The Liminal Hymnal

my mind: a curio cabinet


Things get mildly saucy, like maybe a store brand medium salsa saucy, in today’s installment of the hymnal.  I’m talking about rear ends, on the lady forms, and the men that adore them, and the various types and what they do and all that.  I’ve been told that some guys are more interested in the butt on the front, i.e. the mammal-lady parts - these are  ’boob guys’ (how apt!) - but more often than not my guy friends focus on the lady walking away rather than the lady walking towards.  In the highly unstatistical sampling of male friends I’ve spoken to about this issue, there is a consensus that end > front.  Does the end justify the mens?  Anyway, feeling my pantalons a little tighter than they used to be after a winter of gorging, I’ve been a little down on myself and this part of my body, and I was walking with B. and noticed a girl running, rear-view, ahead of us, and I sighed and made some off-handed comment about those being the taut, exercised-buns that are not genetically destined to be my own, and B. responded that that was exactly the type of rear that women like on other women, non-sexually, but that men do not like on women, sexually.  Queue up the old theme song of not enough meat on the bone.  Magazines aimed at women make women want to like them small and hard - peach pits - while men prefer the peach flesh itself, wrinkly bits and all. This has been corroborated by other men friends I’ve known.  So if that’s the case, what is up with these skinny jeans that, for god’s sake, are still in fashion and won’t ever leave us?  These are jeans designed to look good on one type of female form, age 20, or before  birth control pills jumpstart puberty for you, and that’s the up and down, curveless boy-looking model.  While I get that some men really like this figure, more often than not, when prodded, my guy friends use sad little words like “unfortunate” to describe these women’s bodies.  A long time ago I worked with a woman who was so flat on the backside that her jeans just had this empty kind of hole in them, like a deflated bagpipe bladder — now that woman, wherever she is, is laughing maniacally every day as she slips easily into skinny jeans that show off the extreme vertical lines of her body.  Good for her.  We should all like our bums with more fervor, not matter their concave vs. convex quality.  The real question is, for a majority of bum-loving male cohorts who like it round, at what point is round too round?  Is there a wideness point where the cushion for the pushin’ becomes like an entire papasan chair, or lumpy barcalounger?  I’ve always felt the importance was not any arbitrary measure in inches, but the proportion of the top to bottom, and side to side.  I’m littler on top than bottom by many inches, but someone once alerted me to the fact that this is what is expected of Brazilian supermodels, and since then, in moments of twingy despair, I just remind myself that I am a in spirit a Brazilian supermodel and besides that, I can arrange music in 5/8 in my sleep.  Pluckiness is my middle name.  I just wish I could find some jeans that don’t look like I’m one of those balloons that’s big in the middle and going down to teensy little feeties, so I look like I’m going to topple over, and okay, I have a bit of tummy too and can we please not make the garment sit so low that this rind protrudes over the waist? Please?  They used to just make garments that squeezed you into the shape you were supposed to be - a girdle to take care of the middle, a corset to make your X- and Y-axes ascend upwards and outwards.  What a grand disappointment it must have been, for that Victorian man to finally have gotten down to all the petticoats and unfurled the ribbons and undone the clasps and gotten it all off only to see the woman, gloriously freed finally, finally able to breathe a full lungful of life-giving oxygen,  just kind of plopped out of it all into her actual shape. 

Things get mildly saucy, like maybe a store brand medium salsa saucy, in today’s installment of the hymnal.  I’m talking about rear ends, on the lady forms, and the men that adore them, and the various types and what they do and all that.  I’ve been told that some guys are more interested in the butt on the front, i.e. the mammal-lady parts - these are  ’boob guys’ (how apt!) - but more often than not my guy friends focus on the lady walking away rather than the lady walking towards.  In the highly unstatistical sampling of male friends I’ve spoken to about this issue, there is a consensus that end > front.  Does the end justify the mens?  Anyway, feeling my pantalons a little tighter than they used to be after a winter of gorging, I’ve been a little down on myself and this part of my body, and I was walking with B. and noticed a girl running, rear-view, ahead of us, and I sighed and made some off-handed comment about those being the taut, exercised-buns that are not genetically destined to be my own, and B. responded that that was exactly the type of rear that women like on other women, non-sexually, but that men do not like on women, sexually.  Queue up the old theme song of not enough meat on the bone.  Magazines aimed at women make women want to like them small and hard - peach pits - while men prefer the peach flesh itself, wrinkly bits and all. This has been corroborated by other men friends I’ve known.  So if that’s the case, what is up with these skinny jeans that, for god’s sake, are still in fashion and won’t ever leave us?  These are jeans designed to look good on one type of female form, age 20, or before  birth control pills jumpstart puberty for you, and that’s the up and down, curveless boy-looking model.  While I get that some men really like this figure, more often than not, when prodded, my guy friends use sad little words like “unfortunate” to describe these women’s bodies.  A long time ago I worked with a woman who was so flat on the backside that her jeans just had this empty kind of hole in them, like a deflated bagpipe bladder — now that woman, wherever she is, is laughing maniacally every day as she slips easily into skinny jeans that show off the extreme vertical lines of her body.  Good for her.  We should all like our bums with more fervor, not matter their concave vs. convex quality.  The real question is, for a majority of bum-loving male cohorts who like it round, at what point is round too round?  Is there a wideness point where the cushion for the pushin’ becomes like an entire papasan chair, or lumpy barcalounger?  I’ve always felt the importance was not any arbitrary measure in inches, but the proportion of the top to bottom, and side to side.  I’m littler on top than bottom by many inches, but someone once alerted me to the fact that this is what is expected of Brazilian supermodels, and since then, in moments of twingy despair, I just remind myself that I am a in spirit a Brazilian supermodel and besides that, I can arrange music in 5/8 in my sleep.  Pluckiness is my middle name.  I just wish I could find some jeans that don’t look like I’m one of those balloons that’s big in the middle and going down to teensy little feeties, so I look like I’m going to topple over, and okay, I have a bit of tummy too and can we please not make the garment sit so low that this rind protrudes over the waist? Please?  They used to just make garments that squeezed you into the shape you were supposed to be - a girdle to take care of the middle, a corset to make your X- and Y-axes ascend upwards and outwards.  What a grand disappointment it must have been, for that Victorian man to finally have gotten down to all the petticoats and unfurled the ribbons and undone the clasps and gotten it all off only to see the woman, gloriously freed finally, finally able to breathe a full lungful of life-giving oxygen,  just kind of plopped out of it all into her actual shape. 

  • 20 March 2012