Hello hello. It's the Tuesday after Labor Day, and yes, I am back here in my cubicle hell. I *am* feeling better about myself, however, as I am counting calories. I'm staying under 1,400 a day so as to lose a supposed 2 lbs. per week.
You know when you think you look cute and you expect at least one (non-creepy pervert type) to say so too? Like, "Hey, what a lovely blouse you have on today!" or some shit. Then no one says any such thing, and you're like, do I actually look like an escaped upright manatee today? That's what I'm asking myself. According to a (fully-clothed) picture taken of me on Pismo Beach, I do in fact look like a manatee. So I guess there's no reason I would'nt look like one at the moment.
Or maybe I work with a bunch of dicks? Well my sister is being a dick, that's for certain. I cheerfully wrote her to tell her I was counting calories and she immediately fired back that it did not matter because I still eat utter shit and that she's having water and strawberries as we type. Goody for you, you dick! So I replied that she was a dick on Topamax, a drug I too had been thin on and would continue to be thin on had it not given me crippling kidney stones.
THAT'S MY MIGRAINE MEDICATION AND I HARDLY TAKE IT! she retorted. Bullshit, your migraine medication! If that's your migraine medication, then excuse me for not referencing your actual weight loss drug of choice, which based on your use of caps lock, is meth. I sit waiting for an apology, but it is not likely coming.
So I walked briskly, beeteedubs. Past the cute cottage apartments, down a suspect alleyway behind the Check n Go, and finally back down my work road in the blistering sun. For this, I have earned sixty more calories of "utter shit."
If only I had access to fine fruit like the Bourgeoisie.