they're gonna put you on the cover of a nationally-distributed magazine, i can see how it might be a little difficult to stick to your guns and go with the untouched version (not that i think the editors gave faith hill or any of their cover models much of a choice in the matter). out of principle and a duty to my fellow womenfolk, of course, i'd choose the real one b/c i see how this stuff gets out of hand - lengthening limbs, carving out waists, shading in breasts. the guy who took my pic even removed my signature Marilyn mole above my lip! since when is a tiny little mole a flaw? i mean, really, it grows steely strands of hair. how cool is that?

------

my apologies for being so lax in posting as of late. The Cute and i have been mourning the loss of his little dog Chicken. she died suddenly last sunday afternoon after suffering an idiopathic seizure (meaning they have no fucking idea what caused it; so much for closure). she was the cutest, sweetest, weirdest dog i've ever known, and i'd grown quite attached to her. her paws smelled like Fritos, she chased her own tail, she loved homebaked peanut butter dog cookies and she was a very good sport about letting us balance things on her head.


she was only 3 1/2. i shall miss her very much.

another clip from size ate on youtube.

you look happy to see me!

what do you think is the first thing they'll say when they see each other for the first time since last summer?

i had dinner on friday night with a friend i haven't seen in ages. we talked about how long it's been for about 10 minutes, trying to place when we remember seeing each other last along some imaginary timeline stretching between our candlelit glasses of sangria (my glass of sangria, her glass of soda and lime; she's off the sauce for Lent, sweet girl).

i had a great time catching up with her. s is a hip New York woman who is successful in the entertainment industry, wears funky glasses and dines at swanky restaurants but who also observes Lent, buys her 4-year old niece ruby red slippers for her birthday and sends thank you notes. she's grounded, and i adore her.

on the train ride home, as i sat recalling our visit, i was struck by something:

she never once commented on my appearance, and i never once commented on hers THE ENTIRE NIGHT.

do you know how remarkably refreshing and rare it is to spend an entire evening with someone (a female particularly) and not a single comment is made about the other's appearance?

very.

i mean absolutely nothing. not even an obligatory:

"you look great!

"well you do too!"

just:

"hi! so great to see you! god it's been so long!"

then we talked about everything BUT. just two girls sitting around chatting about their lives over chorizo and patatas bravas.

not to say it isn't nice and wonderful and esteem-building for someone to sincerely, positively comment on how i look from time to time or for me to say the same about someone else, but i hate the obligatory you-look-fabulous chatter that we females especially feel so compelled to engage in. we frequently don't really mean it, and sometimes (many times) a person's appearance doesn't speak an ounce of truth about what's really going on underneath.

how about "it's so great to see you! how ya doing?"?

great to see YOU. the person. the being. not your highlights, or your yoga booty, or your flat abs, or your size 4 True Religion jeans. YOU are not those things, and neither am i. (nor am i the scary hair-of-steel that grows out of the mole on my upper lip or the zits on my chin or the ain't-done-yoga-in-months-booty, thank god).

i realize that not everyone feels this way. some people don't care, don't notice. i know a lot of my irritation around this stems from a childhood of always feeling like i had to look prettier and thinner in order to earn a joyful exclamation upon my return after having been away.

"oh." their faces usually seemed to say. "you're not thinner than you were than before you left for school this morning."

and god forbid if i came back heavier; like i did after the first semester of my freshmen year in college. i think my dad may have been ever so slightly more ashamed if i'd come back pregnant, but i'm not so sure. at least then he would have known i was operating as a heterosexual. i mean, a liberal daughter he could take. a FAT liberal daughter?

next stop? LESBO!

well, now i'm just being bitter.

tsk.

i don't know. juuuuust something to think about the next time you see that friend you haven't seen in ages. it's not about one another's presence that matters, right? but about being in one another's presence. so say something that means something.

happy friday

i'm alive!!!

but i'm a busy bee! lots of good stuff going on though! looks like we have size ate shows booked in new jersey, mississippi and illinois over the next few months (once the contracts are signed and the plane reservations are made, i'll actually reveal the where and the when so if you're near one, maybe you can come?)

exciting and scary. oh, those two things go together like peanut butter and chocolate, don't they?

now this. this is just a happy song, for a happy day (FRIDAY!) from Israeli singer songwriter, Yael Naim. i first heard this song on the new Apple commercial during the Super Bowl, and i knew i had to find out who it was. i have, and now I CAN'T STOP LISTENING. enjoy!

pearl of wisdom from utah

my friend joanna on men who don't like it when women cry:

"look. boobies come with tears. if ya want boobies, ya get tears."

just happy

it wasn't nearly this pleasant, but i sure do feel better.

sorry, guys. it has been one helluva week. plenty good stuff, plenty challenges, but i'm spending a little time away from the keyboard this weekend to rest mine eyes (and my brain). when your eyes twitch, that's your body's way of telling you to GO STARE AT A TREE, PLEASE.

i went to the acupuncturist on wednesday. one of the first things he said to me was:

"you've lost some weight since i saw you last. you're slimmer."

"yeah, i guessssss so..." i pause.

"it's not easy!!!" he says with great admiration, expecting me to detail my valiant attempts at exercise and weight loss.

"actually, i haven't been trying at all."

"really?" he's shocked.

"yeah. i think i'm just happy."

"huh."

can't wrap his brain around that one: A WOMAN WHO HAS CEASED STRUGGLING WITH HER WEIGHT. do they make those on planet Earth?

gratuitous baby pic of the week #... i've lost count.

tater tot has teef! a very big day indeed.

'tis my birthday.

me minus 27 years.

i am 33 today.

"the age Jesus was when he was crucified," The Cute likes to point out.

i'm spending it pretty quietly today. hanging at a local cafe, sending out some size ate p.r. emails, reading some Jane Kenyon poetry. later on, i'm going for drinks and dinner with a few friends. i was not feeling the big, sparkly birthday bash.

"where's your birthday tiara?" the Cute asked me yesterday.

"i'm wearing it on the inside this year."

i'm very very happy with my life these days. i told The Cute last night that i wouldn't change a single thing about my life right now. i do believe i am right where i am supposed to be right at this very moment. i don't mean i don't want more... bigger and better things, but i'm satisfied, pleased, thrilled with today and now and all of its blessings. i'm even dealing with the recent vicious outbreak of zits on my chin with relative calm. they just don't matter in comparison, do they?

nope.

but i mean, really. 33-years old and i still breakout?!?! not fair. i'll bet Jesus didn't have zits.

less hair = more me.

from a friends' blog - Twin Peeks. "C," by the way, is cancer (she said in whispered tones).

So in between laughing, I've decided that this should be a year of change. This is one of those things that happens either a) from age or b) after having "C" or c) perhaps a little of both.

I've decided to enroll in a writing course. I've only been talking about doing this for about, hmm, five or more years. I attended an open house at The New School last week and after talking to a seemingly suicidal poet and a chain smoking novelist, I decided I to sign up for Writing for Women's Magazines.

Last Friday, the day before the 41st anniversary of my being here on earth, I went to get my hair cut. The 2nd time in two weeks (far from typical). I opened a magazine, ripped out a picture and said, "Chop it off." B looked at me like I was crazy... Are you sure? she said... Yep. Get rid of it.

And so I did. I officially have short hair. Well, long short hair. Within the past three months, I've probably lost about 12 inches. In hair that is. And I can't tell you how good it feels. We all cling to our hair. Some of us hide behind it. Some choose to make a statement with it. Some wear it one way or another b/c a
boyfriend likes it that way. Some have no choice but to lose it. I decided that I put too much emphasis on it. Not that I don't style and slop some gel into it now. But I thought by cutting it, there'd be some Samson effect and my Bed Bath Beyond sheets would turn to salt or we'd fall into a recession.

Oh, shoot. Did I do that?

I kid.

Really, it was quite cathartic, losing all this hair. It's as if it had the anti-Samson effect. I feel that much stronger!

Many people have asked me, Liz, how do you think you've changed since this summer?

Well, I can't exactly put my finger on it, but, all of a sudden the little things like hair don't seem to matter. Less seems to be more. More seems to be a lot more. It's all good. Take it all with a grain of salt. Yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda.

My suggestion to YOU(!) is, do something today that you never normally do. Walk to work a different route. Wear green eye shadow. Eat a pomegranate. Make a concerted effort to make eye contact, smile and say hi to everyone you pass. These little changes will make a huge difference. Even just for a minute or two. I promise, you'll kinda like being hair, not there.

i chopped more of my hair off recently, and i keep getting closer to it's natural color. i too feel stronger, more ME with this lid. i may be less "pretty" in some people's eyes because i don't have long, wavy, blond hair, but that's okay. ME is better than pretty any day.

just so you know...

first, let me say how much it means to me that you all believe in size ate so strongly. with every email, every comment, you light the fire under my bum. a fire that does, unfortunately, occasionally peter out from time to time. i need the lighter fluid of your words.

but lately, i've gotten a couple of messages along the lines of:

what the fuck is going on with your show? why aren't you touring the world yet?

and my answer is:

i'm working on it.

i have a couple of tentative shows booked for the spring, and i'm working on more, but size ate is, in every sense of the word, a one-woman show. i have an administrative staff of one - me - and there is only so much i can do. sure, i could spend every free moment working on my show and getting it out there, but i also have, i am very proud to say, a LIFE, a life outside of my show and it's cause. i have a full-time job i want to do well. i have a boyfriend whom i love very much, and whom i want to spend time lollygagging with. i have amazing friends that i want to see and share chocolate bars with. i have a bed i want to spend long hours sleeping in. i have books i want to read. i have presents to wrap and errands to run. i have a LIFE! seven years ago, lightheaded and starving, i never thought i'd have one, and i'm not gonna take it for granted.

trust me, i spend plenty of time feeling guilty about not doing enough regarding the show, knowing that it's important and could help many girls and women if i can only get them to see it, but when the guilt practically overwhelms me, i stop and ask myself:

well, why the hell did you choose to get better in the first place?

so i could live my life, that's why. and that's just what i'm doing. my show is a part of that life, a part i am very proud of no doubt, but just a part, not the end all be all. not my raison d'etre. ya know, i can spend an entire day NOT thinking about eating disorders and body image, and that, my dears, is the whole point.

FREEDOM!!!

and here's the thing: if i don't fully live my own life, i'm not setting a very good example for those girls and women who are struggling to overcome their own eating disorders and body image issues. that may sound like a cop out, but i don't care. i didn't write my show and start this blog so i could develop a NEW AND IMPROVED! obsession. i did it to get over the old one, and to help others get over theirs. if i worked non-stop on size ate, it'd become an obsession, a different, less life-threatening obsession sure, but an obsession nonetheless. an obsession that would keep me from truly enjoying every morsel of this sweet life, morsels i'm not willing to give up, and neither should you. life is all too short for that kind of nonsense.

oh, so based on the contents of your brain, i think you'd want an empty shot glass.

sunday was The Cute's birthday. he had a little gathering of friends down at The Bleecker Street Bar that night. i made The Cute's favorite recipe for chocolate cake - Ina Garten's chocolate espresso cake - but i made cupcakes instead. i was desperately eager to use my brand-spankin' new Oneida cupcake carrier! a divinely perfect Christmas gift from r.

"that is so very Margaux-y," The Cute says.

at the end of the night, i'm enjoying my reign as Cupcake Fairy, walking around the bar handing out leftover cupcakes to strangers (i wish i could get paid to do this).

i approach the bar and offer the remaining two cupcakes to two guys. one is the bartender, and one, i determine by the girth of his forearms and his no-nonsense demeanor, must be the bouncer. they thank me, and the bartender returns the favor by offering me a free shot.

"oh, okay, but it's gotta be something girly and sweet."

"really?" the bouncer says. "something girly and sweet?"

"uh, yeah. why?"

"well, based on your size i thought you'd want something hard and biting."

a diet by any other name is still a diet.

how dumb do i look?

i rec'd an email this morning from the South Beach Diet website with the subject line:

STOP DIETING, START LIVING.

um... think they saw those Weight Watchers's ads and panicked?

i clicked over to their website to investigate:

The South Beach Diet is more than a diet — it's a way of life. "Food is meant to be enjoyed, even savored. That's what makes the South Beach Diet a lifestyle and what differentiates us from other healthy eating plans," says Dr. Arthur Agatston, preventive cardiologist and author of The South Beach Diet and The South Beach Heart Health Revolution.

ah... so it's an EATING PLAN, not a diet. i don't know if any of you have ever done the South Beach Diet, but i have, and it certainly felt like dieting to me. it's very restricted, especially the first two weeks. NO CARROTS, NO BEETS, NO CORN, NO POTATOES, NO BREAD, NO PEAS (among many others). it's not an awful diet - it's not all grapefruits or all cabbage soup all of the time - but again, i don't feel like it teaches you about listening to your body and it's needs. it directs and restricts and forbids, it does not instruct. you can read more about it here.

Because of Dr. Agatston's healthy lifestyle philosophy, beginning this month South Beach Diet foods from Kraft will be known as South Beach Living foods. The name change is a true reflection of Dr. Agatston's desire to encourage people to adopt lifelong healthy eating habits...

"My goal has always been to change the way America eats. Now I have an even larger goal: to change the way America lives." That's why he (Dr. Agatston) brings you South Beach Living foods from Kraft.

here, the ingredients in one of Kraft's South Beach Living foods, a Turkey and Bacon Club Refrigerated Wrap Kit (who needs a kit to make a wrap?).

Ingredients: OVEN ROASTED TURKEY BREAST - CURED - TURKEY BREAST, WATER, CONTAINS LESS THAN 2% OF MODIFIED CORN STARCH, SALT, POTASSIUM LACTATE, SUGAR, SODIUM PHOSPHATES, SODIUM DIACETATE, SODIUM ERYTHORBATE (MADE FROM SUGAR), SODIUM NITRITE, NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR. SUGAR FREE STRAWBERRY GELATIN - ARTIFICIALLY FLAVORED - WATER, GELATIN, ADIPIC ACID (FOR TARTNESS), SODIUM CITRATE (CONTROLS ACIDITY), CITRIC ACID (FOR TARTNESS), ASPARTAME** AND ACESULFAME POTASSIUM (SWEETENERS), SALT, RED 40, ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR. **PHENYLKETONURICS: CONTAINS PHENYLALANINE. WHEAT TORTILLAS - WATER, MODIFIED WHEAT STARCH, WHOLE WHEAT FLOUR, VITAL WHEAT GLUTEN, PALM OIL, CELLULOSE POWDER, WHEAT PROTEIN ISOLATE, CONTAINS LESS THAN 2% OF SALT, LEAVENING (SODIUM BICARBONATE, SODIUM ACID PYROPHOSPHATE), CELLULOSE GUM, DISTILLED MONOGLYCERIDES, WHEAT STARCH, ALPHA AMYLASE, PRESERVATIVES (CALCIUM PROPIONATE, SORBIC ACID, FUMARIC ACID, SODIUM METABISULFITE), CANOLA OIL, TRIGLYCERIDES, ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR, CARAMEL COLOR, SUCRALOSE. CONTAINS WHEAT, SULFITES. CHEESE BLEND - 2% MILK NATURAL REDUCED FAT MOZZARELLA CHEESE (PASTEURIZED PART-SKIM MILK, CHEESE CULTURE, SALT, ENZYMES, VITAMIN A PALMITATE), NATURAL NONFAT CHEDDAR CHEESE...

no carrots, no beets, no corn, no potatoes, no bread, no peas... but distilled monoglycerides are just fine.

christmas constipation.

i had a wonderful christmas yesterday with The Cute and his mutt sidekick, Chicken. we opened gifts, and then spent the day lollygagging about (i lollygagged, he cooked lasagna) we had a sausage and cheese casserole for breakfast, and a cheesy lasagna with a side of sausage for dinner. they were both absolutely delicious, but next year, Santa, please leave some Ex-Lax in my stocking.
_____

a card from jibjab:

http://www.jibjab.com/sendables/view/mrqJVA4pyNGICGEuESTEUTvP

using our heads from this ridiculous pic from last christmas: http://sizeate.blogspot.com/2006/12/ufc-2006.html

hope your holidays have been happy and that you've been enjoying the attendant treats guilt-free!

"go on a diet diet."

i was on the subway this afternoon, looked up, and saw a series of signs running across the top of the car.

LIVE OR DIET

DIETS ARE MEAN

PEOPLE DON'T FAIL, DIETS DO

STOP DIETING, START LIVING

MAKE A NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION TO NOT GO ON A DIET

isn't that awesome! how inspiring! i wanna get on this NO DIETING train!

i was, of course, intrigued. i wholeheartedly do not believe that diets work. yes, you will lose weight, but you will gain it back, or you will spend the rest of your life obsessing (mildly to severely) about keeping the weight off i.e. you will develop an eating disorder. it is my opinion that dieting IS a culturally-acceptable, culturally-endorsed, culturally-encouraged eating disorder.

anyway, upon closer inspection, i realized that these uplifting little bon mots were ads for Weight Watchers.

Weight Watchers, these signs tell me, is not a diet.

bullshit.

bullshit.

and oh yeah, bullshit.

Weight Watchers IS a diet. yes, you don't count calories, but you count POINTS. a number is a number. i will admit that WW is not the worst diet in the world as far as diets go. they've made adjustments in recent years that emphasize the importance of fruits and vegetables and exercise, but it is still a diet. it teaches you nothing about learning to eat intuitively, about listening to your body and its needs. you can spend the rest of your life counting calories or counting points or counting pounds, but it is still counting, and it is still crazy-making.

and... AND!!!

they weigh you every week. that's seriously fucked up. this allows no room for individual differences in how weight is distributed, muscle mass, water retention and extra heavy pair of dungarees. even more disturbing, it's an almost guarantee that you will, at one point or another, go to your "weigh-in" and leave in a shittier mood that you walked in. why? because you gained A POUND.

i went on Weight Watchers a few years ago "just to see." (more bullshit. i wanted to go on a diet. i wanted to be in control. i wanted, on some level, to develop another, more culturally-acceptable eating disorder). mostly, what i remember is that our meeting leader looked like Vincent Price, and that i was hungry ALL OF THE TIME. i had close to zero energy. but hey! i lost 2 pounds my first week.

EUPHORIA!

when i came back the next week, i knew i'd gained the 2 pounds back before i even got on the scale. when i hopped on the scale, and the numbers revealed that i had indeed gained those two glorious, life-changing pounds back, my meeting leader WOULD NOT EVEN LOOK ME IN THE EYE. he was ashamed of me? for me? i felt like i was being shamed, tsk-ed, scolded for gaining TWO POUNDS.

"well, let's just get back on track for next week."

fuck you, i thought. i will not be back next week. or ever.

but it sure beats child abuse.

talking about our philosophies on disciplining children with my aunt, uncle and grandmother when i was in baltimore last weekend. my grandmother turns to me and says:

"well, margaux wasn't disciplined; she was just fed."

i don't know whether to cry or to thank her for this accidentally illuminating insight into the genesis of my struggles with emotional eating.

nice legs.

one of my favorite blogs is dooce. one of my favorite posts is this one.

i'm a big advocate of therapy and medication (if it's needed and supervised). i took Zoloft for a year, about 6 years ago. my general practitioner prescribed it for me after i had a breakdown in his examination room. i was there for a routine physical. i had asked his nurse TWICE not to tell me how much i weighed, i even stood on the scale BACKWARDS, and she still told me, loud and clear.

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?" i yelped between sobs.

i felt as if i did not exist. as if my needs and desires did not matter. and then, of course, there was THE NUMBER.

i don't even remember the number, (it had to have been pretty low, i was knee deep in anorexia at this time) but i remember i could not stop crying. try as i might, i was sniffling and weeping and sniffling and weeping. i was able to pull it together just for a few moments i can do this, i can do this, when Doctor L walked in. just as my doctor extended his hand to shake mine, my face crumpled, tears fell. i could not do this, after all.

i was already in therapy at this point, but had never considered medication. i just couldn't. medication is for weaklings. crazy people. not ME. i was a pull yourself up by your own bootstraps type of gal. it's in my genetics, steel threaded into my DNA. never feel sorry for yourself, never be weak, never be... human.

doctor L convinced me otherwise.

"margaux. say you didn't have any legs. you're on a street corner and you desperately needed to get to the other side. i walk up to you with a pair of legs and tell you you can have them, you just have to say 'yes.' wouldn't you take them?"

i took it for a year, and it did help. i ate more. i got my period after a year of amenorrhea. i became more social. it's taken me awhile to attribute my improvement to the Zoloft. at the time, i just liked to think i was getting better all by myself! (those damn bootstraps again) i remember feeling less stressed, less anxious, less angry. or maybe not less, so much as i just found i could deal with the stress, the anxiety, the anger more effectively, more sanely. fasting on steamed cabbage with dijon mustard for three days would not solve my problems after all!

they do say that you cannot rely on drugs to fix your problems, and that you shouldn't take drugs alone, but in conjunction with therapy. i completely agree. one way or another, you're going to have to hash out your issues someday in therapy, in a support group, somewhere other than in your sweet little head. meds just keep you from completely losing your shit when your realize how many issues you really have.

thought you were over that childhood trauma? yeah... NO. start over.

i'm no longer on any anti-anxiety medication. i just stopped taking it one day. (not advisable, unless you like numbness in your extremities. i should have gone off of it under the care of my doctor. he would have tapered the dosage to avoid withdrawal effects). i'm also not in therapy. but all of that is for RIGHT NOW. i'm sure there will come a time when i'll feel the need to return to therapy. i'm also open to the possiblity of taking medication again if need be.

i like crossing streets, and there are so many ways of doing so.

still sassy after all these years.

my aunt, my grandmother and i were on our way to the bus station on monday afternoon. i was leaving baltimore after a short weekend trip to visit the family. (i had a great time, by the way. slept like a rock, and ate like a queen).

i'm not sure how the conversation started, but...

MY AUNT: well, in the pictures, So and So looks like they've lost weight.

ME: oh, yeah. they have, and i think they've even lost more since those were taken.

MY 88-YEAR OLD GRANDMOTHER: well, i think looove is the reason Margaux's lost weight... that or SEX!

s'more of b'more

i'm going to baltimore this weekend. my grandma is there visiting my aunt and uncle. they live in glen arm, an rural-ish area outside of baltimore, whose rolling landscape is punctuated by red barns and majestic trees. there's a firehouse nearby that always seems to be hosting a pancake breakfast (two of my favorite words). i really love it there, even if i do get carsick on quick trips to the grocery store. cars go up and down and right and left. subways pretty much go in a straight line.

life there centers around the kitchen. the kitchen counter specifically. one might spend a few minutes lounging in the living room or watching football in the den, but one always returns to the kitchen counter. elbows on counter, chin in hands, watching life happen. i'm looking forward to sipping coffee and chatting with my grandma, eating ice cream while watching the evening news with my uncle rick, digging through recipe boxes with my aunt char, and breathing... deeply.

see you monday.

did i mention that she's a size 2?

how dare you have appear to have an ample derriere and appear happy in the same series of pics? shouldn't you be wallowing in self-hatred?

i'm sure you've probably read or heard about this already, but here you are.

http://www.tmz.com/2007/11/28/name-that-butt/

and check out the caption:

We know what you ate this summer, Love -- everything!

i'm not the biggest fan of her acting or her singing, but this is gross, gross, gross.

and i don't mean her ass, i mean TMZ's decision to post something like this and the litany of cruel comments that followed. i don't know why i'm shocked. i mean, TMZ and newsstand magazines like it put out entire issues devoted to the BEST and WORST beach bodies and it always horrifies me, and yet i always pick it up, don't i? (did i tell you that the head researcher at one of these mags told me over drinks that they put those "body" issues together when there is absolutely nothing else going on b/c they know it will always sell - specifically to young women? true.)

she has posted on her blog about this, but i can't seem to get to it. i'm guessing her server crashed from all the hits. here'sa quote from an article i found on aol:

"Like all women out there should, I love my body," the 28-year-old actress tells her fans on her blog, adding "A size 2 is not fat! Nor will it ever be. And being a size 0 doesn't make you beautiful.

The former Hanes model says that she has "sat by in silence" for too long, claiming women are unfairly subjected to criticism about their physique."I'm not upset for me, but for all of the girls out there that are struggling with their body image," Hewitt said. Hewitt, who recently starred in the CBS drama 'The Ghost Whisperer,' announced her engagement to Scottish actor Ross McCall in late November.

Despite her frustration, Hewitt has some words of encouragement to fellow women out there: "To all girls with butts, boobs, hips and a waist, put on a bikini – put it on and stay strong."

happy friday.