Letting my fat flag fly

Perhaps I’m a little too irritable to start an audiobook about the connection between obesity and clutter…

Also, I swear it’s a joke — I know we already have QUITE enough bloated, size-queeny, too-fat-to-function patriotism.

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Let’s do this, Gilbert Grape’s mom.

Finally remembered to weigh myself “first thing in the morning after I pee but before I drink anything, because that’s my TRUE weight,” and…FUCK, now I gotta jump out the window.

It’s fine. Now I have my baseline to try to LOSE some weight. My fat, fat baseline… 🙄

Depression: Brought to you by Massengill

I’ve had numerous discussions with multiple mental health professionals about this, but I still can’t tell if I’m depressed or just lazy. They look the same on me, which is why I have a hard time even saying I have depression, because, like…if you have the option, why are you not still in bed right now? Everyone I know would choose this. Bed is amazing. And depression is a douchebag loiterer.

Maybe I’m depressed because you’re terrible?

A friend shared this screenshot of an online dating profile she encountered, and aside from the fact that this man is obviously insensitive garbage, um…no psychiatric illness RHYMES with depression, you fucking nimrod. People don’t have “cepression.”

I mean, I guess depression rhymes with itself? But that’d be a pretty shitty poem. You should take a creative writing class or something, I bet you could learn some ways to work around that mental block. Or even just Google “words ending in ession” — Oppression. Concession. Transgression. Impression.

You’re welcome.

🎵 “We built this city on Su-da-feddd…” 🎶

Last week I went on vacation and stayed with a friend and her husband for part of the trip. My friend came down with a cold while I was there, and her lovely, amazing husband went out and brought her an assortment of cold meds, and when he realized he forgot something, went BACK out to get that as well.

So obviously now *I* have a cold, and I’m lookin’ around and it’s just me and Jesus in the house, and oddly, Jesus is shit at errands, so if I want drugs, I have to pull my 90-lb. skull off this pillow and go get them myself.

I see now that this is basically the ONLY reason to be in a relationship. A nice man is going to bring me wonton soup, but I don’t think he’s legally permitted to bring me Sudafed.

Right, then. So as soon as I get back from CVS, I’m gonna answer ALL the OkCupid messages, and hell, maybe sign up for Match, too.

“So, how did you two meet?”

“Well, it all began that day I needed a pharmacy minion…”