What do you suppose it means when I have to stop and do the math in order to tell someone how old I am ? I guess on one level it means that age has no great meaning to me and that I'm oh so terribly comfortable with who and where I am in life. OK.......that was fun.......now as to reality, I think it has more to do with the general decline of my workable brain cells. I feel like with each new strand of gray hair, my IQ drops a few points, and my awareness of the ridiculousness that surrounds me sharpens.
Today I had to go to the grocery store to get orange soda. Don't judge me people.....it's not like I have much else in the way of self destructive habits. Orange soda is my small act of defiance in the face of all those exercise bunnies with rock hard abs that dominate late night television, although I must concede a reluctant two thumbs up to the inventor of the patented hair toss workout routine. All I need is heavy make up, low rise lycra, a boob job, hair extensions and a shit-load of liposuction. I'm on it!
I really have to wonder again and out loud if this marketing technique really works for the fat girl demographic. Am I alone in thinking that fat girls like me don't want to booty pop and slap their asses and throw a seductive look to the camera as a means of weight loss? I wonder how many calories are burned in slightly parted lips and a look of wanton desire? Do you suppose they have a disclaimer that says "results dependant upon willingness to purge" Maybe I'm the freak. Maybe fat girls think "I wanna look like her!" and dial up with their credit card number. I seriously hope not. I would hope that God would give us a little savvy seeing as how he couldn't give us all long blonde hair to toss back and long sooty eyelashes to flutter. It's the fucking least he can do.
So I'm in the store and I'm taking in all the diet displays. The overpriced diet foods are all moved to the front of the aisles in order to take advantage of all that resolution sparked emotional duress that most people are walking around with. Sorry guys.....I'm immune.....I've been on this road for 6 months. If I haven't bought Snackwells by now, chances are I'm not going to. I've seen the stock boys dusting the cobwebs off the rice cakes. I know the drill. I may not know how old I am but I still know bullshit when I see it.
While I'm picking up orange soda, I might as well pick up some other staples like yogurt and string cheese and a lovely chewy loaf of french bread with real butter. Sorry.........just a quick little fantasy. I didn't really get the bread and butter......but I had the dream. My little siesta was interrupted by a hearty greeting and hug happening right next to me. I had to stop and listen a little just to hear the recipient of the greeting scramble to explain that she had just "rolled out of bed" as an excuse for her appearance which seemed fine to me....miss brown sock black sock....for what that's worth.
I wanted to stand on the dairy case and yell "STOP APOLOGIZING BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT CINDY FUCKING CRAWFORD!!!" We may not be beautiful and sexy and we may not live a charmed life, and we may not have buns of steel but we still have value.......and we don't need store clerks to display and stack us into feeling guilty about our saddle bags and cellulite, now wheres that orange soda!!!!......WHO'S WITH ME?!?!.......and.........what else did I need??
crap......I can't fucking remember.
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