Lisa Ann Walter - The Best Thing About My Ass Is That Its Behind Me

Chapter 1
Self-Loathing Is for Losers!!

I am a self-loathing expert. If there were a self-loathing OlympicsId be on a Wheaties box with a bunch of gold medals hanging around my neck. Theres not one part of me that I havent tried to enhance, reduce, enlarge, shave off, shave down, suck in, suck out, lift, separate, straighten, curl, pluck, bleach, tan, tone down, fluff up, de-wrinkle, or just plain change. And guess what?! Yup. Still find things to self-snark about.

Except for my calves. Theyre fine. Theyre the perfect size for my legs and have a diamond shape to them. I didnt even know that that was a thing or that I should want it. Until Adam Sandler pointed it out at a comedy event in 1990.

Now, Im looking at the book jacket right now and, seriously. WTF!? Why do I hate myself? I look pretty darn good. Of course there was a boatload of professional stylists running around plus Rockin Raul, my insanely talented and entertaining Hair/Makeup Diva... and probably some photoshopping going on. OK, definitely some photoshopping. Plus, I wore stockings to cover the lumpy bits and cellulite. Of course I didIm on a book cover for Gods sake. In full view of everyone at the airport. (Or checkout counter. Or Slurpee machine. I dont know where all theyre gonna sell this.)

But overall?... not bad! In fact in most parts of the country Im a babe. Not L.A., mind you. In L.A. Im sort of a troll. Seriously. In New York, D.C., Atlanta... sureI can still stop traffic if the outfit is right and Im wearing sunglasses (you know, to hide my alleged age). Hollywood... not so much. Theres no hard hats miming grabbing my ass when I walk by a construction site out here. Nuh-uh.

In L.A. every other girl that walks down the streets a six-foot-tall blonde who weighs three pounds and two of em are tits. Because:

In L.A. everyone is perfect. If not when they arrive, well then immediately afterwards. I mean like five minutes after the exprom queenslashwannabe reality star lands at LAX, she jumps in a rental car and goes to a one-hour drive-thru breast-implant store. Jiffy Boob.

In L.A. you cant find a nice, normal, regular guy. A guy who will love you. And cherish you. And play Spank the Catholic Schoolgirl with you. The trouble is that guys in L.A. are spoiled. L.A. is like a theme park for men. Its Puss Island. Theres always some forty-year-old guy sporting some twenty-year-old girl with three-year-old boobs and lips that still have the tag hanging off of em.

In L.A. grandmas wear size 2s and have bone-thin yoga arms. Which is just weird. Im East Coast Italian. Grandmas arent supposed to have bone-thin yoga arms. Grandmas are supposed to have big fat mamma-jamma arms. That you could swing from if you wanted to play... or take a little nappy on if you get tired. Or if shes driving you around and she stops shortshe can clothesline you and the swinging arm-fat works as an airbag. Thats how big grandma arms should be.

So why do I hate me? I mean its not like I popped outta the womb this way. But I am a woman in America, so I have to hate myself. We all do! But why, Lisa Ann? Why do we have to hate ourselves? I hear from the smart, charming, and perfectly attractivebut terribly confusedwomen who live in my head. Why? Why the shame spiral? Why are we all so darn hard on ourselves?

Because if we werentour entire economy would collapse! I meaneven more! You think the Wall Street Meltdown was bad? Or the Real Estate Death Spiral? The Banker Bailout? Those are NOTHING compared to the fallout well face if the Beauty Boycott ever happens. Think about itif we start accepting ourselves, were looking at a Redken Recession! A Clinique Collapse! The Big Maybelline Crash of 2011! Whatll happen to poor little Sally Hansen?!! And what about all of those unemployed manicurists wandering the streets with nothing to do? What will become of them? Not to mention the devastating domino effect. The bottom would completely drop out of the plastic-Buddha market! It would spell financial disaster for the entire planet!

So, if its on you, theyve found a way to make you think it probably sucks. They, by the way, is the entire Beauty Industrial Complex: Fashion. Fitness. Diet Books. Tabloid and Womens Magazines. Plastic Surgery. Hair Extensions/Color/Maintenance. For the purposes of this book (and feel free to use it in your everyday life from now on) they will henceforth be referred to as The Screaming Meanies or, even better, The S/M... you know, to save time. The connection to pain and humiliation is purely incidental.