Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Dear Legs of Thunder, your time has come. Love, Humble

In keeping with my New Year tradition of sabotaging all that is right and wonderful with my life, such as ding dongs and bear claw doughnuts, I am taking a stab at getting skinny.


Why not just be fat and happy? Or chubby and cherubic? I do not necessarily have issue with fat people like some folks do. Its just another size in my opinion. And plus I have this theory that people who don't meet societies strict standard of beauty have awesome personalities, are witty and/or very smart. Its a dog eat dog world out there and in order to survive high school, job interviews, online dating etc., everyone has to have SOME kind of talent. Ive had my fair share of childhood awkward...more on that later...and Ive been chubby enough times to know that it does make for some awkward when I was gifted an extra small a.k.a 5T shirt at Christmas and had to hold it up to my extra large body and say "this is perfect! I love it!" and inside I'm thinking "I can wear it on my ride back home with Doc Brown!" But here's the real deal why I wont stay chubby. It just doesn't suit me. I have a smallish frame and my fat distributes un evenly. My arms are always big and broad. No matter how big or thin I am. The only thing that gets bigger is my ass, and my neck. And do you know how hard it is to find pants that fit a shorty like me on the regs? Despite whatever size I may be, its freakin hard.  Getting smaller just makes shopping easier. And easy shopping boosts my naturally low self esteem. Don't judge me over this people, I'm just laying my cards where they lie. Or something. You get it.

But Humble you say, your sooo skinny (that's called from the neck up photos my friend and I have invested monopoly money dollars on Spanx and mascara...) and you look soooo good for having 5 kids. Stop right fucking there amiga/o. First of all did anyone see me pregnant? No not the pictures I posted because I can work the angles better then a drag queen on the beach, but like, in person? Of course you didn't and that was on purpose ya dip. So no, I don't look great for having 5 kids. I look like a freakin angel of life. How my 9 lb babies did not crack my 5'2 smallish frame in half is like a wonder to behold. They didn't do it without leaving a mark, or a handful, or two or three of skin around my middle. (Full disclosure, I can hand you my belly button if your standing next to me.) And my uteri is kick ass for taking the beatings of gestation and labor, 5 times, 2 of them being c sections, 1 being a VBAC. So Ive got plenty to be proud about in that department. If uteri was ever perceived as eye candy to the opposite as sexy, you can bet your left nut that mine would be featured in the December issue of Maxim magazine, greased up and looking like a rock star on the beach. But since we are never going to see a time where that ever happens and since I'm getting rather tired of rocking industrial strength Spanx and spending 20 minutes on lengthening my lashes to distract from my neck, I'm going to bite the bullet, and beat the 20 or so pounds that has found life on planet my ass.

I wasn't always like this. I was never a chubby and cherubic kid. In fact, I was always way shorter than everyone else, and dare I say...I think I dare...svelte. This is a nice way of saying I was athletic and boyish in frame. In fact I was so freakishly small compared to my peers I remember my P.E. teacher in 9th grade tsk tsking my weigh in at the start of my second semester because she presumed I had an eating disorder. I was pretty horrified at my double digit number despite the fact that I had prayed to God on the daily that He would deliver me from training bra hell and put at least of pound of fat on my bones so I wasn't so lerpy derpy. So it wasn't really until after I had my second child that I got chubby. After the third I got fat. I lost the weight by saying good bye to cookies and soda (cute, right?) and after the fourth holy hell broke loose. I look back at pictures of me cradling my 4 month old and I barely recognize myself. Huge arms. Double chin. Full on gut. And you know what? It didn't bother me. For a whole year it didn't bother me. Well it did a little but I had no time to wallow in my humpty dumptyness. I was depressed and that took up my whole calendar. It wasn't until I tried to hoist myself on a counter and nearly broke my wrist and then fell backwards, ungracefully landed on my left foot, popping whatever precious cartilage that was holding my cankles together that I realized, Damn, I'm getting to be a big girl. As I caught my breath, I realized I really had a problem because I had put the Twinkies on top of the fridge and that's what I was reaching for. And despite my popped ankle I still really wanted one.

So what did I do? I dieted. See, before when I had gotten myself in chubbier times I just started eating more salads, less soda, cut out all candy and started taking walks. After a few months I eventually got better looking or at least better feeling, got knocked up again from my new found "I'm back mothafuckas" accomplishment and then proceeded to start the process all over again. But this time was different. Cutting back on a few things no matter how soul crushing it was, was not going to cut it. That means not even on my period could I have a Kit Kat. Or eat an entire plate of alfredo-y goodness on a quaint Saturday watching Love, Actually. "Oh but Humble! What about moderation!" you say. No, that doesn't work in my world. Have you ever seen a recovering alcoholic say, "Well I'm on period, and my cat ran away, give me a beer!"  No! They don't! They call their sponsor and cry "oh my god I'm bleeding and my baby ran away! I want a cupcake beer and I don't know what to do!!" And their sponsor says "there, there, remember what we practiced...kumbayahh my loooord kumbayahhh" and if that doesn't work they go out and get a beer and we all know beer and delicious treats come in packages. So if I were to have one little piece of Kit Kat, I'm eating the whole fucking thing. And that alcoholic will prob drink all those cans.  I feel for recovering addicts. I really do. I had to unfriend my besties (Krispy Kreme, Burger King, Kit Kat, etc) and when you are faced with an unexpected crisis, like illness, people saying"Fuck you, you b-hole! Your a crazy bitch and I hate your face!"..periods and their bloody never ending endingness, or just a rough day of toddler hell, where the hell do you turn if you cut out all your besties?

Billy Blanks. That's fucking who. Hes scary. In fact I had to mute him the first few times I ran the DVD through, because I mean, how did he know I was tired, weak, or not sticking with it? It creeped me out. But Billy Blanks was like a scary devil life coach/sponsor that taunted me and said things like "Get cracking you pansy!" if I didn't check in. So I just kept checking in with that guy. Stupid tae bo bands and all. I got sweaty. I cried a little when he yelled at me to keep going, and I cursed the DVD case when I was so sore I couldn't even fold laundry. (yeah like I ever fold laundry, but those few weeks I had an excuse not to) Then me and Billy broke up. I was sick of him shouting at me and the girl 3rd row from the back made me gag with her frothy slimey thighs and mean face. And its also my theory that people's Im having sex face, and their work out face is the same. Go ahead. Ponder it. You know Im right. Which is why I get creeped out if my kids are watching me exercise..or my biff, or anyone. So anywho, this girl really gave me the willies. I moved onto Jillian horse face Michaels. Now shes a scary broad. I definitely muted her mundane shouts of "You're not going to see results if you don't give me a thousand percent!" If you have never done Jillian, let me give you the low down. Most horrible, embarrassing moves EVER. Than times it by 45 minutes and her devil face barking orders and making up things like "If you want to look like my friend Tanesha, your going to have to work hard like Tanesha" Um, Tanesha has obviously never had children and shes 6 ft tall. Jillian your moves are hard but your not a plastic surgeon. Fucking bitch. I digress. It took me a long while to lose weight. In my mind a long while is 100 percent of the day, every day, until the weight is lost. And when I did I met my boyfriend. I was like "oh yea guess whose back mothafuckas, oh hey nice to meet you IN MY SHORT SHORTS" and you guessed it. Our son is 6 months old.

So, here I am. On a get skinny mission that is going to suck balls. I have a meager plan, eat less, soul suck, exercise till I pass out, do that lots more times. My make-inner (not over, over is my new found smokey eye technique, thanks 15 year old on Youtube!) starts Jan 9th at exactly breakfast time. And in about a few months I will feel much more comfortable in my skin. Well not as comfortable as I would to give a handful or two or three back to my behemoth full grown babies since I have no use for it. Unless it suddenly becomes eye candy in which case I got shot gun on the May issue of Maxim as well.

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