Sunday, October 29, 2006


I look at my cellulite, and I wonder if it's not actually there. Ever since I, along with the rest of the free world, realized that I identify with the typical person with body dysmorphic disorder, I almost wonder if I'm hallucinating my own fatness. But, since my jeans don't really fit comfortably anymore, I doubt it. That doesn't bother me so much , except that I only wear thong underwear, (ladies, these aren't near as uncomfortable as you think, but they're kind of an acquired taste) and I think I still have pantyline. How is that possible? My ass is so huge that a percheron would be envious. Envious.

My butt is the most persistently occupied part of my body aside from my brain. It is always being pushed on by some chair, my couch, my mattress, or something that doesn't require it to burn off any fat. The great thing about my body is that when I gain weight, the fat doesn't deposit itself in any one particular spot. It kind of goes all over. My face, my boobs get bigger, by thighs begin to rub together, my ankles retain water. One of my girlfriends has always been thin, even when she was pregnant, but when she puts on a bit of weight, she actually gets breasts. I've told her that if she doesn't want to gain any, she could have some of my breasts. I have more than enough for the entire population of small-chested women of Eugene.

I'm going to the gym.