Can I just choose one?
The exercise thing is fine for me. I wasn't a very active child, so I've got all of that energy stored up. And it didn't really matter when I was seven. I wasn't that attractive, so a few extra lb's wasn't going to make much of a difference.
I love to run. It's good for my mind. It's all about rhythm and it allows me to meditate. Repetitive movement. And it's kind of masculine. Well, as long as I'm not flailing my arms about. For the record, I don't run like a girl.
Lifting weights. Actually not a bad thing. I think for a long time I didn't know what the hell I was doing. But you read enough MEN'S HEALTH issues and...well, you masturbate a lot. But when you're done with that, you're left with knowledge of proper form. I actually see my body changing, and the results are good.
P90X. I love. I love knowing how to do a proper push up. And I love that I CAN do a proper one. The exercises for the most part are basic and old school and THAT makes me feel like a total bro. It's a moderately important label. And I love the guy who leads the videos: "DO your best and forget the rest." It's just pure entertainment. And I've seen great results. I love a dive bomber push up. I love getting up early to do it. I love that the exercises only last 30 seconds. And I love variety. I love that there's hard core yoga and kickboxing. Like I said, it makes me feel like a bro.
Insanity. Just started this. I don't like it. It's made by Beach Body, the same folks who do P90x. But it doesn't have as much variety and you do the exercises for much longer. Also no demonstration of modified movement. That bugs. I'll give it another shot, but not loving it now.
Dancing. Going to the club. Taking a Hip Hop class at the gym. Standing at the barre for an hour. Going across the floor. It's very FAME (the original). And I love to dance. It does not make me feel like a bro. But I do feel strong and expressive.
Food. It's my weakness. If this was "Shoop", and Salt n' Pepa asked the proverbial question:
"Girls, what's my weakness?"
I'd respond back: "FOOD!"
Okay then. I'm not going to make the same list of different healthy food choices.
VEGAN
MACROBIOTIC
RAW FOOD DIET
BLOOD TYPE
No way. How about Diabetic Inducing? I love food. I don't like to monitor my intake, my frequency, my amount, my fat levels. I just love to eat it and smile when I'm done. I feel very accomplished. Sometimes I throw my hands up when I'm done with a meal.
TA-DA!
Or I look like a gymnast trying to stick a landing. Then I wait for my scores.
I love Italy. Fresh pasta. I love steak. I love bone marrow. Offal. I just love food. It's good. I love a good salad too. I make them. I go to Soupplantation. But it would be really difficult for me to get all militant on my meal planning. I'm Mexican. I love enchiladas. And I'm also Chinese. I love chicken with black bean sauce and egg rolls.
But I do need to find a magic way to just take off a few extra pounds so that I'm ready for that moment when I take my shirt off, as a recently single human being. Ugh. All of that pressure just makes me hungry. Good thing I'm going to Houston's for lunch to meet a friend. I'm sure they'll have something I'll like.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Christmas Gifts
I'm Catholic. It's Christmas. Get off of my hump, non-Christians!
SO do I get him a Christmas gift? I should get something for the dogs. But what's appropriate?
I actually go shopping online and think of things that he'd like. It's actually enjoyable now, thinking of what to get him for the HOLIDAYS (I caved) now that we're not together.
Gift shopping was always a source of major anxiety. If I got him a gift that he didn't like, he'd make sure to bring it up WEEKS and MONTHS later. Of course in the moment it's: "Oh, that's so nice and so thoughtful!" But later it'd be, "I can't believe you didn't take the time to get me something thoughtful when I ordered your gifts months ago."
It made the holidays, birthdays, and our anniversary really difficult because they'd arrive with a sense of dread. And yes, it's partially "battered wife syndrome." But I also am not traditionally the best gift giver. Gifts were weird in my family. Once we turned 10, our parents kind of gave up trying to figure out what we wanted and we just got money. And while it was fun to go shopping the day after Christmas (this became a big family tradition), the idea of picking something out for someone to be thoughtful kind of fell by the waistside. Although we did buy gifts for our parents, they were still "kids gifts." Like a tie. Or a sweatshirt off the sale rack at Macy's.
And my ex is a stupendous gift giver. He always gets it right. But I think he had a lot of pressure growing up. If his reaction to my gifts was any indication. And for the record, they weren't bad gifts. Well, not always. They were more from the heart than from the wallet. That's what I'll say about them. And they ALWAYS came from a good place of thoughtfulness, even though he didn't think so. But it was funny that the gifts that I thought were less personal were the ones he liked the most.
One of the first thoughts I had after the break up was "The pressure's off!" Not to be mean, but I seriously would have my stomach in knots over what to get him because I was so afraid he was going to be disappointed and think I was a bad boyfriend. Even though I had dealt with plenty on a personal level.
Isn't that funny how things can change in a matter of five weeks? Ironically, if I DO get him something, I bet he'll like it a lot more than any of the gifts I got him in the five years we were together. Nostalgia aside.
SO do I get him a Christmas gift? I should get something for the dogs. But what's appropriate?
I actually go shopping online and think of things that he'd like. It's actually enjoyable now, thinking of what to get him for the HOLIDAYS (I caved) now that we're not together.
Gift shopping was always a source of major anxiety. If I got him a gift that he didn't like, he'd make sure to bring it up WEEKS and MONTHS later. Of course in the moment it's: "Oh, that's so nice and so thoughtful!" But later it'd be, "I can't believe you didn't take the time to get me something thoughtful when I ordered your gifts months ago."
It made the holidays, birthdays, and our anniversary really difficult because they'd arrive with a sense of dread. And yes, it's partially "battered wife syndrome." But I also am not traditionally the best gift giver. Gifts were weird in my family. Once we turned 10, our parents kind of gave up trying to figure out what we wanted and we just got money. And while it was fun to go shopping the day after Christmas (this became a big family tradition), the idea of picking something out for someone to be thoughtful kind of fell by the waistside. Although we did buy gifts for our parents, they were still "kids gifts." Like a tie. Or a sweatshirt off the sale rack at Macy's.
And my ex is a stupendous gift giver. He always gets it right. But I think he had a lot of pressure growing up. If his reaction to my gifts was any indication. And for the record, they weren't bad gifts. Well, not always. They were more from the heart than from the wallet. That's what I'll say about them. And they ALWAYS came from a good place of thoughtfulness, even though he didn't think so. But it was funny that the gifts that I thought were less personal were the ones he liked the most.
One of the first thoughts I had after the break up was "The pressure's off!" Not to be mean, but I seriously would have my stomach in knots over what to get him because I was so afraid he was going to be disappointed and think I was a bad boyfriend. Even though I had dealt with plenty on a personal level.
Isn't that funny how things can change in a matter of five weeks? Ironically, if I DO get him something, I bet he'll like it a lot more than any of the gifts I got him in the five years we were together. Nostalgia aside.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Friend Request
I just sent a friend request to someone that I've been dying to have sex with. Maybe that's over stating it. He's someone I've always wanted to have sex with. But when I met him he had a boyfriend. Then I had a boyfriend. Then we didn't see each other for a long time while I was between boyfriends. Then I saw him again a few times when I was with my ex. And we said hi...and flirted a bit. But I had a boyfriend.
He's one of those guys that you just know you have sexual chemistry with. Like it's unexplainable and there's no good reason for it. But you know that if you were both single and in an enclosed space, you'd throw down. This is a guy that I know I could be on a deserted island with for months and not go hunting for food. I wouldn't need to. I'd be feasting on sausage every night.
It could be dangerous. but I'm all for taking risks right now.
Or it could be horrible. He could be an amazing disappointment. What if it's horrible? What if his short man's complex doesn't make him work hard for the money? What if I've built it up so much that it's just no good?
Or what if it's so good that I fall in love? Ew. And I had so many OTHER guys on my "when I'm single and they're single, we're gonna do it." You know..."it." What if I don't get to those guys?
Or worse. What if he doesn't accept my friend request? He actually defriended me once. And totally denied it.
Maybe this is too much work. I might not want to be his friend anyway. And now I just have to wait.
I'm STILL waiting for the guy from brunch on Sunday to respond back to me on Craig's List "Missed Connections." And now this.
He's one of those guys that you just know you have sexual chemistry with. Like it's unexplainable and there's no good reason for it. But you know that if you were both single and in an enclosed space, you'd throw down. This is a guy that I know I could be on a deserted island with for months and not go hunting for food. I wouldn't need to. I'd be feasting on sausage every night.
It could be dangerous. but I'm all for taking risks right now.
Or it could be horrible. He could be an amazing disappointment. What if it's horrible? What if his short man's complex doesn't make him work hard for the money? What if I've built it up so much that it's just no good?
Or what if it's so good that I fall in love? Ew. And I had so many OTHER guys on my "when I'm single and they're single, we're gonna do it." You know..."it." What if I don't get to those guys?
Or worse. What if he doesn't accept my friend request? He actually defriended me once. And totally denied it.
Maybe this is too much work. I might not want to be his friend anyway. And now I just have to wait.
I'm STILL waiting for the guy from brunch on Sunday to respond back to me on Craig's List "Missed Connections." And now this.
Time on My Hands
My friends and I happened upon this show on Logo called "1 Girl 5 Gays." We immediately started making fun of it.
Here's the Premise: 1 straight girl plays 20 Questions with a revolving cast of 5 gay men.
It's like a party when all the guests haven't arrived yet and someone decides it's time to play a game. Like 20 questions. Or sadder, a party where only five other people show up. And they're all smart alecy gays who live in the East Village. Although I think this is filmed in Canada. And it's like the cheapest production values ever. Like Public Access.
It's not like it perpetuates any stereotypes, although most of the gays are really queeny. And it's not offensive. Unless you call milquetoast gays offensive. Or if you find offensive the types of gays who would allow themselves to show up to a bad party thrown by their lonely ethnic fag hag friend who wears too much eye make up. And the questions aren't really of any consequence. It's no McLaughlin Group.
But that would be GREAT. A gay McLaughlin Group filled with a cast of variously aged gay men who have different political views due to how far before or after gay liberation they are. Now THAT would be "Fierce TV" (Logo's slogan).
And what makes this show weird besides everything that I just mentioned above is the fact that there are these little snippets inbetween that illustrate the next question. Like a guy in a shirt that gets tighter and tighter and eventually disappears is shown before the following question is asked: "How do you know when a shirt is too tight?"
Crickets.
Although I would enjoy if they added a tag to the end of each question.
"Who on the panel do you think is the most vain? DISCUSS!"
"Which cartoon character does the person on your right remind you of? DISCUSS!"
"How do you know when a shirt is too tight? DISCUSS!"
Better already.
I guess the thing that irks me about the show is that it's really not about anything. You're literally watching a random group of 5 gays answer questions about random topics in no particular order and with no particular theme, rhyme or reason.
It's not like there's a topic. Even my beloved SNL sketch, "Coffee Talk" was about something. And it was much shorter. What if they just re-enacted old "Coffee Talks"?
DISCUSS!
So I watched about two or three episodes and you know what happened? I got a little obsessed. So much so that I'm devoting a whole blog post to it. And a big one. Then I realized that maybe I have too much time on my hands. I'm "home" alone, after finishing a microwave meal, and watching Logo when I could be at Rimjob at MJ's in Silverlake. Or I could be working out. Or doing yoga stretches. You know something productive. But here I am watching this roundtable of gays discussing nothing.
Or...
Maybe it's not time yet. I mean it's only been five weeks. I was about to say that maybe I should go out on a date. I've gone out with friends. That's been fun. But maybe an actual date. I mean, clearly my ex-boyfriend is moving on. He's dating 25 year olds! Who clearly fit the profile. And when I say "profile" I mean he's got a type. Young (or young looking), brown, with longish hair. And for the most part it doesn't bother me, and I'm kind of revealing my hand here, but it did. It shouldn't have and it was so fucking cliche and expected. But it did. It bugged me. It bugged the mother loving shit out of me.
If you want to read my more rational reaction, you can read an earlier post.
And I'm totally happy where my life is. And how not complicated certain aspects are. I love that I don't have to pretend that things are great between us and that he's just surly. And I'm glad I don't have to romanticize his surlyness anymore.
(deep breath)
Okay. SO...If my personality was a city, what city would it be? Venice. Italy. And not because it's sinking. But because it's a city you can get lost in. But it doesn't make you nervous. It just makes you turn around and want to explore more of the city. It's unexpected in its beauty. And it's near the water, continuous. And it looks best in it's own natural light. It glows. It's a never ending fairyland of discovery, mystery, beauty and intrigue.
Maybe I should invite someone to Venice.
No jokes about exploring my canals. Or my c-anals.
Okay?
Here's the Premise: 1 straight girl plays 20 Questions with a revolving cast of 5 gay men.
It's like a party when all the guests haven't arrived yet and someone decides it's time to play a game. Like 20 questions. Or sadder, a party where only five other people show up. And they're all smart alecy gays who live in the East Village. Although I think this is filmed in Canada. And it's like the cheapest production values ever. Like Public Access.
It's not like it perpetuates any stereotypes, although most of the gays are really queeny. And it's not offensive. Unless you call milquetoast gays offensive. Or if you find offensive the types of gays who would allow themselves to show up to a bad party thrown by their lonely ethnic fag hag friend who wears too much eye make up. And the questions aren't really of any consequence. It's no McLaughlin Group.
But that would be GREAT. A gay McLaughlin Group filled with a cast of variously aged gay men who have different political views due to how far before or after gay liberation they are. Now THAT would be "Fierce TV" (Logo's slogan).
And what makes this show weird besides everything that I just mentioned above is the fact that there are these little snippets inbetween that illustrate the next question. Like a guy in a shirt that gets tighter and tighter and eventually disappears is shown before the following question is asked: "How do you know when a shirt is too tight?"
Crickets.
Although I would enjoy if they added a tag to the end of each question.
"Who on the panel do you think is the most vain? DISCUSS!"
"Which cartoon character does the person on your right remind you of? DISCUSS!"
"How do you know when a shirt is too tight? DISCUSS!"
Better already.
I guess the thing that irks me about the show is that it's really not about anything. You're literally watching a random group of 5 gays answer questions about random topics in no particular order and with no particular theme, rhyme or reason.
It's not like there's a topic. Even my beloved SNL sketch, "Coffee Talk" was about something. And it was much shorter. What if they just re-enacted old "Coffee Talks"?
DISCUSS!
So I watched about two or three episodes and you know what happened? I got a little obsessed. So much so that I'm devoting a whole blog post to it. And a big one. Then I realized that maybe I have too much time on my hands. I'm "home" alone, after finishing a microwave meal, and watching Logo when I could be at Rimjob at MJ's in Silverlake. Or I could be working out. Or doing yoga stretches. You know something productive. But here I am watching this roundtable of gays discussing nothing.
Or...
Maybe it's not time yet. I mean it's only been five weeks. I was about to say that maybe I should go out on a date. I've gone out with friends. That's been fun. But maybe an actual date. I mean, clearly my ex-boyfriend is moving on. He's dating 25 year olds! Who clearly fit the profile. And when I say "profile" I mean he's got a type. Young (or young looking), brown, with longish hair. And for the most part it doesn't bother me, and I'm kind of revealing my hand here, but it did. It shouldn't have and it was so fucking cliche and expected. But it did. It bugged me. It bugged the mother loving shit out of me.
If you want to read my more rational reaction, you can read an earlier post.
And I'm totally happy where my life is. And how not complicated certain aspects are. I love that I don't have to pretend that things are great between us and that he's just surly. And I'm glad I don't have to romanticize his surlyness anymore.
(deep breath)
Okay. SO...If my personality was a city, what city would it be? Venice. Italy. And not because it's sinking. But because it's a city you can get lost in. But it doesn't make you nervous. It just makes you turn around and want to explore more of the city. It's unexpected in its beauty. And it's near the water, continuous. And it looks best in it's own natural light. It glows. It's a never ending fairyland of discovery, mystery, beauty and intrigue.
Maybe I should invite someone to Venice.
No jokes about exploring my canals. Or my c-anals.
Okay?
No Scrubs
I love Korean spas. They're no frills. It's $15 or $20 and you can go relax, let your mind go blank and detox. I also love the old Korean men who have visited the spas as a part of their cultural ritual since they were young. And of course there's some eye candy because the non-Koreans have discovered that the calm effects of a good steam, sauna or jacuzzi. And it's cheap.
I had never gotten a massage or a scrub before. Even though a scrub's only $35 (including use of the spa), frankly it kind of scared me. The little man who does it is skinny and in a towel. And even though the scrub table is in a discreet corner in the spa, it feels a bit exposed. Whenever I go to shave, I can see a pasty old white guy getting exfoliated by Mr. Skinny.
The young, hot non-Asians never seem to visit Mr. Skinny.
So when I went over the weekend, to try to sweat out two consecutive nights of drinking and carrying on, the lovely but non-English speaking Asian lady at the front accidentally charged my card $150 instead of the usual $15.
"Oops." And it sounded as tiny, squeaky and as stereotypically Asian as you could imagine. She might have even giggled when she said it. But all of a sudden she was pulling out all of this money and handing it to me.
"I made a mistake." What? So you couldn't just credit my card? So here I was with $135 dollars in cash. So I figured that since she made the mistake anyway, maybe this was my opportunity to try a scrub. So I gave her twenty more bucks.
In addition to being very cheap, the whole operation is incredibly loose. This is not a high-anxiety environment like Burke Williams. No big schedules. No demanding clientele. My scrub was supposed to start at 1:50 and when I went to check, I got shooed away.
"Five more minutes."
Ten minutes later I showed up on Mr. Skinny's doorstep. Or his tableside. He motioned for me to lay on the table. I didn't know how to say, "You sure you don't want to hose it down first?" in Korean. So I hoped for the best.
"On back." I guess that means I should get on my back. Do I keep my towel on? Do I cover my genitals? Do I remember what the guys on the table usually have on? Not saying that I was looking too closely. I don't want to be inappropriate and insult this guy. So I decided to leave my towel draped over myself.
He threw the towel to the side. And laid a small hand towel to cover the goods. And when I say cover the goods, I mean BARELY cover. I've got nice goods. I mean, there's no pretense. I'm half-Asian. I know the deal. The jig is up.
SPLASH. He grabs a green bowl of luke warm water and covers me. I make sure not to get any in my mouth. Was that a fresh bowl?
SPLASH. Once more with feeling.
He then gets some sort of scrub pad and starts working on my arm. Wow. This is some exfoliation. Must be good for the skin. Because it hurts. A lot.
Then he lifts my arm and scrubs. Then he places my arm over my head, so it's bending at the elbow. I hope no one's taking a picture because it's strange. On two levels: 1) it looks like I'm posing for some underground fetish Korean magazine; 2) I'm naked! Hello!
By the time he's working on my legs, I'm used to the pain. And also, I think my legs are able to endure more pain. The skin isn't as sensitive. But then, in a completely unexpected turn of events, he grabs "the goods" and starts to scrub my...oh Jesus...uh...the area between...underneath...near...holy shizknuckles!
He's scrubbing my taint. And if you don't know what that is, I'm not going to explain it to you. And under the balls. And then he gets the other side. So I'm fully exfoliated in the taint zone.
He got the nooks AND the crannies. And that was the most shocking thing that got scrubbed. Thank heavens.
Until he exfoliated my anus. Not deep in. Just the area that's butt cheek adjacent. And there are no italicized thoughts to explain while he did this because I really didn't want to think about what he was doing.
SIDE NOTE: I know a lot of women in the blogosphere and other media outlets like to talk about their first Brazilian and the traumatic effect it had on them initially. This is nothing like that. It's kind of worse. Not that I have a vagina to speak of. But at least with a waxing you know of the potential dangers.
So when he's done ripping the skin off of me, he makes me turn around. I'm scared of what's to come. Then he lathers up his hands and washes me. Okay, that's a nice way to end. It's pleasant. Gentle. And not erection inducing. I take a deep breath.
"Shower!" Is it over? Couldn't he just yell "cut?" Or "and scene?"
I have that feeling I usually get when I'm on a rollercoaster and it's pulling into the station. Relief. My heart is racing. And I'm ready for it to be over.
My skin is still pretty soft to the touch. And eventually, the trauma will subside.
Give it time. Right?
I had never gotten a massage or a scrub before. Even though a scrub's only $35 (including use of the spa), frankly it kind of scared me. The little man who does it is skinny and in a towel. And even though the scrub table is in a discreet corner in the spa, it feels a bit exposed. Whenever I go to shave, I can see a pasty old white guy getting exfoliated by Mr. Skinny.
The young, hot non-Asians never seem to visit Mr. Skinny.
So when I went over the weekend, to try to sweat out two consecutive nights of drinking and carrying on, the lovely but non-English speaking Asian lady at the front accidentally charged my card $150 instead of the usual $15.
"Oops." And it sounded as tiny, squeaky and as stereotypically Asian as you could imagine. She might have even giggled when she said it. But all of a sudden she was pulling out all of this money and handing it to me.
"I made a mistake." What? So you couldn't just credit my card? So here I was with $135 dollars in cash. So I figured that since she made the mistake anyway, maybe this was my opportunity to try a scrub. So I gave her twenty more bucks.
In addition to being very cheap, the whole operation is incredibly loose. This is not a high-anxiety environment like Burke Williams. No big schedules. No demanding clientele. My scrub was supposed to start at 1:50 and when I went to check, I got shooed away.
"Five more minutes."
Ten minutes later I showed up on Mr. Skinny's doorstep. Or his tableside. He motioned for me to lay on the table. I didn't know how to say, "You sure you don't want to hose it down first?" in Korean. So I hoped for the best.
"On back." I guess that means I should get on my back. Do I keep my towel on? Do I cover my genitals? Do I remember what the guys on the table usually have on? Not saying that I was looking too closely. I don't want to be inappropriate and insult this guy. So I decided to leave my towel draped over myself.
He threw the towel to the side. And laid a small hand towel to cover the goods. And when I say cover the goods, I mean BARELY cover. I've got nice goods. I mean, there's no pretense. I'm half-Asian. I know the deal. The jig is up.
SPLASH. He grabs a green bowl of luke warm water and covers me. I make sure not to get any in my mouth. Was that a fresh bowl?
SPLASH. Once more with feeling.
He then gets some sort of scrub pad and starts working on my arm. Wow. This is some exfoliation. Must be good for the skin. Because it hurts. A lot.
Then he lifts my arm and scrubs. Then he places my arm over my head, so it's bending at the elbow. I hope no one's taking a picture because it's strange. On two levels: 1) it looks like I'm posing for some underground fetish Korean magazine; 2) I'm naked! Hello!
By the time he's working on my legs, I'm used to the pain. And also, I think my legs are able to endure more pain. The skin isn't as sensitive. But then, in a completely unexpected turn of events, he grabs "the goods" and starts to scrub my...oh Jesus...uh...the area between...underneath...near...holy shizknuckles!
He's scrubbing my taint. And if you don't know what that is, I'm not going to explain it to you. And under the balls. And then he gets the other side. So I'm fully exfoliated in the taint zone.
He got the nooks AND the crannies. And that was the most shocking thing that got scrubbed. Thank heavens.
Until he exfoliated my anus. Not deep in. Just the area that's butt cheek adjacent. And there are no italicized thoughts to explain while he did this because I really didn't want to think about what he was doing.
SIDE NOTE: I know a lot of women in the blogosphere and other media outlets like to talk about their first Brazilian and the traumatic effect it had on them initially. This is nothing like that. It's kind of worse. Not that I have a vagina to speak of. But at least with a waxing you know of the potential dangers.
So when he's done ripping the skin off of me, he makes me turn around. I'm scared of what's to come. Then he lathers up his hands and washes me. Okay, that's a nice way to end. It's pleasant. Gentle. And not erection inducing. I take a deep breath.
"Shower!" Is it over? Couldn't he just yell "cut?" Or "and scene?"
I have that feeling I usually get when I'm on a rollercoaster and it's pulling into the station. Relief. My heart is racing. And I'm ready for it to be over.
My skin is still pretty soft to the touch. And eventually, the trauma will subside.
Give it time. Right?
Return of the Body?
This is essentially my "Emancipation of Mimi." That album was the "return of the voice." This is the Return of the Body.
Actually, I never had the body. I always felt that if I had the washboard abs and huge muscles that I would be sending a message about myself that I was superficial. I also have always said that I don't have the time to workout that hard. I go to bars and I see these guys who are super hot and have these massive chests and tight asses and I judge them. I call them shallow. I call them vapid. And I give them the stink eye.
What I am is jealous. And I'm afraid to compete with those guys. Because I'm afraid of embarrassing myself. And failing. But honestly, I don't have to turn in my brain if I have less body fat. I secretly (or not so secretly) believe that I could never look like that. I believe that these guys are a part of some alien species of man who looks like they've been ripped out of the pages of GQ or Hommes Vogue. If I feel that having a body that looks like a model is impossible and extreme, I feel like less of a failure.
My body history:
I spent four years in college taking daily dance classes. I've spent hours and hours in the gym. I've done hip hop. I've run a marathon. I've done P90X and now I'm doing a workout called "Insanity." So I've got a lot of reason to believe that my body could never be model-worthy. Or at least Micky's go go dancer worthy.
And I love to eat. I can't give that up! So I resolve myself to the fact that I'll never have that body. {But I really want it.}
Did Marc Jacobs become less talented once he transformed his body? I already look at the mirror 50 times a day. So it's not like I'm going to become MORE of a narcissist.
I'm going to go for it. It's about letting myself have everything I want. It's about not having limits or placing a value on something. A hot body is the end result of feeling like you deserve certain things in life and good health and hygiene. And it comes with more energy and better skin and more stamina.
It also helps in getting laid. Which is really why people want to look hot. It always comes down to that.
So I don't know in which order all of this matters: health, sex, energy, appearance, clarity, focus, confidence. But I do know that if I can have all of this, in whatever order, I'll be in a good place.
BTW: Today's exercise report
I did the "Insanity" Core and Balance workout. It was fucking hard! This is not fun.
Actually, I never had the body. I always felt that if I had the washboard abs and huge muscles that I would be sending a message about myself that I was superficial. I also have always said that I don't have the time to workout that hard. I go to bars and I see these guys who are super hot and have these massive chests and tight asses and I judge them. I call them shallow. I call them vapid. And I give them the stink eye.
What I am is jealous. And I'm afraid to compete with those guys. Because I'm afraid of embarrassing myself. And failing. But honestly, I don't have to turn in my brain if I have less body fat. I secretly (or not so secretly) believe that I could never look like that. I believe that these guys are a part of some alien species of man who looks like they've been ripped out of the pages of GQ or Hommes Vogue. If I feel that having a body that looks like a model is impossible and extreme, I feel like less of a failure.
My body history:
I spent four years in college taking daily dance classes. I've spent hours and hours in the gym. I've done hip hop. I've run a marathon. I've done P90X and now I'm doing a workout called "Insanity." So I've got a lot of reason to believe that my body could never be model-worthy. Or at least Micky's go go dancer worthy.
And I love to eat. I can't give that up! So I resolve myself to the fact that I'll never have that body. {But I really want it.}
Did Marc Jacobs become less talented once he transformed his body? I already look at the mirror 50 times a day. So it's not like I'm going to become MORE of a narcissist.
I'm going to go for it. It's about letting myself have everything I want. It's about not having limits or placing a value on something. A hot body is the end result of feeling like you deserve certain things in life and good health and hygiene. And it comes with more energy and better skin and more stamina.
It also helps in getting laid. Which is really why people want to look hot. It always comes down to that.
So I don't know in which order all of this matters: health, sex, energy, appearance, clarity, focus, confidence. But I do know that if I can have all of this, in whatever order, I'll be in a good place.
BTW: Today's exercise report
I did the "Insanity" Core and Balance workout. It was fucking hard! This is not fun.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Hotness Update
Still no word on "Missed Connections" from the guy who checked me out yesterday.
I don't know if I should be happy or sad if he responds to my ad. The good thing is that he finds me. The bad thing is that he went on Craigslist.
But at least we'd have something in common.
I don't know if I should be happy or sad if he responds to my ad. The good thing is that he finds me. The bad thing is that he went on Craigslist.
But at least we'd have something in common.
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