The Four Stages of Jeans: an updatePosted: August 16, 2011
Sigh. Remember a few weeks ago when I told anyone who would listen that I’d lost 20lbs and was back in my Stage One jeans?
I’m now mildly ashamed to report that due to being too busy to workout/run/bike as much as I did through April/May/June, I’m back in my slightly less-vixenesque Stage Twos.
Also, truth be told, I sort of lost my enthusiasm for all things work-out. Exercise definitely goes in fits and starts with me. If I could, I’d live in a kaftan, channeling my Mama Cass on a daily basis. Heaven.
But I digress. Fact is, I’m a single woman and I live in LA. Crack cocaine is more acceptable than being fat in this (cosmetically enhanced) neck of the woods.
I can’t get too obsessed though, for I am intelligent, and have a perspective on the world. Fat is a narcissists issue.
I know it’s not the end of the world but merely a gentle reminder that my inner Rubens goddess is still inside, bursting to get out.
But because I’m typing this outside on the patio at Starbucks (on Melrose) as I write this (their a/c’s not working and it’s a bloody sauna in there), I can see my soft reflection in the screen.
Rounded shoulders, voluptuous boobage, crepe schmapey chest things and a kind of rising muffin, that seems to be spreading from my hips upwards.
Ah, what the hell.
I’ll get back on it as soon as I can. Stage Twos are not Stage Fours, right?
And a salad isn’t a curry.