Haha, hehe, I got a gig yesterday. Yes, my job hunt has slowed to a screeching halt so I spent a brief time combing online for gigs. Something to do, some extra cash, maybe even a potential “in.” So what’s the job? I’m an accident reconstruction model, or as John calls it, a crash test dummy. Not exactly, but anyway, I answered this ad calling for a female weighing X lbs (within a 5-lb range) and measuring Y inches (one-inch range) tall. Hallelujah, I fit the profile! Called the engineer, went to the office to verify my height and weight, and bam, I’m booked for next week. Aww yeah, baby! $100/hour. Not. too. shabby.

In the mean time, I gotta watch my weight. You never know, that Chipotle burrito could just push me over the edge. I’m telling you, day to day and morning to night even, I fluctuate +/- 2 lbs. No big deal, but with this gig, it could be a tight rope to walk. I think it just means no huge pigfest this weekend.

But I do laugh, thinking back to high school when the wrestlers were always fretting about “making weight.” I remember before the big matches, Joe Ottinger and Sean Grunwell would pile on three to four heavy winter coats and run laps around the gym. For like an hour! They were insane. I had even heard rumours of guys puking themselves. Ugh. What horrible, horrible thoughts that conjures. Two close friends plagued so severely by anorexia, they were hospitalized. And so many control-freak perfectionists on campus at college… so sad. I mean, I probably have more obsessive tendencies than most, but thankfully, weight has never been a huge concern.