...In which our heroine addresses the elephant.

That's Crystal Renn, my obsession of the moment. She is so naturalistically beautiful - the hair, the lips, the eyes. She's a plus size model now, at 165 pounds, 5"9, but entered the industry at 95 pounds:

Yeah...I don't think there's a question on what looks better. She's just written a book called Hungry: A Young Model's Story of Appetite, Ambition, and the Ultimate Embrace of Curves, which I've yet to pick up. Renn says she gets more work now as a plus-size model, worked for Dolce and Gabbana, and even closed a Jean-Paul Gaultier show in Paris last year.

For me, seeing her do this is a revelation. It marks a slight change I've noticed in the fashion industry in accepting more normal body sizes - not that 5"9, 165, is normal, but it is an improvement. It makes me feel great that young girls who aren't a size XS can have someone to look to up to. I look at Renn, and say "hey, my thighs look like that too!"

I've written and re-written this post about a thousand times because I never know how to say exactly what it is I want to. I've come to terms with a lot of issues about my body this first year of college. Maybe it's being out of the bubble of high school, and maybe it's not being sixteen, but for the first time in my life I can say I love my body. It has taken me a long time to come to terms with this, that'll my Applachian-bred hips will never fit a size four, that yes models have cellulite too, it just gets airbrushed away.

Growing up, I had absolutely no positive role models of women who were curvy, plus-sized, fat, whatever, in the media. No one. My family was always making sly comments about "could I just cut back a little," and my mom, as much as I love her, has always compared me to her, if I would just eat fewer carbs and smoke two packs a day, I could be just like her. I remember seeing Real Women Have Curves in seventh grade and for once finally feeling like I wasn't alone. I can't help but think more positive images of women in the media - and I'm not even talking plus-sized, I'm talking more womanly, like Christina Hendricks, Liv Tyler, America Ferrara, or Kim Kardashian, would have made me accept my body and all of its wonderful flaws sooner.

In the past couple years, I've noticed more and more big girls getting exposure in the media - aside from Renn, I've seen Mia Tyler, Kate Dillon, and Lizzie Miller all in print ads recently. Glamour, praise them, ran a story recently about how they are going to try and portray more realistic images of women in their magazine. To this photo from the issue, I say bravo.

It is simply ridiculous to think the size zero, airbrushed and photoshopped like there's no tomorrow women that permeate the media are reality. I really hope that this trend continues. I hope more stores like Torrid or Forever 21's new plus sized line, Faith 21, pop up that give girls options to stay fashionable. I know it would've helped me.

I get bothered by the fact that fat really is that last taboo. In my Culture, Race, and Media class and we were talking about that stupid More to Love plus-sized dating show. I made a comment about hating watching the poor fat girls cry because I've learned being a fat girl and crying about it does not make you more attractive to men. People fumbled in their desks. My teacher changed the subject. It's the elephant in the room - I'm fat, let's talk about it.

I lost a bunch of weight the summer after seventh grade - when my diet consisted of McDonald's and candy bars, going from a very unhealthy 225 to 190, and the goal then was a size 10. Right now, I'm a size 12, thin as I've been, since no joke, third grade, probably as I ever will be. I realized one day that I could lose weight, exercise more, eat better, but who couldn't? If I wasn't fat, I simply wouldn't be me. I look exactly like the women on my dad's side of the family - dark-haired, fat arms and hips meant for child wrangling - and I've learned to take pride in this. I'm never going to be as skinny as a lot of my peers, but the average sized woman is now a size 16, so what is normal anymore?

I wish someone would have instilled in me that I was beautiful just as I was at an earlier age, or that I would've had women in the media to look up to. Hopefully, with models like Crystal Renn and the trend of more realistic beauty, girls entering adolescence today won't have to sigh and fret as much as I did.

I was shopping with Emily at Forever 21 today and she told me that she loves how I accept my body and dress it well, without trying to be something I'm not. Still, I laughed because Forever 21's clothes rarely fit me: my boobs are too big. Hey, there's one fantastic benefit of being a curvy girl. It took me a long time to find my confidence, and there are still times when I get looked at and think 'is he really checking me out," and those days when nothing in my closet looks good on me, but I've learned to love myself, and for that, I am thankful.

It's also Katydid in the City's 200th post, so I thought I'd get personal. Happy blogging milestone and sheer geekery!

As if I could write about real women and their curves with showcasing the delightful Joan Holloway, who was FINALLY back in fine form in last night's episode.

...In which our heroine dares disturb the universe.

In a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

-TS Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Decisions. We make a thousand and one of them each day - good, bad, indifferent. Sometimes, like poor Mr. Prufrock, we're so worried about what impact those decisions will or won't have we're stuck in a state of inertia that keeps us from doing much of anything at all. And as Greg Dulli of my favorite Cincinnati band ever says ""You've got indecision/and indecision is my enemy."

It has been a year since I made the best decision of my life. I can say this with certainty now, in the sweet hereafter. It didn't even occur to me until I was on the phone yesterday with Cassie, and she mentioned running into him, Paul. Unsurprisingly, she said he gave her a hateful look. I felt bad for ever involving her in that situation, and still do.

I know that at some point all of this boy talk becomes a broken record - everyone is in relationships that are like decisions - good, bad, indifferent. Maybe I shouldn't talk about all of my personal business here, but this has become a journal of sorts for me. I write to get my feelings out, and even if no one read them, I'd keep writing. So this is why I talk about these things so much, because the writing helps me process.

But it's been a year since I've spoken to him in the flesh, the person who I was once closest of all to. I was going home for the weekend, the first time since coming to school - causing a spectacle with Kelsey, we were holding hands walking past his dorm, and he was outside smoking. I'd been ignoring calls and texts for about a month, dodged the bullet when he saw me out and about several times by cleverly ducking behind something. But there he was and he came up to me, waving his hands. He asked if I checked my phone anymore. Where had I been? What was I doing? Why wouldn't I talk to him? He followed me for the block, me giving curt answers all the way. The last image I have is him standing arms spread with "are you really walking away from me" look on his face, mouth open, cigarette in one hand. And I walked away.

My mom and I had a long, late night talk about Paul over pie this summer. I told her a lot of things she didn't know, that I had "forgotten" to mention. They were things I'd only told two other people on this planet. In high school, it was kind of a joke that I was so into Paul and he was so very not into me (which he actually was, but that's another story). I think a lot, not all, of our friends viewed it as stupid high school infatuation that just needed enough drinks to finally happen. Even my mom thought that way. But things were more serious then even I thought until afterwards.

If I could've avoided him totally until this point, I would have. This spring though I finally was forced to say everything to him when he started talking shit to Ben, making me panic with empty threats, putting a strain on our relationship that contributed to its end. At least now he knows, and I know, about all of it. We both said the things that were left unsaid, and haven't spoken since.

It was the best choice of my young, naive, green life to leave him on that street and never look back. I don't regret Paul, or spending as much effort as I did on him because I don't regret things, but I wish I would've done it sooner. But I learned oh so much from that situation, and still am, a year later.

That was a good decision. A really good decision. Maybe it was a bad decision to involve myself with him in the first place, but it was a decision nonetheless. I learned more than I could ever say from it, and that's all I can ask. I did what Prufrock couldn't: I dared. Did I fail? Absolutely.

And indeed there will be time to wonder "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" Time to turn back and descend the stair.

You get a major bonus point if you know why I picked this song for this post. It has to do with a lyric, but not the one you'd think. Pure 90s goodness. Oh, Gavin Rossdale.

...In which our heroine is ill.

You know what sucks? Is when the antibiotic you're taking for your sinus infection works well for that, but makes you so sick you can't eat without puking. Or drink anything beyond green tea. But I can breath. Tough call there.

I officially broke up with Glee tonight. So much potential - too much in fact. Something I read today mentioned how they liked slow-burning story-lines more. I agree. Only three episodes of Mad Men left. Le sigh.

In all probability, I'll be going to the third, just announced Pixies show simply because: why not. How many more chances will I have to see them (few), and the opening band for that show is Bad Lieutenant, which features Bernard Sumner of New Order/Joy Division fame, which is as close as I'll ever get to seeing them. I digress.

Pre-production, and my first editing project are due tomorrow. I cannot believe it is midterms already, despite the fact that I only have one, and it's a project. I'm still not excited about my group for the film, but I can't do anything about it. I did make a couple of friends in that class - Leah, who has the most proficient liquid eyeliner skills I've ever seen, and Daniel, who ironically enough I met last year through you-know-who. They were roommates. Small world. We created the whiskey commercial scene from Lost in Translation Tuesday in class which was pretty fantastic. Set design and hair/make-up done by yours truly.

This is a ramble-y sort of post, just less artful. I ran into the boys tonight - smoking outside of Harold's Chicken, unsurprisingly - and I think Ben was actually glad to see me. I thank him for not being an asshole. Take note, men.

What is with the number of pregnant girls/moms I know on Facebook? There is not a more terrifying thought than being a mommy. You are girls indeed, not women, and birth control is $9 a month at your local Walmart. Being adult enough to have sex means you're adult enough to have a baby too, not get your bellybutton pierced afterwards. Kids today...

...In which our heroine is a copycat.

Stealing a page from the delightful Miss Cassandra (that sounds like a groupie name and makes me think of Almost Famous. Can we be Miss Cassandra and Miss Kate from now on?)...

Currently -

Drinking apple juice and a enjoying Halloween-sized Twix, thanks momma.

Watching Castle, which is a sub-par show at best but it has Nathan Fillion. Thus, I accept its mediocrity.

Finishing Production II homework, avoiding Culture Race and Media like the plague.

Talking to Emily, despite the fact that she left my apartment no less than an hour ago.

Breathing like Tony Soprano thanks to my diagnosed, and now antibiotic treated sinus infection.

Last movie watched - Honestly, I was disappointed. The first hour or so was fabulous, and I loved the wild things, but I thought the story didn't go anywhere or carry any emotional weight.

Last song listened to - I don't know a damn thing about this guy, other than I love the upbeat sadness in this song.

Last book read - Borrowed from Heidi. Not that interesting, and didn't tell me much I didn't already know. I was proud of myself for knowing all the things discussed in the Chicago chapter.

Last item cooked - I wish I could make pot roast like my mom's. It just isn't the same...

Current desktop background - This is perfect Seth Rogen from Zack and Miri Make a Porno. Do you know boys like this? Send them to Chicago and give them my number.

Article read - Justice Says It Won't Go After Medical Marijuana Users from Time magazine. It's about time. I can has legalization?

Phrase said - "Really?" In response to WGN's use of "Werewolves of London" in their cheesy ass Halloween story.

...In which our heroine is tired of clever titles.

I'm watching Knocked Up for least the 20th time. I've seen The 40-Year Old Virgin at least that many times. There are some films I can watch repeatedly, and others that a one-time, or every once in a while viewing is plenty:

If it's on, I'm watching:

Pulp Fiction - I've seen Vincent and Mia dance over a hundred times, I'd guess.

Boogie Nights

Almost Famous

Blade Runner

Fight Club

True Romance

Pretty in Pink

Love Actually

The Shawshank Redemption

From Dusk 'til Dawn

Things to do in Denver When You're Dead

The Big Lebowski

Casablanca

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

When I Was Little:

Hook

Addams Family Values

The Halloween Tree

Scooby Doo and Ghoul School

Matilda

Beetlejuice

The Little Mermaid

Super Mario Brothers: The Movie

The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas

The Mask

Twister

Mars Attacks!

Films that I cannot watch often:

Salo: 120 Days of Sodom - there will never be anything to top the horrors in this

Requiem for a Dream

The Acid House

28 Weeks Later

Dead Alive

Audition

American History X

Chinatown

The Descent

Lots of lists lately. Don't blame me, I'm sick again with this goddamn cold. Mono has depleted my immune system to a sad level. And right in time for midterms! Lucky me. I did finish my editing project today, and learned about the sound mixing process. I saw the Gossip last night and it was fabulous. They covered "What's Love Got to do with It," "Psycho Killer," "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and "We Are the Champions" to an electro-punk beat. Beth Ditto is fucking fierce and I ran into her right before the show. Her voice was better live then recorded, and she was sick. It also marked my first solo concert, but I was too busy dancing to care.

Also, I'll be back in the Queen City November 6-9th. Plan accordingly.

...In which our heroine takes it easy.

After the dourness of last post, I thought I'd make a list of simple pleasures. Just some day to day things that make me smile, nothing serious. As Ferris says, "life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

• Waking up without an alarm clock.
• Painting my nails red.
• The crappy horror movies from the 80s and 90s they always show around Halloween.
• Eating breakfast for dinner.
• Showering, and thus staying in my pajamas, in the afternoon.
• Thinking of the perfect word for something.
• Picking up right where I left off with old friends with nothing more than a look or a laugh.
• The way my house sounds in winter.
• When my mom sends me back issues of Entertainment Weekly/any packages received.
• Tarantino's dialogue.
• Talking until 3 AM about things that'll probably give me nightmares.
• My plaid, men's XL fleece pants that I swim in.
• Giant marshmallows in hot chocolate.
• Sleeping in the nook between arm and chest of a boy.
• Listening to Radiohead/Fleet Foxes/Led Zeppelin on my iPod falling asleep.
• Waking up to music - not Lady Gaga my neighbor plays though.
• Pictures of cute, preferably baby, animals.
• Diners. Waffle House at 3 AM.
• My about once monthly cigarette.
• Beards, flannel, glasses, dark hair, band t-shirts, Chuck Taylors, in any combination.
• Not being jaded enough to still be moved to tears by a Pixar movie.
• The way my face gets all flushed when the end of a film is perfect - recently: Inglourious Basterds.
• Wasting hours in Half Price Books.
• Sunday breakfast, even if it's just for myself.
• Red lips, dark hair, pale skin, hourglass shapes.
• Staying up late on Sundays to wait for Mad Men to pop up.
• Sleepovers.
• Dressing up Boris, the anteater.
• Going to see movies with my dad.
• Going to Chipotle and have heart to hearts with my mom while there.
• When the writing is going so good my fingers don't go fast enough.

There's a whole lot to be happy about, and hopefully it just keeps getting better.

And this is one of the most cheerful songs ever. I can's listen with attempting to Vandella it up.

...In which our heroine has a requiem.

Like another lady I know, the blogs have been frequent lately. I should be reading a Howard Zinn article, but let me take a moment to lament for times gone by.

My dad always calls me on Mondays. He doesn't have to work until 4, and I don't have class. We talk about nonsense mostly. He asks me what I've been reading, watching, listening to. We talk about Mad Men, What Would Tyler Durden Do?, movie trailers, what have you. I look forward to these talks. As he says it, he taught me how to be cool, and now I keep him hip.

Today he broke my heart without even trying. Dads are good for that. He had knee surgery last week and thus can't work. He asked me for a sizable amount of money last week since I got my refund check, and what am I supposed to say? So I get to pay the phone bill for a few months.

That wasn't what broke my heart though, it's just money. He asked me about finding him a picture - for the first edition of A Game of Thrones, his most beloved and most valuable book. There is a picture of us, with the author, George RR Martin, on my desk from when we got it signed when I was a sophomore in high school. I asked him why, and he said so he could put it on eBay. And then my heart broke. Those, above all else, were the series of books that showed I was an adult. When I got to read them, it was his acceptance of me as a grown-up. We went to Dayton for the signing, and ate Uno at one in the morning on a school night. It's one of my favorite memories with him, getting those stupid goddamn books signed. "What do you want me to say, Kate? We're just scraping by," he said. I don't know what I wanted him to say.

He talked about selling my oboe and my clarinet, which I could give a shit about, but he talked about selling the others in the series, all signed. I bit my lip to keep from crying. Yeah, they're just books, but these are the things I get sentimental about. I hate that it has to be like this, that he ran our finances into the ground, drained my bank account to pay bills, so that when things like this or wisdom teeth or my grandma getting sick happen, it becomes dire straits.

But it's my dad...I know it kills him to ask for money, or at least I hope it does. I have to become financially independent but I can't say no to my parents. I think the truest test of growing up is realized your parents have just as many fucked up problems as you do, and that they are not the gods we build them to be.

This is one of those days I wish I was five again and my biggest worry was where the matching pink pumps were for my Barbies. I should stop bitching - one of my mom's friends has super invasive brain cancer and isn't doing well. Things, as always, could be worse.

We stopped talking about the book and started talking about what a weak year it has been for movies. He says he's going to watch The Hurt Locker, which I sent him. We talk about Kathryn Bigelow, female directors. I tell him I'm done editing and he says he's glad I'm so on top of things. I found a picture of the book, I tell him where to find it. I tell him to feel better and he tells me he loves me, monkey,...and not to forget to pay the phone bill. What was I supposed to say?