I am twenty four years old, and I’m not fat.
I think that’s quite an accomplishment, don’t you? I mean, two thirds of Americans are overweight. Almost a third are obese! That means I have narrowly escaped a common but unfortunate fate, something only a select percentage of Americans can claim to have achieved! I am among the elite!
Isn’t it amazing to live in a culture that worships thinness at the same time as it relentlessly markets foods that are filled with every ungodly health menace on the planet in portion sizes meant for beluga whales?
Anyway, I may yet waste all the resources put into my ridiculously pricey education by becoming a surf bum, or become an ethically challenged journalist by writing about whoever pays to take me on a press trip (hotels in fabulous locations, do take note), or I might never sign up for frequent flyer miles, which I consider to be one of the great failures of my adult life thus far—but I am not fat! And that is something to be proud of.
Although when you look at the states, California is actually one of the chubby ones. Twenty to 24 percent of them are overweight, the fatties. Good thing I live in Arizona. The land that gives hope to the elderly, seems to have perfected boob jobs, and provides a safe haven for Californians fleeing unaffordable housing and overcrowded cities by driving up housing prices and overcrowding cities in Arizona—and a land of which 15 to 19 percent of its population is overweight. …I knew the skinny Californians were following me!
That’s it, I’m moving to Alabama.
Ha, ha. Riiiiight. Only fabulous locations like Playa Carrizalillo, in a little place called Mexico—remember?
You know what, I need something dramatic to happen in my life. Something revelatory, and unique (besides not being fat), and Important! Then I’ll be able to write a book about my fabulous life! But as it is, I have no ending. Just a series of middles. No great revelations. No incomparable experiences. No lessons learned that all of humanity can benefit from when recounted in my witty yet complex narrative voice.
Ok, world. I am ready.
I. Need. Something. To. Happen!
Happen!
…
Ok, you’re not helping my publishing career. Also, let it not be breaking up with my boyfriend, because that is über cliché. And I am anything but cliché! I am unique and not fat. Let it be something cool, something that I can gloat about in a self-reflective and, really, enlightening kind of way. Like moving to Mexico and being a successful freelance writer while finding time to surf every day and making a ridiculous amount of money not that I care about such things because I’m spiritually advanced!
…
Actually, after reading the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, I think I want to be a model. Travel around the world with nothing more to do than pose for a camera? Yes please.
I think that’s quite an accomplishment, don’t you? I mean, two thirds of Americans are overweight. Almost a third are obese! That means I have narrowly escaped a common but unfortunate fate, something only a select percentage of Americans can claim to have achieved! I am among the elite!
Isn’t it amazing to live in a culture that worships thinness at the same time as it relentlessly markets foods that are filled with every ungodly health menace on the planet in portion sizes meant for beluga whales?
Anyway, I may yet waste all the resources put into my ridiculously pricey education by becoming a surf bum, or become an ethically challenged journalist by writing about whoever pays to take me on a press trip (hotels in fabulous locations, do take note), or I might never sign up for frequent flyer miles, which I consider to be one of the great failures of my adult life thus far—but I am not fat! And that is something to be proud of.
Although when you look at the states, California is actually one of the chubby ones. Twenty to 24 percent of them are overweight, the fatties. Good thing I live in Arizona. The land that gives hope to the elderly, seems to have perfected boob jobs, and provides a safe haven for Californians fleeing unaffordable housing and overcrowded cities by driving up housing prices and overcrowding cities in Arizona—and a land of which 15 to 19 percent of its population is overweight. …I knew the skinny Californians were following me!
That’s it, I’m moving to Alabama.
Ha, ha. Riiiiight. Only fabulous locations like Playa Carrizalillo, in a little place called Mexico—remember?
You know what, I need something dramatic to happen in my life. Something revelatory, and unique (besides not being fat), and Important! Then I’ll be able to write a book about my fabulous life! But as it is, I have no ending. Just a series of middles. No great revelations. No incomparable experiences. No lessons learned that all of humanity can benefit from when recounted in my witty yet complex narrative voice.
Ok, world. I am ready.
I. Need. Something. To. Happen!
Happen!
…
Ok, you’re not helping my publishing career. Also, let it not be breaking up with my boyfriend, because that is über cliché. And I am anything but cliché! I am unique and not fat. Let it be something cool, something that I can gloat about in a self-reflective and, really, enlightening kind of way. Like moving to Mexico and being a successful freelance writer while finding time to surf every day and making a ridiculous amount of money not that I care about such things because I’m spiritually advanced!
…
Actually, after reading the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, I think I want to be a model. Travel around the world with nothing more to do than pose for a camera? Yes please.
posted by R. at mercredi, mars 23, 2005
1 Comments:
Wait until you're 30. Something evil happens where you can eat half of what you used to at 24 and yet still gain three times the weight.
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