Here's To Silly!

Maybe it doesn't say much for my mental state that I just don't feel that I have much worth writing about, or I don't have time to write about it for a month, and then I feel that a comic filled with angst fits my mood perfectly. Meh.

Anyways (I always giggle in my head when I add the "s" to "anyway." It feels deliciously wicked and probably funny only to me), Wonderman has been talking about New Year's resolutions. I generally avoid them. Not that I think goals aren't wonderful and important. I guess I just think I'm too good to make goals. No, not really. Sheesh. I just . . . . oh I don't know. There's no good excuse, is there? Maybe I feel too lost in my own inadequacies to focus on just a few areas in which to improve? Maybe I my Adult Onset Attention Deficit Disorder keeps me from focusing on anything at all for very long? Maybe I'm just content to be that lame person that basically wallows in my weaknesses, eating popcorn with parmesan cheese and watching movies while I do it? That's probably it.

My dear Aunt Nina, however, has inspired me. She is going to throw more parties. I could do that. Or something like it. Despite my big smile, I find myself often being dreadfully socially awkward and kind of lonely. I can make social goals, right? I don't have to just lose weight like everyone else?

Conclusion: Goals are very personal and don't have to meet anyone's expectations except my own, thank goodness. Thanks for the reminder, Auntie.

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Well, I think this is a post about being fat. Yes, I've become that girl. It used to be the girl who found a way to bring up in every conversation the fact that she was single. It could be a convo about broccoli and somehow it turns to singleness, lack of dating, and how men suck. I tried very hard to avoid such discussion. And then I got married, so it's a non-issue. Hooray, never again will I worry myself over becoming that girl. Alas, she has morphed and I am her. Ever convo turns to some aspect of me being fat. It's on my mind a lot. Some of it has to do with being married, right? My friend Katrina told me about her brother-in-law's idea for a new Barbie: wedding Barbie. As soon as you put a ring on her finger, she blows up like a balloon. That's sort of what I did. Although, I'd like to say that I did, of course, have a perfect storm-style convergence of events, all of which have led to my current state of fluffiness. 1 - I had surgery, which put me out of the active lifestyle for quite a while. Lethargy became the norm. 2 - Condition connected to said surgery required me taking yucky steroids, which ballooned me up quite quickly. 3 - I got married, and I'm just fulfilling the stereotype. 4 - I turned 30 and apparently that's when the metabolism goes on vacation. Still, no matter what the reason - I'M STILL FAT. I generally think I look fabulous, until I try to put on my favorite pair of capri pants and I can barely zip them up, then I want to cry. I've been reading about all kinds of people's diets and struggles, and instead of being inspired, I feel annoyed. I don't want to focus on this for the rest of my life. I think I'd rather be fat. However, I did get up the gumption to purchase the currently-wildly popular exercise video "[Effing] Jillian's [Effing] 30-Day [Effing] Shred." I sort of hate doing it. I hate Jillian, I hate all the lame things she says, I hate how sweaty I get, I hate how sore my muscles are when I'm done, I hate that she says that if I do what Natalie does, I'll look like Natalie in no time, which is complete bull because I'd have to be Natalie to begin with and even Jillian doesn't look like Natalie, I hate watching the trinkets on top of my entertainment center wobble as I bounce around the living room, apparently much like an elephant. Still, I've been doing it because I realize that I need to make some serious changes if I want my body to seriously change. I've even been pretty dedicated. Sunday aside, I've only skipped one day. My muscles don't hurt quite as bad as the first time I did it. NOTHING ELSE HAS CHANGED. Not one effing pound. I've even been eating a little (perhaps very little, but still, a little) better. Wonderman, on the other hand, has been eating a little better and TALKING a lot about the workout he's going to do. This morning, the scale told him he had lost four effing pounds. Of course I'm delighted for him, as Wonderman wants to be less fat just as much as I do, but IT'S NOT FAIR. I'm considering just tossing all my skinny clothes and embracing the current level of fatness because at least then I won't be obsessive and unhappy. Would that be so wrong? Would that solve my problem with being that girl? I'm tired of being her. Even I roll my eyes now every time I bring up my being fat. It's so lame and overdone. I think I'll go eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's while I think about it, and if you even dare giggle at my plan or raise your eyebrows at my methods, I will send a pack of ninja pirates to make you stop. So there. Because maybe I'll do Jillian afterwards. Maybe not.

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