Just for the record:

By 30 Aug ’05My Life

DAMN I look horrible. I’m STILL fat, despite the fact that I excercise and I’m good if I eat one square meal a day… no snacks. I’m convinced that I’m either pregnant or this damn Paxil (which does nothing for me, by the way) is making me retain ungodly amounts of water. Fat people sweat, and having to walk a good mile uphill in 98 degree weather every day leaves me feeling like a soggy dog by the time I get anywhere. Somebody thought it would be great if 85% of my sweat glands were in my forehead, so I’m thisclose to carrying a little rag in my back pocket and pimping the sharecropper-chic look. This morning, by the time I finished getting dressed (why am I about to sweat to death sitting down, naked, in an air-conditioned room?) I notice that I’m perspiring across the bridge of my nose. The bridge of my nose? Who sweats there?

So while I’m looking like an overworked stripper at 9am, I’m also starting to resemble a fat crack fiend, since sweaty hot skin = breakouts galore. And of course, I always break out in the middle of my forehead. This just gets better every minute, doesn’t it?

So all of my clothes are too small, since like I said I’ve reached the proportions of a wildebeast. This forced an emergency expenditure of a couple hundred dollars to buy pants that will fit my grossly enlarged ass. (Of course, it only speads on the y rather than the z-axis) This prevented me from buying any shoes, so I’m wearing flip flops I bought for $2.50 at the Children’s Place like they’re Rainbows. Let’s not forget about my tits, which have charted previously unknown territory in the alphabet by now… even the $80 bras I’ve been buying for the past year don’t fit. But you know what? I have to make do because even the big-bra people don’t make my size now. Great.

And back to the pants: I have to buy two sizes up from what I actually fit into because MY BELLY IS FUCKING HUGE. I’m expecting at any moment for a little skinless creature to bust out of there a’la the Alien movie. I look pregnant. So much so, that even though this is impossible, I’m going to the doctor tommorrow to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. So my denim Hammer-pants pants are actually too big, but I HAVE to buy them huge to button across my stomach. I should have just cut the bullshit and bought maternity jeans. If anyone wants to send me a gift certificate to A Pea in the Pod, please do.

So, in short, I look like a cretin. No, I don’t know anybody. No, I haven’t made any friends because I’m too ugly to share air with and I leave my room as little as possible because I feel like a rolling sack of shit. There is only one postive thing occuring in my life at this moment, and that is:

my hair looks fucking great.

The color came out very nicely, and for a $100 hairstyle, I’m making it last as long as possble. If the rest of me looked as nice as my hair does, I’d win beauty pageants. It’s perfect. I can say with absolute conviction now that God really hates me this week. Really.

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