- I started a job in an office in March. They're all lovely, but they talk about weight/losing weight/eating all the time, I obviously sit at a desk all day long and there are copious supplies of fucking biscuits. I'm a typical office cliché of getting fat v v fast.
- Combined with the typical cliché of getting a new man (new-ish) and eating to keep up with him (except my cheese breakdowns). We had to go out for food the other day and WHAT IS WITH EVERYTHING BEING COVERED IN CHEESE? Under that it was effectively just baked beans and slices of potato, neither of which I really like, and certainly don't want to eat covered in greasy cheese fat. (On a side note, that cost £11. WTF.) I made a minor scene, he was like 'yeah, we're never eating out again'. I'm like 'no'. So basically now at his house I eat toast. Meagre but necessary, because, otherwise, all we'd eat would be pizza and chips - acceptable for trashy Jersey Shore marathons but at NO OTHER TIME.
- My internet connection in my room is fucked, so I'm cramming this in on the living room computer while I have a chance.
- I'm so fucking fat.
- All I'd talk about besides my flabby and ever expanding gut and thighs would be my lesbian infatuations with Tina Fey (which are dwindling now I've found out she only likes 'nice' guys. Namby pamby or wut. She doesn't know what she's missing with a dodgy, narcisstic-but-simultaneously-self-loathing dangerously older/committed man who likes things a bit rough. And by that I mean everyone I've ever dated)
So, yep. I'm aware my grace period for all these things is pretty much over. Maybe I should just accept that I'm destined to be a fat girl.
I hope you're all doing good. Sorry I don't read your blogs or comment as much as I did - the Internet connection thing has put paid to that, really. I miss you x