The Big One

What's the biggest lie of all?  It's the enormous lie, made up of dozens of tiny lies, that help me justify the distance between the 'me I wanna be' and the 'me I actually am'.  Now I know that almost everyone has an idealized version of themselves rattling around in their head, somewhere.  And that's all fine and well.  But when you live each day pretending that Ideal You is actually Real You...and when, in reality, Ideal You and Real You have about as much resemblance to each other as the Eiffel Tower and a box of rocks...well, then...there's a problem...

And there's also a solution...or three...

You can go ahead and keep pretending and, if you can pull it off, that's great.  But unless you surround yourself with a gaggle of blind ass-kissers, eventually those around you are just not gonna be able to help but point out, in some form or fashion, that your grip on your 'personal' reality' is both slippery and disturbing.  People just can't trust your opinions or take you seriously when you live in total denial.  I mean, if you keep insisting that this is gonna be your best 'Year of the Bikini' yet, despite the fact that your ass is bigger than a house, well, how can you be trusted to make astute observations about THEIR lives.  At best, you'll become that person whose opinions are most valued by your friends because they know that, if they do the exact opposite of everything you suggest, well then things will be just fine.  At least they've managed to turn your anti-perception into some sort of tool.  Unfortunately for you, you just get to BE the tool.

Another solution is changing your Ideal Self into something that more closely resembles a box of rocks...I mean your Real Self.  As Quintin Crisp once said, "Don't try and keep up with the Jones.  Bring them down to your level.  It's cheaper."  This is the best solution for those people who have just flat given up.  It can be a pretty short trip from "I'm getting older.  My tits are sagging" to "Fuck it.  Hand me that Southern Comfort and a box of Crispy Creams."  So for those of you who find this to be the best alternative....have at it.  Put those fat little feet up, tape old newspaper on all of the windows in your house and get resigned to having to eventually wash yourself with a rag on a stick.  You think it won't happen, but it will...I don't even remember the last time I was able to 'trim up' without my vajayjay looking like it has lost a fight with a one-eyed buzz saw.

And finally, there's the 'Pimp My Box o' Rocks' solution...turning that fierce mess of unrecognizable Real Self into something that looks more like the Eiffel Tower...or the Venus de Milo...or a much shinier box of rocks that's at least got a bit of spackling to hold it all together...you know, just do your best.

So I'm opting for Box Number Three.  At least until I get so exhausted and over it I give up and switch it out for a rag on a stick.

I'm taking my Big Lie and breaking it down into the three smaller lies of smoking, fat, and sitting on my ass.  And, of those three lies, I'm starting with fat.  I joined Weight Watchers Online about 7 weeks ago.  So far I've lost 13 pounds.  I don't know how it's gonna turn out this week though.  Yesterday I managed to top off my 'normal' meals with a pint of Key Lime Pie Ice Cream, washed down with a bottle of red wine.  When I entered that into my Weight Watchers Points Tracker, online, flames burst out of my computer and my scale put all of it's possessions into a bandanna, tied it to a stick and ran, screaming towards the railroad tracks...

Fuck that scale.  I didn't like it anyway.