Am I the only one who thought the guy with the beard and the hat sang bass in The Oak Ridge Boys? (Admit it: you thought he was going to open up with that chorus.)
I find it unfair that at the most unhappy time in my life, I also was the thinnest.
I am too thin in that picture. My boobs are only being buoyed up because I have employed the use of those silicone inserts into my bra. (Side note: Those make excellent cat toys. I found that out the hard way.) My already pointy chin is exaggerated by my slightly emaciated face. I could dry my jeans in the dryer and then put them on. People suggested perhaps I had a drug problem. My exhusband said I should eat a sandwich.
And I loved it.
The thing is, it was easy. I was unhappy and I just plain didn’t want to eat. I subsisted mainly on anti-anxiety pills and Diet Coke (and Miller High Life). Now that I’m happy and healthy and less full of indulgent depression, I can’t seem to stop eating. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?
When the lead singer is also the drummer.
that I have to work. I mean, really, who wants to work? Wouldn’t you rather not?
So it’s bad enough I have to work, but to have to park half a mile from my building, and on the side of the parking lot and not even in a real spot is just plain unfair.
I’ll walk two miles down the Las Vegas strip. I’ll walk four miles for exercise. Heck, I’ll even run (jog). But walking that far just to end up at work sucks.
And you people with the short cars that make it look like your spot is empty and get my hopes up can go to hell.
WordPress congratulates me when I write a post. I think it’s because I’m new to blogging. After I just posted that last one, this is what it said:
This is your 6th published post. Hip! This post has 7 words.
I’m totally using “hip” as my emphatic interjection of choice from now on.
is the best song title in history.
It’s because she’s so stupid. And she has no idea. If she were dumb and knew it, it would be OK.
(Side note: why is it “OK?” Doesn’t “okay” seem more appropriate, or more like a word? But it’s “OK.”)
She has a terrible habit of saying, “You know what I mean?” after she says something. It’s like she’s dropped something so brilliant she wants to make sure you can keep up.
I can keep up, sister. And you’re a know-it-all and a dummy, which is a terrible combination. I’d like to borrow a quote from Sarah:
The sign of intelligence is that you are constantly wondering. Idiots are always dead sure about every damn thing. (Jaggi Vasudev)
I saw a woman at Bed, Bath, and Beyond about a month ago. (And yes, I’m aware that it doesn’t have serial commas in the actual name, but it really should, so I’m writing it that way.)
I know this woman from my part-time job at a major weight loss company. I work there part time because 1. I am terrified I will gain the weight I lost back, and you can’t work there and be overweight, 2. I like it, and 3. I get to help people. This lady at B, B, and B is a member (at her goal weight, for the record).
I pretend I don’t see her because she’s with someone and while I usually am not an avoider, I feel weird saying hello to members who are with someone, lest they have to say, “I know that girl from <major weight loss company>.” I don’t want to air anyone’s dirty laundry.
Plus, this lady is annoying.
So I’m pretending not to see her, waiting to return my towels and she shouts, “HELLO! Did you have your baby?”
And I say, “Yes. Three months ago!” and smile like I’m glad to see her.
1. The last time I saw you, I was nine months pregnant, and that was three months ago. I am either the most pregnant person in history, or something has gone hideously wrong.
2. Do I look like I’m still pregnant? That was about 30 pounds ago.
3. Surely someone I know IN A WEIGHT LOSS CAPACITY would notice I am no longer pregnant.
answering “You look great” with
“Thank you, but you should see me with my clothes off. It’s terrible.”
Lest you think I’m a) a weirdo, b) taking myself too seriously, or c) throwing around “big words” to sound smart, given the title of this blog, let me tell you: I’m not.
The title is taken from Invisible Monsters, and is supposed to be a photographer shouting instructions at a model…and I think it’s hilarious. How anyone can convey “detached existentialist ennui” in a photograph, I don’t know. And that’s the point (or one of them), and it’s also the point about this: how anyone can convey him or herself in a blog, I don’t know. Do I put pictures of myself? Do I write “here’s what I did today” posts? Do I post pictures of my son and my cats? Is all that completely boring or self-absorbed? Does it matter?
I thought about this a lot. Too much, in fact. And I talked to my husband and asked him if I’d be too narcissistic making a blog and we talked about it over sushi. (Because that’s what an attorney and someone with a degree in philosophy do: they dig entirely too deep about things that don’t need to be that thoroughly explored. Over sushi.)
What we ultimately decided was: so what if it is? (I think that’s what we decided because I had had a beer by then, and I just had a baby and have the tolerance of a high school freshman.) And if you think I’m boring, self-absorbed, or throwing around words, I’d like to quote one of my favorite movies: