I am never, ever going to be a size 4.
In fact, I think the last time I was a size 4, I *was* 4. My weight has always been a problem to me– when I was a kid, I *thought* I was fat, because my friends were all tiny, and, well, I wasn’t. I was 5’6″ in 5th grade and weighed 110 lbs– my friends were all around 2 feet tall, so of course they didn’t weigh as much as I did, but my little fifth-grade brain thought 110 lbs = El Chunko. Didn’t help that some of the kids I knew were on that same train of thought and referred to me as the Giant out on the playground… one of my “best” friends told me, when I was 14 (5’8″ and 145 lbs, by the way– not skinny, but not HUGE, either) that I would “be so pretty if you were smaller”. So I decided that I’d be smaller– my diet for the next three months consisted of an apple and a yogurt every day. And that’s it. By the time I’d lost 30 llbs, looked like Skeletor, and was going to bed at 4:30 pm, my friend was complimenting me on how great I was starting to look (although I couldn’t make it up half a flight of stairs at school). And I was still trying to lose. Oh, silly silly 14-year-old me. If only I knew then what I know now… My dad saved me from that one– I got home from school one day and went straight to bed, he came to get me for supper, I said I was too tired to eat, and he yelled “YOU’RE TOO TIRED TO EAT BECAUSE YOU NEVER EAT ANYTHING! GET OUT HERE AND EAT YOUR PORKCHOP!” and, I mean, you don’t refuse to eat a porkchop when my dad tells you to eat a porkchop. Just try it. Can’t be done.
Anyway. I’m sure that was a brief but amazingly intriguing history of my past. Now I’m a fat-ass. Part of it was the 11 months I spent on steroids (which did NOTHING to help, by the way), and part of it is that I like eating, and never find time to exercise. I fully admit it. I realize that I’ll never again weigh 110 lbs, nor will I ever fit into my junior-high pants (oh, acid-wash Hollywood jeans with the zippers at the ankles, I pine for you… you were so rad, paired with my Hypercolor T-shirt and Slouch Socks), but I’d like to walk into a store and not have the saleslady look at me with terror in her eyes. “Uhm, may I… help you? We have… socks… and… SCRUNCHIES over here!”
Yes, because if I wear a SCRUNCHIE, my ass will look smaller! Thanks!
Sometimes I wonder if my no-eating shenanigans of the past did something to me; other times I just tell myself I’m a lazy butthole who eats too much. Either way, I need and want to lose weight. I want to do it right, though. I totally understand why people might want to try Ephedra, or some other drug, but personally, I want to get it done with willpower (and if you know me? I don’t have any willpower. So this is gonna be tough). I’m taking enough pills at the moment as it is, you know? Anyway. Don’t ever expect me to speak of this again. I really don’t like talking about it, because when I do, people a) try to placate me with “You’re fine just how you are!” when I know I’m not, or b) say something like “Just don’t eat as much! And exercise! I don’t understand what the big deal is!” — and um, yeah. Welcome to Earth, Captain Obvious. Did you enjoy your flight?
Okay! I’m done with this one! That is the end of my post! I hope you liked it! Bye!
