The Worse You Look, The Less I Exercise...

I love it when my Dad, an avid runner and health nut, calls me to check in. The conversation goes something like, "How's it going, J, are you staying busy at work?", I reply, "Work is crazy Pops, I can hardly find time to Facebook and blog anymore, and it's a bitch trying to be nice to everyone there, it's so stressful I can't get more than four hours sleep unless I take a xanax and chase it with two Blue Moons..."...I keep talking knowing that he's paying more attention to Fox & Friends than me rambling on about nothing. "Well, you know J, you can't be as productive without the proper amount of sleep, you can't focus, you lose concentration quickly...yada, yada, and you can't lose weight either." Score! He can work that shit into any conversation. I could be talking about how horrible the Holocaust was and he would say something like, "It was horrible. But the Jews were a thin people, healthy 'til the end. They probably ran everyday for years, didn't eat meat, and that is what sustained them to endure as long as they did."
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It's pretty unfair how Oprah blames her thyroid, and all the other fatties like Rachael Hunter and Lil' Kim, get a gig in Celebrity Fit Club. I got nothing but insomnia and Dan Marino offering to send me Nutri-System dehydrated food for $150/week. Thanks, but if you can send it by the same UPS truck that delivers the Jelly of the Month Club and sex toys to perverts (no relation intended), and it requires no refrigeration, I'm probably not interested.
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Kathy Ireland speaks out in People about how she was making cookies in her Santa Barbara home and her child took this picture and it was SOOO life-changing. Um, I should think so. How in the hell are you gonna sell all those bikinis at Kmart looking like this? For the love of God, woman, get yourself together. Pull out one of your Sports Illustrated Swimsuit covers and hang it on the fridge. The pantry. The cabinet doors. Take it with you when you go grocery shopping.

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These are the times that she envies someone like me. Someone who is the 'before' picture and has never even resembled the 'after' picture (except maybe for a brief time when I was 19 to someone who had acute cataracts and had been drinking). The moral of the story is, the further down you are and the more padding you have, the less painful the fall.

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~j