Feeling Fat

I have to tell you guys. Today, I am wearing a pair of jeans I haven't been able to get into for over a year. This should be a moment of personal triumph... A moment of recognizing that I actually DO have self control... A moment of extreme pleasure in starting to actually see a goal...

But I'm feeling really fat. And I think I know why:

I was at a Tom Rush concert last night in Philadelphia with my very fit (and committed to his workouts) bandmate, Fran. A man named Chris (friend of Fran's) met us at the venue. Chris, like me, could stand to lose a few pounds, which make us pretty normal, I guess..

Fran is suddently single after 30 years of marriage. His ex-wife is one of those very selfish and useless women. What I mean is simply that she can't seem to make a decision or a positive move on her own, yet will make those around her miserable until she gets what she wants. She doesn't finish what she starts. Her redeeming quality is her appearance - she's a yoga instructor. She's very trim and very fit. She's attractive.

I ask: If you're not nice, independent, or able to function properly on your own, what difference does it make if you're thin and pretty or not?

Ok. So Fran is at the stage in divorce-hood where he'd like to have some sort of working relationship with a woman. His criteria, however, are probably impossible to meet. Let me first tell you my personal criteria, just so you'll have something to compare. Mind you, I'm not single, but if I was, this is what I'd be looking for (and this is what I'm dating):

1) Unmarried.
2) Straight.
3) Doesn't live with his mother.
4) Must have a good working job.
5) Must have intelligence and humor.

Fran's (Fran is just over 50, mind you)

1) Age: 28-40.
2) Should be too old for his 21 year-old son to date.
3) Must have body like ex-wife's.
4) Must have qualities highly prized by the superficial mind (his words, not mine).

Ok. So Chris, Fran and I are sitting at the bar, waiting for Tom Rush to appear. A woman in her 40's approaches the bar. She was brunette and thin, and wore a loose brown sweater and pants. She's attractive enough for Chris to notice, although I was the one to speak with her. She wasn't approaching the bar for any other reason than to order something from the bartender. I moved my stool a little and called the bartender over. She ordered, thanked me and left.

Chris: Fran, you should talk to her.
Fran: Naw. She needs to lose 30 pounds.
Kelly and Chris: WHAT???!!!
Fran: And she needs some ab work.
Chris: She doesn't need to lose 30 pounds!
Fran: Ok, well 20.
Kelly: She seems nice
Chris: And she's pretty. If you don't want to talk to her, I will - I like her.
Fran: Fine. She's yours
Kelly (to Fran): You're an idiot.

Normally, I don't call people idiots out loud. I might think it, but I rarely, if ever, verbalize it. This time, however, I not only meant it, but meant it with a vengeance. Chris was a little put-off as well. He was nicer, however, and talked about the importance of meeting someone who was both pleasant and interesting. I however, called my friend Fran an idiot. I really meant it. I still mean it. I still love Fran, but I think he's an idiot. There. I said it.

I know what put the ire in my fire... I really think that - in spite of fitting into pants that I couldn't fit into for more than 365-and-one-quarter days, Fran made me feel fat...

And that I need ab work.

And that I need to lose 30 pounds.

Today, I told this story to another band member. I asked, "How is it Fran lets us play in a band with him and be overweight?" He didn't know. "I don't know how he plays in a band with a porker like me. You and Dave are much better off than I in that department."

How is it that only after Scott said this, did I feel better?

Ok. Now that I've vented - I guess I still feel pretty damn good about fitting into these pants - ab work or not.