Fat Bottomed Girls

There are some mornings, when you're standing at the sink, brushing your teeth, and you realize that your stomach is jiggling right along with your Crest Spinbrush. Or running to catch your bus makes your legs and butt move like pudding in Ziploc bags. These are dumb days. And these are also the days I think "Okay, seriously. I'm going to work out today. How hard could going for a little run even be?" And then 27 seconds after I walk in the door from work, I'm eating bread dipped in bleu cheese dressing (low-fat at least!) and rationalizing my way out of a workout because I don't have any cute workout clothes. Best laid plans...

Today was one of those days. Everything made me just feel fat. Obese, even. And then I'll feel so BLECH that I'll eat one last piece of Halloween candy and promise myself I'll eat kale for dinner while running on the treadmill. None of that will happen. You know, because instead I've eaten the bread/bleu cheese dinner, and spent all night pinning cute workout outfits and inspirational quotes on Pinterest ("Sweat is just your fat crying"). Major, major fail.

But really the final straw was tonight. I was Skyping with Geo while we watched Sons of Anarchy (thanks for getting over yourselves, DirecTV and Fox!!) and I glanced at myself and thought "Gross! Is this horrible lighting? Do I have a hot dog stuck under my chin?" But no, the answer was not the lighting or misplaced meat products. It was the protrusion of a budding second chin. I nearly hung up on Geo and demanded to finish the show watching via text.

Okay, so that's where I am now. Apparently Dance Central and walks to and from the bus are not counteracting the effects of my affection for all things cheesy. I thought I had it all under control, but this extraneous chin is begging to differ.

So, I'm trying something here. My mom and her sisters have this thing where they write "If I Facebook it, I will do it." Meaning, if they put something on Facebook, like they are going to organize a closet once and for all, they WILL do it. They HAVE to do it. So, I'm going to give that a shot. If I blog it, I'll do it. Or, at least, it'll be harder to ignore it. I will get my pudding-in-a-Ziploc-bag butt back into shape. In fact, last week Claire and I each picked an article of clothing we have, but can't fit into anymore, and promised ourselves we would each fit into our respective clothing item by April 1.

That's the goal.

And because I just loooooove me a good dose of humiliation, I will tell you that the article of clothing I plan on strutting around in on April 1 is a black leather skirt. My mom got it for me in 6th grade. It was chic, super baggy, and looked fierce with my red blazer and Keds. Then in college, I found the skirt again, and wore it in a more adult style. Yes, it was shorter and much tighter, but it still looked cute, because I was still small enough and short enough that it didn't look ridiculous (I don't think). But I want to be able to wear it again. Sure these days it'll be more for costume purposes, but I WILL wear that thing again.

So there you have it. I am officially putting it out there that I'm going to take the jiggle out of my wiggle. The quake out of my shake. The fries out of my thighs. Whatever, you get the idea. I'm going to get skinny.