This is not a post about how my body used to be amazing and now the paradise of my amazing body is lost. I never lived in the Good Body Paradise. I was a cute young thing once, sure, but I always felt like I looked gross.
This may have worked out to my net benefit, though. As the great British philosophers One Direction tell us: you're not beautiful unless you don't know you're beautiful. Then you're beautiful. Only you don't know you're beautiful. So you're walking around all beautiful and stuff, but you feel like you look sort of fat and gross. And that's what makes you beautiful.
And then Harry asks you to Prom!
Sometimes I wonder what I could have done with all that time I've spent hating the way I look. I could have done something super productive like written a counter-ballad to One Direction which would have had something to do with how it's when you don't know you're going to get laid that you get laid. This isn't true, but it would have made a nice counterpoint. I'm going to call Katy Perry or Taylor Swift as soon as I get done with this.
Sometimes instead of hating the way I look, I work out. Working out is a productive use of time. These days whilst shakin' dat ass on the elliptical, I've been watching Supernatural. I enjoy genre television especially when story and plot serve the characters rather than the other way. Supernatural lost its way big time, but ever since the Winchester boys became pawns in the cosmic battle between angels and demons, it's just really working for me. On the last episode I saw, they introduced Cain as a character. Turns out [SPOILER ALERT] Cain has been getting a bad wrap for a few millennia.
Heh. That will never not make me chuckle.
Supernatural is great to work out with because not only are there frequent exciting fight scenes, but the two leads are dreamy boys with absolutely no body fat. This is very inspirational. Although, to be honest, sometimes as I watch the younger brother attempt to emote I imagine some handsome, zero % body fat, 6'2" actor who books industrial training films and bolsters his income either through prostitution or temp work watching the same episode and thinking, "I was up for the part of Rory Gilmore's dreamy season one boyfriend and and lost it out to this meathead who can't act his way out of a paper bag? Really?" And then he sighs sadly while he eats turkey wrapped in a lettuce leaf for lunch.
Poor Jared Padelecki. I feel bad about that. He seems (despite this super ugly tweet) like a good guy. And he's doing the work. I bet homeboy pulls in a solid 1000 sit ups a day.
And I bet he still sometimes thinks his body is gross.
I bet Jared Padelecki works out every time he feels like he looks gross. But working out that much just isn't a good fit for me. Largely because I would hate that. Also, the people I work with would probably be annoyed if I busted out push ups in the middle of conference calls. I can hate my belly silently. I cannot push up without loud objectionable noises.
But I still think there's a join here amongst hating the way I look, hating how much time I spent hating my body and Supernatural. And I bet you thought I'd never get there…
I'm gonna put Paradise Lost (the primary source, I believe, for this whole angel/demon cosmic war that's making me giggle from the awesomeness during latter day episodes of Supernatural) on my iPhone. Every time I start to hate my body, I'm gonna read a little Paradise Lost. I feel like I should have read it by now. And I haven't. Couldja just?
I'm gonna make some lemonade out of these self-loathing lemons. And do something more productive than worry about the size of my belly. I'm gonna get down and funky with old Johnny Milton. I shall keep you apprised of my progress. Although, to be fair, I may find myself drifting off to read some Supernatural fanfic when Milty gets too rough. That's still more productive than hating the way I look. And I hear Supernatural fanfic is NASTY!
