“Just writing to remind you you’re a fat-ass. Carry on!

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.

EDIT
Followup: If you ever wondered, this is what happens when you tweet publicly that “Cigna can eat a dick.”

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.

Fuck it, I should just get fatter.

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.

Weight for it…

Obviously I’d be a couple weeks late on a New Year’s resolution, but…*sigh* I’m a little tired of being fat. 
So I joined a 60-day challenge group thing at my gym, and they weighed me, and…*sigh* Yeah.
So…*sigh* Fine. FINE!
I’m eating fruit, and you know what? Fuck fruit.
Honestly, I don’t mind fruit, but my brain is being a COMPLETE asshole about everything I’m doing. So fuck fruit. And fuck exercise, which I did last night, and it was a bunch of goddamn horseshit — all red-faced and sweaty, no orgasm to show for it. Just…WHY.
Also, fuck my Fitbit for being a judgy asshole. I’ll walk when I WANT to, you dick!
(I also have PMS, in case that wasn’t clear…)

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.

Oh. Well, fuck you, too, Victoria’s Secret.

Oh, OK, cool, ‘cause my fat ass needed to save some money not shopping your bullshit, anyway, you word-misusing jagoff fuckface. (Even putting aside this topic, dude sounds like a complete tool.)

Via Jezebel: Victoria’s Secret Doesn’t Want Plus Size or Trans Women Walking the Runway

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… 🙄

My pants are judgy whores.

I mean…I guess as weight-loss motivators go, splitting the seam on a fairly new — and not inexpensive — pair of pants is probably a pretty good one, if a bit unflattering. 🙄

FINE.

“Girl, look at that body…”

Yesterday I wore skinny pants, except I’m NOT skinny, and then I had Chinese food, and then I got puffy, aaand now I have this…fat-rash above my belly button where my tummy was trying to escape my belt.

Honestly, I don’t even know how y’all deal with how sexy I am.