Demi Lovato's Heart Attack has some of the *worst* lyrics I've heard in a long time but that delivery is positively spell-binding. On loop…

I hate when people say they find the female body to be more delicate, graceful, or elegant than the male body. This is usually then associated with a thin waist line and curves that would necessitate a ridiculously flat stomach.

This dichotomy borders on absurdity because one of the body types I adore is a chubby gut. I like the muffin top; chubby girls are adorable. And part of why I like that body type is precisely because it isn't delicate or, necessarily, graceful. But it is one that welcomingly envelops you and is downright perfect for cuddling and snuggling.

I've said it before but I am still at a loss: why do we insist on shoving bodies into small little boxes and, in turn, contorting them into shapes that they neither have to possess nor makes any sense of improvement on them?

I cannot count (okay, maybe a slight exaggeration) the times I've seen an image of a guy that I mistook for a girl and immediately thought, "She's cute."

(case in point; I generally find it easier to just go for girls but I might just make an exception for you)

This idea that bodies can be so cleanly divided into given categories such as male and female rather than there being merely trends that aren't always obeyed is criminal not only because it denies a very real existence for some but because it is monumentally boring.

There is a wealth of diversity within the physical frame of the human body.

And that can mean flat stomachs and thin waists and that can mean prominent thighs and that can mean thinness with no curves or shape and that can mean a chubby face and that can mean plainness and that can mean a myriad of many other wonderful features that could all be appreciated for a variety of reasons.

While I would like to think I have a very large range that I appreciate, I'm certain I have my particulars. And there are others out there who appreciate aspects of the body which are different from me or maybe even similar aspects for entirely different reasons.

And that is okay and that is beautiful and that should be celebrated (if we must celebrate the human body at all; I can't help it: I'm still largely in that camp. But, if I can't convince you to such stoicism…).

Bodies are different. Bodies are varied. Bodies are complex.

And we should be encouraging that complexity rather than trying to make it derivative. Your body, down to every feature and as a total sum of their parts, is uniquely yours: no one else in the entire universe can make a claim to the same body – and that's really fucking cool.

I *really* adore high fantasy but I'm too much of a perfectionist and too impatient to ever write any of my own.

"My member ID? Sure; M as in Mary, V as in, uh, Volk, C as in..." Wow; really, Jon?

     Chrissy snorted into her hand as 'Rome pranced around with his shirt off; no one was particularly certain how his braying and shirtlessness were an image of the warden but, judging from the rolling laughter and sizable crowd gathered in the lunchroom (outside of lunchtime), no one particularly minded. James sat towards the back, near one of the entrances, smiling gently. Amy was playing with a deck of cards, mostly shuffling them repeatedly; she glanced up every so often, smirking to herself.
     "And what – is going on, may…I…ask?" Charlie called out, slowly goose-stepping his way through the myriad of tables and chairs and people draped across them. 'Rome immediately jumped to attention at the table he was on, facing Charlie.
     "Just an enactment of display, sir! A crowded spewage of obscene caricatures, sir! A stage, sir, in my growing out of immaturity, sir! A, sir, part of, sir, my prescription, sir! Sir! Sir!"
     Charlie gave a crooked smile as he swaggered around the table that held 'Rome up, his eye never breaking contact with 'Rome's. He pulled a chair out from the table and, with an exaggerated flourish, sat down. Amy continued to smirk, shaking her head as she shuffled her cards once more. "At ease, soldier."
     Charlie stretched his arms out as he yawned; he tried to lean back in the chair but the unyielding metal frame caused him to just slump down. With hyperbolic irritation, he hoisted his legs onto the table as 'Rome jumped off. "And what are you all doing here?"
     "To watch the fool, sir!" Chrissy immediately piped up, the sides of her mouth turning upward for the first time in the past week.
     Charlie's eyes jumped from the fashionable 'Rome to Chrissy. "Aren't you supposed to be depressed? Shouldn't you be crying in a corner somewhere right now?" Charlie scoffed, taking his feet down.
     Amy put the deck down immediately, thumbing through the entire deck as she did so until she had everyone's attention as the sound receded. "Is depression so antiquated a notion," she asked as she stood up, before 'Rome could formulate his already confused facial expressions towards Charlie into words, and proceeded, taking her deck with her, towards 'Rome's table, "that you are unfamiliar with it, Charles?"
     Charlie casted Amy a bemused look. "You want something?"
     Unceremoniously, Amy casted her deck towards Charlie's face. "The Hell –" Charlie sputtered as he tilted backwards, his arms then spasming as he attempted to balance his chair. Before he had a moment to right himself, Amy grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him inwards. "Break this table – now." She thrusted her share of the shirt back at him as she released him.
     "Now!" Amy bellowed, her fist ripping through Charlie's composure as it rattled the table. He gave Amy a flustered look that seemed to misunderstand the request but Amy was already walking away, addressing the surrounding patients in the lunchroom. 
     "What's the matter‽ Are you just lazy? You haven't even bothered to start!" Amy's piercing calls rang out. Charlie managed to stutter, his eyes scouring his palms, before Amy whipped around and smashed her fist, again, on his egression.
     "I said…to break this table."
     In complete bewilderment at this task suddenly thrust upon him, Charlie's eyes darted across the room for tools – any – that he might use, his brain desperately trying to conceive of them in ways he hadn't before to tear apart what was in front of him.
     Causing him to jump in his chair, Charlie's surroundings infiltrated his thoughts once more as Amy snatched a nearby tray and slammed it against the side of the table, splitting it cleanly in two. Chucking the piece still in her hands onto the floor, Amy leaned across the table so that her leer was merely centimeters from Charlie's face. "There you go, a small example for you. All you gotta do is do that to the table. Think you can do that for me?"
     Amy got up from the table and started to pace in front of it, completely upright. She cleared her throat. "You probably want some hints." Charlie gave the pacing Amy nothing but a steely look as his right hand grasped the table in an attempt to stop shaking. "You should probably try smiling," she observed. "It would probably reassure me that you want to be cooperative and boost my ego that you're smiling around me." Charlie sat there, breathing steadily. "You could probably use my lessening up to try to regain composure." Hesitating, Charlie's lips twitched in an attempt to rise, his muscles trying to muster a grimace into a grin.
     With a sharp turn, Amy pounded the table once more. "How haven't you done this yet? I mean, you haven't even started! I already gave you an example. All you have to do is do what I did. Get it? Do it again!"
     His eyes burrowing into the ground, Charlie refused to react to Amy's repeated pounding, each downward execution of her wrist and shout perforating the blanket of quiet that had enveloped the room.
     "Do it again! Do you get that‽
     "Do it again!
     "Do it again!
     "Do it again!
     "Do it again!
     "Do it again!
     "Do it again!
     "Do it again!"
     The nightly recording for lights out creaked out over the loudspeakers. Sighing, Amy stood up as Charlie still refused to make eye contact. "Task still isn't done.
     "Go get some sleep; we'll do this again, same time, tomorrow."

I like to pretend The Wanted's I'm Glad You Came is actually advocation of female pleasure.