Ghetto booty? I think not!

This needs to be said. My intentions are earnest, albeit my patience dwindling. I implore all girls reading this to take it seriously, to understand the verisimilitude in my claims, and to reference back to this before committing the unthinkable. (Which I will arrive at soon)

I believe it was Jennifer Lopez who set the precedent for fat, fine asses (if you will). Or perhaps Sir Mix A lot's lovely ballad really popularized the trend. Just as tan lines and pubes became hopelessly outdated, so did the trend of high wasted jeans that hid, rather than accentuated, the curves of the ass. America was propelled into unknown territory as the ass was embraced and tits disregarded.

I have no qualms with this. I, too, celebrate the rise of the big ass, and pity the people circa 1990 who held flat butts in high acclaim. And why the hell shouldn't big asses be idolized? If we can cherish body parts meant for nourishment, why not cherish those meant for decrement?

Big asses are totally sexual, folks, and I'll be the first to admit it; however, with the shift in attention from T to A, a superfluity of ambiguities have surfaced. Every, single god-damn girl thinks she has a huge ass. 4 in 5 girls, when asked, will admit to having a "ghetto booty", while the other girl prefers the term "J.Lo". This is entirely impossible. Statistically, only 1 in 1000 girls actually has an ass that fit's the standards, muscularly and in circumference, of this supposed "ghetto booty". So why all the false claims?

Through diligent observation, I've categorized the most common "ass imposters" into two neat little groups. Hopefully this will provide some insight to those of you who have mistakenly cried "ghetto booty" one too many times.

The Overweight

Sorry to say it, hon, but the reason that your ass is larger than life has nothing to do with your amazing genetics. You've dined on French fries one too many times, and as a result you've grown exponentially in all areas. Sir Mix A lot himself even had to approach this problem after his hit song came out. I believe he said something along the lines of: "Yes, you have back, but you also have stomach and thighs and neck."

While overweight women are usually quick to boast of having a "ghetto booty", chunky girls aren't innocent, either. This is where category one ramifies a bit, making this slightly more confusing. In order to clear up any confusions, I've taken the courtesy to provide a template of sorts for girls to follow in the event they aren't sure.
Ask yourself the following question: If I were of the recommended weight for my height, would my ass still be considered astronomically gargantuan? Additionally, one can access the authenticity of their ass by considering it in proportion with the rest of their body; essentially, it may be big, but so is the rest of you!

The girl with a Nice (Yet not particularly large) Ass

This fallacy is probably most common, and also one that needs the most clearing up. There is a huge difference between a "nice ass" and a "****ing humongous nice ass" The terms "ghetto booty" and "J.Lo Booty" and anything in between do, in fact, fall under "****ing humongous, yet nice" Words do little to explain this concept, so instead I'll make reference to pictorials for assistance.

Nice Ass: (albeit a heavily airbrushed one)

Ghetto Booty (as seen on Kim Kardashian)

So girls, there you have it. Of course, this isn't meant to discourage; in fact, I hope it allows girls to embrace their asses and flaunt them as the sexual tools they are, no matter the size. Because, lets be realistic, running around yelling "I HAVE A GHETTO BOOTY" when in actuality you don't is not only unconvincing, but also a little sad.

I think it apropos to sign off with a quote from Doctor Suess, which I believe was around the lines of:
"An Ass is an Ass no Matter How Small"

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I lament the end of my vacation.

After scoring the most gargantuan paycheck ever in my young life, I decided to cash out all of my banked vacation days and enjoy a week of no obligation bliss. Much was accomplished in that small week: I attended two concerts (Tom Petty and Brad Paisely, in case you were interested), got superbly drunk, met an entire flock of new friends, and cemented a romantic relationship with an individual who I secretly loathe. Come Sunday, the first day I was supposed to go back to counting pills and feuding with insurance companies, I decided to upgrade my vacation and call off.

Now it's Monday, and I regret to apprise readers that it wasn't until the latter end of my vacation that I decided to do anything mentally stimulating. Last night I picked up a Steven King book, and got fully absorbed in its components. While I embrace this summer as one where I challenged myself socially, I sort of regret neglecting my intellectual appetite for so long.

Partying is somewhat of a default for college aged kids. I, however, never got heavily absorbed in partying, and instead focused solely on school work, poems, and financial knowledge. Because of that, I was weird. A freaking deviant. People couldn't understand why I opted for text books over kegs, TS Elliot over sloppy one night stands.

Once, while talking to a fellow '07 graduate, he insisted I never fully opened up to him, and that surely there must be more to my interests than reading Kurt Vonnegut and extrapolating meaning from The World is Too Much With Us. At the time, though, there was nothing that excited me more. I was drunk off of metaphysical conceits. I practically felt the swell of my brain each night before I went to bed. With so much new knowledge under my belt, I was on top of the world. Or so I thought.

This summer I decided to embrace the seemingly empty world of partying. I reasoned that it would get me a sufficient fix, and prevent me from having any desire to go out during school when I couldn't afford it. And so began my journey of intense partying. I became masterful at the game of beer pong. I started to call my girl friends "girl" and participating in girly rights that last semester would have made me gag. I lived it up, so to speak, and my dad cautioned that this summer would be one I would "remember for the rest of my life."

Now, with thirty minutes until I'm forced to clock in at the Pharmacy, I realize how much I miss structure. It was nice to be crazy and wild for a while, but I have an uncontrollable urge to balance my check book, figure out all my financial aid, and read a mentally stimulating book.

I think i've mostly figured out who I am by now, but now I'm left with the question on how to apply it.

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Useless Musings of a Soon-To-Be Twenty Year Old

Ghetto booty? I think not!

I lament the end of my vacation.