Strange Distractions
I have an audition tomorrow and I have one week to come up with a sufficient amount of pages for this screenplay I'm getting paid to write and yet I cannot bring myself to do any of it. Why? Because my ass is just too big.
That's right. I am distracted by my own ass. I can't stop thinking about it. It is seriously making me crazy. I've been on the pilates and yoga trip. I've cut back on my latte intake (there are days I even *GASP* go without) I'm on the fruits and vegetables, but refuse to make any other dietary concessions beyond extreme moderation. (XXXXtreme!) My ass is considerably smaller than it was two years ago, but my inability to wear pants haunts me throughout the day. My ass is now disproportionate to the rest of my body and I can no longer wear clothing or go out of my house because I am just so uncomfortable with my ass.
Okay. I go out. I even enjoy myself from time to time. I am in a Tango class, but I am afraid that I was left out of many dances because of ass discrimination. (Or, perhaps because I am so ashamed of my ass that I was too shy to make eye contact with potential dance partners and signal my willingness to dance?) How is my ass going to get smaller if you don't dance with me? I'm saying ass a lot, aren't I? Get used to it, because it is really all I can think about. There is this constant stream of inner dialogue that sounds something like this, "Is my ass sticking out? My ass doesn't look so bad if I stand sideways...I wonder if I could only get people to look at me in profile? Where IS my ass? Oh, there it is- all around me! Is it any smaller than yesterday? Who'd know?" Oh, and Body by Victoria can KISS my ass. Didn't help me a bit. It just squeezed my ass fat so hard that it popped out around my knees. Fat ass knees are not a good look.
I know, I know, I never wanted to be this woman. I was one of those obnoxious people who never worried. In high school I actually needed to gain weight (thyroid problem) and had trouble doing it. Well, my thyroid is gone now (since 1993) and all those dinners I had of pure fudge and potato chips are coming back to haunt me oh these many years later. Throughout most of my adult life I've been on the thicker side, but it never really bothered me. I thought I was hot enough. Now I can't stop thinking about my lack of hotness.
Really, that is the issue. Not my pants or my ass, but my ultimate lack of faith in my hotness. On the catcall scale of sexual success I can only get the attention of oxygen deprived coal miners. Not too many of those wandering the streets of New York. Even fewer holding positions of power in a casting office. Luckily, the role I am up for tomorrow is a prostitute gone to seed. Dude, I am ON that one.
This is one of my deep, dark secrets that just about everyone has- I would rather BE a muse than HAVE a muse. See what I'm saying? And since Baby Got Back has already been written, what else could be said about me?
It really is amazing what bits of popular culture you refuse to ingest and yet, some day, you mysteriously end up regurgitating it all over your mumu.
That's right. I am distracted by my own ass. I can't stop thinking about it. It is seriously making me crazy. I've been on the pilates and yoga trip. I've cut back on my latte intake (there are days I even *GASP* go without) I'm on the fruits and vegetables, but refuse to make any other dietary concessions beyond extreme moderation. (XXXXtreme!) My ass is considerably smaller than it was two years ago, but my inability to wear pants haunts me throughout the day. My ass is now disproportionate to the rest of my body and I can no longer wear clothing or go out of my house because I am just so uncomfortable with my ass.
Okay. I go out. I even enjoy myself from time to time. I am in a Tango class, but I am afraid that I was left out of many dances because of ass discrimination. (Or, perhaps because I am so ashamed of my ass that I was too shy to make eye contact with potential dance partners and signal my willingness to dance?) How is my ass going to get smaller if you don't dance with me? I'm saying ass a lot, aren't I? Get used to it, because it is really all I can think about. There is this constant stream of inner dialogue that sounds something like this, "Is my ass sticking out? My ass doesn't look so bad if I stand sideways...I wonder if I could only get people to look at me in profile? Where IS my ass? Oh, there it is- all around me! Is it any smaller than yesterday? Who'd know?" Oh, and Body by Victoria can KISS my ass. Didn't help me a bit. It just squeezed my ass fat so hard that it popped out around my knees. Fat ass knees are not a good look.
I know, I know, I never wanted to be this woman. I was one of those obnoxious people who never worried. In high school I actually needed to gain weight (thyroid problem) and had trouble doing it. Well, my thyroid is gone now (since 1993) and all those dinners I had of pure fudge and potato chips are coming back to haunt me oh these many years later. Throughout most of my adult life I've been on the thicker side, but it never really bothered me. I thought I was hot enough. Now I can't stop thinking about my lack of hotness.
Really, that is the issue. Not my pants or my ass, but my ultimate lack of faith in my hotness. On the catcall scale of sexual success I can only get the attention of oxygen deprived coal miners. Not too many of those wandering the streets of New York. Even fewer holding positions of power in a casting office. Luckily, the role I am up for tomorrow is a prostitute gone to seed. Dude, I am ON that one.
This is one of my deep, dark secrets that just about everyone has- I would rather BE a muse than HAVE a muse. See what I'm saying? And since Baby Got Back has already been written, what else could be said about me?
It really is amazing what bits of popular culture you refuse to ingest and yet, some day, you mysteriously end up regurgitating it all over your mumu.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 1:08 AM
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