Not to Beat a Dead Horse...

But I saw another article that threw my whole way of looking at food into orbit. Basically, it said that sit down restaurants have more calorie content in their food then fast food resturants. The kicker? The TGI Fridays Potato Skins contain 2,270 calories.

Here I thought that giving up all fast food was good for me. Turns out I've been doing a lot of things wrong lately.

No wonder I'm the fattest anorexic on the planet!

A Tiny Bit of Vidication

This Article vindicates me just a little bit from my earlier post. I hope that every woman reads that entire article. We all have a completely fucked up way of looking at food.

I wish I could go back to the time when I was young and I ate when I was hungry. A desert was something that was a treat when it came around, but it wasn't something that consumed our thoughts.

I wish I could think about food as keeping myself alive, not my reason for life.

Snap Judgements

My friend Melrose and I pulled up alongside an expensive silver bit of a car. I glanced over at the man driving it, and saw the slicked back hair and the matte black-rimmed glasses to match.

"So, this guy next to us? he's obsessed with Superman. He has the comics at home, the t-shirt that he wears under a suit at Halloween, and the cape, which he keeps in the back of his closet in a wooden box, so no one knows."

Melrose laughed and decided to play along too. "What's the girlfriend in the passengers seat look like?"

We let our car roll forward and not-so discreetly peeked into their car.

"Oh my god, his girlfriend is Asian! That means he's into the Smallville TV show, and she looks just like Lana Lang!" Momo said!

"He is so protective of her!" I said as he reached for her hand in her lap, "I bet you ANYTHING he has a huge hero complex! But he also feels like he can be a little bit dangerous...you know, like if some red Kryptonite was around"

The light turned, and SuperGuy sped off and cut in front of me.

His license plate read "GENTLMN"

Momo and I couldn't stop laughing for the next two lights.

Sexual Responsiblity

No, a different kind. I just have to get up on my soapbox for a minute about people having sex.

Why do insist upon inviting me over right before, so I have to catch you either in the act, or you refuse to open the door and answer your phone when I get there. I don't fucking understand you.

You are in a relationship, and if you wanted to have sex, why did you invite me over? I realize that on a certain level it's sexy for you to have sex and just get away with being caught, but don't take to long and then leave me on your front stoop, banging on your door.

It's rude. I don't care if you've been in a relationship for years or weeks. It's awkward for me, having to admit that you are having sex when I'd rather just pretend that you didn't. The mental picture of anyone I know personally getting it on is something I'd rather not picture. Then I have to imagine you naked, and I'd rather not.

Long story short, If I'm on my way over, keep it in your pants. It's really starting to piss me off.

Is it April 15th Yet?

Did you know the IRS hold music is The Nutcracker? I just found out now. I was doing pliés and arabesques all over my living room while worrying that the IRS was going to track me down and arrest me.

After a rousing romp through the apartment, I got the nicest lady at the IRS. No, seriously. I know it sounds sarcastic, but she helped me through some trauma. I had only gotten the $7.95 charge on my credit card, but not the amount that I owed. She told me what to do, and I felt so much better.

"So, that means you aren't going to send thugs to my door to beat me up tomorrow?" I asked her jokingly.

"Oh Honey," she replied, "We have bigger fish to fry. Have a nice day!"

Note to Self: Netflix the Nutcracker.

HeartSick

I'm feeling very heartsick right now. There are a lot of emotions flowing through my veins right now. Anger, sadness, betrayal. I'm merely a vessel for these emotions. Nothing is wrong in my life, but I carry these emotions in hopes that a friend won't have to.

I know she's in pain. And what she feels I feel. I know it won't make a difference, she'll still feel horrible, like the world is ending.

The world won't end. I'll be your crutch until you can stand strong.

I cry for you, in hopes that it will lighten your load. I know it doesn't help, but it feels like all I can do.

I cry for you, so you don't have to.

The emotional is overwhelming. Let me carry part of your load.

A Catharic Bit of Fiction

I’m torn up about our breakup last night. Not the fact that we broke up, of course, but just about your complete ass-hattery. Not only are you not who I thought you were, but I had no idea that one human could hold so many contradictions. Your asinine use of circular logic had me all but rolling on the floor. The way you can twist existence so that the earth revolves around you at twice it’s normal speed is amazing.

In the last few weeks of our relationship I’ve seen you go from normal to fear of commitment, and it’s been an exciting ride. From the ‘wow, sleeping with a hot blonde everyday is fun’ to ‘wait, you want me to support you in a decision?’

The greatest part was the way you projected all your mental issues on me. You had a problem with food, so I had to stock my own apartment with low-fat soymilk because it was ‘better for ME.’ Not you, but me. Suddenly my health was a huge concern, because I asked you once to stop me before I over-ate. And then I got the wrong brand of soy milk, and it was like the sky had fallen.

Near the end your behavior became what psychologists call the “Anxious/Ambivalent Attachment style.” I know you like to spout all your existentialist crap, but you rarely know what any of it means, so I’ll explain. An Anxious/Ambivalent attachment style is when someone has an expectation about social relationships characterized by a concern that others will not return affection. Now, as much as you’d like to say the same thing about me, I’ve got another one for you; the Arousal: Cost-reward model. What, you say? Well, that’s a theory that helping or not helping is a function of emotional arousal and analysis of the cost and rewards of helping.

Long story short, you’ve got a LOT of issues kid. And I’m giving you a complex by using all these big words, so I’ll let you take a break. Plus, I only got through the “A”s in my psych book, and we’d just be here all day.

But I’ll end on a note that is sort of close to the end of the alphabet:

You are a Complete Tool.