a model citizen
I reserve the right to brag
There's been a lot of bantering back and forth between friends about body image lately. And I've been hearing the word model a lot.

Friday, at the Gerlinger dance, I crooned jokingly to Murray, "but am I pretty?" and he replied, with a stern amount of pointed sincerity, "Kat, you look like a supermodel." I do? Hm. Maybe in a way. But I don't like the association with that word. I makes me think stavation of the body and mind. It doesn't make me think beautiful or sexy.

Then, last night when I was standing quite naked in front of the mirror and ogling myself (as I do on occasion, happy to be thrilled with my figure), Justin asked me why I don't consider modeling as a means of cash rather than what I do now. Hmm... because I think it would drive me insane?

Actually, aside from loathing the stereotype, I picture modeling as too large an investment. It's not something that one just DOES. To be a professional, there's modeling school, certification, and portfolio building, all things that take time and money. LOTS of money. It's an investment. Granted, it pays back QUICKLY with success, dollars to the minute. But who has time for an investment like that?

But today, one of my "gym guys", the regional manager of a bank, asked me to do some catalogue modeling for their company merchandise. Uhh... what? You want ME to be all perky and smiley and wear sunglasses and hats with your logo on them?

Fuck yeah, for fifty dollars an hour I'll do that!!

This isn't another Cherrypepper incident and it has no reason to make Justin or I leery. They do the shooting at SEARS for gawd's sake. What can happen at Sears, will the cameraman molest me with a ducky?

"Smile!!"

"Aaaah! Nooo! Get it away!!"

Despite this, I am leery. Said gym guy is very friendly insists on being so despite the fact that he knows I'm practically engaged. Still, I believe him when he says he's regional manager of a bank. I've seen sample merchandise pictures (and they are dorky sears pics) and his business card. Hum. Seems legit. I'll do it, even though I feel unphotogenic and even though it's another commitment. Time is money and money... well, it pays.

I'm feeling sort of ungainly thin having dropped almost ten pounds since going to glacier.

But I'm hard-body and both healthy and fit. Despite initial gawkiness, my opinion of my current shape is that it's better than it's ever been. I'm happy with myself. I love who I am inside and out. I have ever since I began to become an endorphin addict. I love the thrill of doing something good for myself and being rewarded by it.

Still, I would love myself heavier or (god forbid) lighter than I am now. My metabolism is strong and I eat often and enough. In fact, every day I've been whistling through three full meals, snacks, and dessert and scrounging for more. Maybe the stress makes me a machine in more ways than one. Maybe the tension hardens me enough that my thrice-weekly workouts actually have effect. Maybe, but I don't know.

I don't fluxuate easily. I stick at one weight for a long time until, suddenly, there is a change to another plateau. This last one disturbed me in its immediacy. Over the course of a week, my clothes didn't fit right and I was ravenous all the time. I guess it makes sense, though, at that time I was both climbing mountains daily and making a change in my hormone regimen that I'm sure had something to do with it.

Anyway, I was bitching earlier this summer because I wanted to see if I could achieve the "media" body. I like being able to mold myself. I like my body to be malleable. I like being able to decide what face I want to show to the world. So I did it and I guess I'm surprised. Shit, I almost have a six-pack. A six-pack, ME??? Uh, I'm the unattaractive one, remember? The one kids laughed at in high school. The one who wore clothes at the upper end of the women's sizes. Now a size six, in and of itself an impossible achievement, hangs off me. It's obscene, almost.

Alex says I'm too thin. I believe him because he told me when he was drunk. Granted, I don't let other people's opinons get the better of me but strangely, I almost agree. I like fitting into my clothes. I like it when my breasts are full and my hips are round. Being small makes me feel sexy but also androgynous, empowered and frustrated.

I'm not a compulsive excersizer. I'm not anorexic. I am a bit of a health-nut and a control freak. Not working out makes me ancy and bitchy but it's more because I need my "fix" than anything else. And I like showing off, I really do. I like feeling good about myself. I don't like bragging or being fawned over, it embarrases me. But I can take a compliment.

And a fifty-dollar an hour compliment seems worthwhile to me!