A little pre-Mexico ass motivation, Canalooney style.

Ok, so right at the moment I'm listening to some AARP-aged co-workers discussing the merits of the movie "Secretary" over the cubicle wall - lamenting how horrible it was, though, "If you're crazy about Maggie Gyllenhaal, you'd love this...."

Taking everything in me not to butt into the conversation, especially when that leapfrogged into a discussion about her character in Crazy Heart and how difficult it was for them to believe a woman like her would ever fall for Hot Mess Bad Blake (again - keeping my seat in my chair, but figure the middle-aged Software Support gurus could use a lesson in how easy it is for hot young girls to fall for messy old men when the messy old man is charming).

Anyway.

Here's the deal - we know I'm not crazy about the gorgeous creature currently sinking her pretty fingernails into George Clooney's arm and hanging on for dear life. Actually, in my mind, she pronounces his name "Geh-orge," a'la Captain VonTrapp, because it reinforces precisely how international and splendid she is, and therefore how desperately superior to the rest of us Yanks who would actually deign to do vapid things like wear Nikes or convertible cargo pants or eat fast food or acknowledge that Snookie walks among us.

You know why else she's waaaaaaay above the rest of us?

Because her ass looks like so:

And as if that isn't cause enough for the rest of us mere mortals to turn in our "maybe some day if I lost thirty pounds and traded faces with Jessica Alba and George Clooney was really drunk I'd have a shot with him" cards and throw ourselves on the altar of White Flour-Less living, her abs look like so:

And to kill that tiny thought swimming in the back of our minds about what her backside REALLY looks like (in case, you know, that first shot was just taken from that really thigh-friendly "bent-slightly forward" angle that always minimizes the appearance of cellulite), here it is from another equally astonishing angle:

And I'm pretty sure if I got 3 of my girlfriends together on a boat and all of us put on our best tanga bikini bottoms and crouched on all fours, we would hardly be photograph-ready, cute dog or no cute dog on hand to distract from the inevitable saddlebag situation.

And thus: we have photographic evidence of why Canalooney stands strong after this many months of what otherwise appears to be joylessly abject misery - she's got Miranda Kerr's body underneath that Italian scowl.

So - what does this have to do with me and an upcoming jaunt to someplace slightly more equatorial?

Um. Well, SURPRISE! My bum neither looks nor photographs like this woman's under even the most forgiving lighting, AND, as I was struggling to come up with sufficient motivation to dissuade me from simply taking posession of a huge stash of clever scarves and sarongs to tie around my waist when I make my south-of-the-border run shortly, this proved to be just the motivation I needed . I got away with the "skirts hide all sins" mindset several years ago in Greece...and these days (shockingly!) my metabolism is 4 years older and wiser, my skin 4 years less elastic, my cellulite 4 years more moved in and camped out in parts south of belly button, my stretch marks 4 years sneakier, and my ego 4 years more gutless......but there's something in me that just won't let go of the idea of getting rid of the vanity pounds to the point that I could be photographed from behind in a swimsuit and I wouldn't see the picture and promptly "un-tag" myself on Facebook (for instance....theoretically) and looking at this was, interestingly, sufficiently motivating.

Therefore: I'll use 4 years ago (not the Canalis, that's just superhuman and I'm not that horribly unrealistic) as my motivation. Vain as posting this seems, gotta admit, I didn't look half bad.....