Well, the blog has definitely come of age now. If you will all cast your attention here to the comments at the end of the I Have Breasts post, you will find a comment that is not the most complimentary I have ever received.
Now, before we go any further, I have no problem with non-complimentary comments. I believe that frank and open discussion is good and that there should be more of it. Nor am I naive enough to think that everyone out there is going to agree with everything I say. So, I would like to invite Mr Anonymous (for some reason I am getting a male vibe off the post) to come back and discuss what about my post offended him (or her, it could be a her) so much. Or, failing that, to email me so that we can discuss the issues he (or, again, she) had with the post.
For future reference though, any dear dissenters out there who might be wanting to follow in dear Anonymous’ footsteps, I am more inclined to take you seriously if you own your comments. Hiding behind the illusory anonymity of the net does seem a little cowardly.
And now, let’s discuss the issues this comment raised in a bit more depth. I feel we, as decent net-citizens, owe it to Anonymous to play nicely in our little sandbox and not to throw the toys out of the pram too often.
Firstly, there is nothing quite like a little flame to really make your day start with a bang. I had had a hunch that today was going to be a good day – I got woken up at just before 9 this morning by a loud German (Sebastian has friends over from back home). This is ok. I had things I needed to get done today and they weren’t going to get done sleeping. Then I needed the bathroom, so opened my door, to find myself staring a tall blond rather cute German in the face. Again, not a bad way to start the morning. Mildly embarrassing on my part seeing as how I was still in PJs with bed-hair, but there are worse sights that could have greeted me. Then I turn on the computer and find a not-so-nice comment on the blog. Whilst not causing me to burst into tears of pain and rejection, it was still a dose of reality I could have done without at 9 in the morning, on my day off, unfortified by a cup of tea. Then again, it did give me something to talk to Moose about on the bus into town, so, all to the good 🙂
Now we get to the text of the comment. Perhaps I should have explained myself better. I was not intending to be mean about Ms. Dunst. I believe she is a wonderful actress and really rather pretty, but by no stretch of the imagination could she be considered large-breasted. This is what happens when you break a personal rule of never commenting on how people look – even when you only mean it as a throw-away comment some people take it the wrong way. My bad. Nor, for that matter, were the size of Ms Dunst’s breasts actually the topic of the post. I was talking about my breasts and the many trials and tribulations that ensue when you have, as the Irish Lass elegantly put it over lunch yesterday, curves. Either way, I am sorry to any Kirtsen Dunst fans out there who were offended by what I had to say on the matter.
It was the end part of Anonymous’ comment that really confused me though. I am not sure of the relationship between my fitness levels and the size of Ms. Dunst’s breasts. Let us put aside for now the fact that I go to the gym at least three times a week (Moose has this look she gives me when I don’t go that just guilts the crap out of me), make a point of walking at least 30 minutes on the days I don’t go to the gym, and am (if not in tip-top condition), not so unfit that I get out of breath walking to the fridge and back. Let us also put aside for now the fact that, if I spent any less time on the computer, I think the godhead would be after me with sharp pointy objects and any chance of me actually getting a post-graduate qualification would go from ‘fairly high’ straight to ‘none’, bypassing ‘slim’ on the way down.
Seriously, is there some scientific study out there that proves conclusively that the size of Ms. Dunst’s bust is directly correlated to my exercise regime (or mooted lack thereof)? I mean, if there was, you’d think that her agent or someone on her staff would have got in touch to coordinate our schedules. I mean, there should have been at least the odd phone-call saying “Kirsten’s got a premiere in a couple of weeks, so could you see your way to fitting in a few K’s on the cross-trainer this week?” There have, so far, been no such calls. Also, I am not sure what Anonymous means. Does he mean if I exercise more her bust will increase, or it will decrease? And which is the more favorable outcome as far as he (and any other fans of Ms. Dunst out there who might be reading this) is concerned?
Still on things that my brain started thinking about after that comment:
I found a wonderful way of increasing the readership of Bright Meadow over night, and it is this – tag a post in Technorati with the tag ‘breasts’. I just looked over my stats. It is reassuring somehow to learn that the mindset of the average internet user has not changed much over the years. They are still like Prince George in Blackadder the Third when he uses the first ever dictionary to look up dirty words. (The episode I am talking about is “Ink and Incapability” if you are curious). I wouldn’t recommend that you did this trick with any regularity, because then people would probably start to think you were something to do with the adult entertainment industry, but once or twice sure gives the page-hit a nice boost. And yes, it looks like dear Anonymous arrived at the blog via a search for ‘breasts’. Certainly no one has come in via a link on ‘Kirsten Dunst’ or ‘Elizabethtown’ which were the other tags I used on that post. For some reason I have had one user who has repeatedly come to the site via a search for ‘Jeff’. Odd, but true.
One of the things that I had to do today (and got done because a loud German woke me up) was braving M&S and getting some new bras. I tried on what felt like a gazillion of the fricking things (seven) and actually found two pairs that fitted, that I liked, and (more importantly) that (if I don’t eat for the next week or so) I could afford. Perhaps M&S heard my comments the other day about how they’ve mucked about with the sizing, but this time around I actually was the size I thought I was, which was something. Then I get the only male assistant on the checkouts. I couldn’t help it – the part of my brain that resides quite happily in the gutter flashed the thought in my mind how it was a pity the first bloke in a while to manhandle my underwear wasn’t cuter. I know, I know! I am a bad Cas. I should wash my mouth out with soap and water.
And, as I have probably offended a whole heap more people with that post, I am going to stop now. We’re all going out again tonight (I just purchased the CUTEST bag) so don’t be surprised if there is a drunken post at about 3 am tomorrow. You have been warned.
Also, just want to check, the rest of you understand the tone of this blog is irreverant and sarcastic for sure, but loving irreverant and sarcastic, right? I don’t come across as some mean psycho bitch from hell or anything? Cos I used to live with one of them, and they’re no fun 🙁
). It’s a neurochemical glitch, I’ve been here before, I know full well what is happening, I am being proactive before things have the chance to get truly serious, and I am surrounded by loving people to take care of me.
