Never again

I will never be that girl again

who tempts and tramples men's hearts,

to inflict physical pain on the ones they love,

to come between spouses,

to sneak off into dark corners of friends' houses

when it's late and we've called to say we've gone to sleep.

I will never intentionally make another girl weep.

Because now I know what it feels like

to only be able to picture

her oversized mouth gnawing at his lips

every time he leans in to kiss me,

to be broken inside

and physically ill

and too shaky to quietly drive away.

My recent weight gain and the boy I (unfairly) blame it on

Right now, I'm the fattest I've ever been in my life. Fatter than "that time of the month" bloating fat. Fatter than freshman-year fat. Fatter than the Curse of Columbia fat (that's when I go home and drink 3,000 calories every night and wake up at noon to cure my hangover only by going to breakfast and consuming multiple pounds of bacon. The kind of fat that adds chins. And now, I'm even fatter than that.) I am for real, for serious FAT.

It all started when I began seeing THIS----->

boy. This boy is by no means fat...but he does love to eat (and drink), just like myself. Between drinking red wine like it's water, consecutive nights of Fourthmeal, and all the yummy food he brings us home from work, we've both gained some extra "love fat." 

The idea of love fat is legit. I've been reassured by other couples I know. Basically all we do is eat, drink, and be merry. We lay around watching our HBO shows while feeding each other cheesecake. That's about as gluttonous as it gets. Two problems with the love fat excuse: 1) I've been using it as a reason for my laziness, and 2) His new poundage doesn't really show, while mine takes the form of hideous blubber.

Some recent happenings that led up to me rebelling against my love fat:

• I looked in a full-length mirror and didn't recognize the reflection. Like, I gasped. It scared me.
• My butt doesn't fit in my pants.
• My guy friends from high school asked if I got a boob job.
• I now have calf cellulite.
• I made the mistake of weighing myself tonight.

So, after much consideration, I'm determined to lose at least some of my love fat. (While keeping the love, of course.) I'm putting it in writing so I'll feel guilty if I don't stick to it. But I'm not kidding myself. I'm not going to make some hardcore list like "Go to the gym every day. Eat only vegetables. Have uncomfortable, unenjoyable workout sex." I'm going to start with a few simple things:

• No more fast food. Obviously it's bad for you. We all saw "Supersize Me." That shit was gross.
• Smaller portions. And by smaller portions I don't mean mini plates of greens. I mean NOT ordering two appetizers and finishing them all by myself.
• WAY less alcohol consumption. This one is self-explanatory. And this one I do blame completely on the boy. (Love you, honey. Kisses. Don't be mad.)
• Low-impact physical activity. This does NOT mean exercise. This does not mean running miles. This does not mean going to the gym. This means if I walk around my block or do leg lifts one night while watching Bravo, I'm going to pat myself on the back.

Obviously I have ridiculously low standards. At least I'm being honest. If I stick to these small restrictions, hopefully I'll be able to move on to something more advanced. And I'm hoping my Love will support me with these very small changes so we can both be skinny again.

My four jobs

So I went from having one, part-time job at the gallery to having basically four jobs. (That explains my absence from blogging. My poor, sweet, lonely blog.)

I finally have a real, legit job. I started a few weeks ago doing newsletters and marketing stuff for a CPA/consulting firm. I hadn't been creative in a corporate environment since last September when my internship at Fleishman ended, so it's been interesting to be in that position again. For some reason I'm not at my creative best when I'm billing time to multiple clients in increments of .25 hours. Weird, huh?

I'm also still working at the gallery on weekends and still (trying) to keep up with my Examiner articles. I was reprimanded for not publishing enough the other day. That sucked. After this I think I'll write a really wonderful, intriguing, amazing article about thrift store do's and don'ts. (No research required. Painless.)

My fourth job is interesting...I'm doing some freelance writing/editing for this cool lady on the side. (Basically any nights I can squeeze it in.) It's actually been very educational and I enjoy it because I know she really appreciates it. Eventually I'll be listing artwork online, as well, and hopefully securing some commission.

That's my life, in a nutshell. Definitely haven't had a lot of time to be social. Actually no time. (I don't include driving over to my boyfriend's place at midnight to escape the bugs at my dad's house as "social.")

A collection of random thoughts on summertime approaching

1. Friend weddings. I'm getting old and it's getting warm when there are friend weddings.

2. Conan's coming back and it's about damn time. WHY did you leave us for so long with nothing but the comic failures of Jimmy Fallon?

3. Please don't ask me again if I'm "ready for swimsuit season." Does eating a whole bag of cheese puffs while I watch 4 consecutive hours of Bravo look like I'm ready for swimsuit season? I have new cellulite in places I didn't even know it was possible to have cellulite and haven't been tanning in months. Time to buy a one-piece. Or mom-skirt.

4. Innsbrook! Yay!

5. Little broseph's baseball games. It's about time we mold him into a fine young athlete in hopes that he gets a college scholarship for baseball (because he def won't be getting one for anything else.)

Dear Anonymous,

Sometimes I miss you, and hate myself for missing you. I wish things could have turned out differently, but they didn't. No one will ever come close to understanding me the way you did. This is both a good and a bad thing, and it also drives me absolutely crazy with frustration and confusion. Please let this suffice as a response for now.

Thoughts on the Season 5 Lost Finale

1. That was a very impressive, large statue.

2. Ok, so we still don't know who the eff Jacob is?

3. John Locke (or imposter John Locke, whatever that was about?) has gross man boobs.

4. How sexy were Jack and Sawyer when they were beating the shit out of each other?

5. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Juliet was letting go of Sawyer's hand. Oh, but then I knew to laugh when she survived that fall and detonated the bomb.

6. Good thing next season is the last. (I hate to say it, but they should've let it go after season 2 or 3 while it was still in its prime.). But maybe we'll finally find out what the black monster smoke is or why the polar bears were so overgrown?

Bad Dream

I had a horrible dream about you last night.
Your fat body was crushing me 

and I couldn't get away from your old-man aftershave/sweat smell.

It made me feel sick inside 

and even more sick when I woke up 

because it was one of those dreams where you suspect it might've been real 

but talk yourself into believing that it wasn't.
I don't have to talk myself into believing the regret I feel, though.

That's very real. 

And if you knew you were still haunting me,

your happiness surrounding the situation would be even more real

and equally as sick

as I feel.