Bright Lights, Big Ass: A Self-Indulgent, Surly, Ex-Sorority Girl's Guide to Why It Often Sucks in the City, or Who Are These Idiots and Why Do They All Live Next Door to Me? (21 page)

To:
angie_at_home, carol_at_home, wendy_at_home, jen_at_work

From:
[email protected]

Subject:
i don’t like mike

What is it with the crazy people e-mailing me? I hope you all enjoy this message from today’s in-box as much as I did:

hi there: very very sexy person i am older 47 live in the city i am still married looking for a friend/lover i am gng thru a pinfull divorce. I am 6* 200 brwn hair and brwn (bedroom) eyes I work out 5-6 times a week and I love golf-boating I own my business so if you want to see what happens let me know I know I am not for eveyone still being married. srry no pics until i am divorced shhhhhhhhhhhmike

Like I’m
not
going to respond to this before blocking him from contacting me?

Dear Mike,

Thanks for your thoughtful offer. However, I will have to politely decline for the following reasons:

1) I hate golf-boating. So hard to get the ball to stay on the tee with all the waves.

2) Sorry to hear about your “pinfull” divorce. Perhaps if you weren’t busy trawling for sex with strangers first thing in the morning, it may have worked out better for you?

3) Were I to cheat on my spouse (which is never going to happen, BTW) it certainly wouldn’t be with someone who should be cited by the Grammar Police.

I do not want to see what happens. And I am letting you know.

Best,

Jen

Loser? Yes, but Not the Biggest

I’
m a loser.

Or, at least I’m hoping to be.

I’m scheduled to go on a casting call for NBC’s
The Biggest Loser
program. This is the reality show where a bunch of overweight folks compete with each other to drop the flab and gain $250-large. But since everyone on the show sheds a ton of weight, there are no losers. Or, um, they’re all losers. Just not in the pejorative sense.

So, I’ve been watching the show and each week I scream
1
epithets at those I don’t think are working hard enough. For example, during a competition that involves climbing ninety flights of stairs, a contestant has a panic attack around floor thirty-four and has to be carted off in an ambulance. As I shout, “You big pussy!” at her image on the screen, Fletch reminds me I’ve been sitting with my legs crossed for half an hour since I’m too lazy to climb the stairs to my bathroom.

Oh, yes.
That.

For as faithfully as I watch the show, it’s surprising I’d never considered auditioning before, especially since I’d be an awesome reality show contestant. I’d be the one to stir up trouble over some already-simmering issue and then neatly step away from it while I watched the other contestants implode. And then at the height of the crisis, in the midst of all the yelling and producer intervention, I’d say something so witty and sardonic, yet showing my humanity, that the message boards would explode with “Oh, my God, I can’t believe she
went
there” commentary and yet another battle would ensue between those who loved and those who hated me.

The seed to audition was planted about a month ago after my last physical. My internist advised me to lose thirty pounds, even though my blood pressure was “outstanding”
2
and my cholesterol was good, which is interesting considering the fact I’ve thought about adding butter to my coffee more than once. He instructed me to start logging what I ate, saying if I charted fat grams and calories, I’d make better choices and thus shed those pounds.

I smiled and nodded, but inwardly rolled my eyes. The poor, deluded soul thought I didn’t know that lack of exercise and abundance of calories were making me heavy. I wanted to tell him, “Doctor, I’m an ex–sorority girl. There’s nothing you can tell a sorority girl about fat and calories she doesn’t already know. Shoot, half my sisters had some variety of eating disorder and the other half majored in dietetics. So great was our obsession with nutrition that any one of us could have taught the ADA a thing or two.” But I didn’t because I was trying to angle a way to get him to prescribe me some recreational Xanax and figured he wouldn’t if I acted like a jerk.

Although people lose weight for a lot of reasons, my dilemma to this point has been that I haven’t been able to come up with one compelling enough to change my habits. Sure, the idea of being healthier sounds nice, but that’s an abstract concept and certainly not enough to get me off the cake and on the bike. And, yeah, the idea of living longer appeals, but by denying myself now, I rationalize I might simply be prolonging the adult diaper years. Plus, if Fletch doesn’t stop smoking he’s not going to be around to keep me company anyway.

And speaking of Fletch, I’d never be one who was swayed by the whole “do it for him” argument. I truly despise the men I see on daytime talk shows who get Dr. Phil to intervene because “my wife ain’t skinny like she used to be.” Seems like if your marriage can’t withstand a couple of pounds, you may need more help than Jenny Craig offers.

I’ll admit the idea of being thinner isn’t all bad. Perhaps I’d enjoy not sweating when I eat? If I weren’t plus-sized, I bet I’d be more likely to take advantage of some of the perks the city has to offer, like ice skating in Millennium Park. I just hate the idea of engaging in any public physical activity that makes me look foolish, and I’ve found myself avoiding things I used to like because I’m heavy now.
3
For example, Chicago has dozens of cool gyms with pools and juice bars and climbing walls, and yet I can’t quite bring myself to join one of them because I’m vaguely embarrassed. I want to become a member, but, you know, not ’til I’m a little thinner. (This is the same specious logic that makes people clean their homes the day before the maid comes.)

I talk over my weight-loss aversion with Fletch and we try to figure out what might motivate me. His theory is the only way people lose weight is because something clicks inside them and they decide it’s time. He calls the impetus for the click “the X-factor” and claims the X-factor is what coaxes you out of bed to walk briskly with the dogs on a chilly morning and convinces you that an orange is a better snack than half a box of Twinkies. According to Fletch, the X-factor is more important than exercising or eating right because it’s what drives people to do so in the first place. The X-factor? Is all powerful.

As we discuss what might inspire my X-factor, Fletch mentions what a good article this would make. He says a magazine might be interested if I were to document my weight-loss story from month to month, discussing the healthy changes I’d made. I could include pictures and some sort of table depicting how close I was to getting to my goal weight. A smaller waistline and a modicum of notoriety? The more I think about it, the better it sounds.

And thus the beginnings of an X-factor form.

Shortly after this epiphany, I see a notice for a local casting call on Craigslist and decide it’s fate, even though the idea of parading around on television in all my rotund glory terrifies me. Generally, death is a more attractive option for me than humiliation. I mean, when my mother answers her cell phone in a restaurant, I want to slip through the floorboards and disappear. And that’s nothing compared to the sheer mortification of 10 million Americans seeing my real weight projected on the big screen.
4
However, I also think the only way to conquer fear is to face it head-on, and if it means seeing my big ass on the television, so be it. I pick up the phone and wrangle my way into a face-to-face interview.

I’m now tasked with preparing for this interview. I download an application form, even though they’ll be available at the casting call tomorrow. But fussy as I am about my words, I’m better off getting a jump-start on the competition. I crack open a chilled bottle of Gewurztraminer and start writing.

Okay,
name
, easy.
Address
, simple.
Phone
, there you go.
Height
, five feet seven.
Weight
.

Oh, God.

This is one of those numbers I’ve never spoken out loud. Because if I were to verbalize it, that would mean it was actually true.

I take a long drink of the cool wine and feel the liquid travel all the way down my esophagus. After having a few more sips of grape-flavored courage, I fill in a truly frightening sum. But I’m comforted in the knowledge that if I can answer that question honestly, the rest of the application questions will be easy. I move on to the first essay question.

How would someone describe your best/worst qualities?

Dunno. My mother thinks I’m pretty and my husband says I make a mean Parmesan-crusted chicken breast. But that’s not the kind of answer that will land me on the
Today
show, now is it?

I polish off my first glass of wine in hopes it will make me more creative. Mmm, that’s better. Now concentrate. Think of Matt Lauer. What would he want to read?
“Katie, we’ve all grown tired of your shtick?”
No, that won’t work. How about:

I’m best known for my humility. (Ha!) No, seriously, my ex-employees would describe me as smart, driven, and tenacious, sometimes to the point of bringing them to tears.
5
But I expect 100 percent from everyone, all the time, and it makes me crazy when others slack.

Let’s segue into my worst qualities…. I’m incredibly impatient and I don’t tolerate excuses or poor work ethics. Whatever I do, I give it my all and I tend to win. Because of this, I can be arrogant, and on occasion, condescending. However, if you’re on my team and are also putting forth your best effort, I will be supportive, motivational, kind, and fiercely loyal. You mess with my friends and I will cut you. (I’m kidding, of course.
6
)

Have you tried to lose weight? How?

C’mon, are you fucking kidding me? Who hasn’t?

Nope, nope, family show. No f-bombs. Remember the FCC. Viewers want to hear my profanity as much as they wanted to see Janet Jackson’s nipple. Which is not at all.

I have a tad more thinking juice.

Okay. Here we go:

Yes, about a million times. I’ve had success on Atkins but it’s so unnatural. No one can eat that way for a prolonged period. And every time I do Atkins, I find myself wanting to wrestle people in the lunchroom for their half-eaten peaches. I know fruit is not evil, nor is bread the Devil. Atkins just doesn’t make sense. The only healthy way to lose is to eat less (of a balanced diet) and exercise more. So easy in theory; it’s the execution where I falter.

What’s your biggest obstacle to losing weight?

Absolute narcissism manifesting in obscene self-indulgence?

Or perhaps just an open mouth?

I’m my own biggest obstacle. The problem is my self-esteem; it’s too high. Even at (redacted)
7
pounds, I look at myself in the mirror and think, “Damn, girl. You fiiiiiine.” I have a hard time with self-denial because I love me, so why wouldn’t I treat my fabulous self to anything I wanted?

In addition, I’ve been through some hard times over the past few years. I went from having a ridiculously high household income to practically being evicted from a ghetto apartment, due to the vagaries of the post-9/11 economy. As well, I had to prop up my formerly successful husband because he was deeply depressed after losing his job. I was the strong one for both of us, and because I was too proud to share my feelings, my only comfort was food. I told myself it was okay to eat whatever I wanted, and I’d address my ever-growing ass only once I’d gotten us through everything.

I successfully navigated the storms and, in so doing, landed representation with a literary agency, and subsequently, a publishing contract. So I also indulged myself while working on the book, with the caveat that as soon as I was done with the proposal, I’d start taking better care of myself. (Again, if you’d like to know more of my story, please buy my book.) Now that it’s sold, my behavior hasn’t changed, and at this point my biggest concerns aren’t those of vanity; they’re health-related. By weighing what I weigh, I’m prescribing myself an early death sentence. (Even if this does mean missing the adult diaper years.)

And, frankly?

I’m not ready to renegotiate my own mortality. This excess baggage needs to go!

What do you want to do when you lose the weight?

Wear a bikini to my twentieth class reunion and yell into the crowd, “You all sucked in high school and you all still suck!” No. I sound like a psycho. Have some delicious wine and try again.

For all my bravado, I’m actually thin-skinned. My greatest fear is someone making fun of how I look, and sometimes this causes me to avoid things I enjoy. For example, although I like figure skating, I won’t go to Millennium Park because I worry that people will giggle and point and say, “Hey, look! It’s Jamie Salé! And she’s apparently swallowed David Pelletier! Bah, ha, ha!!” I love to ride horses, but I won’t because at my favorite stable, there’s a weight limit and I don’t want to be questioned. And I
adore
designer clothing, but so few designers make plus-sized garb. I try to make myself feel better, saying it’s their loss, but every time I walk Michigan Ave with a Lane Bryant bag instead of one from Bebe, I feel like I’m advertising my own failure.