Fat Genius, Huge Boobs
I just wish I were skinny. All the time, no matter what. I watch very little TV and hardly ever eat potato chips. It seems like that should be enough.
I hate the assholes who can’t gain weight no matter what they eat. I also hate the assholes who preach healthy eating and exercise as the solution. It’s 2010; there has to be a better way.
I’ve exercised plenty. For six months before my wedding, I spent hours a day on the treadmill and only consumed the number of calories it said I burned. That sucked. I also ran track in highschool (what a waste that was, since I was already skinny). Exercise makes me so tired. And anyway, I know that getting my body used to too much activity would just make it adjust so I’d have to keep doing more and more and more exercise every year until I die. I don’t have the energy for that sort of commitment.
I’ve also dieted. I did Atkins even though it made me want to curl up on the floor (sober and starving and bawling) inside the pantry that contained no food I could actually eat. I did Weight Watchers until I ended up having to make 3 separate meals: one for me, one for the kids, and one for the steak-eating then-husband. I did the Master Cleanse lemonade fast until I somehow gained 5 pounds by not eating a single bite of food in five motherfucking days.
Nope. Diet and exercise just don’t work for me.
Just today I ate 200 calories but accidentally drank 960. (Don’t judge me; it’s a holiday and 260 of those were from an alcohol-free energy drink.) And yesterday morning I went to a yoga class, but didn’t lose a single pound.
So last week I bought some pills at Walgreens. I heard the Kardashians hocking them on the radio, so I have pretty high hopes. The box came with a booklet detailing an exercise and diet program, but I threw that part out. And the two days out of six that I’ve managed to remember to take the damn things, I pooped a lot. That’s gotta be good.
I’m also working on a managed bulimia plan. I’m not crazy enough to get a real eating disorder. I’d just like to sometimes be able to count on a nice purge when I accidentally eat a whole pan of brownies while standing in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The problem is, I haven’t actually been able to make myself puke. Instead of vomiting, with each little gag I just pee my pants. The one time I googled “getting started with bulimia” it didn’t mention anything about that….
Sometimes I wish I were one of those women on “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” so I could just pop out a quick ten pounds of baby.
And why hasn’t anyone bottled the stomach flu?
From one minute to the next, I go from deciding to get all skinny and healthy to deciding to buy flowy hippie dresses and fuck the unrealistic standards of female beauty. Oh, I don’t know. Just thinking about it makes me hungry.
Even I know I can’t go on like this forever. Should the purging and pills fall through, I have a back-up plan that requires even less effort than what I’m putting forth now. Come 2015 I give up all this endless, exhausting nonsense of thinking about being skinny, buy some low-cut tops, and use my newly huge boobs to deflect attention from my newly huge everything else. If the obesity epidemic keeps up, at least I won’t feel alone and ostracized. You’ll be able to find me in the Craigslist personals under the headline “Fat Genius Huge Boobs.” (I think it’s pretty obvious where the genius part comes from.)
