Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Stop Eating Pork Rinds by the POUND and maybe you too could lose a little weight.

So, I'm sitting in the break room eating my salad and my low fat yogurt, and trying to pretend that this is an actual meal, and not one of the things I do in the name of my vanity and the size of my ass.

This is going pretty well, actually, because I am very good at lying to myself. I do it all the time. Coconut cream pie low fat yogurt is totally the same as coconut cream pie! Lettuce is yummy! I hate Ranch dressing! No one will notice that pimple in the middle of my face!So, I am lying to myself and feeling almost happy about my lunch.

And then.

Someone else came into the break room. This is okay. This is fine. Okay, she talks a lot. Like, people routinely walk away from her while she's in the middle of a sentence and she keeps talking a lot. Like she has phone conversations in her cubicle, and hangs up the phone, and repeats the entire conversation out loud to herself a lot. And she's kind of passive aggressive and sometimes extremely condescending. It is okay. I have flaws, too. I can be nice. I can choose to be happy in any situation! (Told you, I'm really good at lying to myself). And okay, fine, she has a double bacon cheeseburger and some french fries from Wendy's and the fries smell like I imagine heaven probably smells, but I have WILLPOWER (*cough*) and they aren't my fries anyway.

So now I'm eating a salad and yogurt while pretending to like it while smelling french fries, which are in my top 10 favorite foods. And I'm talking to someone who can irritate me without even breaking sweat (which, by the way, is actually really unusual for me. I'm almost never annoyed by people, because they think I'm sweet, but what I really am is exceptionally skilled at ignoring people to their faces; so, she's talented, is what I'm saying).

I am trying very hard to ignore her sweetly to her face, but then a sentence out of the vortex of words proceeding from her mouth catches my attention.

"It is just so unfair that you are so thin and you don't even have to try."

Bitch are you kidding me? One of us at the table is clearly trying, and it ain't you. I froze with my last forkful of fucking LETTUCE halfway to my mouth and stare at her as she shoves another bite of DOUBLE BACON CHEESEBURGER into her mouth.

"Well," I tell her, "I DO run every day. And do yoga. And frankly, I fucking hate salad."

"Oh, I can't run. I can't exercise because I had surgery on my knee and I just can't do any exercises at all ."

I mention that the 80-year old woman my mom works for recently had a similar surgery and is now exercising regularly. Which she ignores.

Also she tells me this while eating food that has enough calories to be all the calories anyone would need for an entire day. But she will go back to her cube and eat mother-fucking PORK RINDS out of a gallon size container for the rest of the afternoon.

And then she says it again! "Its so unfair you don't even have to try!"

Which makes me wonder if this actually happened at all. Maybe I had some sort of starvation induced hallucination and I did not really tell her about the various ways in which I do, in fact, try very hard to stay the weight I am.

Monday, October 25, 2010

I'm sorry, non-football people, but even you have to admit this is a little amusing.

One of these is Vanilla Ice. One of these is Ryan Mallet, quarterback for the Arkansas Razorbacks.

Secretly, I'm pretty sure they are BOTH Vanilla Ice.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Try not to get any sex on you

I am supposed to tell you the story about the worst guy I ever dated, and I will. As soon as I figure out how to write it so that you can see his awfulness truly, in all its splendor.

Until then, I leave you with some of my husband's words of wisdom from Saturday night. My husband shared this little tidbit with the entire bar:

"Dude. You should never carry cash. You should never touch a one dollar bill. Something like 80% of them have cocaine on them and I'm pretty sure like 100% of them have been in contact with a hooker's asshole. Seriously, when you touch one dollar bills you get drugs and sex on you."

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Pants on Fire

Because so many of you (whatever, 1 of you totally qualifies as "many") seemed excited about the prospect of more stories of me dating the mentally ill...I give you the story of my very first real boyfriend who I was allowed to go on "car dates" with and who was, indeed, mentally ill. In fact, he was a pathological liar. Not in that "all boys are liars" way (which I totally hate, by the way, most people lie) but in that "telling lies for no discernible purpose pretty much every time he opened his mouth" way.

On our first date, he wanted to take me somewhere fancy (Red Lobster). On the way to the restaurant he kept telling me how pretty I looked and how it made him think of this song that he really wanted me to hear. He kept scanning the classic rock stations trying to find it, but no one was playing the particular song he wanted. He turned off the radio and sang it to me himself.

I will just give you a moment here to absorb that, and compose yourselves.

I sat there as he sang "Wonderful Tonight", trying to look impressed, but mostly wondering when he would be done so we could get to the part of the evening where I could pretend that never happened. We finally arrived at the restaurant where he opened my car door, opened the restaurant door, and practically knocked the waitress over trying to seat me. And he talked. And talked. And talked. And by "talked" I mean "lied." He talked about the time he and his friend saw these 2 naked women driving a Jeep, and the women really wanted to jump their bones but he and his friend turned them down. He talked about how he had a ton of cars. He talked about his skills in the martial arts.

On the way home I mostly pretended to be asleep so the talking would stop, but as we pulled up to my house he looked over at me, and he smiled, and he said, "I really love you. I love you so much." Oh. Kay.

Sadly, I continued to date him for a few more months. Even more sadly, the guy who came after him was worse.