Don’t take away my hobbies.

“Stop beating yourself up.”

“But beating myself up is my cardio.”

Huh. Well, this escalated quickly…

If you’ve never had your brain telling you you’re an undateable garbage monster on the SAME day you realize the last person you dated is now in a seemingly happy relationship and that you haven’t had ONE date since you broke up three YEARS ago…I highly, HIGHLY recommend it.

Bright side: I honestly didn’t realize it was him. I think I forgot what he looked like?

So clearly a very serious “relationship.”

“Whatever, sea cow…”

Therapist: “So how’s it going with your body image as far as your vacation and trying on swimsuits?”

Me: “I mean, it is what it is. I can’t change much in 2 weeks, so…this is my body, I’m gonna go have fun.”

Therapist: “That sounds like a very healthy perspective. Good for you.”

Later, while trying on shorts…

Me: “Cool, so I’m basically a manatee.”

Aaand now I need more therapy. 🙄

Professionally insecure

I had an insecure day at work, and I’m attempting to reason with the cunt-y part of my brain that’s telling me I’m complete shit at the ONE marketable skill I allegedly have.

But the thing is, the bitch in my brain doesn’t run on logic. So, “Hey, you still HAVE the job, and you just had a good annual review and got a raise!” And she’s like, “NOPE, doesn’t matter. You suck at everything and should just hole up in your hermit fortress and stare at the walls forever. Oh, and you’ll do that ALONE, as long as we’re planning.”

This part of my brain should be in Congress. Can’t tell that bitch SHIT.

But also, fuck you, Brain. I’m gonna give you sleep, then baked goods in the morning, and tomorrow will be better. You go ‘head and try talkin’ trash with a face fulla scone. Wench.

My 600-Pound Brain

The other day my friend made a side-by-side photo of her face on the day she started working out, and her face a few weeks after, and you can really see a difference — she’s lost weight and she’s glowier (totally a word).

I just did the same photo, and…welp, now I’m just gonna eat a whole pizza for breakfast because fuck this fruit bullshit, I look EXACTLY the same. My body is disloyal and this is just what I weigh. Maybe I’ll be a fat activist. Maybe I’ll just gain MORE weight and get my own reality show. I’m probably funnier than most of the people on My 600-Pound Life.

I quit. Send snacks.

Thank you for attending my tantrum.

“Any questions?” Oh, SO many questions!

My brain on online dating: “Have I told you lately that you’re an undateable garbage monster?”

Also my brain on online dating: “Mm hm, sure have — several times, actually. Also, shut the fuck up, I’m trying to get us laid here.”

Sounds like a charmer…

Say what you will about my broken self-image, but at least I have the decency to blame MYSELF for the fact that I can’t get laid.

Via the Miami Herald: “Florida yoga shooter was a misogynist who wanted ‘crucifixion’ for ‘American whores.’”

Can I have imposter syndrome ABOUT imposter syndrome?

I hate when you tell a therapist something and she says, “OK, well, [logic logic logic], but also that’s definitely something we’ll continue working on.”

That’s Therapist for, “Gurl, you cray.”

Pfft. Like it’s so crazy to not believe you can even HAVE “imposter syndrome” because, “Well, it’s not a syndrome — all that stuff is just TRUE.” Honestly. Goddamn hippies. 🙄

(^ See, now, that’s a joke, ‘cause I KNOW that’s kinda fucked up, so please don’t think I’m serious, and then explain the syndrome, and then make me feel like I have imposter syndrome re: effective use of sarcasm.)

“If you get any fatter, you’re gonna die. Love, Mom.”

My mom isn’t saying I need to lose weight, but since I mentioned it earlier, just so I know, So-and-So just died of a heart attack at age 43 because she was overweight.

She also had high blood pressure and smoked, which Mom knows I don’t do, but… just, you know… “It’s not just about vanity.”

“Well, yeah, but my health is fine at this weight. Blood pressure, cholesterol, it’s all perfect.”

“Yeah, I know, but you have to keep it that way.”

So I guess “Don’t get any fatter” is the sage wisdom getting passed down through the generations this Mother’s Day?

Cool. Noted. Someone put that shit on a Hallmark card.

And it was on the way out the door, too. My mom is a fucking MASTER of the emotional drive-by.

“I wasn’t trying to say you need to lose weight.”

“I really don’t know what else you could’ve been trying to say, Mom.”

“Alright…”

Aaand SCENE. Her husband got in the car and drove them away.

We win at communication.

P.S. Why, yes, she DID send me home with cake and soft pretzels, why do you ask?

My mail is fat shaming me.

I feel attacked by my mail today.