The Simple Life

Sometimes I wonder if life is simple or complicated. Then I read your answers and realize that life is simple. Maybe the search for love is a little complicated. Do you know why the powers that be make such a fuss over the showing of a bare breast on TV? Nearly everyone knows that girls have breasts. All one has to do is check out the Internet. If they were exposed all the time, there would be no big deal, but the clothes makers would lose a bundle. Anyhow, you should run for mayor or governor.

Art

Thank you for such a contemplative, philosophical, stream-of-consciousness-type New Year's note, young Art, but run for mayor or governor? Surely, you jest! With the exception of Jesse Ventura, Sonny Bono, and that dude from Love Boat, politicians are a dreary bunch. I am a fun-haver with a closet jam-packed with skeletons and wouldn't waste one minute running for any office less prestigious than "Princess" or "Ruler of All That Lives."

You are correct—life should be simple. It's just that people insist on complicating it. If everybody just shaped up and followed the Golden Rule (do unto others, etc.), our world would be a much more pleasant place. Yet I've been glued to tsunami coverage for days now (I'm writing this two days before New Year's) and am horrified to see a CNN poll that says only 15 percent of people surveyed have donated any money to the victims of this disaster! Come on, people—you've already plummeted yourself into debt purchasing useless presents for unappreciative relatives; pry open that wallet and throw a little dough Sri Lanka's way. At first, the U.S. only pledged $15 million and then $35 million, which is less than Bush is spending on his inauguration debacle! And how much did we give the relatively tiny Brotherland (Florida!) after their last hurricane? It's enough to make a lady cry (or pull an Elvis on her TV).

But politics and natural disasters aren't really my forte, so I'll stop. (But really—$35 million? Were they nuts? That's like three boxes of Band-Aids and an aspirin!) Ahem.

Yes, the search for love can be complicated. But again, that's only because people insist on making it so. As time goes by, the amount of crap we humans carry around with us and inflict on others grows exponentially. What a lot of peeps don't understand is that everyone has some sort of personal tragedy in their life. But having had a rough life is not a license to treat others like garbage. My mom used to beat the crap out of me— boo hoo. I grew up, went into therapy, and quit whining about it.

I mention this because there's been an outbreak of Feel-Sorry-for-Me-itis amongst "friends" of friends lately. Yes, we feel very bad that your daddy left your mommy in order to explore his bisexual side, but that's no excuse for giving ugly-ass Xmas gifts. If anything, having a little gay blood in you should make you a better shopper.

Luck is a more important element than any other in finding someone to love. So don't listen to jackasses who advise you to lose 20 pounds or take up the tuba. Just be a good person, and maybe you'll get lucky. Another important element is perseverance—love doesn't come to those who sit home and bemoan their tragic fate. Just like the Lotto, you've got to be in it to win it.

As for Janet Jackson's booby—I have no idea how that became a national scandal, except it was a very good argument against nipple piercing. Yuck. Girlfriend is knocking on 40's door and might want to rethink anything that's going to contribute to boob droop.

As the proud owner of a set of B-cups, I have to tell you that I prefer to keep them strapped in and a little covered up, even if it does mean more money for clothing manufacturers. Because while breasts are lovely things, they really need a bit of support to stay that way. I'm guessing you're envisioning a world full of improbably buxom, gravity-defying Pam Anderson types bouncing around playing volleyball. One stroll through a women's locker room would cure you of this notion. Believe you me, not all boobies are created equal.

Let it all hang out: Write Dategirl at dategirl@seattleweekly.com or c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western Ave., Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.

 
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