ashleekm
Skinny Bitches.
Aug 09, 2012
What have I done in the past four days?Nothing.
That's right. Zip.
Well, that's not entirely true. I've breathed. My bed and I have reached new depths of our cyclically abusive relationship wherein it takes advantage of me and I berate it about how uncomfortable it is and then it reminds me if it were so uncomfortable, I wouldn't spend hours a day on top of it, wasting away. The bed always wins.
I've eaten. Pringles and powdered donuts and chewy Sweet Tarts and this ridiculous concoction I created out of basic necessity two years ago consisting of butter, onions fried in said butter, boiled potatoes added to said fried onions, more butter, and melted cheddar cheese with a whole shit-ton of salt for good measure. Oh, and Chef Boyardee ravioli.
I've complained and whined, which I'm pretty sure I would own the gold medal for if it were an Olympic sport. If life were the sport, I'd be Ryan Lochte. If complaining is the sport, I Michael Phelps that shit.
I've done some research about career fields and annual average salaries of registered nurses and the best cities to live in as of 2012. (Seriously, New Hampshire was number one. NEW HAMPSHIRE.)
But mostly, I've just felt sorry for myself.
Today, I was stalking Jenna Marbles. If you don't know who that is, Google her. Then come back to me after you've spent hours of your life that you'll never get back laughing so hard you cry at some of her Youtube videos. As I was watching Jenna, and blindly hating her for being thin, blonde, and generally flawless-skinned, I clicked on a video where she talks about her diet and exercise.
It's easy for me to assume about skinny girls. Especially the ones with blonde hair who wear MAC makeup and pretty clothes and who probably smell like sunshine and glitter. (Yeah, glitter has a smell. Don't judge me.) I assume they were born that way, they're naturally that way, they don't have to work for it, they don't understand what fat chicks go through, blah blah blah. It's another version of feeling sorry for myself. (I told you. Michael Phelps that shit.)
As she was talking about her -mostly- Vegan diet and her interval training at the gym, etc, I realized... these girls have to work, too. It's a basic law of nature. Sure, some bitches get lucky for awhile, but eventually, your metabolism is like Liam Neeson. It will find you, and kill you. You can't outrun it forever, (which maybe makes it more like Chuck Norris than Liam Neeson? Either way, it's a bad ass.)
I can complain all I want about how life isn't fair and how I freak out when I don't have a pack of cigarettes on my counter and a box of ice cream sandwiches in my freezer, (the mint chocolate chip kind are the shit), but in the end, I'm sort of just complaining, whining, and pitying myself into a doomed life of being boring, miserable, fat, alone, smelly, and single.
I'm sort of starting to get sick of myself. I booked a vacation off from me, but it involved some illegal activity. Apparently, those kinds of things are "frowned upon" after you get past your "teenage rebellion phase". Anyway, at some point, I'm sure enough will be enough. I think it has to gradually build. I don't think I've totally hit the "change point" yet, but I think with each day that passes, I'm getting closer.
Underachiever that I am, closer is good enough for me.
