Five Foot Twelve

I got my new jeans in the mail yesterday. Yes, in the mail. Because there’s this secret size called extra long that you probably never knew existed. And they can only ever be ordered online. The struggle of not being fat enough to be as tall as you are, let me tell ya..

You don’t know how happy I am to have jeans that fit again. The past few months since my last pair ripped have been so tough. I’ve had to be more creative about dressing if I wanted to look like I cared about life. I couldn’t just have any tshirt on plus my nice pair of jeans. I had to wear skirts, and leggings, and actually put together outfits. Shoes were a thing I had to take into consideration. It’s been a mess. I only hope I haven’t walked out of the house looking like I escaped an asylum, but I’ll never know. Thankfully, I no longer have to worry, because I have jeans and I can focus my brain power on more important things.

Can I tell you what I’m sick of hearing from people? I’m sick of people talking about being tall like it’s some heaven ordained blessing upon a small population of lucky souls. I’m not hating on height. I’m past that rut…for the most part. But it is what it is, and nothing more. For all you short people, don’t be envious of us tall individuals. Our height isn’t some super power. We have problems too, y’know.

You know what you short people get that we don’t? FREE MONEY.

If you’re 4’10” or shorter, the government gives you disability aid. I guess you’re considered too short to fully function in society? I don’t know. The world just wasn’t built for you, boo hoo. You aren’t the only ones. Where are the tall checks, government?! What? Being oversized isn’t as much a handicap as being undersized? Did Obama tell you that nonsense?? What do short people need more money for? We’re the ones who have to spend extra money just to be clothed and clean! Somebody get me the stats on how much more tall people spend on soap, and lotion, and…shaving cream per year! I’m sure it’s staggering. That’s a lot of limb to take care of, people. A LOT OF LIMB.

I share his sentiment.

And don’t get me started with looking for clothes that fit. Oh, you think modeling is great? You think tall people are so lucky because they get to be models? I’m sorry, get to be? We have to be, because it’s the only way we can get anyone to make clothes in our size. Nobody is trying to starve to death just to take pictures in crazy conditions for even crazier people. Not for no good reason. This is a survival tactic! And I stand with all of those troopers, fighting the good fight for tall people everywhere. Power on down those runways, ladies! You’re doing a great work!

OH! And I bet you shorties out there don’t have to deal with knee problems much. I also bet that in the event you do, a loving support group will be right there for you throughout your whole recovery. And you can do lovely things like inform your employers that you’re suffering knee issues and they just accommodate you.

Yeahhhh…jack up a knee when you’re 5’10” or taller, you get no sympathy. None. It’s an expected trial in your life. Seek help and hear responses like, “Bout damn time,” and, “What else is new,” or, “There’s some crutches in the garage, go grab some ice and sit down,” or maybe, “Limp yourself to the car and we’ll go to the hospital right after my show ends, geez.”

Try to garner sympathy or get out of doing laborious tasks that will legitimately pain you. It doesn’t work. There will always be another tall person to 1up your suffering and ruin your day.

“Could you get that box for me, please? It’s too heavy, I have knee problems.”

“Pfft, welcome to life, youngblood. I don’t even have knees! You pick that up yourself!”

…Well then!


Then there’s all the deep emotional scars.

Like going to Nordstrom in 6th grade. Y’know, a department store that emphasizes collections with tall, larger-footed women in mind? Yeah, going there and asking an associate if he could get this shoe in a size 10 and having him LAUGH AT YOUR FACE.

Or going to the bakery in the supermarket as a kid. Wandering around, trying to look adorable and hungry so the bakers see and offer you a cookie, and GETTING NO COOKIE BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO TALL FOR YOUR AGE AND THEREFORE NOT CUTE ANYMORE.

How about talking to guys, and having to go through the nauseating ‘wow you’re tall’ conversation upon every meeting. It only goes one of two ways. Either he rambles himself into a pit of insecurity about being the shorter one, or he rambles himself into a pit of reassurance about liking tall girls and it being totally okay. Cool even. It’s always a mess of an exchange and I’ve never figured out a right way to respond.

But you short chicks wouldn’t have that problem would ya? That’s right, because you are the problem.

This is not kosher. Stay in your lane.

Isn’t free money and all the fabric you don’t even need enough for you people? You’re just gonna take our fitting suitors too? The nerve.

 To think that after all of that, you have the audacity to complain about how hard it is to be short, and how lucky we are to be tall, and how you can’t reach the cups in your cabinets, or whatever. Who wants to reach the cups in their cabinets? I’d welcome having somebody else get them for me anytime! Or just drink your juice from the bottle and deal with less dishes at the end of the day. Y’all are trippin’.

Tall is tall.

Short is short.

Average is average.

Can we stop it with the, “oh it must be nice?” It’s not. For anybody. Or it is. But we all want what we don’t have.

My Face

A few weeks back, I did a photoshoot with one of my friends. No reason. We just thought it’d be fun, and her co-worker is a pretty cool photographer. And it was fun, we had a great time taking pictures. Her co-worker sent us the finished photos the other day. They were awesome, my friend looked super cute and classy in her frames. He did a great job on mine too, but no editing magic can fix my face. It made me realize, I’m not cut out to be a cutesy person. It just ain’t happening, no matter how hard I try.

It’s my face. I don’t have a face capable of cute expressions. I have taken and deleted enough selfies in my life for me to conclude such things. I can think of kittens playing with balls of yarn made of cotton candy amongst a meadow of daisies where unicorns and dolphins frolic into the Teletubbies baby sun, and the resulting picture would still make small children cry. My face doesn’t move much, and is affected by nothing.

the epitome of all things cute and totally not creepy…right?

The only facial expressions that seem to register well on camera for me are the smug, sarcastic ones. Research of my life on the Internet proves this. The pictures that feature me smiling receive less attention than the ones where I’m merely smirking, or staring blindly into the camera. The happy, smiling pictures of me that receive any recognition apparently only work if it looks like I’m laughing at you on the inside. That was put to the test a couple of times when I blitzed friends’ pages with likes. One of the many reasons I shouldn’t be up past 11pm, I used to like posts on a friends’ facebook page for months back. The next day, all my poor friends would see in their notifications was my smiling face 99+ times…seemingly mocking them.

fb spamming


It’s not just in pictures though. Anytime I have to make an avatar for some game, like the Sims, or that weird Wii person (Mii’s aren’t they called?), they end up with the features that most closely match that condescending smirk face that epitomizes Maya Stormy Ray. Not even digital me can be friendly-looking, because the second I put a smile on its face, or big, happy eyes, it immediately stops looking like me.


Well hey, I can be a model still, right? Jerk can be my signature look and I could become the next thing! There are plenty of campaigns that need people to stand and pout on a beach or something! There’s hope for meeee!


No, no hope. Not for Storm.


On top of having an unnerving still photo smile, I suffer from Kardashian dead-eye syndrome, and can’t express emotions to save my life.

Kourtney Kardashian


If all the happiness in the world were condensed into one photograph…

I mean I don’t have many feelings to begin with, therefore my eyes are left with either manic happiness or apathy to work with, and they usually veer towards the latter. Sorry Tyra, I’ve failed you with my inability to smize!

On a side tirade, one time I was in LAX and I saw Jay Manuel.

This guy

I was with my mom and we were leaving the airport after landing. He was entering the security line on the other side of this glass divider. We stopped when we recognized him and my mom said to me, “Oh my gosh, his shoes are right in that bin! You should take one!”

I looked at her, like…WHYYYYYYY?

“Just take his shoe, tell him ‘see you next year’ and run back!”

I was 17 at the time, and you need to be 18 to apply for America’s Next Top Model, fyi.

“That’s crazy. You’re crazy. I’m not stealing a man’s shoe!”

“You aren’t stealing. You’re borrowing. You’d give it back to him when you get accepted to the competition!”

He saw us standing on the other side of the glass by then. He looked kind of confused, but he smiled and waved. We waved back and walked away. It was for the better, I wouldn’t have lasted long in the competition anyways. I’d be that girl they always yell at for not smiling with your eyes, I just know it. Oh well.

Cool story, bro. I know, I get it. But I felt like sharing, sue me.