Monday, May 14, 2007

Fat-bottomed girl*


As part of my new Spartan diet and exercise routine, I've actually (HORRORS) joined a gym, and have started to eat more healthily (aka not eating mozzarella sticks for breakfast, lunch and dinner).

However, as I am possibly the least disciplined person on earth who is not one Peter Doherty, I needed some structure. So, I signed up for Body By Glamour.

Your point, Cy?

I had to weigh myself. It was a required field. I generally avoid scales, as I want to avoid returning to the frightening stick insect look that plagued me in college.

Backstory time-

I went through an ATROCIOUS breakup (I truly believed that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were going to be galloping down Lincoln Way at any time), my grandmother was diagnosed with A.L.S and I turned 21. Within about 4 months of each other.

And two of my best girlfriends also went through stomach-turning breakups and turned 21, too. Not a good combo.


We couldn't eat because it made us nauseous. We couldn't sleep for the nightmares. Since our exes were cheap bastards and we were sure to run into them, house parties weren't an option. So, we went to the bar. A lot.


Let's just put it this way, we could have given The Winehouse a SERIOUS run for her money in her pre-'Back To Black' days. Or now, really.

The only reason we were never photographed stumbling out of bars with mysterious white powdery substances on our persons, was that we didn't think to get ahold of any mysterious white powdery substances. And we weren't celebrities, other than with the local bar staff.

We drank most girls under the table. We drank most GUYS under the table, which was either sad or hilarious, since we didn't have 30% body fat between the three of us, total.

We didn't really eat anything before closing time. (Constant application of beer worked to quell the nausea somewhat). We all got far too thin. It wasn't a conscious choice, but it still happened.

We all snapped out of it eventually , but I've avoided weighing myself ever since. Maybe I'm afraid it will start again? Eh, who knows....

I sometimes wish I could go back in time, and let our younger selves know that a ratbag cheating redneck, a stoner Al Bundy-type and a posh boy from Chicago weren't worth what we were putting our livers, stomachs and checking accounts through.

This goes a long way towards explaining my affection for Ms. Amy's trainwreck self. Girl, I've been there.

But I digress.

I weighed myself today. And it wasn't as awful as I thought it was going to be. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a bit, er 20 pounds, over what my driver's license says I am, but it wasn't terrible.

Just thought I'd share.

We'll return to pop culture and political rants shortly.

*This is a joke. Anyone who knows me can tell you, I have no ass. But it made for a clever post title, don't you think?


5 comments:

Kazza said...

So were you with the redneck, the stoner or the posh boy?

God that sounds like the cliff game doesn't it?

And congrats on the scale experience not being too horrible.

Cygirl said...

I think I'd throw myself off the cliff.

Mine was the redneck. Hence my lingering prejudice againt them.

Icky, icky, icky.

Cygirl said...

Against, not againt. Obvy.

Anonymous said...

I like this post - very well written and personal.

Syd

Cygirl said...

Thanks, Syd.

I do have backstory.