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.
Y’all. If it’s possible where you live, put this ice cream in your face.
I paid $6.49 for a fucking PINT of it, but it’s among the top 10 best things I’ve had in my mouth since 2012.
*nod* Yeah, that sounds about right. Maybe also a snack and an orgasm, but I seem to have those under control on my own.
I’ve always assumed Doritos were *already* for women — duh, they’re V-shaped.
It probably speaks volumes about my romantic future that today I received email coupons from both OkCupid and Grubhub, and deleted the OKC one without reading it, but hopped on that Grubhub shit like white on rice. (Especially since I used it to order Indian food, so literal white rice is forthcoming. As is my true soulmate, paneer.)
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.
I just dropped flaky bits of cinnamon bun into my cleavage, in case you were wondering if I could BE any sexier.
I’ve been so run down that I was a little worried about my blood donation appointment today. I know I CAN donate, but I was concerned about feeling even more depleted. So I Googled it, and dammit, Australian Red Cross — I can’t decide if I’m comforted or insulted by your assurance.
“Oh, because I’m a woman overrun with hormones, I must want snacks and a couch? How dare you stereotype me?!”
“You DO want snacks and a couch.”
Co-signed, for tonight I shall bathe in movie theater popcorn, telling both my diet and my budget to go fuck themselves.
Via The Oatmeal: