I’ve come to accept I cannot wear skimpy clothes. My body as a whole is far too supple for the likes of public beach viewing and would most likely scare away the nearest toddler, sending them running face first into his or her mother’s bosom. This may be all for the better, since I’ve recently found that children are far more annoying than I ever imagined. What happened to some good ‘ol fashion spanking or being chased with a wooden spoon the way my crazy South American grandmother used to do? In an effort to be a more progressive nation, America has done away with tolerating physical threats towards children so instead, innocent bystanders such as myself have to deal with misbehaved children that run rampant in society like wild boar at a carnival, with distracted parents that carry a look on their face to be interpreted as, “What do you want me to do about it? I can’t beat them, so please suggest an alternative. Otherwise, fuck off and deal with my dirt-smothered offspring.” I’m all for progress, but why not at least keep one thing from the earlier times that may benefit us? My 2nd grade friend, Christina, once slapped me in the face for pinching her butt in the lunch line. Never did I ever go anywhere near her butt, or even her, ever again. See? Children can be easily trained, much like an angry and intolerable Chihuahua with a Napoleon complex.
For the moment, though, I’m OK with the obesity epidemic in America, as it makes me feel more comfortable to be out in public and, in particular, the boardwalk at the beach. That’s the straight beach though. The gay beach, in line with popular stereotypes, is a breeding ground for men with eating disorders and an unfathomable ability to go for days without consuming a morsel of food. This is what makes it so difficult to go to a gay beach, where men think it’s OK to swim in their Hanes underwear from the 4th grade and the Lesbians, in turn, think it’s fine to wear board shorts that reach down to their chubby, hairy knees. The paradox that can be observed between lesbians and gays at a beach is simply astonishing, like watching a herd of lions and elephants migrating to a river bed in unison on the Discovery Channel. It’s not a sight you see everyday.
I’m not really being overly critical of myself, as I know that everyone has their problem areas and mine just so happen to be my entire body from the neck down. Thank god for attractive faces. Nevertheless, I try to do my best when it comes to working out and staying fit, but unfortunately God/Allah/all the Hindu gods and probably even a little bit of Buddha's vengeful side just decided that my fate would be to have a body full of stubborn fat cells that refuse to completely vanish no matter how much I starve and work out. Let’s face it, I’m a Fat Asian Girl. It’s a curse, but I think I’ve finally come to accept it. Not enjoy, but definitely accept. In today’s term, I suppose my body type is average. Certainly, though, I’m not sporting six pack abs and Mario Lopez legs. Still, in my imaginative head there’s hope. Every time someone asks me to a pool party or plans a beach vacation months or weeks in advance, I enthusiastically and optimistically think to myself, “Perfect. This gives me 6 weeks to starve and work out and take laxatives and become bulimic and undergo small doses of liposuction if need be. But goddammit I will have a 6 pack and toned legs and a perky black girl ass by that deadline.” Of course, it just never works this way. Instead, now I’ve resorted to desperately hoping that during one of my midnight nature walks I often take while under the influence, a vampire jumps out of a tree and bites me in the neck, converting me into one of their kind wherein I will never have to consume anything other than blood in order to survive. I can be thin and hot and desirable just like those fuckers in the Twilight movies. I think I can live with drinking blood if it means I can rock a scantily clad outfit on a crowded beach. For now, I’ll accept the curvaceous undertones offered by my body and rock it like it’s hot. Secretly, though, I’ll be jealous of the gays and yoga freaks with their Gumby-like bodies and be wishing in my head that winter comes early this year, so I can hide under layers of frumpy lesbian-ish sweaters and scarves that conveniently cover neck fat. Although, I recall an invitation to a pool party in two weeks, so until then I shall only chew gum and slap myself in the face with a picture of Cristiano Ronaldo every time I think of eating.
Honestly though, I’ll most likely be binge eating burritos and guac by noon tomorrow. Cristiano Ronaldo probably has a Fruit-Rollup penis anyway.
~ F.A.G.
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