BLOG: 6's & 7'S
Better looking than MJ
In my never dying quest to be worthy of Abercrombie and Fitch, I see that it is time to diet again. Apparently, my groovy coolness and ability to actually pay for the over-priced crap does not outweigh my recent birthday and my extra twenty (did I say 20? HA!) pounds.
And while I'm at it, I might as well go for golden. I mean, that's what makes a cool kid cool, right? I want to be the next face of Abercrombie and Fitch. Of course, it would have to be one of the ads where I'm being groped by some loser that can't afford a shirt and forgot how to pull his pants up, because the "Blondes Don't Pay Cover" and "Blame It On My Blue Eyes" campaigns are just too Aryan nation for me.
As someone who has been overweight since birth and has been on a diet since I was five years old, I'm pretty well versed in all the ways I'm supposed to act to insure me the next spot on an A&F ad. Can I do it? Probably not, because as anyone who has never suffered with chronic obesity will tell you, us fat women are a lazy bunch. But somewhere in between my working sixty hours a week, running three times a week, writing a book and managing a house, I'm going to get off my fat ass and put on my WWMJD (What Would Mike Jeffries Do) cheap rubber bracelet and try it again. My drug of choice this time around: Alli.
First, why would I need a drug, right? Just be more active and quit stuffing your face, that's the key. Well, somewhere between learning to walk and starting grade school, my body decided that I should do twice as much as everyone else, and eat half as much, just to maintain an overweight status. Pfft. I've already been doing that for almost fifty years. Of course, birthing children that would fall into Jeffries category of an ideal customer didn't help much either, but that's a moot point since I've told them they will be disinherited if I catch them in an "A&F" shirt.
Again, why Alli? The side effects, silly! Who can resist anal leakage? Oily, orange colored stools, an inability to control bowel movements, gas with discharge and of course, rectal pain? It's all for beauty, right? So who cares if my ass hurts and I crap orange slime every time I fart? It's all for the betterment of society.
Yesterday, I bought Alli. I lasted 24 hours. I had to resolve myself to the fact that I'm just not as cool as Mike Jeffries, who is at least a decade older (and definitely not as good looking) as me, but that took all of about 30 seconds. I mean, dude (your favorite word, not mine), look in the mirror. Not cool at all. You're like that creepy grandpa that wants to hang out with the teenagers, and they let you, temporarily, only so they can laugh about it later.
And incidentally, at sixty +, I know the 'male problems' you are either experiencing or will be soon. You'll be begging for anal leakage. How cool is that, dude?
I have forced Al into watching a foreign film on Netflix....... He claims he can't read and watch at the same time......
Although I've only met 'Al' once, when I saw the above status update on his wife's Facebook page, I felt his pain. Oh, the dreaded "Honey, put down the book and watch a movie instead," is worse than "I know you say you don't like liver, but, if you just try it..." I imagined poor Al, cradling a good crime mystery, anxious to discover the next twist in the plot, plopping on the couch only to hear, "But it's a great chick flick. Trust me."
Poor Al. Been there, buddy.
I'm still waiting for the day when my husband says, "Why don't we just sit and read together tonight?" Yeah. Not going to happen. He's a movie guy, and I'm a book girl. But, in an effort to keep the peace, I've developed a sure fire way to read my book AND convince my husband that I'm enjoying his poorly dubbed karate flick at the same time.
The most common paradigm in film is the three act structure: Setup, Conflict, Resolution. Use it to your advantage. All you need is six note cards with a few creative lines.
The first card: THIS LOOKS GOOD or GOOD CHOICE, HONEY or something else that says, "Yes, you were right, I was wrong, the liver is delicious."
Second card: WOW, SHE LOOKS REALLY DIFFERENT IN THIS MOVIE. Since actresses pride themselves on their ability to 'look different', this is a gift line. And your spouse will think you are paying attention.
Third card: DAMN or HAHA or WOW. Your movie partner is vested by now. One random word doesn't distract them, but subconsciously makes them believe you are watching. This is your genre specific card, so be careful! You don't want to accidentally HAHA while watching Shindler's List. Dead giveaway.
Fourth card: Movie spouse is deep into conflict now. Time to get a little revenge. This is your random speech card. "YOU KNOW, I READ SOMEWHERE THAT THIS DIRECTOR IS KNOWN FOR HIS USE OF LIGHTING AND SPACE, AND THAT SETTING PLAYS A BIG PART IN HIS WORK. IN FACT..." If you get this far, play it by ear. You won't though. What you will get is a "SHHH" from your partner. Golden.
Fifth card: The bathroom card. More revenge. "PAUSE IT SO I CAN GO TO THE BATHROOM. I DON'T WANT TO MISS ANYTHING." Ha! Now they have to look at a frozen screen while your journey off, with your book, to take care of business.
Final card: YOU WERE RIGHT, HONEY. I ENJOYED THAT. Try not to laugh when you say it.
Place these cards in order, every ten to fifteen pages in your novel depending on your reading speed. This gives you a comment about every fifteen minutes, painlessly getting you through a typical hour and a half movie. When you get enough practice, you will be able to mimic your partner and laugh when they laugh, or jump when they jump, and never miss a sentence on the page.
When the movie is over, put your cards away for next time, and grab a quick kiss before going back to your book. And don't forget to 'like' your spouse's next Facebook status:
The movie was great! Even Al thought so!
The last time I attempted to run, one of my sons asked, "What the hell do you call that?"
"That's rude," I replied. "I have physical abnormalities that make running very difficult."
"Boobs and feet."
I guess the best way to describe it is to say I run like an injured Tyrannosaurus Rex. My elbows, tucked close to my side, while my itty bitty hands flap over my chest, fighting my gifted bosom down to avoid bruising my chin. One of my feet insists on hitting the ground flat like a bear, while the other likes to tiptoe, like a ballerina, making it appear that I am about to topple over, one side or the other, with each stride.
A floundering Tyrannosaurus Bearlerina. That's me.
However, in November of this year, I have challenged some of my runner friends to come to Vegas for a 5K run that involves a lot of paint and a lot of partying, and I have promised to run with them, if they decide to take the challenge. For me, I get to hang out with some friends. For them, they get to witness the T-Bear in action.
So I started training today. Afterall, it's only 5K, what is that, like 10 blocks? No problem. I ran almost a block today, and figure I can now recover for the next three weeks before I add another block to my workout. It was difficult trying to ash my cigarette while my arms flopped around like headless chickens over my bosom, but I figured it out. The carb loading before my run was much more fun than the running part, and I'm sure I'll be in pain tomorrow. I may have to have a massage. Hmmm. Maybe this running thing isn't so bad after all. AND, it's for charity, right? And paint. And partying.
So who's with me? November. Las Vegas. 5K (maybe that's more like 12 blocks?). Paint. Party.
We'll make history. Or at least America's Funniest Home Videos.
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