Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Who's counting?

Throwing My Weight Around

I just dragged myself out of what I'd like to call, "The Swamp of Existential Despair." That's got to be on par on the exercise log for at least 30 minutes on the Precor. Maybe I just think that because it feels like I've been smacked around the head by a bushel of bricks.

Needless to say, over the last couple of weeks, weight has not been a concern. I am a comfort eater, and it definitely shows.

Anyway, I am brushing off the muck, and getting back into the fray, again. Yep, AGAIN. I may be depressed, but I am also stubborn.

I started SBD today. I tried it last year, and I really liked it- I just felt healthier and more together, and I know it will be easier for me now that I am at home and not working in the hellhole.

So I did the shopping today, and am going to plan meals and do some pre-cooking tomorrow. I even have a diet buddy- hooray!

Now I just need to claw my way out of this funk.

It's bad. It's really bad. I was walking through the Trader Joe's parking lot, to return the carts to the corral. When I got into the car, my buddy said, "That guy over there in the Ford pickup was checking you out."

I just kind of laughed and said, "Yeah, whatever," and she said, "No, really".

What comes out of my mouth? "He was probably staring at me and thinking, 'Like that fat b*tch needs to be buying more food?'"

Naturally, she was upset with me. Hell, I am upset with me too, on general principles. But that's what my subconscious is doing to me. I am living proof- extra estrogen makes you crazy. Cray-ZEE IN-sane!

Oh God. I need to get past this.

It's hard. I watched Jay Leno and Conan O'Brien the other night, and both of them had fat jokes within the first 5 minutes of their routines. By the way, for any interested parties, this is where the rant begins.

One of them (I forget which) referred to Jude Law's nanny (the one he supposedly slept with) as being a "butterball."

OK, that woman is maybe, MAYBE a size 8. In addition to being blonde and cute as a button- she has a slightly round face. That's it.

And then there's that whole thing with Richard Roeper, may he burn eternally in the deepest pits of hell, bitching about the Dove campaign and the agony of being forced to look at non-Maxim, non-airbrushed, non-anorexic women on a billboard. ("Oh my God! A thigh greater than 12 inches in circumference- My eyes!!!! My EYES!!!!")

OK dude. Whatever. You're not exactly James Bond, by the way, Or even Orlando Bloom, for that matter. I hope you never get laid again in this lifetime. If you should somehow manage it, I hope you get a whopping case of crabs. Or fall in a vat of toxic waste. Or something.

And then, THEN, one of my very best friends got an email from a guy she'd been e-mailing with on a dating website. He'd been looking at her picture, and he wanted to ask her a "personal question"- why she wasn't willing to lose weight and live up to her potential.

He gave her the whole "You're so intelligent, and well-travelled, and funny, and gorgeous, you'd be perfect IF" line and even had the steel-belted-balls-the-size-of-Jupiter to ask if her weight was a due to a medical condition, or if she was just lazy, and said something along the lines of "I'd totally support you if you'd be willing to lose the weight"- which basically came down to, "Dude, I would so date you if you lost 50 lbs."

Whatever man. If she said, "You're so intelligent and funny and talented, you seem like such a great guy- I'd date you if you had a BMW/Medical Degree/Bigger Schlong, and I would totally support you if you'd be willing to Ditch the Tercel/Abandon your True Calling/Get a Penis Implant".....well, you'd think she was an insensitive shallow beeyotch. And, you'd be right.

Do the math buddy. And don't even give me that crap about weight being a health concern. We all know that's total BS. Especially with that paunch you've got, presumably from drinking too much Heinekin. It's not a health concern, it's worrying about what your friends will think. You, sir, are a HYPOCRITE, not to mention a BUTT WEASEL.

Heh. OK, so I am all worked up, and this didn't even happen to me. However, it has made me totally unwilling to leave the house. I just hate men on general principles. As well as hating my own body, something that I thought I had gotten past. And yes, I know men are not all like that. But I am sure glad I am no longer single.

I am eternally grateful that I met my husband when I was even heavier than I am now. And that he fell in love with my personality and my sultry voice on the radio. And that the first conversation I had with him, I told him flat out "I am a big girl. I'm not going to sugar-coat it, or use words like voluptuous. If that is going to be a problem, then I'm not even going to bother to meet you. So speak up now."

God, that was the scariest thing I have ever done. And he didn't even miss a beat. "No, I want to meet you, you sound amazing. I don't care so much what you look like."

The rest is pretty much history. Granted, I am insecure enough about my weight for both of us.

So, OK, the short little blurb I was planning turned into a rant/cheesefest. What the hell, I can't sleep.

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