I wish I was born skinny so I didn't have to work out

So, confession: I dislike working out - immensely. I realized (more like, I remembered) this a few nights ago as I was lying in a puddle of my own sweat, giving myself a mental high-five because I couldn't physically move, after a particularly brutal Crossfit worko- I mean WOD. 

I'm not even good at it. Seriously, my Fran time is just under 8 minutes and while I feel like I'm thrusting an entire planet and doing perfect kipping pull-ups 21-15-9 times like a boss, what I'm actually doing is thrusting a 35 lb bar and using the yellow band on the pull-up bar (which is still hard, because I have to flail my legs to pull my fat ass up with my skinny arms so my chin makes it over the bar). And at the end of that WOD, I'm still crawling to my water bottle, leaving a wet trail of sweat, tears and pride behind me.

Not to mention my lack of grace when I'm doing Grace. 

Note that I opened with the fact that I participate in Crossfit. I make sure everyone knows I Crossfit and it kicks my ass and I do it for no other reason than the chance I’ll be in a situation where I would be required to wrestle a sabretooth cat – and win.

There is no reason for someone like me (a non-athletic person) to do Crossfit 6-7 days a week, except to find ways in which to nonchalantly assert the details of my WOD in almost every conversation and FB status update or IG photo op as if I was an 'athlete,' or to blog about it. Or to impress my kid.

Because I truly think I was meant to be a lazy person. I'd be so good at it, I just know. But, I digress. 

You might be wondering why, if I dislike working out so much, do I keep doing it? Well, maybe you’re not, but I’ll tell ya - and it has nothing to do with Crossfit and everything to do with general physical activity that I deem unnecessary. Like running. And lifting.

For starters, I dislike being out of shape more than I dislike working out. My body dysmorphic disorder prevents me from being content with my curves which are never under any kind of control. Curves are what I call my fat to make me feel better about filling or spilling out of my clothing. Plus, I can’t afford a new wardrobe and my clothes were getting smaller (read: I was getting bigger).

I’m also getting older and my metabolism hasn't worked right since puberty and the Freshman Fifty (in high school) saw my first set of angry, red stretch marks screaming across my calves, thighs and butt in protest of the fuller figure I was developing through the ingestion of an insane amount of food. I thought aliens were taking over my body, but I was just getting fat. 

And at my height, being more than a little curvy makes me look like a garden gnome in a pair of skinny jeans. Again, I digress.

I've dabbled in fitness since my early 30s and I know hard work and dedication can transform a body along with good eating habits, and I have just enough lack of motivation to not commit. My weight yo-yos with my sporadic interest and eventual disinterest followed by laziness with working out and that affects metabolism negatively. 

I was always looking for shortcuts because I didn't want to do the work - like pills, fads and eating disorders - which worked! However, the side effects that accompanied the rapid weight loss – thinning hair, loss of skin tone, bone density and muscle mass, growing hair in odd places – just weren't worth the dedication. 

What’s the point of being thin if you don’t look healthy or feel happy and could possibly die at some point? It’s counterproductive.

You can’t peacock in a coffin.

It wasn't until a few years ago, when my ex deployed, that I decided to make a real commitment to the on-again off-again relationship I had with fitness and give it the ‘old college try.’ I wanted to ‘wow’ him with a hard body upon his return.

Okay, so what had REALLY happened was, I saw cellulite had finally, in my mid-late 30s, visibly manifested itself on my thighs and I freaked the f*** out. 

Hey, a reason is a reason, right? 

As it turned out, I needn't have tried so hard to impress the ex by building a hard body. He likes thick chicks. And by thick, I mean according to his Google searches, the minimum ass size was 47" around. 

I blogged that experience, as well. That was back when I thought I liked working out. But I didn't. I was mistaken. I hoped I could lie to motivate myself because working out to get in shape is HARD work. 

Now I hear the big thing is to make a lifestyle change, which to me sounds like putting myself on a diet and exercise plan for life – and that there is no room for Bojangles Cajun fries for as many times as I would want to eat a medium sized order of them.

Then what the hell am I working out for? A f***ing Paleo muffin?!

Just the thought of having to workout for the rest of my life is depressing, and every night I pray that if I get a chance to come back and do this again, I’ll come back as a naturally skinny bitch so I don’t have to worry about any of this business. Maybe I’ll have boobs, too.

I guess the main reason I go back everyday is that Crossfit works for me: it’s the most intense, total body workout I can do in the shortest amount of time per day – it’s just an hour. Everyone has an hour. And in that hour, as I'm doing any number of rounds or rounds possible in the shortest time I can, I'm calculating all the things I’d rather be doing, like laundry, cleaning and arranging the fridge magnets according to the Feng Shui method of balancing the energies around me.

Because as much as I complain that I dislike working out, I can now fit into my clothes again and things on my body are toned and tight where they should be (translation, I don’t have bingo wings, jelly butt or mom boobs). 

Do I need to Crossfit? No. But I'm a results oriented person and the program works. Plus, I can't pretend I'm an "elite athlete" if I'm on the elliptical for an hour a day (as if). When I think about quitting, which usually crosses my mind about every ten seconds during a WOD,  I try to remember what I used to look like naked or the first time my kid put on my size 7 short-shorts and they were still loose - even though I couldn't pull them over my thighs and it wasn't because they were muscular.

So, NO, I don't like working out. But I dislike being out of shape more.

Disclaimer: This is in no way, shape or form against Crossfit nor is it an endorsement for Crossfit. Crossfit is for anyone who wants to do it and challenge themselves or just blog and complain about how much they love and hate it at the same time. As always, you should consult a physician or professional before beginning any workout program. 

Dear Porn Industry ... Can we talk?

(Note: I do not have this boyfriend anymore. Thanks.)

You. Are. Lying. To. My. Boyfriend.

And all men, in general.

The perfect woman is not, in fact, a ridiculously busty, 47” bubble-butt sporting, walking cosmetics counter who can turn her vagina into a super soaker on cue and keep all her orifices open for business 24/7 in any situation and location – regardless of relationship status. And ‘MILFs’ don’t walk around wearing pull-away lingerie, a thong or bikini while doing housework –you can bet if I’m doing any kind of domesticated shit, the offer of a game of poker with a penis isn’t going to deter me from the task at hand until it is finished. The perfect woman is me, and other women like me: working class chicks who have day jobs, kids and responsibilities - but can still maintain a certain amount of sexy.

I watch porn and I have no problem with my boyfriend’s iPorn collection or the fact that he has more photos of Flower Tucci, Druuna, and other big butt honeys in his phone album than he has of me. He recently left for an all expense paid, extended vacation to the FOB resort with about 320gigs of porn and five action flicks. “Backdraft,” “Point Break,” “Smokin’ Aces,” “300,” and “Rock’N’Rolla” were nestled in next to such titles as “The Milfy Way,” “Big Wet Asses volumes 1-23,” “The Hills Have Thighs,” “Missionary Position: Impossible,” “Porn Fidelity,” “American Booty” and “The DaVinci Load.”  Kudos on the title creativity, by the way.

But you’re misrepresenting the housewife, professional, and the MILF by showing us as nymphomaniacal sex-kitties waiting to fulfill our men’s celluloid fantasies. Porn is like the WWF – fake. I think that as an industry, you should be responsible and place a disclaimer at the beginning of all your films. Maybe right after all the legal stuff, you can boldly remind dudes that all the chicks involved were paid a hefty amount of money to ‘like’ getting used like a blow-up doll, allowing things to be not so gently placed where nothing should go and smile when receiving the money shot – in their eye. No one likes that. But maybe we’d take it like a champ, too, if we were getting paid some serious cash – AND we’d even pretend to like it, just like a porn star.

I don’t sleep in a thong and peephole nightie. If I wake up with a penis in my face, my first thought isn’t to fellate it – it’s to roll over and complete my eight hours of sleep so that I can make it through an eight hour workday, come home, cook, clean, rub my man’s aching muscles he flexed in the gym and try to steal five minutes of cuddle time – and that’s before I get a shower. When I wake up in the morning, my hair looks like it’s been through a wind tunnel and my face like I got punched in the eyes. Yes, I see the look of disappointment when my man realizes that no matter which angle he catches me in at 5 a.m., I will not look like one of his iPorn honeys. I won’t even begin to look normal until I’ve had a shower and a meeting with the make-up bag in my bathroom.

Which is another thing. Do you know that I would suffocate the pores on my face wearing the exact amount of special FX make-up that your version of me wears in films? I say special FX because, no matter how rough the sex is, or how sweat drenched the actors are, the make-up doesn’t run. Let me tell you - after that much physical activity, my face looks like I’ve made out with a clown and it’s not sexy.

Another service to me, and all women, would be to put out a ‘porn secrets’ video explaining some of the special effects used in porn that men might not understand in their persistence to have us recreate – like ‘squirting.’  Women don’t squirt, they pee or, as I found out with iGoogle, fill their holy of holies up with water and push it out on cue like a super soaker.

Speaking of all things down there, real women are not all perfectly shaved, they don’t bleach their butt holes and don’t have smooth, pimple free ass cheeks all the time. I have a job, a working class bank account, a kid and responsibilities that I gotta take care of; I don’t have time or energy, to turn myself into a walking sex-doll every night. I shave with my boyfriend’s razor (it works better), exfoliate and moisturize the girly bits, and hope I don’t get razor burn or ingrown hairs right before my boyfriend sees it. I sport a five o’clock vag-shadow most days out of the week because I’m too tired to clean it up. Why don’t you show that in one of your movies? Slightly less glam, huh?

And don’t get me started on size G-for-ginormous, gravity defying boobs and 47-inch buffet table asses. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will never look like a porn star unless I shell out some serious cash or photoshop the hell out of some self-portraits. I’m good with that. Just think that the industry could soften the blow by showing real women some love. I know you already have a section for that – amateur porn – but perhaps take your glamour lighting to some 'amateur' stuff and then I could catch a break and not feel like I’m competing with an ideal I won’t ever have the energy meet.

By the way, one other small request: I watch – and like – porn. But, it’s getting harder and harder (no pun intended) for me to find any videos that interest me. It all starts out somewhat normal enough (for porn), a little cheesy with the set-up and acting (but I fast forward through all that anyway), then it goes from vaginal to - anal? Yeah, so not a turn on. I don’t want to see that and I don’t want to have to check out old-school videos to get what I want because that leads to the other part of my request. Can you please remove Ron Jeremy and the old, skinny Cuban dude from all past, present and future porn? They are not attractive and neither are their manly bits. It’s like you sneak them into the middle of a perfectly good set and you mess up my rhythm. If it’s a fetish, like bondage, GILF porn or bestiality, it should be packaged that way so I don’t accidentally pick it up.

So, give us real women some love, put out a large print disclaimer for dudes, stop it with the over-abundance of anal scenes and take out the gross guys, okay? Thanks.

Yours truly,

Concerned real woman who cleans up nicely

An open letter to Demi Moore

Dear Demi,
So, your boy-husband left you after eight years of marriage and is hooking up with a new chick who is closer to his age - which means she's younger than you.

Sucks, doesn't it? Devastating, even.

After all those years of being with you, pretend-loving you and, let's face it, cheating on you - what? you didn't think it was only one time, did you? - he moved on so fast. All you want to feel is that your time together meant something to him.

Newsflash: it didn't mean as much to him. If it did, he wouldn't have boffed a chick on your anniversary.

So, get over it already, it's been almost a year.

I feel for you, I really do, because I've been where you are right now - several times, in fact. It doesn't get easier. No, I'm not your age yet but I have a rule that my boyfriends can't be more than nine years younger than me, and guys like Asshole Kutcher come in all ages. I like to call that demographic of men douchebags. They seldom change, even with age. At some point, they either get tired of trying so hard to get laid or notice their looks are fading, girls aren't biting anymore and decide that settling down is the only way to guaranteed vagina.

But I digress ...

Take a look at yourself; what you are doing so publicly isn't classy. You're in the news for a breakdown over a boy. Rehab? For what? I doubt his semen was made of cocaine and I'm sure you convinced yourself his penis was bigger and better than any other that you've ever had even though we both know it really wasn't.

You want him to remember you as a woman who respects herself and doesn't pine over someone so undeserving. A classy woman who doesn't destroy herself over a man who is clearly not interested in her anymore.You want him to look back with a pang of regret when all his other relationships fail or he ends up in a passionless coupling with a starlet who is - well, who is not you.

Which brings me back to the main point: He poked a slutty vag on your anniversary!

He basically took a gigantic poop on you, your kids and your entire relationship with that one move. You should be getting divorced and moving on - not throwing yourself a self-pity party every day hoping he will realize how miserable he really is without you - because he won't.Right now, you are validating his reason for not sticking around.

Seriously, is this the kind of guy you want your daughters to look up to? And what kind of example are you setting for them? Do you want your girls to believe it's okay for a man to treat them like they are worthless?

The best revenge is moving on and living your life like he never existed - even if it's on the outside. You would be doing two things with that plan of action: 1) Remembering yourself and your worth and 2) showing any chick that comes after you that he's not worth pining over.

We all know that the more you throw a pissing fit over a man, every other girl will want him. If you, an American icon, don't want him, why would any other self-respecting chick? Right now, his new girl is latched on tighter than a hooker with a dollar bill because she thinks she has something amazing. There is nothing amazing about a man who cheats on his wife, family and girlfriend - no matter what the reason.

Personally, I think you should still be with Bruce Willis. He aged well. Asston isn't going to age well. He has very feminine features and a weak jaw line. You want a manly looking man, not a skinny-fat, can't sport a sexy 5 o'clock shadow because puberty skipped him, prick.

Be an inspiration to women who are rebounding from bad break-ups - or at least to your daughters. I know, it's hard to be strong sometimes, but find your strength in your family, friends and retail therapy.

God knows that if I had the cash to spend myself happy, it wouldn't have taken me as long as it did to get over some break-ups - and I wouldn't have re-dated some of my exes.

Here's hoping you find your self-respect, pride and dignity, and pull your shit together soon.

Much love,
Dawn

An open letter to Taylor Swift

"The funniest part is that she's not even 18; she's 24," ~ K.E. 

Dear Taylor Swift,

I saw your performance during the Grammy's. Cute. I'm also now looking at an article on you and your newest Brit singer-beau. Really? Does he know he's just a draft for another song for your new album? 

I’m a reluctant fan. I will admit that your post-break up tunes are rather catchy and as long as I listen to them in moderation, I won’t puke – much. I’ve even been known to belt out one or two of your tunes in a drunken fit of karaoke.

FYI: I wouldn’t encourage that in a biker bar, they don’t like that.

But I digress.

We’ve all had our fair share of break-ups. As a matter of fact, I can count mine on two hands and still have digits left. For 39 years old, I consider that having a modest dating career – with the longest being 8 years. 

Not all of the experiences were good and one in particular was pretty emotionally damaging. But I try to find the lesson and humor in every situation before I exploit the hell out of my experiences in an emotionally charged, semi-autobiographical (if not anonymous) blog entry that isn’t meant so much for revenge as it is a release of pent up frustration and heartbreak.

After everything, though, here is what I learned: I am not always the victim.

I am also sorry to point out that neither are you and you should probably come to that realization, too, before you go down in history as the ‘crazy boy lady.’ You can't be 18 forever and at some point, you and your music have to mature. As a role model to young tweenage girls, consider it your civic duty. Besides, airing your dirty laundry in song, while garnering you platinum album fame, isn’t convincing anyone that you’re mature.

Seriously, at just 24 years old your list of former flames rivals an escort’s client list. Am I exaggerating? I don’t know, how many albums have you put out with how many songs about how many break-ups? I can’t count all of those on my fingers and toes.

Here’s something else you should consider: Maybe you think exploiting your exes by writing some catchy, pop tunes is the best revenge. Calling attention to how many guys dumped or cheated on you is kind of a warning to other guys you may want to date someday – whittling your pool of prospects to those who need the publicity to jumpstart their careers. Plus, let’s face it; none of those guys in your past heard any of your songs and thought, “wow, did I screw up.”

Look, there are only so many boy pop bands and you’re going through them rather quickly. Eventually, you won’t have a break-up to write about. I think it’s time you turned your songwriting efforts to appeal to a wider range of teenage angst drama - like partying, waking up feeling like P-Diddy, shopping and being the bad-ass chick who does the heartbreaking. There’s a whole demographic – and several more platinum album opps – you can exploit.

Remember, this biz is all about creating longevity in your career. When it comes down to it, do you really want to be known as the ‘hang-and-banger’ – the chick who hangs out with a guy only to bang out a song victimizing herself in the hopes of teaching him a lesson. Because in the end, once it’s over, he really doesn’t care  because the intent was to “never, ever get back together.”

Sincerely,

Chick Norris