She was the fairest in the land, or at least that's what self-help books and the Mormon church let her believe

I'm writing another post already because I'm still in the honeymoon phase of blogging and also because I don't have anything else to do.

*Warning: This post contains what some refer to as "oversharing." Proceed with caution and a good remembrance of how you thought of me before reading this


When I woke up this morning (at 11:30, my life is so much better than yours), the first thing I did was weigh myself. I didn't mean to do it, there was very little forethought, it just happened.
And much to my dismay....
I gained four pounds.


Let me preface this by saying that I am not, nor have I ever been, nor will I (probably) ever be, fat. Because even though I have the appetite of a half-grown dinosaur, my very athletic family and upbringing have led me to be a compulsive exerciser. I guess one could say that I am intrinsically motivated (Kinesiology 104 jargon, don't worry about it) to turn myself into a sweaty, gasp-y beast 4-6 times a week. It took me a whole extra year to gain the freshman 15. When I played tennis for Oxy my first year (let's be serious, I didn't actually play), I was surprised to find that I was one of the most in-shape girls on the team. I was also one of the only ones who never showed up to practice hungover, but that's a story for another time.

Anyway, gaining four pounds wouldn't faze me that much if I hadn't spent the last three weeks slicing up veggies, hiding sugary things from myself, and busting my arse at the gym. To clarify, I am NOT on a diet. Diets don't work. When someone tells me they're on a diet, I immediately picture them crying over SELF magazine in a dark confined space with chocolate and cake crumbs slopped all over their face. I simply decided to make some simple lifestyle adjustments that will persist through my adulthood and keep me lean and mean when my monstrous metabolism finally burns out. I am also hoping that this will finally get rid of the Abominable Pudge once and for all.

The Pudge is an indestructible layer of visceral fat that that for the past five years has been eclipsing my super jacked abs that I am POSITIVE exist. Due to a common hormonal disorder that most women opt not to talk about because it sometimes involves half-transforming into a werewolf at the full moon, the Pudge slowly covered my midsection during puberty when I should have been getting boobs.

Although I despise the Pudge, I have to admire its tenacity and iron will. It has spent more time with me than any boy ever has. In fact, the only time it disappeared was for a few months during senior year when I was so absorbed in my own life that I forgot food was a thing and sucked down great troughs of Diet Lipton like the Elixir of Life. Which, of course, it is.

Granted this was after a 14 hour drive and all I'd eaten was a Fruit by the Foot

I had the worst idea in the world to confide in Miles about my new "lifestyle changes." If you don't know Miles, he weighs at most 125 pounds and eats roughly 2.5 calories a day, which he immediately expends being a cheeky douchemonger.

In case you forgot which one he is. He couldn't finish that cupcake.

 After I told him all about it via facebook chat, our conversation went more or less like this:

M: You would seem funnier if you were fat
B: ??
M: Yeah. Steve Farley
B: Surely you mean Chris
M: Yeah...Chris
B: *massive exaggerated facepalm*
M: Your humor would be received better if you were fat
B: Or I could just lose 20 pounds and be super hot
M: Maybe if you get more fat you'll get some boobs. Silver lining
B: Why am I even talking to you? You're a dude. You could eat a couch and metabolize it in  30 seconds

Steve Farley, the brother Chris didn't want to talk about

I obviously can't turn to my friends for support. So I turn to Andra. An aerobics instructor of 25 ish years, she is still a super ripped babe at 51. She will be a good motivator because when she was in her 20s she looked like she came straight out of a Girls Girls Girls music video:

The story about how this picture made my mother a porn star at Oxy is yet to come

I know, I know, I'm not Andra. I could never be Andra, for a lot of reasons:

1. She wears a D cup
2. She could bench press a lion
3. She works at a gym. I hate gyms. I hate working out at gyms. I hate the people who populate gyms. Nothing makes my eyes roll further back into my head than the pseudo-bunnies who come to work out in trucker hats and fake tits or the bro-tools who show up to pump some gnarly iron in flip-flops or these things:

Formed a League of Evil Footwear with Crocs to make you feel wonderful but look like a dumbass

I would rather go for a hike in the sunshine with McPuppers

His real name is Ollie

or box it out in a ring with a super jacked European guy while Sum 41 plays in the background.
4. Andra does the snack n' graze. I like to do the snack n' graze too, but in addition to snacking and grazing I like to sit down to a huge platter of charred gorilla meat at mealtimes.


The thing is, Andra doesn't want me to be her. 
Andra wants me to do things that make me feel good about myself.

So if wearing a PowerBalance bracelet and drinking protein shakes on the reg doesn't make me feel good about myself, I'm not about to do it.

If listening to an anorexic chick in a bra-top and custom made Nike trainers yell "Abs tight, ladies!" at me while I choke on lactic acid from my own glutes (more Kines jargon) doesn't make me feel good about myself, I'm not about to do it. 

If getting 20-30 minutes of moderate intensity cardio 5 days a week for health-related fitness or 60-90 minutes 6 days a week for weight maintenance like Professor negative-four-percent-body-fat Houston of Kinesiology 104 says still doesn't make me feel good about myself, then dammit to hell, I'm not doing it.


Everyone should do things that make them feel beautiful no matter what, even when they're not wearing makeup, which for me has been pretty much every day for the past two months.

This is for all you guys who claim to prefer the "natural look," which, for the record, is NONE of you. Make sure you know what you're talking about before you make such outrageous claims

For me, I feel most beautiful when I am wearing loose-fitting tops and singing songs I wrote for close friends and the baristas in otherwise empty coffee shops.

Me performing my sexy hit single "S&M" at Oxy's premiere cafe

So I guess the moral of my story is that pounds come and go, but positive self-esteem is forever.


Unless, of course, you get dumped, laid off, or excommunicated from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.


And btdubs, those four pounds were most likely muscle....