Fakes are so Not Cool

I just finished reading the Dana Thomas book, Deluxe, where she discusses the truth about knock-offs. Before reading her book I never knew how harmful buying a knock-off purse, watch, or what-have-you could potentially be.  And I’ll even admit that I’ve purchased a pair of “Dior” sunglasses in L.A.’s Fashion District for 6 dollars, but what I didn’t know is that I was helping fund terrible crimes, among which are, human trafficking, child labor, gang warfare, money laundering and terrorism.


So next time you see a cute Louis Vuitton bag  for 50 bucks, just know that it’s probably too good to be true, and consider what you could be funding with your purchase.

I’m a fat girl trapped inside a skinny girl’s body.

I’ve never been accused of being fat, jiggly, or plump. Although who would accuse someone of that? That’s just plain mean.

I got pregnant, and lost all the weight I gained, and I’m the same size I was in high school, well…kind of. So, I’ve never really felt like I’ve needed to workout aggressively. Sure, I take the occasional yoga class and 3 mile hikes, but never much beyond that.  But lately I’ve been feeling the effects of eating 12 marshmallow cookies in one sitting, and decided I should visit the gym, not as a new year’s resolution, because those things blow, but more as a ‘Beckey needs to get healthier’ type-thing.
So I joined the throng of others in January and got myself a gym membership. And funny thing about joining the gym is you get gifts. First is the gift of watching a bad salesman do his job: The crazy man with no neck bombards you at the front door, and does not shut up about supplements and a calorie counter you wear on your arm, and when you finally get in a word in to say “thanks, but no thanks” to Mr. Testosterone Junkie, he’s already telling you about gift number two: a one on one session with a personal trainer, you know, to get you all hooked and spend 75 million dollars on keeping him around, because you think he’s kinda cute, in a overly-pumped sort of way.

So I met with mine last night. And it wasn’t very pleasant. He pinched my back fat! There I am having a normal conversation with him about what I had for dinner, and he disappears behind me, and next thing I know he’s squeezing the part on my body I won’t even let my husband touch!!  After several swats and squirms later, he explained to me that I was teetering between an “average” and “high” body fat percentage.
“That’s not possible,” I quickly explained to him. “I’m a size two, and if I loose 5 more pounds, I’ll be considered underweight. You’re just trying to make me spend money on a personal trainer, aren’t you? I see what you’re doing, gym-boy, and I don’t like it. And you’re not even that cute.”
“Well,” gym-boy started. “It’s possible to be skinny and fat at the same time. You just have to work on lowering your body fat without loosing weight, you might even gain some weight, but overall you’ll notice your appearance will improve and clothes will fit better.”
“Did you just call me FAT!!”

As you can imagine, it didn’t end well. After that there was sweating, pumping, pressing, and squatting. Lots and lots of squatting. I’m sore today, and tomorrow I’m going back for more torture. I will NOT be called fat by some not-even-that-cute-gym-boy! I will not.

Dear Internets,

Dear Internets,

I have been distant, dare I say negligent in the past few weeks with my usage of you. It’s nothing you’ve done. Oh, no, you’ve been fantastic,  always steady, consistent, and wonderfully informative, but never in a cocky, know-it-all way. Thank you. I really appreciate that. But, I think it’s me. Every time I sit in front of my gorgeous new computer, and I open my browser to look at your stuff I think of 12 different things I should be doing instead, like cleaning the rain gutters. I’ve never cleaned the rain gutters out before. Is that something I should be doing? What happens if I don’t? Does it become a fire hazard? Speaking of crap I’ve never done with my house; I’ve never had the air conditioning ducts cleaned out. My family is breathing in toxic air and they’re probably going to wind up with the bird flu or the Ebola virus, and I’m just sitting here looking up dirt on Perez HIlton’s blog.  Oh Shit! My family is all going to die from the Black Lung in my air conditioning ducts and after that my house is going to burn down  if I don’t clean them out, RIGHT THIS MINUTE!
See? See my problem?
So, I’ve decided to distance myself from you for a while, but not because I’m cleaning out my air conditioning ducts or my rain gutters, but because I’m thinking about it, and that’s almost as good as actually doing it.

I knew you’d understand,

xoxo,

Beckey