Saturday, September 13, 2008


I was recently at the gyno's office, and when I stepped on the scale and read the number, I almost shat all over it. I have never been someone to obsess about weight, and it's not like my pants haven't been fitting, but this disturbed me. Mainly, and I am not even joking a little bit, because it meant I had something in common with Tyra Banks.
I gained over 10 pounds in a month. Which is grossing me out, but also making me feel like a bad feminist or whatever. I'm probably already a disappointment to my women's studies buds anyway, so I'm watching what I eat and exercising more. It's not really that bad, or a struggle or anything, I guess because I used to be a fit person. I just kind of gave up at some point, around the time I started getting Depo Provera injections, which make you want to eat your weight in Pop-Tarts.

The hardest part is that I'm trying to wean myself off my drug of choice:
The love affair started when I started college, and it's only grown more intense. Diet Coke is like my baby, you guys - f you attempted to pry a can out of my arms, you'd end up with two bloody stumps. But, aspartame is slowly rotting my insides and bringing Tyra and I closer together on the scale, so I'm cutting down. I cold-turkeyed it to one can a day, and I'm hoping to eventually rid the house of my crack baby entirely. The thing is, it's really difficult. So difficult that I need to whine about it on the interweb. Waaaaaahhhhh!

Thanks for that. Now back to the point. In a month or so I hope to be leaner, meaner, and less poisoned. Like I said, I didn't explode out of my jeans or anything, so I expect to still be a size 8 until the end of days. I'm just hoping I can feel better about myself and continue to spew out hateful slurs when Tyra Banks show up on the TV machine, instead of identifying with her fat ass.

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