Kirstie Alley has done it. Oprah has done it, failed it and done it again. Beyonce has done it. Pregnant Hollywood chicks have done it. The latest victim is Kelly Osbourne, who is looking better than ever. The ‘done it’ this part is getting thinner and fitter. I do admit that they are somehow lucky they have money for their own personal trainers and they have a planner or a manager who would do all the work, while they run home and die on their bed after a hardcore workout. Well, if Kirstie Alley can do it, here’s my version of “I Hate My Body”.
Being on top during sex is so ideal, especially when the man is on his back lying there under you and you are in control of the speed and the depth of penetration. You rule the plot and the world is your oyster while you lead your partner into your zone of pleasure. It’s even better when he starts to arch back or moans or just gets up to kiss you hard; even better when he asks you to stop for fear of ejaculating before you do. The scene’s pleasant and things are fine until you notice there’s a mirror in front of you and you see this person that you’ve become riding your sex partner and your love handles flopping like your great grandmom saggy tits. Now, the whole ‘world is your oyster and ruling the plot’ disappears and your boner turns into a shriveled 1 dollar sausage dough wrapper, the mini hot dog you could get in bakeries that somehow looks like a small uncut penis with the sausage head poking out. Yes, that was the day I promised myself I would get thinner in Australia.
God, sex with a belly is worse than catching crabs from a 50 year old chubby man. At least, you could kill those crabs in Bondi beach with saltwater and apply stingy solution on it, hoping you would never ever have sex desperately after being drunk in a bar thinking a 50 year old is a mid aged classy man. (Be warned… suits do NOT justify how hot a man is.. most men look good in suits).
So, after some work out, I’ve somehow felt like a man I never thought I could be. I was born 4 lbs (2kg) and everyone kept thinking I was gonna die. My mom even had a letter from my uncle who said ‘don’t worry.. you can have another one’. Nah ah girlfriend… this baby fights strong and I managed to get outta my mom’s tired womb, feeble and attention seeking. I was exposed to carbonated drinks in Thailand and after having them for breakfast, lunch and dinner with only a bit of food here and there, I adapted to something that resembles gastric. Needlephobic as I was, I made a deal with the doctor to drink milk three times a day, which otherwise I would get an injection from her. So, what do you get after seven years of three milk glasses per day? A fat high schooler.
Being a big fan of music and art, I have never aced in PE classes. I’ve tripped, fell, not dodged an easy ball and managed to miss a ball which hit my head during a volleyball game. The cool thing was I was never the last to be picked by team captains. The last were always girls and this friend of mine, who was a bit of a cripple. So, hey, it ain’t half bad.
Today, I ate five goddamn pieces of fried chicken. After one whole month of tuna diet and skipping on the spot every week nights and dance rehearsals during weekend. It was heaven. It was the best thing since my first masturbation at age 11. (Yes, people I’m a late bloomer). But the aftermath was intolerable.
In order to motivate me to do more workouts or eat lesser, I have been wearing tight shirts, which used to fit me perfectly when I first got back from Sydney, which was like a year ago. I do look like those sausage wrappers with a bit of a muffin top happening but somehow, I was glad I could fit into them. Given I had eaten five pieces of devil’s creation today, I felt like an early Santa in September.
So, to those of you who are sitting there feeling fat, I can empathize with you on how terrible you must be feeling. However, if your next move is to grab some Oreos dipped in milk, followed by a Burger King Whopper meal as a mini snack before dinner, I have NO SYMPATHY for you. Get your fat ass up and just fucking lose yourself. Look in the mirror and see how ugly you look and how flexible you could be during sex if only you were thinner.
With that attitude, I managed to run for one hour today. Of course, with an aftermath of wheezes and pants, with sounds only my great grandfather would make. Amen!
Take that, Kirstie Alley!!!
Being on top during sex is so ideal, especially when the man is on his back lying there under you and you are in control of the speed and the depth of penetration. You rule the plot and the world is your oyster while you lead your partner into your zone of pleasure. It’s even better when he starts to arch back or moans or just gets up to kiss you hard; even better when he asks you to stop for fear of ejaculating before you do. The scene’s pleasant and things are fine until you notice there’s a mirror in front of you and you see this person that you’ve become riding your sex partner and your love handles flopping like your great grandmom saggy tits. Now, the whole ‘world is your oyster and ruling the plot’ disappears and your boner turns into a shriveled 1 dollar sausage dough wrapper, the mini hot dog you could get in bakeries that somehow looks like a small uncut penis with the sausage head poking out. Yes, that was the day I promised myself I would get thinner in Australia.
God, sex with a belly is worse than catching crabs from a 50 year old chubby man. At least, you could kill those crabs in Bondi beach with saltwater and apply stingy solution on it, hoping you would never ever have sex desperately after being drunk in a bar thinking a 50 year old is a mid aged classy man. (Be warned… suits do NOT justify how hot a man is.. most men look good in suits).
So, after some work out, I’ve somehow felt like a man I never thought I could be. I was born 4 lbs (2kg) and everyone kept thinking I was gonna die. My mom even had a letter from my uncle who said ‘don’t worry.. you can have another one’. Nah ah girlfriend… this baby fights strong and I managed to get outta my mom’s tired womb, feeble and attention seeking. I was exposed to carbonated drinks in Thailand and after having them for breakfast, lunch and dinner with only a bit of food here and there, I adapted to something that resembles gastric. Needlephobic as I was, I made a deal with the doctor to drink milk three times a day, which otherwise I would get an injection from her. So, what do you get after seven years of three milk glasses per day? A fat high schooler.
Being a big fan of music and art, I have never aced in PE classes. I’ve tripped, fell, not dodged an easy ball and managed to miss a ball which hit my head during a volleyball game. The cool thing was I was never the last to be picked by team captains. The last were always girls and this friend of mine, who was a bit of a cripple. So, hey, it ain’t half bad.
Today, I ate five goddamn pieces of fried chicken. After one whole month of tuna diet and skipping on the spot every week nights and dance rehearsals during weekend. It was heaven. It was the best thing since my first masturbation at age 11. (Yes, people I’m a late bloomer). But the aftermath was intolerable.
In order to motivate me to do more workouts or eat lesser, I have been wearing tight shirts, which used to fit me perfectly when I first got back from Sydney, which was like a year ago. I do look like those sausage wrappers with a bit of a muffin top happening but somehow, I was glad I could fit into them. Given I had eaten five pieces of devil’s creation today, I felt like an early Santa in September.
So, to those of you who are sitting there feeling fat, I can empathize with you on how terrible you must be feeling. However, if your next move is to grab some Oreos dipped in milk, followed by a Burger King Whopper meal as a mini snack before dinner, I have NO SYMPATHY for you. Get your fat ass up and just fucking lose yourself. Look in the mirror and see how ugly you look and how flexible you could be during sex if only you were thinner.
With that attitude, I managed to run for one hour today. Of course, with an aftermath of wheezes and pants, with sounds only my great grandfather would make. Amen!
Take that, Kirstie Alley!!!
Listening to: Amy Winehouse - Rehab
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