Superiority Complex Carbohydrates

I don't think it's possible to ever get too much of a good thing.

Like avocados. I have been told they are a "super food." I pretty much swallow them whole, figuring the high calorie count will be negated by my super-ness. Superiority? Whatever. Luckily I love avocados; I don't think I'd be able to stick with my self improvement plan if the super food du jour happened to be pork bellies. (Do folks really eat those, or just trade them?)

The point is, I am trying to take good care of myself, to be the best me I can be. According to an email I received yesterday from a friend, Lucille Ball (one of my all time heroes) used to say "love yourself first, then everything else falls into line." Easy for her to say. She was hilarious, successful, and married to a hot Cuban. And, she knew how to dance. She probably didn't even know what an avocado was.

With my two left feet and complete lack of rhythm, dancing is out of the question. And I haven't met any hot Cubans lately. (JDate, you got some  'splainin to do !) But I do take an occasional break from super foods and try to do other things that make me love myself. Yesterday, I played tennis against a large and scary bleached blond bitch named Buffy. No I am not making this up. Even vampire slaying Buffy's are supposed to be cute and sexy. This one was like a Mack truck in fluorescent yellow tennis shoes who made it a point several times to take a full back swing on a short ball and try to peg me at the net. Really? If I had wanted to play tennis with high school boys, I would have strapped one on, gotten myself a jock strap, and colored in my wrinkles so they'd look like facial hair.

Mean old Buffy seemed smug as she dashed off the court, beating me not as badly as she would have liked but leaving me in a cold sweat and on the verge of puking. She seemed to actually love herself, even though I could not, for the life of me, figure out why. Which, as it turned out, made me love myself even more. I spent the entire unpleasant (and death defying) hour and a half being sickeningly pleasant, apologizing profusely whenever I won a point on a particularly wimpy shot. Salt on the wound, a few little punctures in her big old tires. Love myself? I was feeling downright smitten.

When you make a conscious decision to love yourself the little snowball of mere fondness starts to pick up steam and rolls into a boulder of hopeless infatuation. An old friend just stopped by my writing chair, and he reminisced about the time we had chaperoned a fifth grade field trip together and he had the dubious pleasure of watching from underneath as I went up the climbing wall. "It was nice that you weren't wearing underwear," he said. I assured him that I was, that it was probably just creeping up my ass for a change. Feeling lots of self love, I told him how much better the view would be now all these years later, with my granny pants bunched up under my shorts. Loving oneself is good; sharing the love, even better.

Last night I grabbed a  Lean Cuisine out of the freezer for dinner. A nice snack, but when I finished (in about two seconds flat) I didn't feel particularly lean. Thank goodness for my theory (remember the theory? that you can never get enough of a good thing?). I popped two more in the microwave, hoping to feel super lean. These things take time, I suppose. At least I was starting to feel satisfied.