The Beach, That Bitch.

I'm going to skip the excuses about why I've been neglecting my fat little word baby, no point in wasting even more of your time, right?

Right.

So let's just get control of our emotions and move on, shall we?

For the past several weeks I've been floating around between 30 and 37 pounds lost. I'm okay with that for now because I've been so busy with starting school and everything that I haven't been tracking calories or exercising. The recent halt in weight loss is tolerable because I've been alternating between stressing out really hard over school and money, and then going away on fabulous weekend vacations to Maine to deal with it all. My summer has been awesome, and that's way more important to me than hitting the September goal I had set for myself (I was supposed to be down another 15 lbs by the end of this month – SO not happening!).

But anyways!

Here's something weight loss related that I have been doing!!

Subject: The Beach. Focus: The Love/Hate Relationship.

I love the beach. I mean I really love the beach. I love lying in the sun, I love getting knocked nearly unconscious by the waves, I even love the obscenely cold water off the New England coast. Now for things that I hate: bathing suits, people who bury their cigarette filters in the sand, and parents who don't kick some sand back into the grave-like holes that their children dig so that when you're walking along not paying attention you run the risk of falling to your death.

Here's the eternal question: How much skin can I show without causing my sand neighbors to pack up their umbrellas and leave in total disgust?

My own personal answer to this question has pretty much always been shorts and a tankini top- not super effective for tanning but I'd rather be comfortable than tan. BUT NOW, in this brand new world *insert the love theme from Aladdin here* of not being a super Fatty Mcfatfat, the alternate dimension where I'm almost 40 pounds lighter, and at least 4 sizes smaller than I'm used to being, I'm finding that maybe – JUST MAYBE- there is some light at the end of the pasty skinned tunnel.

Skin tunnel sound really dirty to anyone else...?

Anyways, I did it. I put on my big girl underpants (the metaphorical ones, the real ones wouldn't fit under my bathing suit) and I went to the beach ...in....a......BIKINI.

Yeah that's right. I said that word. And you know what, so what if the skin above my knees hasn't seen the sun since 1989, and so what if I really should've been doing weight training/muscle toning exercises along with my cardio... that just means that I will have to wait a little while longer to fulfill my lifelong dream of donning a ridiculous yellow/white wig and doing the Pam Anderson Baywatch run down the beach. Ce la vie.

I've always thought the same thing when I go to the beach, and maybe you do too. I see some broad with a pot belly, a bakery's worth of rolls, or a big dimply ass just rolling around the beach in a bikini like a great white whale as if she doesn't have a care in the world and I think to myself, “Why can't I be that delusional? Why do I care so much about not visually assaulting the entire coastline?”

But now, maybe there's some overdressed, pale, uncomfortable chubby girl out there thinking the same thing about me.

And that's pretty awesome.

Oh what's that? You don't believe me? You want some proof?

Ok. You asked for it.

Retying the strings after a wave nearly stole my bottoms.

And now the other side.... after showing the whole beach my butt crack.

I have no excuse for what I'm doing, including the face I'm making.

The End.