Word: pageants
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 2000-2009
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...booth at the extracurricular fair. “We want diner trips too,” Jobbins says, “to real diners. The ones that are open all night.” Bowling trips, laser tag and a viewing of the Atlantic City-based Miss America Pageant were also proposed...
...with batons and adorning a blue crushed velvet leotard, I captured the title of Miss Harvard 2002. I successfully transformed myself from an awkward nerd to a voluptuous bombshell by applying a sharp razor to my hairy legs and a thick layer of concealer to my blemished face. Post-pageant, with my bouquet of roses dying and my breasts in the trash can, I assumed I would resume the mundane, insular life where I’m mildly anti-social and invariably celibate (the latter not by choice). But the rhinestone-studded tiara and the crimson-colored sash resting...
...knowing that girls envy your legs and that a few straight men fancy you over their current girlfriends (you know who you are). But as anyone who has endured plastic surgery—i.e., Michael, Janet or LaToya—knows, beauty is pain. As I prepared for the pageant, I had to ask myself, “What will it take to be Miss Harvard?” More importantly (as my preparations proceeded): “What injuries am I going to sustain...
First, Miss Harvard could not be hairy. Due to the sheer length and volume of my leg hair, a lawn mower would have been easier to use than my Gillette Mach 3. The night before the pageant, as I stood naked in the bathtub, warm water running, I watched inch-long hairs peel off into a watery mélange of foamy white shaving cream and occasional drops of blood. I awkwardly maneuvered my body as I shaved the rear of my thighs, only breaking more skin in my futile attempt to be careful and precise. An analgesic layer...
...likely to crack under the pressure, especially if you have turkey-shaped thighs like me. As I grew more comfortable, I added sass to my walk. Hips, then thighs and, bam, a surprise—I could finally work it. There would be no twisted ankles after the pageant, just a sore lower body. The adrenaline pumping during the competition kept me from noticing immediately, but the morning after my victory I felt lactic acid saturating my quadriceps and calves. Climbing stairs became a difficult task and I was walking funny for a week...