Thursday, April 05, 2007

This post is about my breasts. Plan accordingly.

My back hurts.

My back hurts a lot.

I didn't notice for a couple of days, because my leg hurt, too.

I blame Isaac Hayes for the leg. Long story. Basically, pasty, out of shape white girl + soundtrack to Shaft + gym = over exertion. I am not a sex machine with all the chicks, and I just have to accept that. I'm in search of a movie soundtrack more attuned to my fitness level. I'm deliberating between "The Graduate" and "The Little Mermaid."

It's hard to get pumped enough to hurt yourself listening to "The Sounds of Silence." Then again, "Mrs. Robinson" is pretty kicky. On the other hand, "Under The Sea" could be dangerous. My complete lack of co-ordination, yet incomplete immunity to rhythm makes me a danger to myself.

But my back hurts a lot. I couldn't figure it out. Every day this week, at about six pm, my back starts hurting. Like crazy. Like...back when my bra didn't fit. Or that time I was talked into going braless for three days.

Then I realized: My bras don't fit.

My bras don't fit because I've lost thirty pounds in three months. Nothing fits. However, due to poverty and not really caring, I've been ignoring everything that isn't actively falling off. Bras, if you've worn or interacted with one lately, do not fall off. They just scooch down, like lazy teamsters. And when they slouch, perhaps thinking about increased disability benefits, or extortive bargaining tactics, they don't do their work.

The tit-wranglers have been on vacation, and I never noticed. And my back has been paying the price. Of course, I still have no money. And I'm not going to spend my vital burger money taking the train to buy a bra that'll just betray me in 20 more pounds. the sounds...of silence.


pineapple said...

run lola run is an excellent soundtrack for the gym. and for video games, actually.

30 lbs in 3 months!? jesus...
teh jealous, but good job!

Paul said...

Lean On Me: The Best Of Bill Withers might satisfy your need for funk without sacrificing vital body parts. Just skip "Lean On Me" itself. No one really wants to think of Morgan Freeman while experiencing physical exertion.

I take brisk walks to The B-52s; it's like I'm striding away from the atonality.