It’s Canada Day, so I thought I’d celebrate by writing a blog post about how much I loved my first week in America.

My street in Hollywood is lined with the tallest palm trees and it totally feels like paradise, even when the cops show up at the apartment unit across from me because of a domestic disturbance.

Also, I’ve had so many celebrity sightings in such a short time, and by that I mean I saw Abed from Community at a coffee shop!  It happened when I met with my immigration lawyer; I had just ordered at the counter when Abed walked by and stopped to look at the menu.  Initially I wondered about the proper etiquette for approaching famous people, but then I realized FUCK ETIQUETTE IT’S A CELEBRITY!  So I approached him awkwardly and said “Hello-sorry-I’m-not-from-here-but-ARE-YOU-ABED-FROM-COMMUNITY?”  In my excitement I had forgotten his real name.  Danny Pudi seemed uncomfortable and answered “Yes…” before slowly backing away, so I mumbled that I was a big fan and kicked myself for being such a touristy douchebag.  My first chance to be BFFs with a celebrity and I blew it!

Anyways my lawyer and I ended up sitting at a table near him and I resisted the urge to stare.  He must’ve heard us talking about Canada though, because an hour later, as I got up to leave, he smiled at me and said “Welcome to LA!”  HOLY CRAP!! Guys, Danny Pudi is totes my BFF now such a nice guy!  Hollywood is amazing!

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Needless to say I hope I can stay here forever.  HAPPY CANADA DAY.

EDIT: It’s nearing the end of September and I have since seen a plethora of celebrities – Dave Franco at Sqirl (Silverlake), Michael Pena near the VIP Scientology Center, Shane West at Intelligentsia (Silverlake), and Jessica Szohr at the Roosevelt Hotel pool.  SO MANY A-LISTERS WHOA.

Star Struck.

Single Ladies.

Two days ago my coworker told me I should audition for The Bachelor Canada.

“Hah!” I replied, “What an outrageous idea!”

A few seconds later I was on www.bachelorcanada.ca, looking up the application process. And wouldn’t you know it, they just happened to be touring the country for an open casting call and the Toronto stop just happened to be this weekend. My coworker hadn’t known about this when she made the suggestion. Kismet!

Even more kismet – earlier that same day I had been out shopping and saw the most amazing dress at Urban Outfitters. I didn’t buy it because I had no occasion to wear it to, but now I did, since applicants were instructed to “Dress to impress! This could be the biggest blind date of your life.” Bachelor Canada open casting here I come!

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I filled out the questionnaire and tried my best to show the producers why I’d be the perfect candidate.

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And today, at 2 pm, despite the snowstorm and the -4 weather, I ventured out in heels and made my way to the Grand Hotel & Suites, where destiny was waiting for me.

I don’t know why but I was shaking as I approached the registration desk. There was more paperwork to sign and as I was Instagramming the following picture:

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I overhead the girls next to me say “Goals in life, how should I answer that? To be happy and fulfilled and to give grandchildren to my parents!” Uh oh. I had answered that question with “To edit Beyonce music videos.”

After the paperwork round I was ushered into a conference room where about 20 girls and women were waiting to be interviewed. “Dress to impress!” was obviously not a universal statement. Some women went super casual in jeans, camp socks and toques, while other women wore satin-y cocktail dresses from Le Chateau. There were club skanks and Aritzia princesses, there were Barbies and Gap girl-next-doors. There were, however, no other Asians in the room, so I knew my chances of being cast as “Token Asian” were definitely high.

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Pictures weren’t allowed so I tried to be sneaky.

The show was also auditioning for The Bachelor himself, that one lucky dude who would have 25 women vying for his affection. So I realized that somewhere in the hotel was a conference room full of eligible men…only where the fuck was it??? I tried to wander around discreetly but all I found was a bar mitzfah and some business function. Damnit.

I was called for my interview half an hour later and I’m pretty sure I nailed it. Well actually…now that I’m playing it back in my mind…I might not have nailed it buuut I did pretty good. Or…ok…let’s be honest I bombed horribly. I didn’t know that the interview would be taped and as soon as the camera started rolling my nerves took over and all I could spout was gibberish. I talked too quickly and even in the moment I knew that whoever had to edit my audition would hate me. One question was “What would your dream date be?” and I answered “My dream date would be Ryan Gosling! OMG have many people been saying Ryan Gosling too?” The interviewer replied “No one has said Ryan Gosling! Most people chose Paris or London…which is the kind of ‘date’ we were actually asking about…” Fuck!

I did however make the interviewer and camera guy laugh a lot, and was told twice that my dress was amazing. Whatevs, The Bachelor Canada! I don’t need you!

*cries and heaves uncontrollably*

Oh sorry, you’re still reading. Overall it was a fun experience, even though I’m not going to get a callback. Also, The Amazing Race Canada should be casting soon so….

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Sweaty Swag.

I’m not entirely sure what compelled me to do it – perhaps repeat viewings of Step Up 2: The Streets – but during summer I decided to sign up for hip hop dance class. The thing is I have absolutely no technical dance training (unless you count repeat viewings of Step Up 2: The Streets, or learning the Double Dream Hands choreography that went viral a few years back) so doing research for which studio to go to was intimidating.

For example, Street Dance Academy sounded super legit, but I was worried that everyone there would be so street that I would stick out like a sore thumb. Eventually my friend Michelle found a class called “Absolute Beginner Hip Hop” at a studio called City Dance Corps, which sounded perfect.  According to their website:

Improve your coordination, build confidence and get a great workout with Hip Hop. This class is designed for those with very little, or absolutely no experience in Hip Hop dance.

Attire: Loose, stretch clothing you can swag and sweat in.

I already had clothing that I could sweat in, but I definitely still needed clothing that I could swag in. My solution was to go to http://www.urban-planet.com, where the clothes literally had swag.

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Just kidding.  Clearly I’m too old for that shit and instead I opted for Walmart sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Going to my first class was terrifying, but Michelle was so full of swag she wasn’t even phased.

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I was relieved though when I walked into the studio and saw that the other people were a rag tag bunch of misfits – a tall jocky white dude, a smattering of Chinese exchange students, a gay black guy in sequins short shorts and a hot chick who had five layers of makeup on. This was the kind of group that seemed awkward at first glance but after rigorous dance training they could discover their hidden strengths and go on to win the most prestigious dance competition in the city. Yes I just described the plot to Step Up 2: The Streets. And also that Antonio Banderas/Rufio movie Take the Lead. And to some extent Save the Last Dance. I WANT MY LIFE TO BE AN UPLIFTING DANCE MOVIE, OK?

But damn, dancing is tiring and this bitch is out of shape. I was dying after the initial warm up and chugging water and sweating like a mofo. However, despite these challenges I was having tons of fun. I tried my best to follow along with the teacher and I thought I was doing fairly well. In fact, Michelle took a video of me dancing:

I WISH. I thought I was doing well but when I finally looked at myself in the mirror I realized that my body was not doing what I thought it was. In my mind I had pictured myself as Honey Daniels but actually I looked much more like this:

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My arms and legs flailed horribly off beat; my body rolls and booty shaking could easily have been mistaken for epileptic seizures. The teacher also started using some unfamiliar dance terminology – Boom! Ta ta! And one and two. Boom! Ka-ka-ka, step and ta! Step and ta! The fuck?? Did I ta when I was supposed to have ka’ed? I was so confused!

So imagine my dread when, at the end of class, the teacher divided us into two groups. One group would perform while the OTHER GROUP WATCHED, and then we would switch. HELL TO THE NO.

…But I had already gotten this far and I’d look like the biggest douche if I left the class early, so I went ahead and did it. I flailed my Elaine Benes arms and danced the routine to the best of my ability. Yes I was super embarrassed but so what, the class had been fun and it was far more exercise than sitting at home streaming internet TV, which is what I would’ve been doing instead of dancing.

And when my turn ended, I watched the other group perform and realized that pretty much everyone else was an Elaine Benes too. I was so busy worrying about myself that I forgot I was in an absolute beginner class – as students we were all on the same level of suckiness. Lesson learned!  Even though Randy Jackson won’t be calling me anytime soon to appear on Randy Jackson Presents: America’s Best Dance Crew, the class was a great time and I think I’ll keep going. Maybe in a few years I’ll be a backup dancer on Honey 3, since there’s already a Honey 2. Keep a look out for me, it’ll probably go straight to DVD.

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Part Two.

Sometimes I use this blog as an excuse to do things that would otherwise be embarrassing. For example, going to two psychics is usually ridiculous, but it’s totally valid in my instance since I only went with the intention of blogging about it.

And I ended that entry by saying that I should probably see one more psychic, so I should probably write a follow up and go through with it – that’s totally the only reason I went to another psychic today, so that I could share it with the 4-6 people who read this blog.

(You: Bitch please! Stop lying YOU’RE CRAZY.)

Ok! I just really wanted to find out about the future. And, to be fair, today I saw Kim, a woman who’s supposed to be the best psychic in Toronto. THE BEST! A few people have told me creepy stories about how her predictions have come true, and I wanted to see for myself if she was as legit as everyone said she was.

Step 1 of Being Legit: Being located inside a Cajun creole restaurant called Southern Accent. You can help yourself to some delish jambalaya and get your future read at the same time!

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Step 2 of Being Legit: Using Comic Sans.

Kim and I started by holding a deck of tarot cards together and closing our eyes. After a minute of reading my energy, Kim told me that my spirit animal is a mountain lion – I am a born leader and I live life with an intuitive balance of mind, body and spirit. Basically I’m tenacious and fierce.

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The squirrel and opossum also help guide me, but I’m too lazy to keep Photoshopping my face on animals so I’m just gonna keep going.

I have nothing to worry about in my future – I am going to be successful in my career and I am definitely not hexed. Kim also sensed that I had a creative hobby, so I mentioned that I like to write random shit on the side. She did a tarot spread about my writing and said that in the future my random shit is going to get published. Awesome!

In terms of love though, things aren’t looking good. Right now I should stay focused on my career, and my soul mate isn’t showing up until 2-3 years down the road. He’s going to have an R or M in his initials, which means that 2 years from now I will be going through all the R’s and M’s in the phonebook until I find his ass.

Until then I should probably stop going to psychics, 3 in 1 month is extreme regardless of my blogging excuse.  Or maybe I’ll just keep going to psychics but stop writing about it, so that ya’ll won’t know how crazy I actually am…wait what?

Ohhh Girl.

I don’t think I’ve ever done a real drunk post before. And by real I mean I am shitfaced drunk right now and there might be typos in this entry.

SOBER EDIT: In retrospect this was basically a drunk text, BUT TO THE WORLD.  The morning after I wrote this I made it private, but now I’ve made it public again.  I mean, why NOT let the world laugh at my drunken stupor?

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SOBER EDIT: DAMN that pillow was comfy!  

It is currently 2:03 am. I had about 3 shots of tequila and 3 shots of vodka, and 1 tall can of that Stiegl grapefrutie beer. Oh shit did you notice that I just typed “grapefrutie”? Ohhhhh girl.

I should probably stop now before I start sounding too silly. A real post tomorrow, I promise. But in the meantime, this is on repeat.

Btw my old journal is at [REDACTED]. I’m rereading it now. Whoa, a lot has changed since 5 years ago, and a lot has stayed the same – I still listen to a lot of Rod Stewart and Jagged Edge.

SOBER EDIT: Yeah that’s right, I redacted that shit!  I also deleted some emo shit – the first time I reread this post sober I felt like I was on a blogging walk of shame.

Isn’t it curious how the internet can keep track of your life throughout the years?

Oh shit, I’m sleepy. Goodnight.

SOBER RETROSPECTIVE: This was only mildly entertaining at best; the next time I write one of these I’m gonna have to get waaay more drunk.

Kristen Wig.

Six weeks ago I bleached my hair blonde as part of my ongoing OMG-I’M-30 crisis (or rather, Matt the Stylist bleached my hair blonde for $250).

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Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I’m obsessed with my hair.  Prior to being blonde, I got perms on a regular basis and took pride in how puffy and voluminous my hair was.

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Right??  The extent of its puffiness was to me what hair length was to Samson; in fact countless strangers commented on my amazing coiffure – cashiers at Value Village and The Beer Store, airport employees in Atlanta and LAX, random people in line at Starbucks and even homeless people on the street.  The ego boost I got from random compliments made me feel confident and invincible, but things were different back in February when I made the poor decision to go to Top Cuts for what was supposed to be a simple trim.  Instead I got the worst haircut of my life and walked out looking like Anne Hathaway in Les Miz, dreaming a dream that my fucking hair looked better.

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I was too traumatized at the time to take photos of my horribly ugly haircut, so this picture of Anne Hathaway combined with your imagination will have to suffice.  And, like Anne Hathaway, I cried hysterically and felt like it was the end of the world.  My beautiful, puffy perm was gone.  My hair was too short for another perm and too short for extensions.  Yep, it was so bad I considered extensions.  Then I realized…since I couldn’t get extensions, why not get a wig?

wigBoom.  Long hair in seconds.

Wearing a wig can be socially dangerous though.  One afternoon, sans wig, I went out jogging and ran into a friend.  Later that night, now wearing the wig and on my way home after last call, I ran into THAT SAME FRIEND and could not avoid a confrontation.  She was puzzled and said “You look different…” to which I responded “I’m-wearing-a-wig-bye” and awkwardly shuffled away.

The second time I wore it was with Caitlin (http://uglyawesome.com), when we went to brunch and spent the afternoon shopping at the Gap.  A tip for anyone who plans on wearing wigs: wearing a wig is like wearing 5 Canada Goose jackets ON YOUR HEAD.  So while Caitlin filled her arms with khakis and V-neck tees, I was sweating buckets and wiping my face down with khakis and V-neck tees, worried that the other Gap shoppers would notice the wig bangs matted to my forehead.

When I tell people that I once bought a wig because a bad haircut made me cry, they laugh and think I’m being sarcastic.  I’m glad I don’t need the wig anymore, because my hair is back to being amazing, but just in case I get another bad haircut it’s comforting to know that I’ve always got a backup.

Tinder Surprise.

I am not above telling people that I downloaded Tinder, a dating & hook up app similar to Grindr but for straight people.  According to its official website, “Tinder finds out who likes you nearby and connects you if you’re both interested.  Download for iPhone or Android.”

Initially it was really exciting; scrolling through pictures of dudes within 15 miles of my location was a fun way to kill time.  Where else but on Tinder would I meet a handsome man like Jesse?

tinderjesseSince Jesse was hot, I tapped on the green heart to indicate that I was interested in him.  But then Thad came along, who was sooo unattractive.  With Thad I tapped on the red X, to indicate that I thought he was ugly.  Not interested bro.

tinderthadTinder then notifies you if you have a match – that is, when both you and a guy tap the green heart for each other.  You can start messaging through the app but it’s up to you to carry on from there, whether you want to meet up in person or not.

I am not above telling people that I’ve messaged a few guys on Tinder and that I almost met up with someone.  Most messages don’t go beyond the following –

Guy: hey sexy. sup?

Me: nothin, u?

Guy: same, nothin. ur cute

But one guy, I’ll call him “Jim,” seemed really funny.  We exchanged numbers and texted each other outside of Tinder for about an hour.  He was cute, co-owned a family business and made me laugh, and suddenly I found myself thinking “Wow! I can see myself dating this guy!”  Eventually he asked me out and we planned for dinner on Saturday along with a walk around the harbourfront.  Wow!  What an easy way for me to get dates!

Jim: I’ll pick you up at 6

Me: Wait what?

Jim: In my car

Me: Wow! You have a car, how cool is that!

Jim: Where do you live?

And then it hit me – DID I JUST AGREE TO GET INTO A RANDOM STRANGER’S CAR?  WAS I ABOUT TO GIVE A RANDOM STRANGER MY ADDRESS?  Hell no!  I’ve watched enough Law & Order: SVU to figure out where this was going!  So I convinced Jim that we should just meet at the restaurant, and the next day he cancelled the date with some kind of lame excuse.  I totally dodged a bullet there.

After that I stopped messaging people on Tinder but continued to scroll through pictures.

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Archie had the smallest nipples I’d ever seen, Cordell was clearly AC Slater circa 1992 and I was hoping Antonio would offer me tickets to the gun show.

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AUSTIN DO YOU EVER WEAR SHIRTS?  And more importantly, I hope you’re wearing pants.

The funny thing is that Tinder is linked to Facebook, which means that the pictures these dudes have on their Tinder profiles are also on their Facebook profiles.  Don’t any of these dudes’ friends tell them that it’s weird to take so many shirtless selfies??  Come on!

Eventually I ended up deleting Tinder, because it became a mind-numbing sea of abs and underpants.  Real life is probably a better place to find a man anyways, instead of randomly through an app my phone.

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Jealous Friends.

I went to a psychic the other night on a whim (which is to say, I was drunk).

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Psychic Sonya has been across the street from my apartment for 5 years, and I’ve always been curious about whether or not she was real or just some kind of front for embezzling drug money. So the other night I thought, “Why not go to Psychic Sonya? What’s keeping me from doing it anyways – common sense and rationality? FUCK IT I’MMA GO.”

But also, right now I’m dealing with an OMG-I’M-30 crisis, where I’ve been looking back at my life and wondering what, if anything, I’ve accomplished so far. Am I where I’m supposed to be at this age? Have I made the right decisions? What’s-the-meaning-of-my-life-what’s-in-store-for-the-future-and-STFU-FACEBOOK-UPDATES-ABOUT-ENGAGEMENTS-AND-WEDDINGS-AND-BABIES. Obviously the only way to deal with this crisis was to see a psychic.

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Psychic Sonya’s name was actually Anna, and Psychic Anna (in a thick eastern European accent) told me I could ask her one question before she laid out the tarot cards. I was torn between asking about love or career, sources of anxiety for pretty much everyone. Since my job is fairly stable, I went with love – would I find a steady boyfriend in the near future, someone I would fall in love with? Anna replied with an incredulous “A good looking girl like you?? What!?” After that I was sold and believed everything she told me.

The cards revealed that I should be more outgoing if I wanted to meet my soul mate – I needed to go to more events, parties and “dances.” Yes, Psychic Anna specifically said “dances.” Is my soul mate still in high school?? No, apparently he’s a 33-35 year old businessman, and a foreigner. We’re going to have cats, dogs and two kids. (My soul mate must also be a cat person then, because I totally wouldn’t be the one to get a cat.)

Psychic Anna also said that I had jealous friends and that I should watch my back, but I shouldn’t worry because in my past life I was a ruler in Cairo or perhaps of my own island; she pointed to The Emperor tarot card, depicting a man sitting regally on a throne. If I work hard enough at my career, I will eventually rise to my past-life status and do great things, which I interpreted as OMG ONE DAY I’M GOING TO EDIT BEYONCE MUSIC VIDEOS OMG.

Psychics are the best!!  I came away from Psychic Anna feeling much more at ease with my life – one day I’m going to sit on a motherfucking throne! But 2 nights later, I made the mistake of seeing another psychic and things took a turn for the worst.

(Reader: HOLD UP – YOU WENT TO ANOTHER PSYCHIC 2 NIGHTS LATER? OH GIRRRRL!)

Yup. I told my friend about my tarot reading and she immediately wanted to see a psychic as well. So we found one on Yelp, because we thought it best to try someone different instead of going back to Psychic Sonya/Anna. Yelp yielded Psychic Grace, located above a bar in Little Italy and boy did her place look legit.

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A mother and daughter team did the readings separately and I ended up with the mother; since she never gave me her name I will simply refer to her as Psychic Mama.

Since I had previously asked about love, this time I decided to go with a “soul purpose” reading, which was more work related and as its name suggested it would reveal the purpose of my life. Psychic Mama told me much of what Psychic Anna had told me, that I have jealous friends and that I should watch my back. But then she threw me a curve ball – I should watch my back BECAUSE I’VE BEEN HEXED BY TWO PEOPLE WHO ARE CREATING AN AURA OF BAD LUCK AROUND ME.

“What do you mean by ‘hexed’?” I asked. “Like, these people are affecting me because of the negativity they exude?”

“No,” Psychic Mama responded. “You’ve been targeted. A man and a woman have put a hex on you and for this reason nothing in your life ever goes well.”

SHIT! How am I supposed to deal with BEING HEXED? Well, Psychic Mama had a solution – for a mere $300 she would lift the hex with a prayer ritual and I could finally live the good life that I was meant to be living. $300??? Nope, shut it down.

Though raised Catholic I haven’t been religious for a long time, and I’m not even that spiritual, but I do think astrology is interesting and I wonder about things like tarot cards and reiki and auras. And between the 2 psychics that I visited, both were accurate enough about certain things that I still partially believe in what I experienced…

But most psychics are just mentalists, right? They acutely observe body language and other physical cues to construct “predictions.” So now I feel like I need to go to a mentalist, to find out what a “psychic” would tell me based on a cold reading of observations. Unfortunately I only know of one mentalist, and he probably won’t answer my calls.

The Mentalist

$60 and two psychic readings later and I’m in the same spot as where I started. Worried about turning 30, worried about the future, wondering what I could be doing better. Maybe, just maybe, I need to see one more psychic before reaching an epiphany…right? Third time’s the charm.

Like Whoa.

I’m writing this on my new iPhone and man do I feel cool right now.

Like many Blackberry keyboard users before me, I was skeptical about whether or not I could make the switch to a touchscreen. But as fat as my fingers are, it’s surprisingly easy to get used to typing ON MY NEW IPHONE. Did I mention that I got an iPhone? I did right?

The downside is that I’ve become addicted to Candy Crush; in fact this morning I was forty minutes late for work because I got caught up playing it. And the only reason I’m not playing right now is that I need to wait twenty minutes before getting another life. Oh jeez I’ve only had this phone for 4 days!

I haven’t become addicted to Instagram though. Instagram was actually one of the reasons I wanted an iPhone in the first place, but after scrolling through it a couple of times I realized that I have no interest in looking at your selfies, your food or your pets. I almost took a selfie of myself with the caption “omgz first pic guys!” But then a voice in my head said “wait a second douchebag, what are you doing.”

I wonder if that Candy Crush life is available now. I should probably stop blogging and check.

Butt Pad.

I was sorting through old clothes and making a Goodwill pile when I came across this forgotten pair of padded underpants, designed to make flat bums (in this case mine) look bigger:

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I’ve always been disappointed by my lack of ba-donka-donk, but that changed a few years ago when I found the above pictured undies in a department store in the Philippines. These weren’t even the only style available; the more expensive variety were padded with silicone. Asia is always on top of technology, am I right?

So eat your heart out Nicki Minaj!

Shut the front door Kim Kardashian!

I’VE GOT A BIG ASS TOO…hanging in my closet.

Actually I’ve been too scared to wear it out in public. Won’t my friends notice how my butt is suddenly much rounder than usual? Won’t it be obvious when I walk that my back side isn’t jiggling? And what if I ran into Ryan Gosling and he wanted to have sex with me – he’d find out I’m a fraud and laugh hysterically and immediately retract his sexual advances.

I’ll admit that when I bought this underwear I fully intended to use it, but I guess the moral here is that butt padding is ridiculous, because you should be happy with the way your body looks and not feel the need to consider butt padding in the first place. So I’m putting it in the Goodwill pile and if someone does end up buying it, I hope she (or he?) does so ironically. After all, it can always be the butt of a good joke.