My hair salon loves me and wants me to be happy.

“Oh, honey. We know your hair is a goddamn disaster and you’ve had a tough week. Welcome to our salon. Here are some feelings to eat. Do you want some morning wine? We also have morning wine. We got you, girl.”

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Cake AND death, probably.

Around May, I noticed my jeans were getting tight, so I bought bigger jeans, but thought, “Oh, OK, wakeup call — I should lose some weight.”

Buuut I didn’t.

And then the bigger jeans started getting tight, and I thought, “NO. This is horseshit. I’m not spending MORE money — I’ll just lose some weight. For real this time.”

Buuut I didn’t.

So I bought the NEXT biggest size, and you know what? I am fucking COMFORTABLE. God, fat pants are the BEST. And the kinda stretchy fat pants with Spandex or whatever in ’em? DAMN. So good.

Screw it. The world is awful and cake is great.

(Ahem… This defiant attitude brought to you by the first time a doctor ever told me it might be good to lose some weight, which happened last week. But she based it on BMI, and BMI is fake news. Suck it, lady. #sheetcaking for the win.)

All the women, who independent, throw your hands up in frustration…

So, I haven’t mentioned that I’m moving again, probably in about 2 weeks. The rent in my generic, cookie-cutter apartment complex is going up to an amount that’s basically a mortgage. I COULD pay it, but decided to go see what else I could get for that amount or less.

Turns out, I can get the same amount of space but WAY cuter, a more walkable neighborhood, better food options, and closer to everyone I love, for about $400 less a month.

I made lists. I did math. I considered all my life factors and made a grownup decision. When I talked to my therapist, she told me it sounds like the perfect choice for everything I’ve said is important to me, including my budget and mental health.

NO one in my family is happy for me. Everyone got some shit to say.

Today my grandfather offered to let me move in with him, basically rent free, saying my new rent is “still a lot of money,” and my dad chimed in and said, “Yeah, can you imagine putting that amount in the bank every month? After 5 years you’d have, what, $60,000?”

Um…$60,000 for WHAT, exactly? My retirement to an institution because I haven’t had sex in 5 years and have gone insane living with a 90-year-old man who watches home shopping at full volume all day and lectures me about my sodium intake?

It’s a VERY sweet offer, honestly. I’m incredibly grateful. If I am ever in any form of dire life straits, obviously this would be a lifesaver. (Speaking of which, I’m not a total asshole — Granddad doesn’t need live-in help; his health is probably better than mine.)

But I know my family, and this is a goddamn trap. I love my grandfather, but dude IS the patriarchy. I’ve lived alone for 5 years, sir, sometimes unemployed, and the beauty of that particular soul crush is, you learn to fucking handle your bid-ness. I don’t know what kind of helpless, broke-ass princess they think they’ve raised, but I ain’t havin’ it.

I am going to live alone, and walk around naked, and stay up too late, and binge watch My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend on weekends, and hopefully have noisy, raucous sex followed by salt-laden Indian takeout at the first available opportunity.

NOW. If you’ll please excuse me, I gotta go throw my hands up at Destiny’s Child.

If he also made pie, I’ll marry him.

I’m not 100% sure about this guy I’m about to message on OkCupid. If I’m being totally honest, he might be too smart and too chill for my silly, hyper ass.

But in his profile photo, he’s pouring shredded cheese into small, hollowed-out pumpkins to make individual fondue pots, and… well, people, my needs are simple.

This is all true and factual science. *nod*

Text to friends, based entirely in fact and science:

“They put me on the pill and said I could start it whenever, so I did, but I think my body was already preparing its regular PMS festivities, and when I added bonus hormones I fucked up its groove, because now I hate goddamn everything except you guys and Egg McMuffins.”

Observations on trying to eat better

1. Salad is stupid. Fuck off with your leaves, salad. I’m not a goddamn giraffe.

2. Trying to solve problems without burying them in fried cheese is like trying to count to purple.

3. Jesus turned water into wine because even HE knew water is some bullshit.

Let’s make my ass great again.

Today I learned that my mother weighs herself every day, writes it down, and SAVES IT. I told her that sounds a little unhealthy, and she said, “It’s fine, it’s just that’s one of the only things I can control.”

NOT HELPING YOUR CASE, MA!

They weighed me at the doctor yesterday and it’s more than I’ve ever weighed, by, like, a LOT, so I made the mistake of telling her I need to lose some weight.

“Maybe you and I can do a contest and see who can lose the most weight!”

“Nope. Nooope. Hard pass.”

“Why? I thought that’d be motivation!”

“I am not contributing in any way to you doing that.”

You guys… HOW am I not in an institution?!

BTW, I feel like it’s no coincidence that I’ve gained 25 lbs since January. But fuck THAT — my ass will be great again.