That’s what the scale
showed this morning when I woke up today at 5:20 am.
Fifty-Eight (point) Zero Five Nine Eight Two Three Four
Kilograms.
That’s for my science nerd
followers and friends overseas.
Two Thousand Forty-Eight Ounces.
For the bartenders in
the room. What’s up, Paulie!
Fifty-Eight Million Fifty-Nine Thousand Eight Hundred
Twenty-Three (point) One Zero Four Milligrams.
Because metric.conversions.org
is saved in my favorites. So?
What this nonsense means comes down to this: You can
accomplish what you set out to do, so stop making excuses and telling yourself that
you can’t. You have kids? I have kids! See... we’re like, already the same
person! You work? I work, too! Owe Ehm Gee, we should totally play Bunco! I’m
sure I’ll lose a few “friends” over this write but it’s time I got tough y’all.
Did I … just…? Oh God friggin’ help me. 9 years down south is melting my brain like
fresh fried chicken fat. I mean, YO! Youze listen up! Stop complaining about
your bodies, dammit, and start doing the right things to it! Stop telling
yourself that you accept the way you look and then cry every time you have to
put a dress on to go to a wedding. Stop grouping yourself in with the
big-bottom girls club and picking on the skinny bitches on blogs and FB pages, ‘cause
we don’t like it, and we’re honestly really nice people. Most of us. Some of
us. Myself excluded. Anyway, stop saying “ugh”, “whatever”, and cursing at me
every time I post a picture. I work hard for this body and I’m pretty f*cking
proud to show it off, so suck it up or hit the “hide” button if you haven’t already,
‘cause more’s a comin’ y’all!
The time is now. Your time, is now. You have kids, right? You
want to see them grow up, have kids of their own and wipe the poop off your butt?
THEN START EATING RIGHT. You want to retire to Majorca and walk up to the top
of the cliff overlooking the Mediterranean without having to bring a tent and
pajamas with you because it will take you four nights to do so? THEN GET YOUR
ASS ON A TREADMILL. You want to live to see your fourth husband graduate from
college? THEN PUT THE KRISPY KREME DOWN! I’m not young, gang. You know how old
I am. You’ve been reading this thing. I’m not independently wealthy. I don’t have
a sugar daddy. And I can be downright f*cking lazy, but I like my health and my
life and my long term outlook much, much, much more than I like that
cheesesteak right there, no matter how incredibly awesomely scrumptious it
looks. Okay, maybe just a bi… NO! No, no, no… no, no…I will resist. I can
resist. I must resist. I SHALL RESIST.
‘Cause Majorca is waiting.
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