digesting the skinny person within

there is no greater foe to a chubby chick than a mutherfcuking camera.

you wanna hear some wicked screams? try this horror movie plot on for size -- how about "cameras pointed at a fat chick" rather than "snakes on a plane". let's see if samuel l. jackson is man enough for that flick.

the damn camera tells all by showing all. for all posterity (or until we can destroy any negatives). as in the jiggly, wobbly, and swollen parts we'd like to ignore - okay - deny were really what our bodies have become.

ugh. no matter how rockin' or how much like a hottie we felt that day, boom! the camera slaps our fat ass to remind us that we are NOT the skinny person we still try to imagine ourselves to be.

the mirror, see, is our friend. the camera is not. now you can debate the effects of reality and what prolonged use of narcotics may do to perception, but the face looking back at you in the mirror is not the swollen chipmunk who peers back at you from the photograph.

the mirror is obviously smarter because we'd smash it to bits with our chubby little hands if it showed otherwise.

back to the skinny person trapped inside...
perhaps the worst part of being a chubby chick is if you actually had a chance to not be one for a while. once you enter the land of the skinny-rati, it's a looong, sad, chub-rub-inducing walk back to fatsville.

you have tasted the non-caloric life of a skinny-rati! you know just how great the "you look awesome" comments feel. you can buy jeans in single digit sizes! you feel the slight burn of shame when you look at those photos of you taken back in fatsville.

"never again," you vow. and you mean it. momentarily.

until the next stress-filled life event occurs. until the taste of carrot sticks and celery make you want to cry. until you forget every thing you attempted to "unlearn" in your last weight-loss strategy. when to eat. what to eat. what mentally fcuked up thoughts we have to stave off hunger (my personal fave is when you actually feel hunger pains and you tell yourself not to eat. that's right, because the rumbles are the sounds of fat cells armies dying en masse. twisted, huh?)

all this insanity to release the trapped, skinny white bitch lurking inside me.

damn that camera. damn that camera for reminding me what the skinny person inside looks like wearing a fat suit with swollen chipmunk cheeks and jiggly, old-lady arms.