Yes, I smoke, I drink, I drink Diet Coke (oh no, aspartame!), I even eat red bloody meat and worst of all, I eat fried food like it’s going out of style. I know these things are obviously bad for me but I mean, if I die tomorrow or even in the next two hours (dying tomorrow is too cliché), I want to know I’m going six feet under with a belly full of terrible shit I loved and lungs as black as tar.
Now, don’t get me wrong, like all the other girls questioning their appearance 34,000 a day, I have tried the “10 Minutes Home Workout for Busy People” and I too have downloaded P90X (because who has $200 to waste on four DVDs? Not me.) I would wake up the next morning full of hope and energy knowing this would finally be the time I get my act together and “get healthy.” Ya, OKAY!
I would put on the sports bra, my boobs were smooshed inside there like Chinese businessmen on the Beijing metro at 7 PM. FUCK THAT. I ripped that thing off and threw it back in my drawer. I began to hop and bop around pretending I was SO good at following instructions when, really, I had no fucking clue what I was doing and that hopping and bopping around began to hurt my boobs so… reluctantly, I put the torture chamber back on. Now that my fat bags weren't able to breathe, I’d start again, doing knee highs and suicides… the the whole thing made me want to commit suicide.
I paused. My poor smoked out lungs were giving out on me and the sweat pouring into my eyes was a sign from God that this healthy thing, well, was NOT for me. So, I stopped. Laid on my back on my carpet in my bra and underwear wondering if this was finally it, the day I would die from a heart attack due to trying to be healthy. It would have been ironic, wouldn’t it?!
Anyways, I got up after 45 minutes of laying on the floor, looking at Pinterest, watching American Idol audition videos of terrible, curly haired teenagers. The breeze of my fan sent a whiff of my B.O. smell to my nostril and that putrid smell told me it was time to let go of the cellular device and go shower. In the shower, I would pretend that ordeal never happened. Clearly, I was embarrassed because I couldn’t get through one workout. Now let me be clear, I’m not fat. I have a nice shape to me but by no means fat. So… I don’t NEED to workout but you know, couldn’t hurt. I showered. Did my daily dance in the shower like I was myself, auditioning for some sort of talent show. After, I'd throw on a shirt and go near my window and light up a cigarette which I had been thinking about my whole 15 minutes of working out.
I’d stand there, quickly thinking about what happened and how I could potentially improve on these “home workouts” and move on. I then found a solution: What if I just ate super healthy? Shit, that could work!
I love candy too much.
Back to square one, what if I just… watch what I eat? Could I do that? Sure. Would it suck? Absolutely. But it had to be done. So I began being careful of what I ate and to my surprise, after a few weeks, I was feeling a little better about myself (and less bloated, maybe eating healthy just made me poop more, I couldn’t tell ya!). The more the weeks went on, the more I felt a binge coming my way. After Christmas, all hell broke loose. I binged on all the junk food I could find and guess what happened next?
So that’s when I decided that these diet fads and home workouts and all the other products out there made to brainwash you into thinking that you NEED to be thin (in order to be beautiful and accepted) were all, well, bullshit. I don't need no Kylie Jenner, size -00, 90-pound girl to tell me what I need to look like. And I sure the fuck don’t need no male CEO of any marketing or branding company telling me or anyone else that thin is beautiful. Hell, I love chocolate and I go nuts for cheddar chips. I’d rather eat a piece of greasy pizza and some garlic bread. Yeah, picture that greasy pizza right now in your head... Hmmm… damn! SO GOOD!
Point is, do you. Eat to your heart’s content and love your jiggle. There was a time in history when having a little (or a lot) of fat was a sign of wealth and beauty. Society needs to re-evaluate itself, not you.