That Girl

This is who I'd like to be.

Her.

The girl to the left. Look at her.

What do you see?

Now...if you're one of those "Mean Girls" you probably see a girl you hate. She looks like she's got one up on everyone else doesn't she? Perky boobs. A butt that defies gravity. Long, perfectly shaped legs. No cellulite to speak of. A teeny tiny little waist. And I guarentee that there isn't a stretch mark on her to speak of.




She probably has a man who looks like this guy:








They probably do a lot of this:







And, this all makes me look like this:








Cute, aren't I?

No. Actually, this is me down here.

Oh look! I do have my own guy! But unlike Barbie and GI Joe above, I'm about twice as big around as him. I know...I know...you can't see it in this picture...but this is my first post, so cut me a little slack here. Full body picture will be scrounged up shortly, ok? In the meantime, if you look closely at this one, you can see my double chin! Obviously, not my best feature. It's one of those "wobbly bits" Bridget Jones loves to complain about.

My guy is great. He loves me for me. But there's still a problem. I don't love me. Sure I have a great personality. Sure I'm smart. Sure I have friends and family (and a guy with a gorgeous smile) who love me. I have a good job. I have a decent house. I have a cat, who's a total brat who keeps me constantly entertained.

But I'm still not happy.

And I think the problem stems from the fact that I know that I'm not my best self. Not only am I the first to admit that I'm totally vain and feel like crap because I don't look my best...but I flat out just feel like crap. I'm not healthy.

You know how every magazine article and Dr. Oz re-run tells people to start small in regaining their health? Do "little things" like park the car farther away from the store, or take the stairs instead of the elevator?

I don't think these magazines and/or Dr. Oz quite realize what they're saying.

You see, even though fat people are still stigmatized in today's society, its impolite to acknowledge that fact. You know everyone's thinking, "Well, she's fat because she's lazy." But no one will say stuff like that. Totally politically incorrect. So instead, we fat people get "helpful" little tips from the skinny populace such as those referenced above. Problem is, for someone like me, I am lazy.

There. I said it. Or typed it, rather. I'm admiting it. I'm lazy.

Ok. To be perfectly honest, I probably could dredge up some fairly legitimate-sounding excuses as to why I am the size I am today (I wasn't always this way). And for a long time, those are "reasons" that have been running through my head as I sit in front of the TV, watching Bridezillas, and stuffing down a dozen chocolate chip cookies. Poor me. It sucks to be me. Life has just handed me some really crappy cards, and I haven't always played them well, and so it's not my fault that I got depressed and just couldn't say "no" when I was in the bakery section of the grocery store today.

Kinda, sorta, sounds legit, right? I mean, depression! That's some major stuff right there! Who's going to argue with an ego that screams "I'm depressed!"

The thing is though, I've come to realize that this is just a big, (excuse the pun) fat excuse. The fact is, yeah I've dealt with depression. Yeah I've had some really crappy stuff go on in my life. But the ultimate reason I'm fat? I'm fat because I've been lazy.

I know everything there is to know about "calories in, calories out." I don't have some metabolic syndrom or whatever that's preventing me from losing weight.

I like to eat.

And I like my soft, comfy couch more than the pavement outside.

Add these two things together and you get a weight problem. It's not rocket science.

But I've decided I want to be done with all that now. I want to get healthy. I want to feel beautiful and sexy and have the confidence to stick out my chest like the girl we all hate above. Heck. I want to be that girl. Because I guarentee that that girl doesn't have this weird, obsessive relationship with food like I do. That girl eats to live; she doesn't live to eat. She knows the meaning of "A moment on the lips, forever on the hips," and all of the other cheesy-yet-true cliches out there.

And so it begins.