Today, in the mail,the exercise video I was in finally arrived. Yea, I was in an exercise video; a Turbo Kickboxing video. That will be sold. To the public. And viewed by many.
When it was made, it was all fun and games. The best, regular students of my Turbo Kick Class, taught by the brilliant Cheerleader On Crack, were asked to participate in her newest video -- many are sold by her empire -- and I was confident that my je ne c'est qua was ready to be documented. I dig a spotlight. Or I used to. As all the students arrived for the shoot, as we were dressed by bitchy PA's and makeup'ed and rearranged on the floor, I became acutely aware that I was one of the "bigger" students. I do not consider myself big, but I was getting the hint that I had been cast as the normal, “healthy" girl. This still did not faze me particularly, and as the long-ass day of shooting rolled on, I was still hot in my own mind.
After viewing the DVD, I'm now having my doubts. In my mind, I'm so great. I'm the bomb diggity. I usually never dog myself out. I am not a fan of self deprecation at all, because if you're not talking highly of yourself, who will? But when one sees themselves jumping around in spandex next to very tone and lean fitness models, it's hard to the put the brakes on an automatic critical avalanche. I did not look terrible, but the image on the screen did not exactly match the flyness in my mind. Firstly, maybe I should trim my hair more than once a year? Even if stylists love to chop the shit out of my hair, at least then, just maybe, there would a . . .style? And, my boobs are too big to be bouncing around in that fuchsia tank they dressed me in. I couldn't get my eyes off my own cleavage. Jesus. Bimbo Turbo Jam? ug. Also, open-mouthed dancing has been an affliction of mine since I first took a dance class a hundred years ago. When I dance a routine, my mouth is either open in a surprised "Hey!" look, or my lips are puckered, innately, in a sassy "Jazz face." Eyebrows are always raised. It's like a spasm to which I have no control. So, there was a lot of that going on, to my horror, as I kickboxed. On the DVD, there is a "Get to Know the Cast!" section where we are asked questions such as who are you, why do you love this workout and what are your eating weaknesses? And, ok, I looked fine, and I was fairly charming as I rambled about my vegan cookie obsession, but why didn't anyone tell me that my bottom teeth are more crooked and jagged than the hem of Wilma Flintstone's dress? And they're off center, the teeth, as seems to be the case with my whole face when I talk. I'm like a Picasso painting (which, ok, is kinda cool). And I see that after years of holding my surprised Jazz Face, my forehead seems to just stay in that position, up and creased. AND I TALK FUNNY. What's up with that?
Maya and Mina got a huge kick out of seeing "Mami on TV!", but I kinda just shook my head and squinted my eyes to filter out the hotness, and I tried not to look at my triceps that are a tad wobblier than I thought, and I really didn't want to be made aware of that VIA A PUBLIC EXERCISE VIDEO. Ho hum.
People, I love me. I really do. And if you embarrass me with any kind of sympathetic compliments, I will you kill you. With my bare turbockick hands. Anyway, I’m not looking for that. I’m just reporting what I saw. And besides, I’m back to feeling hot again, in my mind.
P.S. I was going to post a picture from the DVD, but I'm so saving that goodness for February's Self Portrait Tuesday theme which is "All of Me, Embrace Your Mistakes, Love the Ugly Bits." HA! What perfect timing.
the peanut butter
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