Do I look like I use organic scent-free dye-free dish soap to wash my hand carved dinner wear I bought from Etsy?
Here comes a TL;DR post about being fat
If you listened to me and Matt’s test run of the worst podcast ever, you may have learned something new about me (If you haven’t listened to it, don’t - its diarrhea). Since October of 2010, I’ve been (slowly) losing weight. Right before I met Jack, I got my learner’s permit (keep the jokes to yourself, no I still can’t effing drive) and my face looked like I’d been injecting myself with saline. Like I had been rubbing the most MSG-laden chinese food I could find all over my face. Just a swollen fat mess. Two days later, I was doing Weight Watchers.
I never pretended to have any acceptable weight loss motivations. I wasn’t doing it to be healthy. I wasn’t doing it for my soul or inner peace or happiness or whatever the fuck a Dove commercial would say. I was doing it for two reasons: 1. to find a husband and 2. to buy cute clothes. Sorry 2 say. If I could have pulled men back at my fattest, I would have been quite okay continuing that way because let’s face it people, food is delicious and I want all of it.
Anyway, I dropped 30 pounds in a little over 3 months. It was so easy at the beginning. But when you are walking around with the equivalent of a full rack of free weights on your body, it’s easy. Then it got harder. But to be quite honest, I was totally half assing it. Just eating less, but still eating shitty. And still being the laziest fucker on earth.
But I didn’t have the same motivation. I was dating someone and it was going well so clearly I didn’t need to try that hard right?
By the middle of 2011 the weight loss slowed substantially. I got to my lowest loss, a little over 57 lbs by June and sort of flatlined for months. I still refused to work out. Didn’t wanna. Too hard.
Thanksgiving rolled around. Then Christmas. Then I just stopped trying, really. By February I’d put back on 10 damn pounds. But I wasn’t too bothered. I’d lose it eventually, whenever I got around to it or whatev.
Then Jack dumped me. I thought I had beaten the system and tricked someone into loving me even though I was fat. PFFFT. Incorrect. It was at this point that I decided to stop dicking around and start working out. It’s such a god damnned cliche - person gets dumped which motivates them to get fit and find a way hotter partner - but whatever works, right?
I started by doing one day of some bullshit treadmill, then adding another day. I hired a trainer in April and have been doing strength training twice a week ever since. It’s going really well, I’ve dropped 23 pound since April, and I’ve gained about 5 lbs of muscle as well.
The thing is, I don’t really look any different from when I first started in 2010. Yes, my face no longer looks like a puffer fish at its most puffed, but I’m still very fat and I still have a L O N G way to go. I didn’t even want to talk about my weight loss on my blog until there was a real, noticeable change in my appearance, or until I hit 100 lbs lost, but it’s clear that I don’t have shit else to blog about, so that’s that.
As of today I’ve lost just over 70 pounds since October 2010 which is nothing to scoff at, but 70 pounds for a fat person is a drop in the bucket (which is why I don’t really look different). I kind of hate myself because I know I could have been so much further if I had just gotten my fat ass to the gym a year ago. I still have my same unacceptable weight loss goals: men and clothes, but I now I’m also focused on being hella strong. I want to punch holes in walls and kick people’s asses.
So I said all of this to say, in the future, if you see a post about me going to the gym, don’t laugh. Don’t be like “Uh… is this gym actually a family style italian restaurant?” I’m trying, guys. I’m trying.
Nevermind that this tweet is from a Jim Carrey parody account that in no way parodies Jim Carrey and is just someone tweeting jokes? The tweet is really just a starting point for me to blog about something. And that something is this: I don’t think there is any other event so singular and small and really, meaningless, that can conjure up so many simultaneous human emotions. When that teenager tells you that breakfast is over, when that asshole flips the menus to the lunch stuff, you feel a rush of anger, disappointment, longing, regret. So many feels.
Frankly, I’m surprised I don’t hear about more breakfast cutoff-related altercations and assaults. Because god knows the desire for a McGriddles is strong enough to make you want to cut down anyone who keeps you from having it.
Q:What's the deal with people? In my opinion people are terrible.
Anonymous
I’ve traveled far and wide, to literally tens of US states and more foreign countries than I can count on no hands and what I’ve learned is this: me and you are the only good people on this planet and god save the rest of these wretched sons of bitches.
I call bullshit on this “report”. How about a meaningfulness cut for more money, because that’s where I’m at. I’m tired of helping people. I’m almost 30 and can’t even afford to live on my own. Meaning can go get fucked. I need them dollars.
Want to see how I spend an average Saturday with Jack? Get ready for suburban action and excitement like you’ve never seen. Jam packed with two, count em’, two visits to the Frozen Yogurt shop.
I don’t make a big deal about my birthday.
Sure, I have it marked like this in my calendar:
but that’s just me keeping a consistent personal brand of vacillating between the extremes of self-deprecation and rampant narcissism. But honestly, my birthday is sort of whatever. Partly because I’m bad at knowing fun things to do and partly because I have a secret hope that while I’m humbly not making a big deal, some friend or family member will secretly plan an extravagant celebration for me. But let’s face facts, I’m not that important and kind of a shitty friend so the probability of that happening is low.
Now, this is in stark contrast to my mother, who would mark her birthday the same way in her iCal but be dead fucking serious about it. That is, of course, if she had a computer and was not under the assumption that “computers are sneaky.” She routinely takes a whole week off for her birthday. She has multiple dinners and outings and considers herself to have a birth MONTH, rather than day. She’s insane and hilarious.
She’s been asking me for weeks what I want to do for my birthday. I hadn’t given it much thought. I dunno, have people over to watch Netflix and eat Chinese food? I can’t decide these kinds of things. I finally decide on a low key brunch because that’s easy and sounds fancy-ish.
Being the ultra-polite and considerate person that I am, I ask her if there’s any cuisines she doesn’t like.
“It’s your birthday, you pick. But I don’t like that baja stuff.”
“Baja? Do you mean like TexMex?”
“No, you know, when the people make the stuff on the grill in front of you…”
“Oh, a hibachi place? Like Benihana.”
“Yeah, I hate that. Don’t pick that. Also I don’t like Thai food.”
So much for it being MY pick.
She then asks what we will do after brunch. “We could maybe go see a movie. But don’t take me to any of those goofy movies you like. I don’t want to see the Sleepover.”
“No ma, I don’t want to see The Hangover 2, either,” I say. You see how I didn’t even directly point out her crazy mistake? I gently corrected her by just saying the right words. You have a mother, you know the drill, it’s pointless.
After telling me she wants to see “fine Matthew McConaghey” in The Lincoln Lawyer and is flabbergasted when I say I have no desire to see it or him, I say “Mother, it’s okay, we’ll think of something,” to change the subject. There’s already been way too much birthday discussion and really, if we aren’t talking about plans to ship an iPad to me, then we really don’t have much to discuss. It’s just another day.
I Should Not Spend $100 on a Pair of Sunglasses: A conversation with myself.
You dumb idiot. Who the fuck do you think you are? How it is okay to have a $100 pair of sunglasses when you use plastic storage drawers from Walmart as your bedside tables? You know that shit is cheap, but more importantly, it’s fucking tacky.
BUT I WANT THEM. I mean do you know how hard it is to find a wayfarer-style frame that actually suits my gigantic round pieface?
What do you even need them for? You and I both know that you don’t even go out into the sun because it’s “scary and hot”.
You’re being a real bitch today, aren’t you? You mad cuz we eatin salad for lunch AGAIN?
See? You’re spending money on some weak ass salad when you could just make your own that is a) better and b) cheaper. You clearly don’t know how to manage any of your money and should be shot and killed.
I’m buying the sunglasses, so fuck you.
Well they are pretty cute…
Can I say something about Beyonce
I have watched both the Billboard performance and the video for Who Run the World (Girls) about 17 times a piece. I am all about that hands flopping by the side shoulder/stomp dance move and all the unnecessary hair whipping throughout the choreography. I stan hard for Beyonce.
Because she is and has always been the queen of swagger jacking. Yes, I know I say this about twice a year. But it keeps happening. In such delightful ways.
While her use of multimedia to engage in what was for the most part a large-scale one-person show was pretty fucking slick, don’t act like them graphics weren’t giving you a strong hint of M.I.A. circa 2005 (who Rihanna DIRECTLY copied in her Rude Boy video). I mean I was like, UP-SET when I saw the Rude Boy video. She pretty much got someone to animate the Kala album art. The difference is Rihanna’s attempts at co-opting are derivative. Mrs. Knowles-Carter, however, jacks and takes it next level.
But seriously though, I was in the elevator today just doing that shoulder-stomp move over and over, mean-mugging.
Because I run this mother.
The elevator, I guess.
“There is no one else. Only Beyonce.” - Sade.
When I first started listening to Nine Inch Nails, I used to think the lyric in “Hurt” was
“You could have it all. My empire of DARTS.” I would straight up sing this with conviction.
The fuck is a dart empire? Why would someone say that in a song? Like Trent was sitting in his mansion, fed up with the fast-paced and lucrative but lonely and emotionally unfulfilling life of being the heir apparent to SureTarget, his father’s dart company, and he wrote “Hurt” to let out his feelings. Makes no sense. So why did I sing it?
Although, “empire of DIRT” just reeks of bad middle school poetry so, it’s kind of a lose either way.
Hi, my name is 