I finished yesterday’s Express crossword at exactly 9:35 a.m. I am a superdelegate!

I don’t think I’m using that term right.

Still, this is a new record for a puzzle I usually don’t finish until the afternoon or early evening. It is probably a testament to my growing intelligence. (Come on. 17 across? “Lupine come-on?” Wolf whistle, duh.) Or maybe crossword editor Timothy E. Parker had a hangover the day he wrote this puzzle.

In either case, my morning accomplishment meant I had nothing to do in the bathroom for 20 minutes. Reading the contents of my wallet for the 27th time was not an option. Neither was feeling guilty over using the large handicap stall. So I flipped through the pages of the Express and examined the ads.

A former journalist, I don’t have the first clue what goes into writing or soliciting advertising copy. You see, there’s supposed to be this “wall” in journalism that separates advertising from editorial, not that Fox News has ever heard of it. As a reporter, my job was to write something that would “keep the ads from touching,” as a former editor of mine once told me.

But what I noticed about the Express’s ads in yesterday’s edition was this: there sure a lot of people in DC with health problems.

I counted 25 health-related advertisements, ranging from depression to hemorrhoids to living with an STD, and that’s not including the classifieds section. My favorite one was the ad on page 11 offering clinical trials for people suffering from herpes, which proclaimed that “Living With Genital Herpes Can Be A Hassle!” Tell me about it. The ad asked if you (the reader, I presume) were “African American and/or considered black…”

Now, I’m neither African American nor “considered black” by any means, but I do plan on voting for Obama for class president. Still, is there a difference? VK? Leon? Anything?

Most of the ads were obviously geared toward people who want to lose weight, which, from my personal observations, amounts to everyone. All I hear these days is whiners saying “I need to lose 10 pounds” or “I’m going to the gym after work” or “Stop staring at my fat ass, Arjewtino”.

It’s pretty obvious that weight is an issue that most people think about. Women, I have noticed, seem to care much more about the number itself, while men just echo Kevin Spacey’s line in American Beauty: “I want to look good naked.”

I find these conversations exhausting and boring. Though The Princess calls me “Tubs” and “Fatso” in a loving, “you-look-good-now-but-don’t-gain-any-more-weight” kind of way, you don’t hear me whine about my bubble butt. Would I love to shed a few pounds? Sure. Would I like to have a six-pack again? Of course. Do I truly enjoy asking myself questions and answering them? Obviously.

I’m surprised that blogging, which I have been doing now for more than 18 months, hasn’t caused any weight loss. It’s worked for some people, apparently. Check out Lynn Bering, a blogger who somehow gained 100 pounds over the course of four years but lost it thanks to her habit of keeping an online journal.

But Bering said the one thing that’s helped her most is her blog.

Writing down her thoughts and feelings about why she ate helped Bering do the inner work, which she believes is necessary before anyone can do the outer work and lose the weight for good.”

Awful sentence structure aside, this article shows what bloggers can do if they want to lose weight. And if they have vaginas.

There is no way a male blogger would — or could — lose weight by sharing his feelings to the online world. Like Lozo said:

I can write down all the thoughts and feelings I have in the world about not having sex with Heidi Klum. Heck, I do. But unless I actually go out and do the work of getting a serious tan, rubbing poop under my eyes and becoming a monster, the dream is never going to happen.”

Men lose weight when they get rejected sexually. That’s it. That is our sole motivation. We are the perpetual Charles Atlases of the world, making a personal change only when we’ve had sand thrown in our face by a much tougher, fitter douchebag.

But this motivation is not something we find online. Keeping a blog about how I feel about my love handles won’t make them any less muffin-top-ish. (That line comes thanks to my 30 Rock marathon.)

There is, though, perhaps one online force that could make me lose weight. Jillian Michaels. This chick hosts “The Biggest Loser” and is quite possibly the toughest broad on TV. Not only could she out-bench-press me, she could probably bench press me.

After watching an episode a few weeks ago and wetting my pants just watching Jillian yell at some fat slob who couldn’t do another stomach crunch, I decided to look her up online. Not because I, too, wanted to lose weight but because I’m a guy and I wanted to see pictures of her naked.

As it turns out, Jillian’s Web site is just as tough as she is and I found myself giving it my e-mail address. Jillian (or maybe a computer) sent me an e-mail shortly afterward offering me a “Weight Loss Plan”. I scoured the e-mail for pictures of Jillian naked. When I didn’t find any, I deleted it. But I felt proud of myself for taking the first step to sustaining a positive body image by merely submitting my e-mail. I felt slimmer and healthier. More fit.

I’m ready to tackle another crossword puzzle.