Esteemers

So I've slowly been falling into a state of total disrepair. The hair, which upon cutting had looked so bold and (in my deluded mind) just the right amount of sexy, has now grown out into something that I swear resembles the early stages of a mullet. Except, you know, less business in the front and way more party in the back than one could ever really need.

And I have yet to restock my bathroom since my last depletion of skin care products, so my face is starting to take on that "10 miles of rough road" quality that I can so famously rock. And by "rock" I mean "use to scare small children." Also, I guess it might just be a product of the 40 hour work week, but I have started to develop the most unflattering 5 o'clock shadow in the history of the world. And it starts showing its (hideously deformed) face earlier and earlier in the day. Pretty soon I will end up like Homer Simpson and will be able to watch it reform as I step out of the bathroom in the morning.

Pile all those up, along with my jacked-up glasses (I fell off the couch and directly onto the glasses, turning them very askew. And by "askew," I mean "scientist who has lost touch with reality and is covered in chalk.") and it's a rough week in the Jason neighborhood.

The next factor: So I was at the store trying to buy some sort of product that would give my apartment a fragrance that was not Eau de Dirty Laundry + Week Old Easy Mac, and I happened upon a scale. It's official, I have fallen back to my old pre-excersize weight. Like, -10 pounds, freshman-year-of-college, creepy-skinny weight. Ugh. Not only that, but it's all distributed really weird. Like, ridiculously skinny arms, but trunk-like torso. Sigh. Do you have any idea how much work it is to go to a gym? Where you have to lift things and people are always very veiny and straining?

I don't even want to consider it, but I do miss being able to pick up heavy things. And not getting winded carrying groceries. AND call me shallow, but I very much believe that my personal self-worth is closely related to the size of my biceps and/or the definition of my abs. I blame television, the media, and Hilary Duff for this poor self body image. But damn if I'm not gonna get back to lifting small heavy pieces of metal for no good reason.

As someone famously said, if you work hard enough at it, shallowness can be so thorough that it almost looks like depth.

(Oh, and speaking of Hilary Duff, Raise Your Voice sucked way more than it had any right to. The Girl-Goes-From-Underdog-To-Overdog-And-Is-Discovered-And-Finds-Love-And-Happiness genre is very easy to work with. Did we learn nothing from Crossroads? Or Glitter? Or Honey? Or, for that matter, Sister Act II - Wait This Time We Have Lauren Hill, Hey Where Are You Going? Stick with the upbeat stuff, no one wants all your drama. Oh, and also, Hilary, your dead brother does not live on the moon. The pluses, just to be fair: that violin chick was awesome. And as much as it pains me to say it, I was totally into the nerdy drum-guy. What? We already went over how shallow I am. Don't act all surprised.)