I called Jenny. Archives

January 3, 2008

If it ends in sex and some perfect black trousers? Rock on.

Ever since Heather posted a link to that song I have had this lisp-y little girl voice singing about wanting a hippopotamus for Christmas in my head. And sadly, there was not one under the Christmas Scrooge-iness (I originally typed Stooge) that was the non-tree that we did not decorate and sing carols around during the Holidays. (Insert inappropriate yuletide log joke here. Also? That’s what she said.)

But you know what was under (around, or also known as in-the-pockets-of -Mister’s-winter-coat) the non-tree? A bunch of cash.

Nothing says “The Baby Jesus Loves You” like cash.

Know what Mister and I did with our Christmas cash?

We called Jenny.


I’m just going to wait a little bit until this sinks in.

(Imagine the Jeopardy theme song in your head a little. Dooo dee, doo doo, doo dee, doo, doo dee do do doup! do doodilee doodilee doo. Maybe Alex Trebek’s smarmy little mustache from the 80’s. Sorry about your acute heart attack, Alex. May I call you Alex?)

Anyway, so yeah. We (and by we I mean Mister and I, not the royal we) have been thinking... well, not to candy coat it or anything but the thought process went a little something like this. “Holy fuck, we’re fat.” “No shit, I can’t see my feet.” So we looked into all these different programs. We talked to Hot Argentinean Doctor and he was up for helping us with anything we wanted. He just refused to go along with the word “fat” or the words “morbidly obese”. He finds it offensive (how cute, the thin, sinewy hot doctor finds those words offensive). But we were insistent as we think we can write off the whole Jenny thing if we are labeled as morbidly obese.



Whatever. We’re doing it. Today? (I proudly proclaim!) Is day... um. Four! The food is actually awesome and I have a hard time getting all the food in each day. But that was rule numero uno at the “center”, as a 6’1” lady told us, “Whatever you do, make sure you get it all in.”

Mister and I have similar goals for wanting to get healthy. 1) Hot sex. And lots of it. 2) for him: Shopping at Eddie Bauer. For me: Shopping at Anne Taylor Loft.

We are so incredibly shallow. But whatever. If it ends in sex and some perfect black trousers? Rock on.

I’ll tell you guys what I weighed on Sunday. I have no shame.

Ready? And y’all? No laughing, or I will sit upon you. (I really want to post a before picture, but... lo’ I am chicken.) (Also, no reminding me about the weight loss debacle of aught three. Or any other time I tried to get healthy before this. Promise? I got my blood pressure under wraps and my cholesterol in check, I can do this too... right? No juicing, and no weird Beach Body 90 bullshit.) (One more thing... parentheses.)

Here is the number, 266.

I am still beautiful and Rubenesque... I just can’t see my freaking feet. I have sprouted this belly. This rotund protuberance almost like I am pregnant (NO!), have a beer belly or am providing a safe and warm hiding place for Lara Flynn Boyle. The underwire on my bras is starting to cut into my belly. Lara Flynn Boyle must go. She can stay in the guest room, but no hiding under my rib cage and just above my waist.

And? I have back fat.

Dear God in heaven, true to life BACK FAT. I could be rendered, processed, tanned and worn by Buffalo Bill!

So. There you have it.

Jesus loves me (and you too... sometimes), Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and I called Jenny because I have back fat.

About I called Jenny.

This page contains an archive of all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in the I called Jenny. category. They are listed from oldest to newest.

Fiction, Or Is IT? is the previous category.

Married Life is the next category.

Many more can be found on the main index page or by looking through the archives.

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