Hi, my father just shared this on Facebook with a “Hee,” so if you need me I’ll be jumping out a window.
I called a Lyft to take me to Federal Donuts.
I think I just got fatter.
I love how they’re making cuter plus-size swimsuits, but can you cut it out with the string-held open backs? Baby got back fat, bro — those strings would disappear into the trenches.
Hippie wisdom: “Just listen to your body, it’ll tell you what it needs.”
Me: “Mm’kay. Body, what do you need?”
Body: “I need to order a large pizza, eat one full slice, then eat just the cheese off the rest.”
Me: [blink] “Um… Hey, hippies? I don’t know if the fat broad can be trusted…”
I took a couple days off, trying to alleviate some work burnout, and put myself on the waitlist for a popular class at my gym tonight. I figured if I got in, that was Jesus telling me to get off my ass and leave the house, and if not, clearly He’d prefer I stay home and watch comedy shows.
They just emailed me that I got in, and godDAMMIT, Jesus! This is why I’m not religious!
Ugh. FINE. I’ll do something “They” claim is good for mental health — fucking hippies tryna thwart the part of my brain that’s perfectly content being fat and depressed, thankyouverymuch. 🙄
I’m preliminary swimsuit shopping for my April vacation, and even on the curvy-chicks, we-need-underwires, our-models-have-an-adorable-hint-of-backfat site, I want to jump out the goddamn window.
It’s February. This layer of fat is keeping me warm, thankyouverymuch. I will be a quality buffet if the apocalypse happens — I am marbled as FUCK. And I’m also SUPER good spending my life in these oversized sweats. HMPH.
“How’s weight loss going?”
“Well, I worked out for 2 hours this morning, then had to WORK for 8, and now it’s 9 p.m. and taco delivery is on its way, and then I’m gonna go collapse in my bed in a fat, torpid, guacamole-infused heap, so…👍🏼👍🏼👍🏼“
This was in my mail when I got home, as if Cigna knew I’d ordered a big fuck-off pizza on the way.
In a related story, Cigna can eat a dick, which I hear are low in cholesterol.
Followup: If you ever wondered, this is what happens when you tweet publicly that “Cigna can eat a dick.”
I understand “non-scale victories” and other standard things people say here, but also…The number on my scale is not moving, and now I just want to eat only manicotti because fuck it, my efforts are meaningless and human bodies are stupid.
Thank you for attending my TED Talk.
Current mood: “Oh, this cheery bitch can kiss the fattest part of my ass.”
So yeah, my exercise program is going well.