I am Ted Kennedy

So you may have gathered by now that I was on a trip with my high school friends last weekend. Assuming anyone reads this blog, I'm going to bore those of you who weren't there with yet another story about how great it was. It was total blissed out margarita soaked relaxation. Again, I'd like to point out that these people have seen me in more compromising positions than I'd like to admit. They've seen the sick, the sad, the experimental makeup phases, and making out with teenage boys. And that was just last weekend.

So, when people have seen you so bad, you want them to see you look good. Okay, maybe it isn't THEM I want to see me look good, because somehow they love me just as I am, but after 25 years of photos with these people, I want just ONE photo to put on my mantel where I don't stand out as "the one with the good personality". Pretty much all of these gals look hot without even trying, but last weekend, I tried. After reviewing a number of group shots in Scottsdale, I've had a Come To Jesus moment - it's not gonna happen. The one constant in all of our group photos is that I look like various stages of Ted Kennedy in a wig.

Let's explore this for a moment.

By virtue of being the tallest person in the group, I am also by default the heaviest person as well. There is a price to pay for height, and I'm not one of those skinny tall people. Because I love food. And wine. And chocolate. And sloth. I let myself go to the Foodie Dark Side a couple of years ago because Current Husband didn't seem to mind, and was happy to take the journey with me. We found lovely little restaurants who worship at the altar of butter and cream, and surrounded ourselves with people who can really cook. Au revoir, Hamburger Helper! Adios, Taco Bell! Ciao, Olive Garden!

The result of all of this debauchery? Hello, Muffin Top! Welkommen, varicose veins! Wie gehts, triple chin!

Last weekend's trip has been in the planning for over a year, so in January this year, I went on the cliched New Year's Resolution diet. For once, I was not going to sport three chins, puffy cheeks, and bulbous nose in every shot. (I'm not exactly sure how losing weight would change my nose, but work with me here.) I was looking a lot like Ted Kennedy's "go drinking and whoring with my nephews in Miami Beach and have one of them accused of raping a girl while I was passed out in the living room" phase, which isn't kind to the camera. Or the physique, really. (Or your reputation, if you're actually Ted Kennedy.) After nine months, instead of having a baby, I dropped one. I lost 20 pounds, moved down a size or two, and felt pretty MILFy.

I get to Scottsdale, and meet friend #1 off of the plane. She is tall and lovely and skinny, and has nary a line on her face. It's just one girl, right? The rest of those bitches can't look this good, can they? Oh yes. Yes they can. As they started showing up, my hopes for Skinniest Girl in the Picture faded. Because let's be honest, you never really get over those dormant body image issues.


Yes, I am the one who is filibustering in the Senate on the left.


I still look like Ted Kennedy, albeit in his "Victoria Reggie yachting on Martha's Vineyard" stage, so perhaps it's an improvement. Okay, so I'm Ted Kennedy in a wig. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm not "fat" (whatever that means anymore). I'm very happy with my current figure, it's the camera that hates me. At least I'm funny. Because doesn't every girl grow up hoping she's the funny one instead of the beautiful one in the pictures?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

And then it gets better. Tomorrow's post: Friends don't let friends rip off skin tags.