sarc.

I’m Ruth. A self deprecating 32 year old woman with the body of a hot 22 year old attached to my fridge for constant berating motivation. I have successfully competed and won medals in the sexual Olympics 4 times and my trophies range in ages from my 12 year old son to my 6 year old daughter who has been confirmed as containing 97% of my DNA just by the things that come out of her mouth.

I call myself a writer, but I also called myself Saffron Morgan for a 3 week period in 6th grade so one cannot really assess how accurate that depiction might be. I scored a perfect 3600 on my EATS, which means I can gain a pound in a day if I put my mind to it which is a topic I discuss heavily on this platform.

I’ve been featured on the Ellen show once, Re-tweeted by a dude in Las Vegas who said HAHAHA, and my picture is on the hostess stand of the local Mexican restaurant as a frequent customer who is no longer allowed to write checks.

I love to run and have done so from all of my problems for the past 13 years and have managed to complete 3 half marathons and a whole one where I sneezed out a tampon and didn’t break my stride. This will be on my tombstone.

I’m unemployed but I hold a bachelors degree in something I could have learned on YouTube and took out student loans to obtain for thousands of dollars off the internet. When I was 17 I was my most successful as a nursing student/Paramedic who drove an ambulance like the ones you typically see sitting in the Wendy’s and Taco Bell parking lots. After getting knocked up in a barracks room at the age of 18 I dropped out of college and have pretty much given up on everything except the Monopoly game at McDonalds.

I’ve never been called pretty or successful but I do get called frequently by Bill Collectors and asked for information about my hot single friends. I’m fun at parties and my tolerance for vodka far exceeds my tolerance for people in general.

I love shoes, Supernatural, Gingers, Music, Vodka, Happy Endings, (may you RIP) my kids, make up, running, stuff crust pizzas, cross fit (I cross my fingers every time I try to fit into my jeans) writing, laughing, it’s Britney Bitch, high heels that also double as weapons, and long walks from the parking lot to the inside of most restaurant and fast food establishments.

I re-blog some, I write some, I post my filtered face some, my photography some, the ins and outs of being in a place without an In N Out, and occasionally quotes from some of the most noble men the world has ever known (characters from the aforementioned CW show, Supernatural).

You might say I’m crazy, I might say you’re right, but chances are my music is too loud to give a fuck what you’re saying. If you vote for me I promise to have all the tampon machines turned into doobie dispensers and petition for individual alcohol bottles in the vending machines.

thank you.

Unpretty.
I used to think that if I was “pretty”, boys wouldn’t hurt me.
(I also used to think Scooby Doo was based on actual events).
People grow up.
I grew up.
Being pretty isn’t going to solve any of my problems.
Being able to hail a cab with my bone structure doesn’t change ANYTHING about who I am as a person.
TUF (Token Ugly Friend) is a badge I wear with pride.
I’m not the girl who gets the guy because she looks good in a halter top.
I’m not the girl who gets the job because her A-line skirt accentuates her 36-24-36 waist line.
I’m not the girl that boys talk to.
I’m Plus sized.
*Plus brains.
*Plus intelligence.
*Plus the ability to determine that looks are never going to be my Forte.
But you know what?
Pretty girls get hurt too.
Pretty girls get cheated on too.
Pretty girls wonder if they’ll ever be good enough too.
Pretty girls have the same problems that I do.
And as soon as I accept that?
I’ll stop caring so much about being “pretty” and start focusing on being “me”.
She’s really not as bad as I’ve made her out to be.

Unpretty.

I used to think that if I was “pretty”, boys wouldn’t hurt me.

(I also used to think Scooby Doo was based on actual events).

People grow up.

I grew up.

Being pretty isn’t going to solve any of my problems.

Being able to hail a cab with my bone structure doesn’t change ANYTHING about who I am as a person.

TUF (Token Ugly Friend) is a badge I wear with pride.

I’m not the girl who gets the guy because she looks good in a halter top.

I’m not the girl who gets the job because her A-line skirt accentuates her 36-24-36 waist line.

I’m not the girl that boys talk to.

I’m Plus sized.

*Plus brains.

*Plus intelligence.

*Plus the ability to determine that looks are never going to be my Forte.

But you know what?

Pretty girls get hurt too.

Pretty girls get cheated on too.

Pretty girls wonder if they’ll ever be good enough too.

Pretty girls have the same problems that I do.

And as soon as I accept that?

I’ll stop caring so much about being “pretty” and start focusing on being “me”.

She’s really not as bad as I’ve made her out to be.

  1. ourjunk-at said: Stilljustsue said all that need to be said!
  2. queuezsue said: How can you believe that about yourself? You’re GORGEOUS. If you’re the TUF, I must me some hideous troll. If you are plus sized… no, not even IF. You are one of the pretty ones with the same problems as everyone else.
  3. brokenpintglass said: I would talk to you. I’m not much but I think you are.