I’m currently letting my butt plump over the seat cushion lines and my fat cuff links hang over the edge of the sofa.
I’m actually at Third Place Coffeehouse at the moment because the lady I’m house sitting for, although wonderful in every way – even after finding her hairs all over the sink (which has grossed me out in many ex-boyfriend memories) has no internet (well, she carries it with her everywhere she goes) and so I’ve been forced back into the reality television cycle (aka endless marathons of America’s Next Top Model).
Collecting more back fat, obviously.
It’s nothing to be ashamed of, this back fat most of us have. Last night, when I was watching Miss Universe I was disgusted by the rib-mentality most of these women seemed to have. As in, “show your ribs, show your ribs,” when you’re running on the treadmill. When I’m running on the treadmill, usually listening to a disturbing anti-women rap song (Lil’ Wayne’s my personal favorite) I’m doing my damndest to prove all of my ex-boyfriends wrong. I will be skinny, and wonderful forever. These thighs may only come in extra-thick, but they’re my thighs and they’re freakin’ powerful. I definitely have no “rib-mentality”. I also don’t look like most of those women in a string bikini, but I’m getting there.
When you’re a short woman, and your grandmother was short and she gave you “baby-making hips” and a butt that stops traffic, you don’t curse your shortness, (or the Brick Shit House of your body), you just realize you may need to counteract your eventual weight gain. Personally, I also have an “obtuse” thyroid. Doctor’s words not mine. It’s trying to be a different size than it is supposed to and who can blame it for trying to be unique anyhow? The funny thing is, my mother and I haven’t figured out where I got this, because we don’t know about any women in the family having it (it’s genetic). It’s definitely time to write Aunt June.
So my weight, although never really a serious issue to me, is constantly fluxuating. And I mean that like, twenty pounds one way, twenty pounds the other way. In high school, I competitvely swam which kept me away from all those drugs that come out of the ground and go into gorgeous pipes and it also gave me rib-mentality without a purpose. I was always pale, never had acne (skin too dry) and looked great in a size 2. I am not that girl anymore.
I now look great in a size 6 to 8. Sometimes a 10 if it’s an especially food-y day. I now can’t wear American Eagle short-shorts or show off thigh in mini skirts because they will eat the skirt. I tend to be most self-conscious about the back fat though. I’ll lean back with my hands chickened out from my hips and feel the fat flux around my main bra strap. Even while my stomach gets flatter and flatter from my healthy eating plan, my back fat stays strong and continues to develop it’s skin flaps.
In an effort to rid my body of germs, sugar and the fat atop my back, I have seen a nutritionist (the lovely Monica over at Family Medical) and started a healthy eating plan. It gives me 1250 calories a day, or mostly fruits, fibers, vegetables, proteins and hardly any carbohydrates. I’m allowed a half cup of pasta at dinner which makes me feel less Italian and more full.
So far, I’ve lost 7 pounds living on hummus. It’s been about…three weeks I’d say. My mother likes to go to the garage and get a pound of meat out of the freezer and let me know I’ve lost “seven of these.” It’s pretty gross when you think about your poundage as hamburger meat and you see it frozen and blushed there in each plastic wrap. I’ve lost seven of those around my waist, in the spot where my thighs rubbed together and chaffed, in the middle of my back where the weight squished inside of a bra, and unfortunately and ultimately in my boob area. I didn’t want to lose boob, I was excited to finally be a C-cup, but that’s the cost you pay when you lose weight. The best areas are always the first to go.
The reason I was so against dieting and calorie counting was that I figured I was then, only a few stair steps away from an eating disorder. I usually go big, or go home with things. So, if I’m going to eat strictly vegetables for two months to lose twenty pounds – you’ll always see me with a cucumber and a green-pepper in my purse, and nothing else. I’m compulsive. I also didn’t want to be “dieting.” I’m not fat, I’m not skinny, I’m somewhere in the in-between where you don’t want to shop in the juniors section anymore, but you want to buy those tight black skirts, and miniature doll tank tops. It’s like my twenty-three year old body, is fighting with the fifteen year-old girl rack. (clothing rack, not chest-rack).
I’m not quite sure where this blog is going. I just wanted to share my woes about dieting. My friend Nat wrote about her on-and-off-again eating habits on her blog and so I decided to share with the world my new “healthy eating plan” just in case anyone out there was struggling with their back fat. It’s not a shameful thing to have interesting quadrants of fat around your body, but it is something that you can hula-hoop your way right out of.
I’m sure you look beautiful any which way, honestly.