139. I'm L.A. OBESE.

So it’s official. I’m a load of human waste undeserving of  love.  Went to my doctor today for an annual check up and for the first time in a year, stepped on a scale. It said 139 and I was like “um, so how much do the clothes and shoes and stuff weigh?”  The nurse goes “like 2 pounds.” See because in my mind, clothes add at least 10- 15 pounds. Apparently that math is wrong. I go “oh man, I’m a load.” Nurse says “Well, it means  you are happy.” Which is true, I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.  Happy and morbidly obese.  Here I am eating cake I baked for me and the hubby. He didn’t get any.

Now here’s the thing,  I really don’t beat myself up over how my body  looks.  Never have. I’ve never been athletic, never given a shit if my ass and thighs were flabby, or if my stomach hung over pants. Didn’t give a shit when I was single, really don’t give a shit now that I’m married. As long as I was thin-ish and thank God for my genetics, I always WAS.  WAS!! WAASSSS!!

So what really bums me out is how oblivious I was to my gradual obesity. I consider myself a fairly conscious person. I pay attention to EVERYTHING – if there’s a  guy standing at the bus stop who paints on his beard, I notice.  If my husband sighs differently than normal, I notice.  A new piece of MS 13 graffiti in the neighborhood, I notice. So my own gradual decline going unnoticed – well that isn’t like me. So I looked at history. At evidence. It appears I’ve been in denial. There were photos documenting  my morbid obesity all along! Photos of me on stage looking like the fucking pig animal that I am. And I reasoned them away, going “oh well that’s a bad angle.”  Or “those jeans are just too tight.”  No, Oprah. You are a husky turd. I should’ve been tipped off by how much I enjoy buying clothes at Target, where all the other loads of butter buy their clothes. See the load count here?

And look, I know 139 isn’t lap band fat. Or bed sores fat. Or even Midwest fat. But in LA – it’s obese.  I’m LA obese.  Will I obsessively start dieting and exercising? YES. For about 2 or 3 days. Then I’ll go back to my normal life of not giving a shit. Why? Because it’s who I am. I’m getting older and fatter and you know what? I’m a lot happier.  I spent my 20′s hating myself and flogging myself over everything I said and did. I  refuse to do that in my 30′s.

I can’t be one of these women who hates themselves, like poor Pam Anderson. Have you seen her trying to hold on to her “hot chick” title these days? And don’t get me wrong. I LOVE her. She’s beautiful but Jesus, it’s ok to be older. It’s ok to have a personality and NOT be the hottest chick in the world. Can someone give Pam a hug and explain that? And can someone give me another doughnut?  I’m LA obese and I accept that. I grew up in this city and I love it here. Hopefully LA can learn to love me in all my fatness.