Hot People Find The Fire

I was supposed to go to the gym today. I have decided that I will not be doing so. Today was crap. So was half of yesterday, actually.

But it makes me worried. It doesn't seem to take much for me to want avoid expending some energy. Finding your motivation in February is difficult. There's no sun, and it's effing cold here. Back in September I had glorious notions that I'd be skiing and snowshoeing and skating...but now I mostly just want to curl up under a blanket and drink milky tea. In fact, if I could skip work to do that, that'd be even better.

So...how do I make sure that this isn't a permanent state of affairs? Well...I don't really know. But I've got a pretty good idea. Way back in September, when I was all dreamy about what a Great Canadian Winter life I'd be leading, I took some pictures of myself. They were meant to be "before" comparison pictures to illustrate exactly how successful I'd been with Plan Abtastic. Then, of course, that plan was an epic failure. I took another one today...an "after" shot...for comparison. Only, instead of the "after" meaning "after lots of exercise and sensible eating", it means "after overcommitting myself, being more or less sedentary, and eating a steady diet of microwave dinners, pizza, subway and candy for breakfast".

Before
























After











Now, I don't want to get into the fine details of the analysis of exactly what's happened physically. And I'm sure my eyes are exaggerating the differences between the two pictures, but I think we can agree that one is preferable to the other. And it's not the "After" shot. In fact, I don't think the jeans I'm wearing in the before shot even fit anymore. But THIS. IS. MOTIVATING. This happened over a matter of months, and, frankly, it makes me frightened about what a year (or more) could do.

Now, I know I'm not supposed to be motivated by fear. I've been to several seminars given by highly respected behaviour change specialists suggesting that it's a bad idea to use fear to get people to do stuff. But I'm pretty sure the only thing that's going to work is to burn these pictures onto the insides of my eyelids and resolve to go. That's the only fire that's going to get me there.


...but not today. Today was crap.

Hot People Feel Dirty Sometimes (and not in the good way)

So, I was absent-mindedly checking my blog analytics this morning. As some of you may remember from that cryptic post of approximately 5 months ago, my blog analytics allow me to see what search terms people have used to find me on google. Sometimes it's a no-brainer that they're looking for me - they'll search things like hotmisst or hot in 6 months blog or something like that. Sometimes, I'm not sure what they're looking for; when they search things like why did people use to ware capes and white tights male dancers, I'm genuinely unsure of what they hoped they'd find. Other times, I know exactly what they're looking for. Today, I found this (you might have to click on it to read it properly):


















But, for those of you who don't read teensy tiny writing, what you're seeing there is big boobs red bra. Someone, somewhere in North America, was looking for someone with big boobs and a red bra...and they found me. And faithful readers will know, I delivered. In conclusion, there's a very good chance that someone in North America was jerking off to my boobs.

...


Yuck.

So, guys...does this mean i'm hot? Because if THIS is what hot feels like, I can do without it. I recognize that this is partly my fault for having a picture of my big boobs in a red bra posted on the internets, but my culpability in the matter is doing nothing to relieve this slightly sticky feeling I'm encountering right now.

Because if I get right down to it, this isn't really what I had in mind when I started talking about being hot. Sure, I wanted to have some sex appeal, but I was never really interested in being an object in this way. I wanted people to desire me (or desire to be like me) because of some kind of confident je-ne-sais-quoi, not because of an accident of anatomy.

I know I sound like one of those girls who looks like a model and complains because "she can't help the way she looks...she just wishes that sometimes, men would leave her alone," but I know I don't look like a model...and once upon a time even this kind of attention would have been satisfactory to me. Well...perhaps the fact that it is no longer satisfactory (it is in fact unsatisfactory) is a good sign. No?