Sizing Up the Competiton

January 3, 2002

5:57 P.M.

Dear Journal,

Just got home from basketball + guess where I am.  No, I’m not any place special like Jess’s house (hehe)… I’m on the pot!  Yes that’s right. Don’t worry I’m just sitting here so there won’t be pee on this journal.  Ugh that’s a gross thought.

Ya um, no one can know this, like until I’m a senior in HS, but I think… well I know… I really, really, really like Mike.  I don’t want to make never mind that, but Maddie does too!  Sooooo much, like she wants to lose her virginity with him! (when we’re older of corse)  People have told her that they’re so perfect together, that they’ll probably end up married, all that bull.  I really did believe that, but now I’m like HELL NO!  I’ve gotten to know him so much better this year and I just love how we’re so cool w/ each other.

I’ll write later!


For the past six weeks, I have been focusing (loosely) on finally losing a whole mess of weight.  I’m talking dramatic weight loss–the goal is forty pounds.  My friends from college would gasp at this and insist my body minus that much weight would be unhealthy, but trust me, they have no fucking clue what I’m packing in this frame.  As I’ve mentioned before, my flawless looks, magnetic personality, and inherent sexuality have collectively given me what can be misinterpreted as a free pass on living life as a “full-figured” young woman for years.  After slimming down and shaping up working door-to-door sales last summer, I had the revelation that my previously accepted thickness was nothing more than excused borderline obesity, and it was time to get my shit together for the long haul.

I’ve been using Weight Watchers for the fourth or fifth time in my life to assist me in reaching the number of ultimate perfection, 1-2-0.  I am 5’2″, and at that weight would be literally invincible to the most fleeting thought that maybe I’m not so attractive.  I’m no fool.  Overweight people just aren’t super appealing when you’re seeking romantic partners and even, for some, simple friendships.  Even at 160 pounds I silently berate girls all the time for being anything less than well-proportioned and dressed to impress.  I will give myself points for knowing how to clothe the bod.  I’ve got a solid rack, a shapely behind (which may not appeal to all but certainly does to many, even if they are shy to admit it), and nice legs when I’m getting my ass off the couch; my midsection, arms, and upper thighs are to be concealed and draped in some sort of optical illusion whenever possible at what has been my median weight over the past five years.  Making yourself look average to the general public isn’t all that hard as long as you know your body honestly and invest in the right kind of clothes.  For everyday life, as long as you don’t have to go to specialty big girl stores for pants, you’re a-ok.

Kim Kardashian does not have our problems. Accept it.

Still, my thoughts on how unsexy overweight is actually prevented me from having any idea that I might be able to fight off my friend-bitch in the battle for young Michael’s affections as a 13-year-old.  Maybe I simply wasn’t ready for the realities of competition in the quest for sex and love.  Hell, at this point I was very seriously considering saving myself for marriage.  In the following years, my hormones made it clear that unless I became a child bride I was out of luck on such chaste dreams, but that’s been discussed here.  I had to get past middle school to escape those skinny girls’ fierce advantage in the sex race, and eventually I embraced what my Italian-Irish, athletic-yet-comfort-food-loving mama gave me, making squishy sexy and bagging my first serious (i.e. physical) boyfriend and plenty of other fit-as-fiddle dudes in the following years.  By then I didn’t give two shits once makeout status had been achieved–I learned quick if you were getting kissed there was a lot more being lusted after than your mouth.  Mr. Smoochfest had assessed your situation long before and was already on a mission to the Netherlands, however Hot or Not you were ranking yourself that week.

Here’s the problem: you know those special relationships that pop up every now and then, where another human actually wants to see you naked, possibly in, God forbid, full direct overhead light, not just once but multiple times over several weeks?  Sometimes he becomes the fabled “Boyfriend” or “Guy-I’m-not-dating-even-though-we’re-dating-and-my-friends-know-him-by-first-name-only-cause-we’re-not-friends-on-Facebook (AKA Guy-who-is-sleeping/wants-to-sleep-with-other-chicks-and/or-has-a-secret-long-term-girlfriend-I-don’t-want-to-believe-in-but-will-inevitably-be-hearing-from-soon)”?  This is one conversation I have actually never had with another curvy girl, but I have to assume any other woman of confidence would shun the thought of insisting to keep her shirt on with a guy she is getting it on with regularly.  Yes, it happens every now and then that only the necessary items are removed in the heat of the moment, but that’s certainly not (and shouldn’t be) the norm when you’re getting some loving from your special friend.  Well there comes a time in every lady’s life where we realize if we want to genuinely enjoy ourselves in certain positions with this special someone, we’ll have to make an effort outside the bedroom as well.  That means crunches, weird hanging leg pull-ups, and way, way, way, way, WAY less beer and bread than we were accustomed to in college.   Yes, dumplings.  You know it to be true.

So all you have to ask yourself is what do you want?  Beer and pizza every weekend, or sex that doesn’t just blow your mind but gives you immediate knowledge that the lucky man you’re now snuggled up with will be focused on work for a total of 30 minutes come Monday all because of your fantasy-come-to-life session two days before.  We all make choices in life, and hey, some of you don’t feel the need to have sex ever!  To those people I suggest you visit the nearest Dairy Queen for their new Chocolate Shoppe Blizzard.  It looks really tasty.  For the rest of you, grab an apple, chug some water, and get your fucking sweat on.  Hooked up or not, that next conquest, and more importantly YOU, will be thanking yourself over, and over, and over again for such dedicated effort to your physical health.


2 thoughts on “Sizing Up the Competiton

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