So…I’m Training Your Facebook Status Sounds Like a Suicide Note


Somewhere off camera, someone is dangling a pastry.

My good friend, Your Facebook Status Sounds Like a Suicide Note, told me she was going on a diet/exercise program, so I skipped the part where she asked for my advice and immediately created an Excel spreadsheet with fat-burning workouts for her. I mean, I’m a pretty awesome friend. And so is she.

YFSSLaSN is basically me if I was a girl. Although if I was that pretty and had those boobs I’d be sluttier. Oh, and if I had a gay best friend that told me my hair looks awesome when I flatiron it, I’d listen and do it all the time. Oh, and if I sent him a picture of my outfit for a potential date and his response was “your hair looks great,” I wouldn’t take the compliment, I’d read between the lines and change my shirt. So… no, we’re nothing alike, but that’s okay.

She had no choice but to go along because she’s a people pleaser and she knows that deep down if I help her lose weight then it’ll make me feel good about myself. Having the best hair in the group is starting to lose its luster and I need to be the best at something else.Photo1

Things got off to a bit of a bumpy start when I told her she was no longer allowed to eat cheese. You would have thought I had asked her to sow her vagina shut. I understood her skepticism at being able to abstain from dairy (shit- I sometimes have to imagine a leaky cow udder to keep me from face planting in a bowl of queso) but I had already removed all sharp objects from her apartment after her last status update, so cutting into a block of Jack Cheddar was gonna be a challenge anyway.

Our first trip to the gym was a success considering that the last and only time we ever worked out was four years ago when I caused her to have an asthma attack. I used my foolproof method of making sure she found a gym crush to distract from the pain of squats and burpees. She’s into big guys with beards and as luck would have it all the methed- out male models were on vacation that day and the gym was full of lumberjack like former football players who were roiding out. We hit the jackpot in terms of possibilities.

She fell off the exercise ball while doing abs. Yes, I could have told her about the time I was en route to say hello to Gym Crush when my headphones snagged on a piece of equipment, nearly decapitating me in the process. I’m sure it would have made her feel better. But instead I said, “get up and try again.”

And she did.

Go ahead, slow clap.

I know what you’re thinking. The moral of the story is if at first you don’t succeed, try again. Eh, but it’s not.

I was afraid that without me there to encourage her she might give up completely. I really didn’t want her to fail and I really didn’t want to blamed for her failure. So, being the good friend that I am, I grabbed a hundred dollar bill and went into work waving it in the air,  looking for a guy to date her.

The real moral of the story is: if at first you don’t succeed, make sure you have a friend who is willing to pay someone to date and subsequently dump you, creating a broken-hearted tailspin so devastating that it becomes nearly impossible to eat, leading to an immediate loss of 5-10lbs.

A friend like me.


After checking the Facebook invite and deciding not to go she updated her status to: “Another Friday night closer to buying a cat.”

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Thoughts from the Gym, Downton Abbey Edition


If Lady Edith is getting married before you, just give up.

No one tell Your Facebook Status Sounds like a Suicide Note that Lady Edith is getting married before she is.

  1. If my trainer ever degraded me by having me work out right next to the snack stand I’d immediately go home and shame eat.
  2. No, Yoga Chick; do not smile at me, I will not be pulled into the LA Fitness Circle of Trolls. I’d rather be fat. (lie)
  3. I have to spend at least half the amount of time at the gym today as I did sitting in front of the TV watching Downton Abbey and eating chocolate last night.
  4. I ate an entire pizza by myself on Saturday which basically means I’m Edith.
  5. That’s not true. I’d almost certainly run off with the help, so really I’m a Sybil.
  6. Although I throw a lot of fits so I guess I’m a Mary.
  7. Though you’d be hard pressed to get me to marry my cousin.
  8. Gym Crush’s boyfriend is here solo which can only mean one thing: the stress of the holidays tore them apart and they are never ever ever getting back together!
  9. The fact that I know who Gym Crush’s boyfriend is would lead one to believe that I spend a lot of time at the gym so where are my GD abs already?
  11. If Gym Crush doesn’t return from Xmas vacation soon, 2nd in Position is getting a promotion.
  12.  No, Weird -Slightly Brain Damaged -Probably a Male Escort- Guy, do not smile at me, I don’t want to share workout tips.
  13. I wonder if he makes more money than me.
  14. Everybody makes more money than me.
  15. God, I hate my life.
  16. I wish I was a Crawley.
  17. Gossiping over Tea, long afternoon walks, formal dress for dinner, a post dinner cigar/brandy, throwing shade at Edith… I could fucking rock living in Downton Abbey.
  18. Congratulations on winning the state wrestling championship in 2002 Smelly- Hooded Sweatshirt- Guy! Unfortunately that means that you’ve had that shirt for at least 10 years, and if I -who received a D+ in Pre-Calc -can do that math, then the rest of the people in this gym…oh never mind, these are some of the dumbest people I’ve ever seen in my life.
I don't have to take your test. All I have to do is pinch my lower back.

I don’t have to take your test. All I have to do is pinch my lower back.


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The Gym Threesome

Every gym has one: The Gym Threesome.You know these guys. They’re teenagers. They travel in a pack. One is the leader, one is fat and the other one is almost always Asian. Young guys who are still too insecure to work out alone. Sure, they get points for their contribution to reducing carbon emissions by carpooling, but everything else about this group is a DUD.



For our purposes, let’s name them. The leader? He’s Chad. Chad is the only one in the group who has a chance at getting laid. This is most likely the reason the threesome has congregated at the gym today instead of the skate park. Chad has caught the eye of a young lady who hasn’t yet figured out that how good a guy is in bed is directly proportional to how much of an asshole he is. (It’s true, ask anyone. I’m a huge asshole.) Not yet having learned that the way to interest a girl is to treat her like shit, Chad decides he’s going to fit in a couple of gym seshes in an effort to tone his abs before he attempts to deflower his young lover over a light dinner menu of Domino’s Pizza and Boone’s Farm. I’m not mad at Chad. At least he has a purpose. I do envy him though because the fact of the matter is his abs will look better after ten crunches than mine will in ten weeks simply because Chad is seventeen and I’m



Then there’s the fat one. Let’s call him Gus. It’s obvious by his size that Gus is only in this as long as Chad is. He’s secretly praying that Chad turns this Friday night Strawberry Fields soaked escapade into a serious two month relationship and thus returning Gus’ afternoons back to their normal routine: masturbating, snacking and playing Call of Duty. I always feel bad for the Gus in a group because he has no female counterpart. You know the skinny high school bitches are NOT taking a fat girl with them to the gym.  Whenever I see a Gus I secretly pray for a heavy-set sister in solidarity somewhere in the gym who can fall in love with a guy whose cheeks turn bright red after two reps of bench.



Then there’s the Asian. I realize that’s a broad term, so let’s get specific and name him Filipino. Filipino is always amped, he’s always wearing shorts two sizes too big and he’s always the one getting in my goddamn way. Nothing will make me throw shade at the gym faster than someone stepping on my foot. (Except you Gym Crush, I wish you weren’t so athletically inclined and limber and perfect because you could have stepped on my foot like ten times by now and we could have taken our relationship to the next level, you know, the one where we actually speak and you say “I’m sorry for stepping on your foot,” and then you smile and I’m all “it’s totally fine, no worries,” and you’re all “you wanna make out after this?” and I’m all, “let’s just leave and do it now.”)   I don’t know why Filipino is so excited that he can’t help but bounce into my personal space but my theory is that he’s a bottom feeder and he’s hoping Chad’s piece has a slightly more desperate friend that he can snag.

Regardless, every time he steps on my foot Chad always has to be the one to tell Filipino to watch out and then gives me a look that says “sorry man” like we’re bros. What Chad doesn’t know is that I may look like him on the outside, but on the inside I’m Gus, and the reason I gave Filipino such a dirty look is because I too cannot wait to get the F outta here, go home, get my snack on, and masturbate.

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New Year, New You! (Girl, Please.)

Even Twitter knows who I am and how I do.

We found love in a hopeless place.

It’s the most depressing time of the year: the post holiday week. Worse than the Tuesday that follows Memorial Day when you realize you were the fattest person at your friend’s pool party. Or July 5th when that realization was reinforced. Or the Tuesday after Labor Day when you have to come to grips with the fact that “Trish” the teenager that works the desk at Sun Tans-a -Go isn’t there anymore because school is back in session and now you’ve tanned yourself six shades darker than you need to be because tanned fat looks better than pale fat.

It’s a !!! New Year !!! so it’s time to wipe the slate clean and start over, right? Wrong, fat kid, wrong. The reason you’re so fat is because you don’t love yourself and everyone knows that if you don’t love you, then nobody else is gonna have sex with you love you either.

So, let’s celebrate what’s RIGHT about you.

  1. You might be a fat kid- but you know what? No one at the pool party is making fun of you. They’re too busy talking shit on the skinny host because everyone knows you can’t be that skinny without an eating disorder. And fuck her for having a pool.
  2. So you spent Friday night polishing off another carton eating mint chocolate chip ice cream and singing along to Taylor Swift? At least you’re not Taylor Swift. She’s had sex with John Mayer and that Fraggle Rock looking dude from One Direction, which in theory should make her seem slutty- but she’s still so boring no one can even be bothered to say it.
  3. Assuming that when you get in shape you’ll start dating more? I thought the same thing until I went out on a date that was so awful I had to stab myself in the leg under the table with a fork in an effort to divert my attention from the pain being perpetrated at my ears. You can be as skinny as you want and it won’t change the fact that everyone else is pretty much an asshole so go ahead, YOLO,  eat the fucking cake.
  4. You can’t fit into your clothes anymore? Good for you! You get to buy some new shit and keep the poor little Cambodian child that stitches together your garments for a penny a day in business. You’re not just fat, you’re also a philanthropist.
  5. You might not be the skinniest one in your group of friends but chances are you have the best snacks in your house out of anybody- and nine times out of ten that’s the deal maker that guarantees I’m coming over to hang out.
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Fat Kid Xmas List

  1. A drone. Like the CIA uses- so that every time I think about getting in my car and going to Jack in the Box- I can blow it up.
  2. Fatter Friends. (Duh.)
  3. A baby. Single dads are hot and I need an accessory that justifies the bags under my eyes.
  4. A bib to collect the drool and tears that fall from my face every time someone walks by me with bread.
  5. My gym crush. Any time, any place, any position.

  6. brunchburger
  7. Kelly Clarkson to break off her engagement. I need some new angry workout songs to get me past this plateau.
  8. An unseen bump in the floor in front of my gym nemesis. Because if I push him I’m “violent” and it’s considered “assault.”
  9. A mirror. So I can practice my “yeah I would…but your face” look. Apparently, it’s obvious.
  10. A mute button on my crazy Crossifit-Vegan friend. I usually just bang my head into a wall when he’s talking to me but I never seem to pass out.
  11. abs
  12. A text disabling breathalyzer on my iPhone. Because when I’m drinking I have no filter. Except for the one I put on that naked pic I just texted to you.
  13. An appointment with a Telepathist. My gym crush doesn’t seem to hear me when I say “meet me at the Bosu ball at 11:30” so I need to address that ASAP.
  14. An update to Google Maps that automatically sends my phone into lockdown while simultaneously updating my Facebook status, shaming me very time I search for a Taco Bell.
  15. Increased sensation in my face so I never embarrass myself at a holiday party again. Like this weekend when someone told me there were crumbs stuck to my chin and then introduced himself as the host.
  16. A Fly Swatter so that the next time that zany McDonald’s drive-thru attendant tries to be funny by teasing me with the straw for my milkshake I can reach out and smack him.
  17. Underwear from the Mario Lopez collection “Rated M” because I won’t believe it’s true love until you pull off my pants, see I’m wearing those and still decide to hit it.
  18. Deodorant. I’m not picky about the brand I just need something that’s great at covering up the smell of tequila, tear soaked string cheese and regret.
  19. Someone to erase my memory of this:


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The Birth of Jesus Isn’t Gonna Ruin These Abs: Part Three (Xmas Music Edition)

It's very easy to win this game if you skip solid food and just drink. Trust me. All I do is win.

It’s very easy to win this game if you skip solid food and just drink. Trust me. All I do is win.

If you make the following associations to these Christmas tunes, I guarantee you’ll never gain weight during the holidays again.

  1. Remember: The reason you Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe last night is not because your mother is a chubby chaser. It’s because your dad is such a slovenly mess that someone who looks like Santa is starting to look good to her. Is that how you want your wife to do you?
  2. All I Want for Christmas is You to lose 10lbs so that every time you touch me I don’t have to pretend I’m sexually aroused.
  3. It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas was nothing but an excuse to eat your feelings now that another year has gone by without a promotion, engagement or a decent lay.
  4. I’ll Be Home for Christmas so make sure you throw out all the bread, pasta and ice cream and replace it with vegetables, quinoa and almond milk, MOM.
  5. It’s The Little Drummer Boy, so unless you drop 15lbs we’re gonna have to change it to The Fat Kid Behind the Upright Bass.
  6. Do You Hear What I Hear? Your breathing is heavy and your heart rate is accelerated. Because you’re fat.
  7. Last Christmas I gave you my heart and this Christmas your expanding waistline says “I don’t give a fuck.”
  8. Santa Claus is Coming to Town but you stole his thunder by being the fattest person here.
  9. It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year but thanks for ruining it by stinking up the bathroom because you ate every goddamn thing at the buffet.
  10. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen because as soon as you fall asleep your wife is out the door, at the neighborhood bar, desperately trying to bang the geeky guy from high school who never won a spot on the football team, but also didn’t gain thirty pounds after college.
Wait, who IS the biggest slut?

Wait, who IS the biggest slut?


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The Birth of Jesus Isn’t Gonna Ruin These Abs: Part Two

I bought myself a present.

Eggs, Sugar, Milk, Cream and Brown Liquor? You better believe Egg Nog is my move.

If you’ve read this blog before you’ve met my friends The Enabler and Naturally Thin. I have another friend whose name is Your Facebook Status Sounds Like a Suicide Note. YFSSLaSN had the audacity to tell me the other night that she requested chocolate from her office “Secret Santa.” She expected me to be excited but my reaction was something more akin to screaming “ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS?” at her in the supermarket parking lot. After I berated her, I collected my thoughts and thanked her for reminding me that my work in this world is far from over. Here are a few more tips to help you manage your holiday eating…

  1. What are we really celebrating here? Mary giving birth in a manger? So what? At least there was hay. Your white trash neighbor Tawny gave birth to a baby in a Taco Bell bathroom, and after I moved to L.A. my best friend played her on I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant. Both of those things sound way more impressive and yet neither one of them sounds like an excuse to eat.
  2. Remember: At least one member of your family is going to buy you an item of clothing in a size that’s too big- which is basically like they called you fat and put a bow on it. The 25 sugar cookies you ate last Christmas are probably the reason your uncle thinks you wear a medium.
  3. Before you hit that dessert tray, imagine you’re at an E-Cupid holiday mixer in the ballroom at the Burbank Marriott. Now imagine that the piece you’re trying to kick it to eats the chimney off a gingerbread house. Would you still hit it? Doubtful.
  4. While Prosecco seems de rigueur at every holiday brunch, try to monitor your intake. You do not want to be the guy that winds up feeding the host’s dog bits of sausage and egg casserole off your plate and asking him if he likes it. It’s the kind of thing that sticks to your reputation, like having to register for the sex offender’s list, or contracting a nasty case of Scientology. Hard to shake, and no one ever really trusts you again.
  5. Speaking of animals,  if you find yourself at a holiday party where the host has cats, re-evaluate your friendship it’s best not to eat anything. Contrary to what they may say, the food undoubtedly has cat hair in it.
  6. Sure, Santa is fat and jolly, but he has elves to do things for him. Cleaning up after your holiday party is not nearly as fun as logging hours in Santa’s workshop and your domestic help doesn’t get to ride Rudolph home. They have to stand at a bus stop in Beverly Hills (dodging the cigarette butts all the Armenians are throwing out the windows of their white Mercedes) while they wait for their ride to Northridge, you lazy, well-fed S.O.B.
I'd say the chances of me having a fat kid are higher than the chances of the person who wrote this of getting laid tonight.

I’d say the chances of me having a fat kid are higher than the chances of the person who wrote this getting laid tonight.


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The Birth of Jesus Isn’t Gonna Ruin These Abs: Part One

There’s a lot of advice out there on how to avoid packing on the holiday pounds but most of it encourages you to rely on your own self-control. The Fat Kid isn’t having that. He doesn’t have any self-control. If you don’t either, here are some tips.

  1. When someone suggests you try the cookies they brought to the holiday party, look at them and imagine what their sex life is like. Consider yours. Who would you rather be?
  2. If you think about having a second helping of anything remember what Mariah Carey looked like when she made her first Christmas album. Then recall what she looked like by the time she made the second one.
  3. If you choose to drink your calories rather than eat them you can always use the excuse of being drunk when you accidentally say things like  “I’d like to stuff your stocking” or you tell your hot co-worker that you spent the hour before the party “trimming your tree” and you’d really like it if they’d “hang something on it.”
  4. Egg Nog is basically your caloric intake for a month so make sure if you’re going to drink it you do something legendary like climbing on top of a table and leading the party in a tear -soaked, fist-pumping a cappella rendition of Bryan Adams’ “Christmas Time.”
  5. Yes, you’re wearing a chunky holiday sweater to cover the feelings you ate between Thanksgiving and now but remember: soon enough it’ll be spring and a pastel Easter polo is way less forgiving.
  6. Sure, there’s a couple of kids on Glee that look like they’re fat enough to play Santa Claus but they have to spend twelve hours a day on a set with Lea Michele. How long would you last before you cut yourself?
  7. Baby, it IS cold outside. But, you know where it’s colder? In the bed of a fatty.

I hope this was helpful. The Fat Kid will be back next week with more tips to ensure your holidays don’t turn you into this:

At least it's a dress and not a skirt.

At least it’s a dress and not a skirt.

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On Spin Class

Because the holiday season is upon us and because there is a 99.9% chance that I’m going to wind up breaking down and buying these:

(and yes I’ll probably eat the entire box while sitting in my car in the Trader Joe’s parking lot as I wait for an 85-year-old woman who’s two more grocery trips away from death attempt to make a K-turn) … I’ve been upping my game. I’m on a six-day a week workout program and the only reason I’m not on a seven-day plan is because I don’t want anyone confusing me with The Circle of Trolls that frequent L.A. Fitness. For example: my gym nemesis, or this terribly malnourished woman who seems to know every girl in a pair of lululemon’s and every guy who’s got a dick. My best friend a.k.a The Enabler refers to her as “Yoga Chick”  but just I refer to her as “gross.”

When working out this much it’s important to vary your exercises and there’s only so many tips from the Men’s Health twitter feed I can work into my routine before I start to get the urge to look in the mirror and cut myself.

Does anyone have a flannel and an axe I could borrow? Lesbians?

Recently The Enabler (she frequently encourages me to eat pie or tells me to come over because she made cake or one time she made me go to Jack in Box when we were drunk, because basically she’s a horrible person) suggested we try a spin class. Of course she would. Her other best friend is Naturally Thin. The two of them could work out once a week and still eat full-fat cheese and get away with it.  As if a spin class is going to work off the six pieces of pie I had the day after Thanksgiving (I can’t even get into how much I ate on the day itself. I would have blogged about it but my fingers were too fat to type, the swelling has only recently gone down). What I really needed was multiple sessions of Crossfit, but as we all know, that ain’t happening. The Enabler promised a workout full of Britney songs and since Ms. Spears is the patron saint of Fat Kids everywhere, I signed up.


I was convinced I wouldn’t like spin as I’m quite determined to not like anything that isn’t my idea. I questioned my ability to maintain the status quo when placed in a situation with loud music, mirrors and a no dancing to Britney policy. However, there were a few upsides I hadn’t considered: Myself and The Enabler were by far the fittest people there after the token anorexic left (she told the guy next to her it was because the instructor was a sub but as soon as she was out the door I rolled my eyes and told him the more likely scenario was that she was a racist) and if there’s one thing that motivates me, it’s being the hottest person in a room. Yes, the room was only 8×8 but as I learned from Brandon Walsh once upon a time in the 90210, a win is a win, even if you’re a college senate candidate and your running mate dies in a car accident forcing you to accept the position of CU Class President. The other upside was that I could see my gym crush reflected in the mirror directly in front of me and since spin bikes are immobile I was forced to stare straight ahead, thus removing any possibility of me being accused of being a creep by anyone other than The Enabler. My only real problem was the music. It sucked. Journey is great but it’s an obvious choice and when you remix it and put a beat behind it, I want to get out of my “saddle” and impale myself on the bike handles.

I was determined not to go back to spin class ever again but despite my best attempts my life often winds up looking like this:

Nachos are my Vietnam.

I knew I needed to take a day off because I was getting dangerously close to being drafted into The Circle of Trolls and I knew that I wouldn’t last five minutes faking a friendship with Yoga Chick before I told her she needed to wash her hair. The Circle of Trolls don’t attend classes so I knew I’d be safe in spin. It was a different instructor so I assumed the music would have to be better.

You know what they say about assuming.

The guy teaching the class was obviously in the wrong place as there’s an international publicity tour going on for The Hobbit and I’d imagine the actors playing the dwarves are doing the rounds. He was wearing a headband and as I’ve told Naturally Thin time and time again, I don’t care if you made it yourself from an old T-Shirt or not, IT HAS TO GO BECAUSE I’M NOT HANGING OUT WITH ANYONE THAT LOOKS LIKE AN EXTRA FROM FLASHDANCE. He was also wearing a hemp necklace which I’m sure smelled just great after multiple sweaty spin sessions. What’s even worse is that he was an electronic dance music fan and if you’re going to make people listen to that shit the least you could do is offer them a hit of ecstasy. He looked as if his soul had been sucked out of him and I began to fear that spinning might do the same to me. Yes, I’m in a constant battle with the fat kid in me, but if he ever left me, would I become a EDM crazed, soulless, hemp and headband wearing hobbit? I decided this would be my last class.

And then, this:


There’s a fit kid in all of us but fortunately there’s an app for that. See you at spin.

The Fat Kid

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Fuck a Diet, Get a Gym Crush

Tough shit. I’m waiting for my gym crush to arrive and it could take hours.

In our never-ending quest to find someone who is willing to have sex with us  better our physical health there is a never-ending glut of information telling us to try this diet or that exercise program. Let me give you a little piece of advice: There is only one method for achieving your goals and that is finding the right gym crush.

Now, I don’t have a degree in exercise science and I only ever went to two of my Nutrition 101 classes so I can’t really call myself an expert per say, but if Christina Aguilera can get paid to sit on her ass and dish out advice while looking like the Chola Humpty Dumpty then so can I. I spend half my time eating processed sugar and the other half training like I’m going to Rio in 2016, so I know what I’m talking about.

Having a gym crush is even more important than having a gym nemesis. Sure, a gym nemesis will make me pick up a heavier weight in an effort to exert my physical dominance, but a gym crush can make me work out for twice the amount of time I normally would.  No way could I ever have enough dirty looks to dish out to my nemesis for two hours. I’ve recently developed a new gym crush and over the last three weeks I’ve gone to the gym 18 times and I’ve only eaten bread once ( I know, I was really hung over.) Every time I reach for a carb and every time I consider sleeping in and skipping a workout I tell myself that I haven’t had sex with my gym crush yet and it’s probably because I’m too fat.

Now, you could say that it isn’t because I’m too fat and that it’s because we’ve yet to speak. However, that’s exactly the kind of rational thinking that should never be associated with fitness goals. At least the ones you want to achieve. Besides, if we did talk I run the risk of coming off like Alicia Keys did in that creepy video “You Don’t Know My Name.” Yes, her character was a waitress and yes I’m a waiter, so you could argue I should follow her lead,  but a) I don’t work in a diner and b) I don’t have amazing skin because I’m not half-black (despite what my moves on the dance floor say).

The Alicia Keys argument is a moot point anyway because I’m too smart to ever allow us to speak. I WILL NOT let a conversation ruin the fantasy that unravels in my head especially when it contains all the thrills, complexity and nuance of a Homeland plot. I finally fit back in my skinny jeans and instead of seeing the world from an angry Alanis Morissette- type point of view, I once again see the world through One Direction colored glasses. The proof is in the pudding that I’m not eating. My gym crush has helped me achieve “goal weight.”

However, if you reach goal weight, you’ve got to stay there. Here’s my next piece of advice: once you’re at goal weight make sure you become someone else’s gym crush. Since I’ve pretty much spent every waking hour at the gym over the last month I’ve noticed that I have been elevated to hot crush status by a geeky guy in glasses who is doing the same. You know the type: they look at you and hear a Kylie Minogue song, you look at them and hear Bed Intruder. Sure, he creeps me out but it feels good whenever anyone wants to have sex with you, right? I’ll do whatever I can to keep my self-esteem alive and if you want to stay in shape you should too.

I really recommend this tactic to everyone but you must be careful things do not come full circle. While aggressively pursuing my gym crush and fitness goals, Bed Intruder has been doing the same. I noticed that he’s starting to really make some progress and I became distressed that the size of his biceps might outgrow mine. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to allow this to happen so I did the one thing I knew would ruin his gym crush. I talked to him.

His fantasy was ruined, his exercise routine was thrown into a rut, and my biceps have retained the title of Best Arms at the Gym.

It’s great to have inspiration and it’s great to inspire, but it’s never okay to be eclipsed.

Enjoy your workout.

I’m not a fashion expert but that hair net *might* be f—ing with your game girl.

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