If you haven't noticed, and I'm sure you have.
I've gained about 15 pounds. I attribute it to the two ridiculously most stressful months I've had in my life. EVER. It was art fair season.
I didn't even get to go to one, just all the events leading up to them are insane.
I mean sure, retail is a bitch.
BUT ART FAIRS SUCK WAAY WAY MORE.
Oh, and also I'm totally sedentary.
Why do I need to get up and get anything when I have an intern and/or boyfriend!?
Anyway, since I've gained some weight, I tried to remedy the fact (fat)
on Saturday night:
Jackie and I were suppose to meet for dinner at Diner around 8:30PM.
I had decided that I wasn't able to wait cause I was STARVING. (whatever that means)
And I ordered some fake chicken from Food Swings, and ate it during the last 45 minutes of my shift at Sweet Virginia (a vintage boutique I "work" at on Saturdays), and this is around 7PM.
BAD IDEA.
I get home and I felt so full.
That's where I decided to become one of "them".
I decided to go the distance and to shove my fingers down my throat
to induce vomiting, therefore, I would refund everything I had eaten
and would be on the path to Skinny-ness.
(Blair Waldorf is a binge eater!)
I march into my bathroom, pick up my purple tooth brush.
It had taken me a second to decide which end of the thing I wanted to use.
If I used the end with the bristles, it would have the memory of vomit stuck
on it for the rest of its life. I didn't want that.
So, I wiped off the bottom end of the tooth brush and proceeded to shove it
down my throat while I crouched over my toilet bowl.
First heave: It fucking hurt! My abdomen is not use to this kind of action.. any action.
Second heave: My eyes watered, my nose got snifle-y. Abdomen still hurt. A little bit of the mint milkshake I had earlier came up, and it tasted GROSS.
This is where I stood up and said out loud "Fuck this".
Eating less in the first place is so much easier.
So, I put on my coat and headed out to meet Jackie for my second dinner at Diner.
And that, my friends, was my affair with Bulimia.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
I'm over it>> seriously.
For the first time in my life. I do not want a boyfriend. I do not want someone to "love", or "save", even just be nice to.
The past.. 4? Wait.. 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22..The past six years, I've been in constant relationships. Continually-- falling, fighting, making up, fucking up and being kind to dudes.
That's so much time that I've spent on others, and hardly any of it on myself.
Who am I? What do I do?
I've noticed that whenever I have that sporactic break of being single, I make the largest and most beneficial leaps. Almost as if I'm making up for lost time.
adam,
andrew,
sean,
kyle,
brendan,
neil.
All cool guys, and all super fucking ridiculously good-looking-- but it would always be me, or someone else, or both, fucking ridiculously lacking in whatever it take to have a "healthy" relationship.
And every time one ended, it was also the ending of my teeny tiny world. Such woe.
Liiife shaatterinnng.
None of my ex-boyfriends are horrible people. There are a few that I would still take a bullet in the face for. Or you know, not eat meat for. Whichever comes first.
I'm such a serial monogamist. However, I honestly do no want to be anyone's girlfriend.
I love waking up alone. in my real bed. I love being with my friends and not worry if the night is going to end up with a fight.
Next month will be my year anniversary of moving to New York. And I still feel like I just arrived literally, yesterday.
I've made a life for myself here!(?) I live in an amazing apartment, with two great human beings. I live in a neighborhood, where I can buy groceries that don't smell like vomit and bleach-- and I can also walk down the street to one of my favorite restaurants.
I work for an amazing art gallery. And sometimes I feel (know) that I don't deserve my job, but it only makes me work that much harder.
For the first time-- because of my own self. I am happy. I'm not happy because I have a boyfriend who does shit for me. I'm proud because I do things for myself, and I can do them well.
Yup.
The past.. 4? Wait.. 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22..The past six years, I've been in constant relationships. Continually-- falling, fighting, making up, fucking up and being kind to dudes.
That's so much time that I've spent on others, and hardly any of it on myself.
Who am I? What do I do?
I've noticed that whenever I have that sporactic break of being single, I make the largest and most beneficial leaps. Almost as if I'm making up for lost time.
adam,
andrew,
sean,
kyle,
brendan,
neil.
All cool guys, and all super fucking ridiculously good-looking-- but it would always be me, or someone else, or both, fucking ridiculously lacking in whatever it take to have a "healthy" relationship.
And every time one ended, it was also the ending of my teeny tiny world. Such woe.
Liiife shaatterinnng.
None of my ex-boyfriends are horrible people. There are a few that I would still take a bullet in the face for. Or you know, not eat meat for. Whichever comes first.
I'm such a serial monogamist. However, I honestly do no want to be anyone's girlfriend.
I love waking up alone. in my real bed. I love being with my friends and not worry if the night is going to end up with a fight.
Next month will be my year anniversary of moving to New York. And I still feel like I just arrived literally, yesterday.
I've made a life for myself here!(?) I live in an amazing apartment, with two great human beings. I live in a neighborhood, where I can buy groceries that don't smell like vomit and bleach-- and I can also walk down the street to one of my favorite restaurants.
I work for an amazing art gallery. And sometimes I feel (know) that I don't deserve my job, but it only makes me work that much harder.
For the first time-- because of my own self. I am happy. I'm not happy because I have a boyfriend who does shit for me. I'm proud because I do things for myself, and I can do them well.
Yup.
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