Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie Is Not the Answer by Jen Lancaster Page A
Authors: Jen Lancaster
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Family Life, Biography, Authors; American, Cultural Heritage, Women, 21st Century, Jeanne, Lancaster; Jen, Authors; American - 21st century
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doo-doo heads do it.
4. My iPod needs to charge.
5. There is a marathon of I Love the 80s on VH1, and I miss A-Ha so much.
6. I have a tapeworm on backorder.
7. It’s raining.
8. It’s snowing.
9. It’s sunny.
10. It’s mild with a 42 percent chance of precipitation later in the day.
11. There’s a full moon and I am suspicious that there are at least four guys at my gym who are werewolves. Okay, maybe just in need of a good back waxing, but better not to risk it.
12. That bitch with the perfect bod who always tells me in the locker room how hard it is for her to keep on weight no matter how much she eats is probably going to be there again, and I might just kill her this time. Going to prison for homicide is so much worse than staying fat.
13. I dreamed about working out; that counts, right?
14. I’m having a good hair day.
15. I’m having a bad hair day.
16. I’m having a pulling-my-hair-out day.
17. Today is surely the day that George Clooney is gonna call to ask me out.
18. In which case when I get laid tomorrow, I don’t want my quads to cramp up in the middle.
I get back Sunday morning. If you don’t have plans in the evening, we could hook up for dinner or postdinner drinks. Otherwise, next week Monday and Thursday night both look good right now.
Have a great weekend!
biglove,
s.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lookin’ Good and Feelin’ Fine? Not So Much
Motivation.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to concentrate.
Motivation.
I clench my jaw and grit my teeth.
Mo-ti-va-tion.
I break down the word, saying it slowly in my head and concentrating on each syllable.
Motivation?
Yeah, I’ve still got nothing.
I stuck to a low-fat, low-calorie diet for a brief period, but then we had the gas leak (and resultant macaroni explosion), and now I can’t seem to find the will to get myself back on task with exercise or nutrition. My motivation is as elusive as Britney’s underpants.
If I’m going to get myself in gear, I need to figure out what drives me. (Fletch promised me rewards, but I’ve already lost interest in them.) I’m aware that I do well when I have a deadline, but anything with a due date is linked to compensation. Checks with my name on them certainly propel me toward achievement, and I’m sure I’d lose weight if I were being paid. Unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of employers out there needing people to “be less fat.” A pity, really.
Motivated by the thought of all the custom cabinetry and guest bathrooms $250-large could help buy, I tried to get on The Biggest Loser last year, but I acted like myself in the audition and the screeners cut me. I didn’t even get past the initial casting call because obviously they didn’t want strong, confident women who liberally employ the F word. (They’d have so many bleeps during my workouts, it would sound like an episode of Springer .)
Speaking of the Losers, it seems like the contestants stay on track because they hated how they looked and felt when they were heavy. Unfortunately for my waistline, I’m fine with both these things. In the casting process, I said in no uncertain terms that I’d never be the pusillanimous fatty who broke down and cried on the show. I imagine I’d be all, Hey, when you pussies are done with your meltdowns, come and get me at the pool. And bring me a daiquiri! With all the emotional upheaval in the program, I often wondered if participants wouldn’t be better on a therapist’s couch rather than the treadmill. Fletch and I would watch over plates full of pork chops and scalloped potatoes, giggling at everyone’s Scary Problems.
Seriously, how could America not fall in love with me? 42
Knowing the ass I’d have kicked on The Biggest Loser does nothing to help me find my motivation today. I really should be driven to change because of my health. Honestly, my doctor said some terrifying stuff, and I prefer not to die anytime soon, whether it’s the result of a faulty furnace or my own gluttony. So
4. My iPod needs to charge.
5. There is a marathon of I Love the 80s on VH1, and I miss A-Ha so much.
6. I have a tapeworm on backorder.
7. It’s raining.
8. It’s snowing.
9. It’s sunny.
10. It’s mild with a 42 percent chance of precipitation later in the day.
11. There’s a full moon and I am suspicious that there are at least four guys at my gym who are werewolves. Okay, maybe just in need of a good back waxing, but better not to risk it.
12. That bitch with the perfect bod who always tells me in the locker room how hard it is for her to keep on weight no matter how much she eats is probably going to be there again, and I might just kill her this time. Going to prison for homicide is so much worse than staying fat.
13. I dreamed about working out; that counts, right?
14. I’m having a good hair day.
15. I’m having a bad hair day.
16. I’m having a pulling-my-hair-out day.
17. Today is surely the day that George Clooney is gonna call to ask me out.
18. In which case when I get laid tomorrow, I don’t want my quads to cramp up in the middle.
I get back Sunday morning. If you don’t have plans in the evening, we could hook up for dinner or postdinner drinks. Otherwise, next week Monday and Thursday night both look good right now.
Have a great weekend!
biglove,
s.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lookin’ Good and Feelin’ Fine? Not So Much
Motivation.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to concentrate.
Motivation.
I clench my jaw and grit my teeth.
Mo-ti-va-tion.
I break down the word, saying it slowly in my head and concentrating on each syllable.
Motivation?
Yeah, I’ve still got nothing.
I stuck to a low-fat, low-calorie diet for a brief period, but then we had the gas leak (and resultant macaroni explosion), and now I can’t seem to find the will to get myself back on task with exercise or nutrition. My motivation is as elusive as Britney’s underpants.
If I’m going to get myself in gear, I need to figure out what drives me. (Fletch promised me rewards, but I’ve already lost interest in them.) I’m aware that I do well when I have a deadline, but anything with a due date is linked to compensation. Checks with my name on them certainly propel me toward achievement, and I’m sure I’d lose weight if I were being paid. Unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of employers out there needing people to “be less fat.” A pity, really.
Motivated by the thought of all the custom cabinetry and guest bathrooms $250-large could help buy, I tried to get on The Biggest Loser last year, but I acted like myself in the audition and the screeners cut me. I didn’t even get past the initial casting call because obviously they didn’t want strong, confident women who liberally employ the F word. (They’d have so many bleeps during my workouts, it would sound like an episode of Springer .)
Speaking of the Losers, it seems like the contestants stay on track because they hated how they looked and felt when they were heavy. Unfortunately for my waistline, I’m fine with both these things. In the casting process, I said in no uncertain terms that I’d never be the pusillanimous fatty who broke down and cried on the show. I imagine I’d be all, Hey, when you pussies are done with your meltdowns, come and get me at the pool. And bring me a daiquiri! With all the emotional upheaval in the program, I often wondered if participants wouldn’t be better on a therapist’s couch rather than the treadmill. Fletch and I would watch over plates full of pork chops and scalloped potatoes, giggling at everyone’s Scary Problems.
Seriously, how could America not fall in love with me? 42
Knowing the ass I’d have kicked on The Biggest Loser does nothing to help me find my motivation today. I really should be driven to change because of my health. Honestly, my doctor said some terrifying stuff, and I prefer not to die anytime soon, whether it’s the result of a faulty furnace or my own gluttony. So
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