I LEFT MY HEART WITH THAT PIECE OF STRAWBERRY CHEESECAKE
* Disclaimer* I must confess that I might have exaggerated a wee bit in some places here. Ok, maybe a lOT. Especially about the near death experiences and the sweat incident and the gorcery store sequence....though I really did see a fat lady in the grocery store once! So yeah, just thought I'd warn ya cause I don't think there really is a black market for exercises, believe me, I've looked. (end of disclaimer)
Like so many other American women, I recently was overcome with the desire to get what is known as, " a hot, hot body." This is a natural desire. Much like the instinctive spawning journey of Alaskan salmon (and any other kind of salmon so I’m told) this urge just came upon me suddenly and I knew I must fulfill it or the future generations of my species would be doomed. Well, okay maybe not doomed, and I don’t know about any future generations, but the urge was strong none the less. Not to spawn, but to get a hot, hot, body. Am I confusing anyone yet? Moving right along! So after a few moments thought I decided, "why not!?" And proceeded to commit myself to endless hours of torture so difficult that I would lose all the moisture in my body through a painful process called sweating, and submit myself to physical strain so hard that I would be guaranteed to fall down on my knees in heart wrenching sobs at least twice a day. You know. Exercise. And so I did. My parents got used to the inhuman shrieks of anguish after a while. After all, they’d already had to deal with that when I went through puberty. And eventually I got them under control enough (the shrieks, not my parents. There’s NO getting them under control) that the neighbors stopped calling the cops every morning. In fact I started to improve! I did those stupid aerobics tapes every flaming morning (except on weekends and Fridays, and okay I guess I should have said almost every morning) and I got better! Eventually I was jumping higher than the instructors themselves! I had more energy, was moving faster and harder, and did I mention I could jump higher? I was getting pretty excited, even though there was that one incident where I sweated so much that every drop of moisture in my body ended up on our family room floor and I was rushed to the hospital and got a contract with a show called "Freakiest People in America" (it airs next month!) and the doctors said they’d have to study me in their lab for the next fifty years, not to mention there’s a nasty stain on our family room rug now, but at least I knew I could jump pretty good by jingo! So through the months I worked out. I did aerobics, I lifted weights, I did those degrading squats that make you look and sound like your delivering a baby standing up and the little gremlin weighs about seventeen pounds. Heck I even tried jogging a couple times! (I don’t recommend it by the way, unless you’re a masochist.) I worked and slaved for about three and a half months! Did I dramatically improve? Did I get the lean sculpted body that would make women wish to kill me and grown men weep? No. I got a little tiny bump in my arms. I stress the word tiny by the way. Sure I got more stamina, and there were slight changes, and I sure as heck looked better than I did three months before, but that doesn’t mean I got a "hot, hot body." Which is really what this was all about right? You wanna know what was really holding me back? What really kept me from achieving fitness nirvana? My legs. Or my thighs to be more exact. Its always the thighs. If you looked up thunder thighs in the dictionary, you would see my picture. I’m right in there between "thunder-struck" and "Thursday." To say that my legs are sturdy is about the grossest understatement in the world. They are huge. They are massive. I could beat Godzilla in a leg wrestling contest! You could measure the circumference of my legs in hecatres! I could jump up and down and cause an earthquake more fearsome than any California has bragged about. It is literally that bad. My sister says I have "substantial legs". That’s her way of being nice. I mean you know when you put on a swimsuit and someone starts choking on their spit so bad that they require heimlich and a weeks worth of bed-rest, you have a problem. I most definitely have this problem. I was so close to achieving my dreams of a hot, hot, body. Well okay, maybe just a hot body. Or even lukewarm. If I stood about fifty feet away in a swimsuit and someone with severe myopia were to squint at me on a cloudy day, they might say, " Oh, well. She has a fairly decent body." And then as they get closer, " Yeah, pretty decent indeed. I wonder if she would give me her phone- HOLY MACKERAL!!!!!! ARE THOSE HER LEGS?!!!!!! I THOUGHT THOSE WERE A COUPLE OF STRAY REDWOODS THAT HAD SOMEHOW BEEN STRIPPED OF ALL COLOR!!!!!" (my legs are quite pale on top of things, but one thing at a time you know?) "SHE’S THE WALKING EPITOME OF THUNDER THIGHS!!!!! I BET YOU’D SEE HER PICTURE IN THE DICTIONARY RIGHT IN BETWEEN THUNDERSTRUCK AND THURSDAY!!!" And then they would continue to rant and rave and run to the nearest optomitrist to get an eye exam and a new prescription and thus avoid another near disaster like the one they just narrowly escaped. Do you kind of get the picture? Well, now that my body was sorta half way decent from the waist up, I knew I had to buckle down on my legs. The only thing keeping me from the "hot, hot body" I so desperately desired. So I toned them, and toned them, and toned them some more, giving them the proper day in-between rest each time. I was sure the new squats I’d obtained illegally on the exercise black market would do the trick. Nope. Not a change. What could I do? I was seriously beginning to consider amputation! So I did something ten times more drastic and three times as inhumanely self destructive. I cut out sugar. Yup, I was a regular health nut. I became the anti-cookie. I was a sugar Nazi. Not only was I off sugar, but I tried to convert those around me as well, spouting gibberish about how sugar was empty calories and of the devil, yada yada yada. Meanwhile I would totally deprive myself of all things sweet and wonderful. Even juice! How did this affect my psychology? Heavily! It got pretty scary for a while. At night I would have strange dreams of a certain brand of candy that shall remain nameless for the reason that I don’t want to be sued, dancing around and singing show-tunes.( Until then I was not aware that candy could sing.) Then I would go to the store and pass the bakery section and all I could do was stare. There was pies and cookies and cakes and doughnuts (oh the doughnuts!!!!), and did I mention the pies? It was like I’d been transported to Temptation Island, and all the bakery goodies were trying to get me to cheat on my long grained brown rice. "Eat me!" They taunted. "We know you want to taste the sweet glaze in your mouth! To romp with the chocolate chips in that cookie! To drown in the lemon meringue in that pie!!!!!" At that point I kind of lost it and started answering back. I mean, how could I take that lying down? "Shut up!" I hissed, smacking my finger on the plastic cake cover harder than necessary. "I won’t give in! Never, never, never!!!!!! I won’t turn my back on the brown rice back at home! We have a good thing going!!" I proceeded to lecture the bakery items until a woman with a shopping cart pulled up behind me. "Are the pastries taunting you too?" She asked sympathetically. I nodded dumbly, a bit tired by my tirade. "Yeah. I know the feeling." She smiled. "They used to try to get me to cheat on my baby carrots and celery stalks." I looked at her in surprise. "How did you get them to stop?" I demanded. "I gave in." She shrugged, reaching over and sticking about twelve bakery items in her cart. "They only say nice things to me now." It was then that I noticed she was obese. I mean she practically had to get a separate shopping cart for her stomach! I let out a terrified shriek and fled the store, throwing my unpaid items at a bewildered cart boy and rushing to find my dad, gibbering the whole time. I knew I couldn’t go on like this. It was only a matter of time before I woke up and found myself lying next to an empty pie pan, my face stained with the blood of a dozen raspberries, and regret imprinted on my heart (not to mention thighs) for all eternity. So I did the only thing I could do. I gave in. No I don’t eat sugar nearly as much as I used to, and I do turn into a Nazi again sometimes, and I do still exercise, and I do abstain quite a bit, but at least I won’t ever wake up next to the remains of a pie and wonder how I got this way. Instead I’ll eat a small pie (you know those 25 cent ones?) and eat it in full awareness and sanity (except for that one incident where I had two pies and a candy bar and some hot chocolate, AND some juice, but my therapist told me not to talk about that.) I’m not perfect, but I’m better than that lady at the grocery store! And though I may never have thin thighs, at least you know if Godzilla comes into town you have someone who can challenge him. Besides, whatever happened to curves anyway? Are they so terrible? So as I’m here writing, eating chocolate chunk granola bars and other sinful things, I can honestly say, "Yes Kt, I DID eat the last of the lemon sandwich cookies! And no I am NOT sorry!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!"
* Disclaimer* I must confess that I might have exaggerated a wee bit in some places here. Ok, maybe a lOT. Especially about the near death experiences and the sweat incident and the gorcery store sequence....though I really did see a fat lady in the grocery store once! So yeah, just thought I'd warn ya cause I don't think there really is a black market for exercises, believe me, I've looked. (end of disclaimer)
Like so many other American women, I recently was overcome with the desire to get what is known as, " a hot, hot body." This is a natural desire. Much like the instinctive spawning journey of Alaskan salmon (and any other kind of salmon so I’m told) this urge just came upon me suddenly and I knew I must fulfill it or the future generations of my species would be doomed. Well, okay maybe not doomed, and I don’t know about any future generations, but the urge was strong none the less. Not to spawn, but to get a hot, hot, body. Am I confusing anyone yet? Moving right along! So after a few moments thought I decided, "why not!?" And proceeded to commit myself to endless hours of torture so difficult that I would lose all the moisture in my body through a painful process called sweating, and submit myself to physical strain so hard that I would be guaranteed to fall down on my knees in heart wrenching sobs at least twice a day. You know. Exercise. And so I did. My parents got used to the inhuman shrieks of anguish after a while. After all, they’d already had to deal with that when I went through puberty. And eventually I got them under control enough (the shrieks, not my parents. There’s NO getting them under control) that the neighbors stopped calling the cops every morning. In fact I started to improve! I did those stupid aerobics tapes every flaming morning (except on weekends and Fridays, and okay I guess I should have said almost every morning) and I got better! Eventually I was jumping higher than the instructors themselves! I had more energy, was moving faster and harder, and did I mention I could jump higher? I was getting pretty excited, even though there was that one incident where I sweated so much that every drop of moisture in my body ended up on our family room floor and I was rushed to the hospital and got a contract with a show called "Freakiest People in America" (it airs next month!) and the doctors said they’d have to study me in their lab for the next fifty years, not to mention there’s a nasty stain on our family room rug now, but at least I knew I could jump pretty good by jingo! So through the months I worked out. I did aerobics, I lifted weights, I did those degrading squats that make you look and sound like your delivering a baby standing up and the little gremlin weighs about seventeen pounds. Heck I even tried jogging a couple times! (I don’t recommend it by the way, unless you’re a masochist.) I worked and slaved for about three and a half months! Did I dramatically improve? Did I get the lean sculpted body that would make women wish to kill me and grown men weep? No. I got a little tiny bump in my arms. I stress the word tiny by the way. Sure I got more stamina, and there were slight changes, and I sure as heck looked better than I did three months before, but that doesn’t mean I got a "hot, hot body." Which is really what this was all about right? You wanna know what was really holding me back? What really kept me from achieving fitness nirvana? My legs. Or my thighs to be more exact. Its always the thighs. If you looked up thunder thighs in the dictionary, you would see my picture. I’m right in there between "thunder-struck" and "Thursday." To say that my legs are sturdy is about the grossest understatement in the world. They are huge. They are massive. I could beat Godzilla in a leg wrestling contest! You could measure the circumference of my legs in hecatres! I could jump up and down and cause an earthquake more fearsome than any California has bragged about. It is literally that bad. My sister says I have "substantial legs". That’s her way of being nice. I mean you know when you put on a swimsuit and someone starts choking on their spit so bad that they require heimlich and a weeks worth of bed-rest, you have a problem. I most definitely have this problem. I was so close to achieving my dreams of a hot, hot, body. Well okay, maybe just a hot body. Or even lukewarm. If I stood about fifty feet away in a swimsuit and someone with severe myopia were to squint at me on a cloudy day, they might say, " Oh, well. She has a fairly decent body." And then as they get closer, " Yeah, pretty decent indeed. I wonder if she would give me her phone- HOLY MACKERAL!!!!!! ARE THOSE HER LEGS?!!!!!! I THOUGHT THOSE WERE A COUPLE OF STRAY REDWOODS THAT HAD SOMEHOW BEEN STRIPPED OF ALL COLOR!!!!!" (my legs are quite pale on top of things, but one thing at a time you know?) "SHE’S THE WALKING EPITOME OF THUNDER THIGHS!!!!! I BET YOU’D SEE HER PICTURE IN THE DICTIONARY RIGHT IN BETWEEN THUNDERSTRUCK AND THURSDAY!!!" And then they would continue to rant and rave and run to the nearest optomitrist to get an eye exam and a new prescription and thus avoid another near disaster like the one they just narrowly escaped. Do you kind of get the picture? Well, now that my body was sorta half way decent from the waist up, I knew I had to buckle down on my legs. The only thing keeping me from the "hot, hot body" I so desperately desired. So I toned them, and toned them, and toned them some more, giving them the proper day in-between rest each time. I was sure the new squats I’d obtained illegally on the exercise black market would do the trick. Nope. Not a change. What could I do? I was seriously beginning to consider amputation! So I did something ten times more drastic and three times as inhumanely self destructive. I cut out sugar. Yup, I was a regular health nut. I became the anti-cookie. I was a sugar Nazi. Not only was I off sugar, but I tried to convert those around me as well, spouting gibberish about how sugar was empty calories and of the devil, yada yada yada. Meanwhile I would totally deprive myself of all things sweet and wonderful. Even juice! How did this affect my psychology? Heavily! It got pretty scary for a while. At night I would have strange dreams of a certain brand of candy that shall remain nameless for the reason that I don’t want to be sued, dancing around and singing show-tunes.( Until then I was not aware that candy could sing.) Then I would go to the store and pass the bakery section and all I could do was stare. There was pies and cookies and cakes and doughnuts (oh the doughnuts!!!!), and did I mention the pies? It was like I’d been transported to Temptation Island, and all the bakery goodies were trying to get me to cheat on my long grained brown rice. "Eat me!" They taunted. "We know you want to taste the sweet glaze in your mouth! To romp with the chocolate chips in that cookie! To drown in the lemon meringue in that pie!!!!!" At that point I kind of lost it and started answering back. I mean, how could I take that lying down? "Shut up!" I hissed, smacking my finger on the plastic cake cover harder than necessary. "I won’t give in! Never, never, never!!!!!! I won’t turn my back on the brown rice back at home! We have a good thing going!!" I proceeded to lecture the bakery items until a woman with a shopping cart pulled up behind me. "Are the pastries taunting you too?" She asked sympathetically. I nodded dumbly, a bit tired by my tirade. "Yeah. I know the feeling." She smiled. "They used to try to get me to cheat on my baby carrots and celery stalks." I looked at her in surprise. "How did you get them to stop?" I demanded. "I gave in." She shrugged, reaching over and sticking about twelve bakery items in her cart. "They only say nice things to me now." It was then that I noticed she was obese. I mean she practically had to get a separate shopping cart for her stomach! I let out a terrified shriek and fled the store, throwing my unpaid items at a bewildered cart boy and rushing to find my dad, gibbering the whole time. I knew I couldn’t go on like this. It was only a matter of time before I woke up and found myself lying next to an empty pie pan, my face stained with the blood of a dozen raspberries, and regret imprinted on my heart (not to mention thighs) for all eternity. So I did the only thing I could do. I gave in. No I don’t eat sugar nearly as much as I used to, and I do turn into a Nazi again sometimes, and I do still exercise, and I do abstain quite a bit, but at least I won’t ever wake up next to the remains of a pie and wonder how I got this way. Instead I’ll eat a small pie (you know those 25 cent ones?) and eat it in full awareness and sanity (except for that one incident where I had two pies and a candy bar and some hot chocolate, AND some juice, but my therapist told me not to talk about that.) I’m not perfect, but I’m better than that lady at the grocery store! And though I may never have thin thighs, at least you know if Godzilla comes into town you have someone who can challenge him. Besides, whatever happened to curves anyway? Are they so terrible? So as I’m here writing, eating chocolate chunk granola bars and other sinful things, I can honestly say, "Yes Kt, I DID eat the last of the lemon sandwich cookies! And no I am NOT sorry!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!"
posted by Ezre at 2:53 PM
4 Comments:
Why Cornflake Girl? Why not... Grapenuts Gal, Honey Bunches of Oats Honey, Cheerios Chick, Frosted Flakes Femme, Lucky Charms Lady, Captain Crunch Cutie? Is Cornflakes really your favorite cereal? And to think I never knew.
Boy oh boy! I tell ya, I would defenatly like to work out, but I don't think I could get as crazy as you. *that's not an insult, by the way* I would be afraid that if I get obssessed with that, then I wouldn't be able to control it.. *you know me and my controling issues* But luckly for you, you fixed it and ate that last lemon sandwich cookie!
~adrianna~
Why did the elephant sit on the spider? Because lizards can REGROW their tails! AHAHAHAHAHAH!
You know what's really stupid about this particular blog entry? I was actually really skinny! Yeah, I had/have big thighs, but back then I looked GOOD! I just didn't realize it. Oh to have those days back again! lol, not that I look crappy now, but I need to do better. Unfortunately I have given into the sugar thing....
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