Sunday, June 6, 2010
I realized something this weekend, when men decide to do something they go all the way. Yes, that includes sex…not that I would know anything about that post marriage. In any event, my husband decided he wanted to get in shape. Great. Nothing like a buff hot husband to make me and my rabbit closer than we already are. What’s the point of looking good without intent? I can’t be sure I know the answer to that. I do know this, my husband is popping all sorts of look better pills, working out and self tanning whilst I ponder which “Ho-Ho” is likely to have the most cream in it. All I have to say for myself is, “It’s not my fault.” Did I ask to be hit by a Census worker thus rendering me unable to do anything but keep pace 75 year old woman on my morning walks? I think not. And all this walking is getting old (no pun intended). It takes forever to get where I’m going and I feel very exposed. When I run, things are moving around, jiggling, bouncing…bruising…you get the picture. There’s trickery involved…you can’t really see where everything lands and that has allowed me to run under the cover of fat for years. When I walk, passers by have plenty of time to size up all that is me. No good can come of that. I almost feel them telling me to pick up the pace as they drive by. I got one tip for ya: Don’t stare directly into the bootie…it’s been known to talk back. Oh and don’t let me see any sort of fat reference rolling off your lips. I know sign language…well one sign…and I aint afraid to use it.
So as I was saying, my husband is getting all buff and coating his new muscles in spray tan. Seems a bit strange to me. If I was all buffed out, I would buy a super small thong and lay on the beach….a sort of a “coming out party.” But he looks good and hides it under his clothing whilst his 2 ton wife parades around in a bikini hoping the angles of the sun reach all of the creases. Something is very wrong here. Here’s what’s more annoying than living with a hot guy who has enough energy to lift a small car but not his (ughum)…he has now taken to telling me how to work out. “You know, they say you should only work out every other day. You know, most of the protein you eat isn’t absorbed.” I’m sorry…..I’ve been working out for 30 years (yes I started when I was 7…shut up)…you’ve been working out for 5 minutes and you are going to tell me how it’s done!? Granted, the results he’s achieved in 5 minutes far surpass my 30 years of nightly runs….to Taco Bell. Isn’t that a bitch. A guy decides to work out and he can drop all his weight in a week whilst every woman in America has to buy People, Star, US, Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers to try and figure out how it’s done… and maybe we get 1 pound in 6 months. If the key to losing weight is having a dick…sign me up! Currently, that would solve both of my problems. Thank you.
In an attempt to take some time off from being me, I went to see SATC this weekend with Kimo. I had already seen it once, but I prefer to do things in 2’s….2 donuts, 2 helpings, 2 of everything is always better than one. Portion control is for “1/4 pounders.” I NEVER go to the movies without getting popcorn. To me, that’s like going to bed without your rabbit. It’s just not comfortable without someone to love. However, comma, prior to deciding to go to the movies I drank about 900 beers and ate about 3000 calories….I can accomplish alot in an hour. There was no room at the inn. When we walked into the movie theater, I was pleased to see 2 other souls in the room. We took the “rock star” seats and got cozy. Then, like it always happens (and only to me)…the fatties rolled in! 4 of them to be exact. As you might imagine, with exactly 56 seats left in the theatre they decided to bring it home and sit right in front of this beer burping SIF and her cousin. Perhaps I could have forgiven them if they didn’t have heads the size of water melons and tons of popcorn and candy to pass between them. In fact, they even left a seat open between 2 of them for….well I don’t know what it was for….perhaps to squash the large shadows they were casting on the screen, maybe for spillover fat or maybe just as a table for the freakin buffet they had going on! Since I had seen the movie I became obsessed with watching their every move. Picture greasy buttered lips laughing whilst popcorn rolled into boob crevices so deep it would never to be seen again…random sucking and slurping of giant sized Cokes that were depositing about 4567 grams of sugar on each of their enormous asses. Every once in a while I heard laughter….I think that’s when they came up for air. They also seemed to have a fetish for “Big” ….of course they did. As if sisters….as if.
Because we were too inebriated to drive ourselves to the movies, Kimo’s husband picked us up after it was over. I felt exactly 13. I saw the fatties as we were leaving. They were smoking cigarettes and reliving the movie. I realized, at that moment, we had something in common….sex. Food is our sex. Let’s face it, without food I might as well be a nun. If food is my sex I am certainly giving Ron Jeremy a run for his money! I would have gone over to smoke a post “sex” cig with them but that’s where the fork divided us….I do not smoke. I make up for killing my lungs by killing….well everything else. A part of me wishes I could have run over there with my portable blood pressure machine (what? everyone should have one) and taken their numbers. Between the salt, the fat, the sugar and the smoking…I fear they would have thrown up some major digits. And let’s face it, those digits are the only ones anyone will ever ask them for. Mean just mean. But I’m a nice person….so I just stood there and made fun of them until “Dad” showed up to take us home and remind us, for bigger or worse we have men who will bang us…one day….when the mood strikes them. It’s no SATC but it beats being the “Rabbit Lady”for the rest of my life. I fear our odds of getting real sex are far better than the smoking fatties but who knows. That one was sucking the hell outa some Coke. All it takes is only lonely man who can overlook the fat for the sucking and she’s in there. There’s hope sisters….there’s hope.