NeverTrustABlonde.com

So with swimsuit season halfway through, my Feed is naturally riddled with beach sightings of all things unseemly. I peruse through the “Uploaded via Mobile” galleries of ickness, appropriately labeled as such. Though something about the fatness is bugging me... I am somewhat perturbed by the relatively fit (and often ugly) individuals I’ve recently collected* on my Facebook page expressing their hate for the “gross fat slobs” that are... everywhere. Can’t hate the black people, the gay people, the Jews, the Arabs... but hating on someone that is non-aesthetically pleasing is fine? What else would you expect from a society so hinged on image partaking in a lifestyle set up for obesity?I mean... seriously?

The morbidly obese aside... I think I’m a bit jealous of fat though...

1. Time. I spend on average 2+ hours per day on fitness related activities (including the time it takes to get wherever activity is occurring and time it takes to make myself look presentable afterward)... so let’s say 2.25 hrs x 6 =13.5 hours per week spent on accomplishing nothing productive. That’s 675 hours... or 28+ DAYS out of the year. That’s like spending all of February devoted to ass beautification... something that would probably be acceptable had I been a buttock model (Note to self: look into buttock modeling... for shitts and giggles). Imagine all the things I could be doing instead...

2. Time is Money. If we pretend I still worked at that office I worked at... 675 hours of work would result in almost $11,000... after taxes. If we pretend I still lived with my last roommate... that would pay a year’s rent+a Louis Vuitton bag. On top of that... healthy food is twice as expensive as junk.

3. Yumminess. I admit it... staring at the sorta-overweight lady biting into a big, oozing burger, taking a sip of her (non-diet) Coke and following with a handfull of fries makes me cringe because I wish I could enjoy that same meal without even for one second considering a post-meal examination of my abdomen in the first reflective surface I encounter, the obligatory 3lbs of water I’ll put on the next day or the automatic mental calculation of hours on treadmill I’d have to endure to “undo” the meal... an involuntary series of disappointments that severely detract from the yummy joy of the McDonald’s Experience.

4. Life. Unlike the hypothetical McDonald’s enjoying fat lady... as painful as it is to admit (although I’ve kicked the unhealthy obsession that almost killed me) I AM still somewhat of a slave to the mirror, to the scale, to the 10 pounds the camera adds and to the god damn stairmill... unlike many people I admit it. When I gain 10 pounds, I don’t really want to leave my house. When I don’t look up to my standards... my life, as well as my happiness to some degree, is placed on hold until I do. Friends get pushed aside so I can squeeze in a session of cardio and Christmas dinner is skipped due to inappropriate macro ratios. I wish that I could be more like fat people who get up every day and go to work, come home to their families, hang out with their friends and live life... all while fat, instead of waiting to look perfect to do so... because in the grand scheme of things, what you look like will generally have no effect on the contribution you make to society and how fruitful of a life you end up having... because we all get old and ugly in the end, maybe not fat, but old and ugly is certain...

5. Self-Esteem. The blonde, tan, overly large blob of ridges and dimples stuffed into a ridiculously colored 3-piece does not seem to give two shits about who is looking or what they think. She just lays there on her Queen size beach towel and tans... then she has a sandwich, applies some sunscreen on the exposed areas of skin and continues happily discussing her weekend plans with her similarly shaped girlfriend. A few feet away, I’m examining my ever-expanding ass for the 105^th time as my just-lost-10-pounds friend bitches about her boob job and consults me whether she should have some berries or some almonds for lunch... since she’s set on having some vodka and clubs  later in the evening... someone pass the fucking Funnel Cake, I’ve had enough.

* Random fitness people, bodybuilders, models, bodybuilder and model wanna-bees (strippers), photographers, and fans of the previously mentioned.... in other words: a conglomerate of shallowness.