Monday, September 12, 2005
The Fat Smoker Runs
Another day waiting for the end of this hellish nightmare that I call home. My knees have started to hurt. It could be symptoms of arthritis or it may be because I do nothing all day except cook, clean and surf the internet; the last option requests that I sit for hours on end and results in a flat wide bottom and swollen joints. I am aware that I could go and work out but the 45*C heat and 100% humidity discourages me since I do not appreciate the smell of sun-baked sweat and in the land where people look like Violet Beauregarde after the blueberry gum fiasco, exercise is an alien activity and you (and your breasts) are stared upon by literally every one .
This leads me to an issue that has really got me breaking into a sweat (yay! No physical effort required!). What am I going to do in Paris if I want to work out? It seems highly improbable that the French love getting up and running miles and miles to pant and sweat, especially when they are not famous for their healthy lifestyle which includes smoking lots and lots and lots. I am worried that if I do decide and go for a jog one morning , the local baker, butcher, news stand guy, women, children, dogs, cats, birds, trees and every other thing in sight will shout out, "Regardez! L'Americaine* cours comme une elephant! Regardez ses fesses! haha!" (puff, puff, puff: vacuuming their cigarettes at full force with their blackened lungs and into their skinny bodies.)
(translation: Look! the American* runs like an elephant! Look at her ass! haha!")
However, while searching for a solution to this problem, I realize that I probably will not have to work out to be fit. Poverty will help me out to no end! I will be too poor to buy food to eat. Therefore, I shall starve, involuntarily of course, and shed pounds and pounds in weeks, if not days. Hurrah for being a struggling student in Paris when the Euro and VAT are so high people's assholes that they cannot afford to be moderately fat. No wonder all the French models are so thin. I bet cigarettes actually cost less than a meal and whereas a meal is a one-time thing, a pack of cigarettes can last you for an entire day if not a few full days. Yay! Phillip Morris! We can all die of cancer and not feel hungry to boot!
To tell you the truth, I am worried that I will start smoking again in Paris. Officially, I kicked the habit in January, and contrary to what I have told Mom and the students I had taught this summer, it was not because I decided it was time to become healthier but really because I was taking the Pill and one is not supposed to take the Pill and smoke (later, I found out it is only really dangerous if you are over 30. Damn it!). Unofficially, I do smoke on occasion when I go out at night to the bars. I do not really see any harm in that. Anyway, the point is I am almost certain I will take up smoking again, unless I am too broke but then again, I would probably whore myself for a drag. Curse you, nicotine!
*I am not American but people assume I am because of my accent and because I do not want to bother spending time educating on the weird mixture that is me.
Another day waiting for the end of this hellish nightmare that I call home. My knees have started to hurt. It could be symptoms of arthritis or it may be because I do nothing all day except cook, clean and surf the internet; the last option requests that I sit for hours on end and results in a flat wide bottom and swollen joints. I am aware that I could go and work out but the 45*C heat and 100% humidity discourages me since I do not appreciate the smell of sun-baked sweat and in the land where people look like Violet Beauregarde after the blueberry gum fiasco, exercise is an alien activity and you (and your breasts) are stared upon by literally every one .
This leads me to an issue that has really got me breaking into a sweat (yay! No physical effort required!). What am I going to do in Paris if I want to work out? It seems highly improbable that the French love getting up and running miles and miles to pant and sweat, especially when they are not famous for their healthy lifestyle which includes smoking lots and lots and lots. I am worried that if I do decide and go for a jog one morning , the local baker, butcher, news stand guy, women, children, dogs, cats, birds, trees and every other thing in sight will shout out, "Regardez! L'Americaine* cours comme une elephant! Regardez ses fesses! haha!" (puff, puff, puff: vacuuming their cigarettes at full force with their blackened lungs and into their skinny bodies.)
(translation: Look! the American* runs like an elephant! Look at her ass! haha!")
However, while searching for a solution to this problem, I realize that I probably will not have to work out to be fit. Poverty will help me out to no end! I will be too poor to buy food to eat. Therefore, I shall starve, involuntarily of course, and shed pounds and pounds in weeks, if not days. Hurrah for being a struggling student in Paris when the Euro and VAT are so high people's assholes that they cannot afford to be moderately fat. No wonder all the French models are so thin. I bet cigarettes actually cost less than a meal and whereas a meal is a one-time thing, a pack of cigarettes can last you for an entire day if not a few full days. Yay! Phillip Morris! We can all die of cancer and not feel hungry to boot!
To tell you the truth, I am worried that I will start smoking again in Paris. Officially, I kicked the habit in January, and contrary to what I have told Mom and the students I had taught this summer, it was not because I decided it was time to become healthier but really because I was taking the Pill and one is not supposed to take the Pill and smoke (later, I found out it is only really dangerous if you are over 30. Damn it!). Unofficially, I do smoke on occasion when I go out at night to the bars. I do not really see any harm in that. Anyway, the point is I am almost certain I will take up smoking again, unless I am too broke but then again, I would probably whore myself for a drag. Curse you, nicotine!
*I am not American but people assume I am because of my accent and because I do not want to bother spending time educating on the weird mixture that is me.
# posted by Mare @ 3:54 AM 
