Tart Me Up

Oh, look -- there are my feelings.

Thanks, office vending machine!

‪#‎ThisIsWhyYoureFat‬ ‪#‎AndWhyYouHaveADDProbably‬

P.M.S. P.S.

The P.S. on an email to friends about all my special feeeeelings:

"I'm also menstruating, so kindly accept this grain of salt. Just a grain, though -- I'll bite your goddamn hand off if you take my salt."

The Elusive Self-Esteem Boost and a Therapeutic Three-fer

If you've never had a day where you look in the mirror and think, "GodDAMN, I look good," I highly recommend it.

Spring and summer clothes and weather really are my wheelhouse. I'll also be buying more of this new makeup (aptly made by Tarte) and thanking the gods of hair for blessing my rolled-outta-bed coif today.

Sometimes a plan just comes together, and today it did, in the form of my unplanned FINE ass.

"Give it up, boys and girls. Admit it. I look GOOD!" (Don't judge me, Bette is my jam.)

P.S. I went to therapy tonight, and one of the first things she said to me, unprompted, was, "You look wonderful!" So there you go, y'all -- my cuteness is verified by a licensed professional. (My brain went full Cady-Heron-in-the-black-dress: "I KNOW, right?!")

P.P.S. Tonight's agenda: Therapy, takeout food, and Scandal. So basically a therapeutic three-fer.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_Sb7PpLoS0]

Musical Masochism

I've heard this song a bunch of times since That Guy "made it like it never happened and that we were nothing," and I was perfectly fine. But it just came up on my Pandora playlist and suddenly I'm a weepy bitch over it?

Li'l early for PMS, isn't it, Body? Though I suppose that would explain the recent irritability, exhaustion, insatiable libido, and mass consumption of salty, cheesy Mexican food with Girl-Scout-cookie chasers. 

This is all fine. (It actually is. It's out of my hands. There's literally nothing I can do except "breathe and reboot." Plus I think I've proven I'm stronger than Weepy Bitch, even if on occasion she IS the one who knocks.)

Neither missing me by my hair nor missing me everywhere...

Seems fitting for Groundhog Day, but with advance apologies to the few readers who emailed me to say I shouldn't waste anymore time in this place...

This is the point in the That Guy cycle when I'm worried we're not actually done -- that I'll let my guard down and then he'll pop up somewhere. It's been a discernible pattern, so much that I'm in a mental fighting stance every time I check any element of my digital existence.

I don't think it's going to happen this time. We weren't exactly kind to each other. And he wasn't trying to resurrect our friendship, which it turns out we never HAD. He was just finally confirming he'd been using my body and affection to make himself feel better, and that I was inadequate in both capacities. (Still a great feeling if you ever get the chance.)

Logistically, I don't see how he COULD pop up. He can still see this page because it's public (everybody wave!). I'm not changing that to avoid one person. (Unless it's, like, Dexter.) But I don't think he's going to "like" anything after I gave him a bunch of shit about liking posts about my body or masturbation.

I think I've taken every other precaution, but I'm still a little on edge. When I stopped speaking to him last New Year's, I don't think a month passed thereafter where he didn't remind me he was checking on me -- a text, blog like, Facebook friend request (to my professional account), a LinkedIn profile view. But I probably said enough that he'll avoid setting off that particular powder keg again.

And we'll just save it for therapy that I still miss him. (Shut UP, I don't KNOW. He told me I "claim dysfunction and use it to explain away being wrong," so...yeah, dibs on that. I was crazy, I thought we were friends -- I was wrong. I'm basically Clarissa right now.)

Oddly, I think I'll relax about all this around Valentine's Day, since that'll be about 6 weeks. I'll aim to spend that day finally unclenched, hopefully in more ways than one, with a movie, a glass of wine, my bombass lasagna, and an obscene quantity of really good chocolate. Ideally with a man under me as well, but I think it'll be a decent day either way. Me and my Valentine "Serenity" -- in all the ways. Shiny.

Relieving emotional tension < relieving sexual tension.

Between hormones and holiday stress, I just ended up Ugly Crying over something incredibly stupid, and now my brain is convinced I am unlovable and will die alone. So that's always fun. I think these particular feelings will need to be handled via pizza.

I almost never cry, so storing it all up for the twice-yearly Ugly Cry is sort of like when I finally get laid -- I never realize how long it's been since I've done it, so I just explode from the catharsis of it all. It generally works out much better during sex, but the result is the same: I end up collapsed in an exhausted, lifeless heap. And I feel a lot better. And I demand snacks.

Just what Christmas needs: Another bloated bastard snarfing cookies.

Um, no, YOU'RE getting your period for Christmas. 

(See also: Fuck you, body.) 

  

Lazy Sunday snort laugh

"Sometimes feeling full of something is exactly what you need: be it wisdom, shit, dicks, or egg rolls."

OK, yeah, I'm in love with Brittany Gibbons. 

Today can eat a dick, and some ice cream.

It's been a bad day, so I figured I'd just help the body dysmorphia along... 

  

I blow at my job which is thankfully not giving blowjobs.

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These egg rolls are medicinal.

Email to friends:

"I'm Googling therapists near my office, mapping their locations, and there's one near work that's also near an ice cream shop, a cupcake place, a liquor store, a Starbucks, and a great Chinese restaurant.

"I feel...somehow drawn...to their, um...clinical philosophy... I feel as though they can really help me face my issues. And by 'face,' I mean 'fried rice IN my,' but I'm sure therapy will be good, too. 

"(I know, I know -- #ThisIsWhyYoureFat)"

"I'm not fat. I'm Rubenesque."

I woke up about 2 weeks ago feeling suddenly and substantially fatter*, which is, like, a SPECTACULAR way to wake up. Clothes that had fit are all sausage-casey now, as if I'd gained 10 lbs overnight.

Excellent.

So in my continued effort to "stop being sad and be awesome instead (true story)," FINE, I'll try eating better and exercising. I am the only woman who finds it easier to drop a few pounds than to shop for new clothes. But it took me forEVER, and cost a lot of money, to find a decent wardrobe that fit my short, pudgy Muppet body properly, and I'll be goddamned if I'm going through that again. Running and yoga are free. Not eating is, like, SUPER free. So losing weight is easier AND cheaper. (Plus, you know, health reasons, but...whatever, ice cream is great and exercise blows.)


*I typed "substantially fatter" too quickly at first, and my iPhone was like, "You meant 'duvet sticky regret,' right?"

Jesus Christ, iPhone. No. That was LAST year.