On the cusp of yet another year, talk of “detoxing” and “getting on track” replace all the cookies and pie you spent all of December eating. Maybe last year you got passed over by the Biggest Loser and really need a life change or maybe you had too much brie around the holidays. Either scenario you fall into, becoming a fit and healthy motherfucker is most likely on your agenda.
While I too have these goals, I haven’t weighed myself in over a year. I actually don’t even know if that’s accurate because it’s been so long. It might be slightly shorter, it might be double that. With the exception of a doctor’s visit or a health assessment (pretty sure they sabotage you during those), I have no clue how much I weigh.
For those annoying fucks asking what I would ask someone who said this “No but like really, how much do you weigh? Are you a biggin’? Are you just embarrassed to see the number?” I’m not obese. I’m 5’4″ and I’m somewhere between 135-138. I’ve been lighter than that and I’ve been heavier than that but I have managed to stay within 130-140 range for quite a few years.
I stopped weighing myself because it’s 2014 and that number doesn’t mean shit. I’ve been 126 pounds with cellulite and I’ve been 140 pounds with a 4 pack. Basically, your weight is like your SAT score: It doesn’t matter, don’t tell me it because I won’t care and I’ll feel like shit when I tell you mine. Unless you aced your SAT exam in which case you are likely not a good friend match for me (can you tell how well I did in high school?)
Well fuck ’em because I still managed to get an MBA and a corporate finance job so all standardized test can find the nearest garbage disposal and snuggle in. I also used to be fat and now I’m not so you see, this example was a metaphor of sorts.
With ladies like my manicurist in my life, who needs a scale anyway? My clothes also do a pretty solid job at telling me if the size 4 mini skirt you bought 4 years ago is a good idea tonight or if you should find out if the dress code accepts pajama pants. While you’re at it, check and see if they also have a no bra policy. Bras and pajamas are illegal in this house and a good way to let others know you’re not fun.
Aside from my closet, I also like to spend about 5 hours a day examining my naked body in the mirror. You think I’m kidding.
I’ll pinch and tug, flex, do a plank then flex, take a picture or two then go blog. I usually do this in hopes of finding myself magically thin despite the scale refusing to indulge in my fantasies. I’m also secretly, desperately, trying to get back my referenced 4-pack which is currently “hibernating.” I’m sure we’ll see her emerge in the near future but winter is still here and I’m not done with eating myself into oblivion.
I suppose that’s equally unhealthy behavior but it’s disgusting how much people tear themselves down based off of a seemingly random weight. I mean, if you failed all major math classes, what the fuck do those numbers mean to you anyway?
These numbers are great if you’re measuring the size of your ass and want to make that size smaller. But malnourishment doesn’t taste as good as pizza does and a size 6 is just fine with me.
Don’t get me wrong, there are people who need a scale. Like badly. In fact, most of a America could use something more than a scale like maybe a padlock for their fridge. But a lot of people, including the biggin’s, get so obsessed with it. Like anything in this country, Americans can’t just use it in moderation. Instead of building a healthy lifestyle, the scale jut replaces the 2 a.m. fridge fest which is actually some suppression of your parents’ divorce. Put the Lo mein down, have a little H20 and get a diary. Or a friend, or a shrink. Whatever you need to do to work through the traumatic childhood event, do it without an egg roll.
As cliche as “a new year, a new me” is, a post about how dumb it is also lacks originality. I don’t come here to preach original thoughts that will blow your mind and make you re-evaluate your entire existence. I rather encourage you to exercise [self-control] while balancing some fun in your life. Being able to blow off your salad for a much needed pint of ice cream for breakfast will make you happy and shouldn’t ruin your resolutions. If it does, I’ll take your ice cream.