A blessing and a curse.

As I’ve mentioned before, my brother is the fearless leader of our family weight loss competition, so every day, he sends 3 motivational memes and 3 motivational youtube videos, usually accompanied by a “thought-provoking” fitness question that’s open up for discussion. (“Thought provoking” is in quotes because apparently my questions have been dubbed “stupid” even though I don’t see a real difference. His questions are usually something a long the lines of “What was your ‘rock-bottom’ moment when you realized you needed to get into better shape?” whereas mine are along the likes of “is it weird that sometimes I don’t shower after a night-workout if I didn’t sweat much?” Same thing, right? Yeah, I thought so too.)

In one of the threads, he asked us what our fitness goals were, and so I decided to physically write out my fitness goals for the summer and stick it in the bathroom where I’ll see it every day (hopefully). My list is as follows:

When you’re blessed with a body like this, people tend to have… certain expectations. 

Waiters tend to assume that I’d like to skip dessert and are always pleasantly surprised when I wolf down a brownie sundae by myself (I can tell they’re pleasantly surprised because they are so shocked, they don’t know what else to do but convulsively high-five me).

People on the street stop me, blush, and ask me to sign their abs because they assume I’m “that Asian girl from the Insanity DVDs.”

Every once in awhile, young girls ask me if I’m a “short firefighter in disguise,” and now that it’s nearly season, other patrons in line at the grocery stores are always looking up from their tabloids and asking why I’m not in London, training and getting acclimated to the climate/altitude.

Yes, I get mistaken for Kerri Walsh all the time.

It’s so embarassing. And kinda weird, because I never wear my hair in a braid. And any true fan of mine knows that I’m more a Misty girl, myself. I did play DS/libero, after all.

Anyways, you get the picture. It’s a blessing and a curse, this body of mine. I’m getting carpal tunnel from all the autographs!

I finally get why child actors are always whining “I just want to live a normal life” and why Billy Ray Stewart invented his daughter’s Hannah Montana alter-ego.

I was a little disappointed when I re-listened to O-Town’s “Liquid Dreams”

and didn’t hear myself mentioned in it. I mean, sure, Janet Jackson has a nice smile and sure, I’d love to have Cindy C’s beauty mark, but c’mon. What is so “special” about Angelina’s lips, anyway? I just don’t get it.

Maybe it was a 2001 thing… but times have changed, my friends!

I now present to you the 2012 edition of a “morpherotic dream from a magazine!”

By the end of summer, I will have:

Michelle Obama’s arms.

Blake Lively’s smile.

Padma Lakshmi’s eyebrows.

Cobie Smulder’s legs.

Jennifer Aniston’s hair (it’d be blasphemous if I said anyone else, don’t you think?).

Christina Ly‘s fashion sense (shameless plug for my own photography).

Dianna Agron’s voice.

And Hermione Granger’s everything else.

Thing’s I do not care about:

  • abs (Mama needs to eat!)
  • butt (That ship sailed a long time ago. No one’s perfect, guys.)
  • supermodel-pose repetoire (I do what I want.)
BOOM. Instant perfection.

Feel free to get back together and re-write this song, O-Town.




PS, who is Michelle Obama’s trainer?!

PPS, while creepily looking for pictures of Padma, I stumbled across an article about her workout regime in case you’re feeling ambitious this summer.


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