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Fight Fat Phobia

"Does this blog make me look fat?" "No, your face does."

Updated: 2017-03-17T17:08:16.747-07:00


Okay, hear me out...


I guess the thing is, that I never really wanted a weight-loss blog...not in so many words, anyway. ("No fear of that happening, since you never really lost weight, Tricia!" -the internet, collectively.) But somehow that's kinda what it became...because I mostly just fell in line doing what I thought what would put me in the loop and get me followers and friends and well, just people reading my blog, in general. If i was writing this for only me, I would just get a journal and not put my embarrassing stories out on the internet for all the world to see. But hey, we all want attention. But it was hard to keep writing knowing that i'd have to include a paragraph about how I fucked up again and ate too much and didn't lose weight and didn't do what I said I was going to do in the previous blogpost. Who wants to report their disappointments week after week? Not me! So I just stopped writing here...for, like, a really long time. Suffice it to say, I did not suddenly get skinny in that time. I am down about 40 pounds from the very first day I started this blog, but...that was like 47 years ago or something (give or take...)But I kinda wanna go back to why I really REALLY started this blog in the beginning. To write about me. The real me. I don't wanna talk about dieting AT ALL. I don't want to have to report on my weight gain or loss or stalemate. Who cares? It's just a fucking number. My general concern is that people see me as MORE than my excess why did I spend so much time writing about trying to lose it??I don't mean this as an insult to people who actually do write about their dietary trials and triumphs. If that works for you, and it helps you, then you should 100% write about it. just never did for me. I've been tempted to totally scrap this blog and just start over again...which is still an option...but for now, it's not necessary. Because it doesn't really matter where i'm writing this stuff. I just need it out of my head and into some written form. So i can go back and read it and reflect on it. I recently spent several workdays very successfully avoiding work to basically read this whole thing again. Over 300 entries. Mostly about bullshit, but some of them were a real punch in the gut. Those were the ones that mattered...and they weren't the ones about how I hated myself for eating carbs. Just sayin'...Life is still pretty boring, for the most part, but I do have some recent events to write about. Mostly I wanna self-evaluate some weird things that have happened along the way in my life. My awkward childhood, my awkward teen years, my awkward 20s, and obviously, my super awkward 30s. Harsh truths that may make you think less of me, but only if you're a judgey asshole, in which case, SCRAM.But hey, we'll get to all that later...In the meantime, here's an email I sent to Dina today when we were discussing the fact that I fall in love with every boy over stupid meaningless things, and...Croatians. TOn Tuesday, May 20, 2014, Patricia wrote:Well I didn’t live in his dorm or anything so I guess I wasn’t around it enough for it to bother me back then. I used to have lunch with them sometimes though and after he would eat, he would always smoke a cigarette with SUCH satisfaction that it made me wish I wanted to be a smoker. One day I was like “I’ve never seen anyone so satisfied with anything in their entire life as you are right now with that cigarette.” And he was like “she is my love…” and I said “oh, to be a cigarette.” And I felt SUPER WEIRD IMMEDIATELY because at that point I had never told a dude that I was into him or even alluded to it due to my crippling fear of rejection…I never even flirted or anything EVER and it came out of my mouth before I even realized and I felt this weird chill up my spine like I had just committed some crime. He smiled and was like “you don’t have enough evil inside to be mine.” And I was like all blushing and weird. In my head I was like wishing I was the kinda girl that stupid lines like that didn’t work on, but I couldn’t eve[...]

Is this thing on?


Anybody still read this thing? ...been thinking about bringing it back from the dead.

If opposites truly attract, the correct life strategy is to be a loser.


As I mentioned in a slightly earlier post, I've been going out a lot more recently. Recently being about the last 6-7 months or so. One day I just decided that being home sucks, so I started saying YES to literally any invitation I was given...even the weird/crappy ones. It's like I'm the living embodiment of that semi-okay Jim Carrey movie from a couple years ago! (not Cable Guy.)

Going out gives me a certain level of confidence. I feel like it's forcing me out of my depression, even if only for a few hours. But as with everything in my life, there's always someone ever-so-willing to remind me that I'm outta place.

Situation: Saturday night I went to this Nevada Women's Money Conference thing all day for work. Decided to meet up with some friends on Fremont Street (i.e. Old Las Vegas) for drinks. ALL NIGHT, I was having a GREAT time. conversation, feeling comfortable, laughing my ass off...just a good night, in general. Hours pass. It's roughly 1am and our group of 7 has dwindled down to just me and my friend Erik sitting at the bar talking.

This dude walks up and pushes his way in between us at the bar. I decide to make conversation because he's literally four inches away from my face already, so why not?

Me: That's a good beard, dude. (Side note: I like facial hair a LOT!)
Interrupting Douchebag: (hereby to be referred to as ID, for short!) Thanks. What kinda whiskey should I get?
Me: Um, Maker's Mark.
ID: (to bartender) One Maker's Mark on the rocks.
ID: (to Erik) Why are you drinking PBR? Is it cheap?
Me: It's 4 bucks. But all the other beers are 5 bucks, so I say pay the extra dollar and get what you want.
ID: That makes sense. You should work here, you're good at pushing booze.
Me: Yeah, that's why I sit here. They call me The Closer.
ID: I get it! Like she's pretty, and you're smart!
Me: ....Dang. That's kinda insulting to both of us, don't you think?
ID: Oh. Well, she might be smart...I never talked to her before.
Me: ..........................and??
ID: Did you want a drink or something? (oblivious or just a jerk??)
Me: Uhhhh, no, I think I'm done drinking tonight.
Erik: You may as well take the free drink, the damage is done now.

He was right. So I ordered a $10 shot, downed it, then we left.

I mean, seriously, like I need some jerk with a decent beard to randomly come up and remind me that I'm not all that attractive. Thanks, really.

I KNOW I shouldn't let it bother me. But it's bad enough to have those insecurities, then to have someone confirm it for you is just a real kick in the teeth. I KNOW I shouldn't let the "opinion" of one douchey frat boy ruin an otherwise great night, but JEEZ. Have a little tact, at least.

That kinda stuff makes me remember why I spent so many nights locked in my room making excuses for the few invites I did receive to go out. As I get older, I find myself caring less and less what the world thinks of me. Especially since, in general, I'm not a big fan of most people out there anyway.

Also, that dude can go suck a bag of dicks. The End.



It's always hard when someone you love dies. I think it's way harder when it's someone that you've always had a hard time with. When my mom died, it was horrible. But we were tight. I knew in my heart that she died fully knowing how I felt about her. It was sudden, and there wasn't time to say anything to her...but I still felt like there was nothing really left unsaid. There was just a security in knowing that she knew. It wasn't the same with dad. And it was weird because there WAS time, and I DID say what I thought I needed to say to let him know how I felt...but it still feels weirdly unfinished. I think it was more because I never had to prove my love to my mom...I could tell she just knew. My dad and I just never really had that kind of bond. I always told him I loved him and made sure he knew that I wasn't mad at him for the things that I SHOULD have still been mad about. I'm a forgiving person, and I think we all just wanted him to know that it was okay to let go. But it was still weird when he did. Valentine's Day. I had to work, but then Jeff took me out for dinner at an Indian restaurant that I really love. We were sitting there discussing our plans for the rest of the night. We were about to land on a movie to go watch, when suddenly he brought up us driving up to Hoover Dam since I've never been there and wanted to do something different. Jeff being spontaneous? I should have known only a death in the family could come next. My phone rang about 5 minutes after we got our food. It was my sister. Yeah, my sister that NEVER calls me. I had a bad feeling, but I decided to let it go to voicemail because I didn't want to ruin the evening if it was something trivial. Three minutes later, my brother calls. I already knew. There's really only one event at that point that could have possibly brought my brother and sister to the same location. I COULDN'T answer. I couldn't hear the words. I just sat there staring at my phone and Jeff asked what was wrong. I said "something bad" and then the text popped up. My eyes welled up and I said "my dad's dead. I gotta go home." I grabbed the keys and walked out and got into the car and just started bawling. I thought I was prepared. He had been in the hospital for over a month. Most days when I called him, he was so supersaturated with whatever meds they had him on to manage pain that he couldn't talk...he would mumble something incoherently then trail off. It was like talking to a zombie and it made me cry everytime.Then one day he seemed okay. He was able to talk and he told me he ate three peaches (his favorite!) and he was very happy about that. We had a nice little chat and I told him I loved him and that I was glad he was feeling better and that I'd talk to him soon. Three days later, he was dead. My brother said he went to see his specialist the day he died and was told he would need to have even more of his left leg amputated. He says he thinks my dad just gave up because he made his peace, got to spend a little time out in the sunshine, and wasn't willing to endure another painful and damaging amputation surgery. He already had his entire right leg amputated a few months prior and part of the left one a little later. The last time I saw him was December when he was just recovering from the initial amputation and he was already having such a hard time adjusting. He mostly just sat there in and out of a drug-induced sleepy haze. It wasn't the way he wanted to live. He was a cowboy, a rough and tumble dude, his WHOLE life...this wasn't his life anymore, and I understand. The funeral was hard and frustrating. It cost almost a thousand dollars to get from Las Vegas to Houston with no notice. There's not a lot of sympathy out there in the travel industry. My sister mostly took care of all the arrangements, but it was really hard to get a hold of most of my dad's friends. He didn't have many, and they're not exactly the type of people you can just look up on FaceBook. Most of them don't even[...]

Harry Pooter and Sorcerer's Bone.


Religion is weird. I guess I started questioning my faith about a decade ago when my mom died. I think I just kinda went with it before then because it mattered a lot to me that she thought I agreed with the stuff she taught me. Then she died, and I felt pretty haunted for the first year or so. Like...maybe some people find comfort in thinking that your loved ones are "looking over you" after they die...but I just find that to be creepy. It was during that time that I convinced myself that I didn't have to believe it anymore because it was better than feeling like I was going crazy with all these dead relatives watching me all the time. Plus, I always hated church SO MUCH! Like, in some way, I guess I almost envy the way some people accept their faith fully and spend all this time congregating with like-minded, the community aspect of it, I guess. But mostly I think religion is so vain! How do you just accept that what you believe is the right way? THE ONLY WAY? There are so many dang do you just decide yours is the one that matters and think everyone else is just wasting their time? It's like a dude that always wants a blow job but won't eat pussy. GET OVER YOURSELF. (side note: if god does exist, he probably won't be happy about me comparing his followers to bj-obsessed man sluts, but...ya know.)I guess if I had to choose a religion, like if someone held a gun to my head and was like CHOOSE ONE (why would this ever happen, btw?), I would probably choose to be Team Jew. For all the wrong reasons, mostly. First of all, because almost all my favorite comedians are jewish, so at least they have a sense of humor. Secondly, because I have a SERIOUS attraction to jewish dudes. I don't know why...I just do. And thirdly, Bar Mitzvahs. I went to a Bar Mitzvah! My first one! And it was SO FUN! Well, after the boring like reading all the Hebrew stuff and lighting a million candles and stuff. A religious rite of passage that includes a DJ, glow sticks, a photobooth with props (!!!), AND a sundae bar?? Yes, this is something I can certainly get behind! Plus all those dudes walking about with Seth Rogen Disease...yeah, let's do this! Plus, the party was Harry Potter themed! Like, I'm not a fan of the Potters, per se...but I like parties with themes and they really went all out. Aside from all the free stuff and the party atmosphere, I just liked that it didn't take itself too seriously. It made me want that feeling of like belonging to something. Not so much that I'd wanna learn Hebrew or anything, but it made me understand why people want this stuff in their lives. No booze at bar mitzvahs though, it turns out. Not that it stopped us from doing something totally innappropriate: Turns out the family gets a copy of all the photos taken in the booth. That was fun to explain a month later...Whoops. Anyway, my point is...I'm FULLY okay with you believing whatever you want. Even the seriously crazy stuff! I don't try to make people feel bad for whatever they do or don't choose to believe. More people should be like me. Let gay people get married...let people have abortions if they want...and don't tell me to wear my stupid seatbelt! It's not your leave it alone. The End. In other news, they fired the super hot IT guy today. WOE IS ME! Am I the only one who NEEDS someone to crush on at work or else the days just seem unbearable?? He was my Jordan Catalano...sigh. We're gonna go drink after work in mourning for the hot piece of ass we'll probably never see again. LIFE IS AWFUL! [...]

A Near Life Experience.


Man...where to begin?...It's been a long time, eh? I think about this thing from time to time and miss the camaraderie that came with all the following and commenting and shared joy/misery, etc. Other times I'm like, "man, nothing could get me into the weight loss blogging game again!" All those feelings of defeat because I didn't lose as much as this person, or as fast as that person. Those are my own fault...I know it's not a competition, but it's hard - well, impossible for me - to not compare results and get all bummed out! Plus...all that dieting business is just not what I wanna talk about. I wanna talk about me! My weirdo life.I don't mind talking about being fat, but I hate talking about dieting! So I think I want a new blog. Plus, I wouldn't mind having a blog that I could actually invite a few of my real life pals to. I would NEVER want any of them to see this one, seeing as how I talked crap about at least a half dozen of them on here somewhere...not to mention the fact that my weight is plastered all over AND I'm pretty sure I talked about my sexy dreams about one of them once. I WOULD DIE. Sure, I talk a big game, but I'm pretty shy when it comes that junk in person. "Sexual thoughts? What are those? Never heard of 'em." On the downside, I have almost 400 followers on this blog. It would be a tough transition going from like 380 to 3. I'm nothing if not completely dependent on that number for nearly my entire self-worth! Still, I should try to employ the policy of 'quality over quantity' in this situation, regardless of the fact that I don't employ it any other arena of my life like...ever. BUT I SHOULD, is what I'm saying. Alls I'm saying is that three people who actually leave me comments is better than 400 that don't...right? RIGHT! So you should help me name my new blog. Then you can follow it!...if you're still here, of course. Bear in mind that I really love puns, and that I don't want anything lame. Those are the only two rules except for the obvious rule about not being able to talk about fight always. Also, I especially like puns that involve my name. I was thinking about making some reference to like NuTricia...but that kinda just puts me back in the weight loss category, doesn't it? Defeating the purpose...don't play that game. Here's an idea: Leave me a comment of what you think I should name the new blog, and the best name gets a prize! For free! From me! I dunno what yet...probably something dumb. But're too good for free stuff now?? You've changed, man. I miss the old you. Man, I have so much to tell you guy(s)! Lots of stuff - good and not good at all - has been happening to and around me. I had an actual life for a couple months...that was fun while it lasted. Now I'm back to blogging, so yeah, figure that one out. Here's a very abridged list of some of the more notable things have been going on recently: *Went to L.A. for the first time ever! *Drove in snow! *Friended then defriended a gaggle of ex-Mormons!*A LOT of karaoke-ing!*A reasonable amount of trivia!*Saw American Idiot The Musical!*Saw Cirque de Soleil LOVE! *My dad died...that sucked. Talk about this later when I'm not busy trying to ditch this blog. *Got naked and ate a dude's face off!*Took a tequila tasting class!*Became pretty much awesome at just taking shots of tequila, even without the class!*Went to my first Bar Mitzvah! (P.S. Mazel tov!)One of those isn't true...but I'll never tell! That's enough for now! This got long. Turns out I'm still rambly. Hey, if you're still around, drop me a line! Tell me which of those weird things on that list you'd wanna hear more about and I'll do my best to accomodate. And don't forget to think of a new blog name so you can win something you don't need and probably don't even want! Feel free to invite your friends to play too! I've been outta the loop too're my only hope. Bye! [...]

Get me offa this crazy thing...


So I lost 4.8 this week, which is pretty good considering I fucked up at least several times, and there was a holiday in there. Mostly I just tried to not go freaking crazy like I was in some competitive eating contest when I got home from work each day and other than that, I was pretty relaxed with the rules. I even had pizza and a cupcake. It had pink glitter on it. EDIBLE GLITTER! What a time to be alive!

That being said, I kinda feel like shit today. My dad's in the hospital because he has pretty close to zero percent bloodflow getting to his feet at this point and he has an infection on one of his toes that his body can't fight off because of the nonflow of blood. So they're going to try to put a stint into one of his lower arteries to see if it helps, but if not, he's definitely facing amputation of some, if not all, of his foot. That fucking sucks. He's already almost 80...I kinda wish he wouldn't have to go through a bunch of painful shit in the years he has left.

I feel bad that I can't be there. Everything costs too much and I can't afford to miss work at all. I just call a lot and hope for the best. I hope he'll be okay.

It's been raining the last three days in Las Vegas. Some lady probably killed her daughter and got away with it, yet I got in trouble for clocking in two minutes late today. And I lost weight. The world is weird right now.

The New FatVentures of Old TrishDina


You know, I don't like blogging about being on a diet all the time. I don't even like being on a diet, so why the hell would I wanna write about it all the time? When I go over to Jeff's sister's house, she has that book YOU, On a Diet all prominently displayed on her coffee table and I always think "man, what a terrible idea for a book!" Then I see that New York Times #1 Best Seller sticker on the front and I realize that nobody cares what I think, even though it's still a stupid idea for a book.

You, On a Diet
By: Some Rich Jerk

Chapter One:
You are hungry.

The End.

That'll be $34.95.

That being said, I kinda like writing about being fat because sometimes being fat is comical, even though it mostly sucks...which is why I'm doing all this dieting business in the first place. So like, I kinda HAVE to write about dieting. Even if I do hate it. Cause I need it. To keep me on track and shit. And so you guys can be all "YOU CAN DO IT" and/or "STOP BEING A FATTIE" depending on how bad/good I'm doing at the time.

So I guess for all intents and purposes, this is my dieting blog. It's been with me through the ups and downs and you're all here for me still (amazingly!) and I don't wanna give it up and start a new one and pretend like this isn't my one billionth attempt at weight loss blogging, you know? So I'm definitely keeping it...BUT...

Me and Dina do have a new blog. A combo blog! A COMBLOG! It's supposed to be about our adventures being fat girls in the world, but so far it's not really about much. But it'll probably get better because she's awesome and I'm awesome, so I mean, what's the worse that could happen? (complete internet implosion...) There's only a few entries now, but it feels weird not letting you guys in on it, so HERE IT IS! So please...come join us...add us...comment us...often.

And as always, thanks for being my bitchin' support system. Even when I give up on myself and disappear for months at a time. You guys rule <3

And so it begins...


In true fattie fashion, I am starting this new not-a-diet-seriously-don't-call-it-a-diet-unless-you-wanna-hear-my-six-minute-speech-about-how-it's-NOT-a-diet Diet on a Monday. I felt I needed the last few days to get shit in order. Cook some meals, stock up on good shit, get the junk outta my house, eat some Ben & Jerry's, etc.

I actually got a lot more accomplished this weekend than just stuffing my face. Listen, I'm not proud to admit that I'm a bit of a hoarder. TLC has turned that word into some kinda scary psycho diagnosis where the mere mention of it brings about images of layers of empty pizza boxes and dead cats at least six feet high in some elderly person's apartment. But mine's slightly less impactful. I just like to keep shit. It used to be called "being a packrat" until old people started dying from being smothered by their own collections of tin cans and old newspapers so the medical field felt the need to put a label on it. So a hoarder I became.

Truth be told, I've had this giant stack of cardboard boxes in the corner of my living room since the day we moved in. In total, it was 21 boxes...all filled with mystery! Well, mostly Jeff's old sci-fi books and textbooks and random clothes of sizes gone-by, but still.

The real problem is that it's embarrassing and I don't let people come hang out at my house because I don't wanna hear a lecture about it or worse, have people talk about it behind my back. I don't like people knowing I'm some weirdo who can't let go of what is literally boxes upon boxes of trash cluttering my life.

But Saturday night, I did something awesome! I got off my couch and took my TiVo remote and actually PAUSED Cupcake Wars (who will win?? I DON'T KNOW...what is that French guy saying??? I DON'T KNOWWW!!!), and started going through those stupid boxes!

Five hours and three full Lawn & Leaf trash bags later, the corner was empty! I was all sweaty and covered in dust, but I felt accomplished. And it really wasn't ALL THAT HARD...I just needed to do it. I wondered why I waited two years to attack it when it was so easy to overcome once I just set my mind to it and got the shit done. I wondered why I pushed so many people away because I was ashamed of how it looked then cried when I felt like I was so alone? I wondered how much longer I would have just dealt with the pile being a part of my life if I hadn't just decided to do something about it right there in that moment?

The irony isn't lost on me.

It's time to get rid of my own garbage and stop being ashamed of myself and start letting people in. I can have the life I want or I can keep existing in this life I's up to me.

Just gotta get off the couch...

Time is an illusion.


How the fuck is it already almost July??

This was supposed to be MY year. The year I finally got all my shit together and stopped wasting my life being fat and miserable. That was supposed to start in January. Now it's June. I'm fatter than ever. More miserable than ever. Pissed off and depressed. Just...mad at myself.

Being mad isn't very constructive though. It never changed anything before and it's probably not gonna start changing things now. So I'm trying to be proactive about this shitty feeling about life that I've had lately.

I went to the psychiatrist yesterday for the first time in six months. I ran out of all those anti-depressants he put me on like a month ago, but he wouldn't refill them until I came in to see him. But since I have that $3,000 deductible this year (Seriously, what is the point??), I had to put it off for a while. You know how they tell you not to suddenly stop taking antidepressants? Turns out they're actually telling you that for a reason! Holy shit, I've totally been so down on life. I never wanna leave my house and I don't want people around and I don't wanna do ANYTHING and I just turned into a fucking asshole in like...a week.

Was I like that before drugs? I don't even remember. Maybe it was worse because I found out what it felt like to be semi-happy, then it all went away like some weird backwards fairy tale or something. All I know sucked. Gimme those damn pills.

My awful. I'm winded walking from my car to my apartment, and if you'll remember, I live on the first floor. I feel like shit all the time. I've been watching all these shows on Netflix and YouTube about like the moment you die and what happens to your body when you're actually legitimately dying. I have this weird morbid fascination that I'm constantly about to take my last breath. I don't even know what the fuck that is about unless it's some scare tactic I'm trying to use to convince myself to make a diet last more than 4 hours. So hasn't worked.

Long story short (too late!), July will be December and I'll either still be fucking around or I can just start now. I got the pills, I got the healthy food, I got the will to live...I guess I'm out of excuses. Wish me luck?

Why I'll Never Be a Famous Socialite.


I've never been much of a "party girl." Aside from my ever-so-dangerous love of cupcakes and balloons, my partying has always been rather tame. I'm usually the designated driver, even on my own birthday most years. And I'm not about to get all preachy here and go into a "don't be such a sloppy drunk" lecture...because we all have our demons. But I think last night I really understood why I can never fully relax and have a good time when I'm out. We all know I have my insecurities, and they pretty much rule my life. Not by choice, but what are you gonna do, right? I don't let them fully turn me into a hermit as is exhibited by the fact that I did go out on Saturday night. Me and a bunch o' pals gathered up to hit some bars and listen to some bands at our favorite local casino, and for the most part, it was pretty fun. That is, until one drunk-ass Angel, one of the said pals, decided we needed to go to a "classier" bar. You know those bars...they're full of trendy douchebags spending nine dollars for a shot of Jaeger and sucking on a hookah with six more frat boys who look at me like I just farted in their mouth because I dared to walk past their eyeline in all my fat glory. I don't know if you guys know this, but the Las Vegas nightlife is not very fat-friendly. Girls wear six inch heels and half a shimmery pillowcase for a dress and everyone's stumbling around and giggling. It's no place for a girl like me! After about seven billion looks of disgust (i.e. 2 minutes in there), I said I couldn't take it anymore and that I was going back to the bar we just left to go watch fat guys play beer pong where I feel more at home. Angel stayed. An hour later, her boyfriend is literally dragging her ass back over to where we were. I dunno what happened in that hour. I can only assume the nine dollars you pay for the shot comes with a tab of Rohypnol because this bitch was OUT. He put her in a chair and tried to get her to wake up since I was their ride home and I wasn't ready to go. Needless to say, no one explained to me that she was like, legally dead at the fucking table. So, obviously, we had to go. I had a point here. OH this fucking dude who is her boyfriend this week, like hefted her ass up in his arms and just fucking carried her allllllllll the way outta the casino, out to the parking lot, out to the car, laid her head down gently in the backseat and like got in next to her to cradle her head while I chauffered their asses home. Um...THAT is why I can never be that drunk. Sure, it's all The Bodyguard/An Officer and a Gentleman when it's involving some 98 pound chick like Angel. But if my big ass was to ever fall out like that in a public place, I have a feeling I'd either be sleeping it off on some dirty-ass casino carpet or someone would just like push me into a corner and put a broom handle under my chins or something so I could look like I was still partying Bernie-style. I COULD NEVER LET MYSELF HAVE THAT MUCH FUN (?) BECAUSE NO ONE WANTS TO TAKE CARE OF A SLOPPY MESSY DRUNK FATTIE. Period. Like, in theory, I wanna think that no one wants to take care of some slopped out chick/guy EVER...but I dunno. This dude seemed like happy and proud. Captain Save-A-Ho strikes again. Like it's endearing to take care of someone like that because she's so tiny and a baby bird or something. I just...don't get it. Like all bitterness and jealousy aside, I seriously don't get it. Anyway, it's not like I'm saying I wanna be thin and attractive so society will be okay with me getting fall-over drunk. I'm just saying...Chris Farley is dead and Charlie Sheen still walks amongst the living. Discuss. [...]

I thought they said no news is good news?


It's hard to find a jumping-off point for updating your weight-loss blog when everything can really just be summed up with:

But I shall try...

Not a lot's been going on with me in the last...oh, let's see...four months (?) since I last blogged. Seems a lot longer all spelled out in words and whatnot. What can I say? Time flies when you're over-celebrating the holidays and blissfully unaware that your ass has grown to the size of a planet. Not one of those fake-ass planets like Pluto either. I mean a real Earf.

Truth be told, I've only gained about twelvish pounds. Which, don't get me wrong, is nothing to be proud of. But I've really, and I mean REALLY, been packing away the junk these last few months. I mean, I haven't even TRIED to diet. I dunno what happened, really. I know my pants were getting tighter. Everything just hurts and sucks and it's like "bleh." But rational thinking took a big fucking long vacation and in its place came just this weird random brain tornado of guiltless pleasure telling me to watch Jersey Shore and eat fried chicken and donuts and yeah, let's go watch that Justin Bieber movie! Large popcorn, please.

Ugh...disgusting. I know.

I can't explain it.

I just never even thought about it. I know I look like shit. I know I feel like shit. was okay. Because...right now, in this minute - nothing matters. This minute that has lasted, I dunno, four months? A year? 32 years, really? When will anything ever matter enough?

Thanks for checking in on me. I didn't die or have a stroke or anything. I just had a temporary lapse in fat judgement.

I'm going on a trip to Texas in about a month. All 400 pounds of me. Flying fat again...oh joy. It'll be my first time going home since my dad ran over my foot like a year and a half ago, almost. At least this time if he decides he needs to make a comment about my overall rotund-ness, I can point to my giant foot scar and remind him that it's not that easy to get around when some old dude runs you over on an airport driveway. The King of Guilt has met his match.

I'll try to update more. Hope you're all well.

Hell is for childrennnn...


As always, Halloween is the one event of my entire year that really really really matters. Aside from my birthday...which matters, a lot more than it should at this age, obviously. I can't help it, I am a child trapped in this giant body and all I wanna do is celebrate the days in my life where I get to dress like an idiot and/or have a bunch of unexplained sugary items and wear tiny hats. So naturally I did all three of those things this Halloween and it was GREAT! Probably one of the best ever except for the fact that it was on a Sunday which sucks because no one will go out to a bar on a Sunday night, it turns out. And no bands play. And...Sam's closes early, which I also forgot about. So Sundays suck, but I didn't let it ruin my fun. On Thursday we did our Customer SER-CUS at work and that was a shitload of fun but also a lot of work and it's not easy running around all day in 30 layers of tulle trying to entertain adults in a banking call center. We got first place though, WOO HOO! I dunno what we won, I guess we'll find out this week. Hopefully not food! Here's some pictures of the circus! I made this sign. And the arrow. I did a lot of crafts this month. (Heaven.)I made this sign too! That's the nerd my friend at work is secretly in love with but she won't tell him. SCANDALOUS!Hey, I made THIS sign too! People thought it was pretty funny. That's because it was. Here's our circus crew! (L to R) My boss The Ringleader, Chris the Strongman, Mo the Bearded Lady, Me as Sprinkles the Clown, The Mormom as our Stuntman, Dee as our Fortune Teller and the new dude as some weird Carnie/Tattoo Man Hybrid. I told that dude to wear a mullet and an old rock t-shirt ala Joe Dirt and look like a Carnie and this is what he showed up in. THIN ICE, new dude! Plus, he looks like Rick Astley. Me and muh girlz. Kinda looks like my boss is trying to tickle my tits with that whip, but I assure you, she is not. Unfortunately. I wore the same costume on Halloween night because you don't spend like 30 bucks on tulle and only wear it's like, the law or some shit. Plus, the thought of having to find another fat costume was like...fuck that noise. It worked out pretty good because most kids do actually like clowns if you don't paint your face up like some scary asshole or cruise around in a windowless van. Also, I can kinda make balloon animals! Well, lemme clarify...I can make like, a sword, and a dog...and a flower. But a flower takes 2 balloons and fucking forever, so that wasn't even an option. So ya know, we live in Las Vegas, which is mostly in a major recession and most people are really poor and used to not getting what they want and shit so if you say "well, do you want a sword or a dog?" they don't say "I want a UNICORN!" and expect to get it, ya know? But this one damn kid was like deadset on getting a dumbass rat. A RAT. Of all things. I was like "well, I don't really know how to make bout a gray dog?" (because they are obviously the same thing.) and she's all "no thank you, I would like a rat, thank you." It was a weird mix of perfect manners and like total fascist asshole behavior and her mom was just like staring off into space like she was thanking Jesus just to have two minutes away from her mild-mannered Stalin child. So fine, I'll try the rat. Who know? Maybe somewhere deep within the gray matter of my brain is some stellar rat-making visionary just waiting to be awoken?? Ah, but no. It ended up being just like a really short dog with a real long tail. I tried to play it off. TA-DA LOOK AT THAT RAT TAIL, MAN! She only stares at me. A ghostly stare. I can tell...this child isn't pleased. "I'm sorry, but rats do not have long noses." I look over at mom who is literally standing out in [...]

I'm here (sometimes), I'm queer (sometimes), get used to it.


Status: Still not dead.

Suffice it to say you may never TRULY know how big your waist is until one day when you have to make your own rainbow-colored-tutu for the clown costume you decided to go with for Halloween. Holy Jesus, is that thing ever huge. Many hours and many yards of brightly colored tulle later, and all I can say about the technicolor monstrosity that is literally eating up my closet is that at least there's no chance anyone else will show up with the same costume.

Once again I went way overboard on Halloween. We decided to do this whole circus theme for the department at work, and while I'm WAY over-excited for the whole thing, I can't tell if my enthusiasm is GOOD because it gives me lots of shit to do which means my hands are busy with hot glue guns and glittery things and not idly stuffing fun-sized snacks into my mouth or BAD because it leaves me no time to cook, clean, eat right or have real meals. I will call it a toss-up since I'm maintaining my fatness, but at least I'm not gaining, which is pretty good for my all-time favorite holiday and handy excuse to binge eat Heath bars.

I'll post some pictures later of my whole rainbow clown get-up. Imagine a float in the Gay Pride Parade on LSD, basically. Only fatter.

In other news, my therapist has cancer and that is a fucking bummer! I had to skip two weeks of therapy because of my crappy new schedule at work and then I get this letter in the mail telling me she'll be out of the office for at least 3 months due to ongoing radiology treatments. That sucks, man. Aside from my own selfish reasons of being like I NEED YOU THERE TO HELP ME AND FORCE HUG ME EVERY TUESDAY, LADY, there's also the sense of sadness that comes from actually caring because she's such an oddly nice person that I feel genuinely bad that she has to go through this. Whoa, look at me, caring about other people and shit. It's like a whole new Tricia. Only fatter.

I hope she'll get through it and get back in there to deal with my selfishness soon. I sure don't wanna have to look for another therapist, but seeing as how I took the very last Prozac today, I guess I got no choice. I hope the new one's not an asshole because he/she's gonna have freakishly long but really skinny and nice shoes to fill, ya know?

Sorry I'm not around much. I never wanted to become one of those blogger people who comes back like every couple months and leaves some shitty update just to disappear again, but mostly I just don't have things to write about. Most days just seem okay. I feel like some fraud being part of this whole dieting blog community knowing damn well I don't diet or blog very often, but it's still nice to have here for when I feel like I wanna talk. So if you're still here, thanks for hanging in there and maybe one day it'll be better.

Up with hope, down with dope, etc.

Hey buddy, where's the fire?


I saw this secret on Post Secret today and it pretty much sums up how I've been feeling lately. Some days I don't even feel like trying. I feel like my life's already over. I feel like at this point even if I do lose the weight and get to some sort of "healthy" point, I'll still be plagued by all the irreversible damage that's been done already. I know that things can get BETTER, but the all-or-nothing perfectionist in me doesn't want to do it at all if I know I can't get it back to the perfect body. There's still all the loose skin, all the plaque in the arteries, all the damage to my organs caused by diabetes and 30+ years of abuse so even if I was perfect every day from here on out, my body would always be flawed, at best.Why can't being alive be enough for me? When I'm laying in bed some nights and I get a weird feeling in my chest and my mind starts to wander about what it will be like to never be able to see my friends again, to never laugh again, to never talk to my brother again? I get sad and anxious. I know I don't want to die. So why can't I make the most of what's left of my life and live it to the fullest and stop killing myself everyday?Some days I appreciate so much about life. I go outside and feel an autumn wind and I'm so fucking happy that I can enjoy this moment. Other days, I lie to friends who invite me out just so I don't have to get dressed or leave my apartment. Especially lately, so close to 400 pounds again, I feel myself turning back into a hermit. Making up excuses just to be left alone so I don't have to put on uncomfortable clothes and be ridiculed in public just to have a night out. So we order in and don't leave the couch all night and it feels all miserable and shameful but I still do it weekend after weekend.But I'm still trying to get better. The one consolation is that I haven't given up on myself no matter how many times I wanted to. Still in therapy, still taking pills, still trying to eat less, still trying to make myself do things outside of my house. It's usually a little easier this time of year, because at least it won't be hotter than the surface of the sun outside my door for TOO much longer...hopefully. I do love fall. I love Halloween. I've been Halloween shopping seven times already and it's not even October yet. Borderline obsessive? Uh yeah.Then comes the dilemma of facing yet another Halloween as a fattie. Let's see...witch or zombie...witch or zombie?? Didn't I have that stupid pep talk to myself LAST October telling me to stick to my diet so I'd have more options this year? Pretty sure I did. Okay fat, you leave me no choice.If pep talks and health scares and thoughts of your impending doom aren't enough to get you outta here, then maybe I can embarrass you out? One night at a bar in a 5X Sexy Cop uniform and I'm pretty sure I'll diet like I've never dieted before! OR...everyone I know will be suddenly blind and it won't matter anymore? Either of those options would work for me. Eh, just kidding. I'll prolly be a clown so I have an excuse to make balloon animals all night. But the badge was a buck and I couldn't resist. I'll use it to seduce Jeff and then continue being a lifelong virgin. Adios, dudes. [...]

Blame it on the A-a-a-a-a-ambien.


There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call The Ambien Zone.So that psychiatrist that I see for like 5 minutes about once every three weeks thought Ambien would be a good idea for my long sleepless nights. I voiced some concerns that I had heard some "weird" things about the drug, but he poo-pooed me mid-sentence and said it was all media hype and that the side effects were very rare, blah blah etc. He likes to cut me off and make me feel like some gripey old man when I start to complain about one of his precious drugs. Anyway, because I have little to no willpower and I DID want something to help me sleep, I decided to give it a try. And truth be told, those little fuckers work. My head hits the pillow and what normally would have been about a three hour process of shutting down the ol' thinker is now like 4 minutes of mumbling to Jeff followed by the sawing of many logs. And it's kinda nice not to have to lay there thinking about all the crappy stuff that happened that day and how I could have done things differently if I weren't such a screw-up and all that negative business that usually keeps people like me up at night, you know? But then the weird shit started happening...Suffice it to say that you do not want to suddenly be awoken from a deep Ambien sleep because you will be FUCKED up. Nothing seems real...or everything seems HYPER-real...I'm really not sure. Alls I know is that it makes me really stupid. The first time it happened was purely Jeff's fault. He got up in the middle of the night to go pee and left the door to the bedroom open. Of course no late-nite pee would be complete without a monster bong hit before returning to bed. And like any real pothead knows, you have to like cough, man, and like, open up the airways, man and like, let it get all in your lungs and shit like that, you know, man? So it's nearly 3 in the morning and I hear coughing. My eyes open and I smell smoke and see this white haze and this glaring light coming from the other room. Smoke, light, coughing, OH SHIT, FIRE! I jump outta bed, start putting on pants, throw on a tshirt, run my big ass down the hallway and happen to see from the side of my eye Jeff standing in front of the toilet taking a pee and still coughing. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?? WE GOTTA GET OUTTA HERE!!""Wha? Why are you up?"Suddenly I realize, there's no fire. Just pee and bong smoke. What in the hell just happened? One second I'm making a valient effort to remember the cat on my way out the apartment door and the next second I'm standing in the hallways staring at Jeff's balls with a puzzled yet clearly disturbed look on my face. Not cool, man. I just couldn't understand how it was so easy to convince myself the place was on fire while still being in such a sleepy haze. It's like having sound and reason, but only to make the most assenine conclusions of all time. "hmm, it's cold in here, I MUST BE STRANDED ON ANTARCTICA. LOOK AT THAT PENGUIN CAT!" Shit makes no sense. Goddamn Ambien. The next time it happened, I forreal thought I was dead. I was home alone so I can't even blame Jeff this time. I don't know what made me suddenly wake up, but when I did, I was just surrounded by beaming white light, everywhere. This is it, I thought, heaven. No one was more shocked than me. Surely it must be my reward for never having any filthy dirty raunchy sex...the bright[...]

Don't sink the boat that you built to keep afloat.


It's not that I don't miss blogging. I do. I just don't like blogging the hard times, and well, I've been having hard times. I wanna be the funny girl with the snappy wit and the perfectly timed f-bomb. Not the girl who comes back three months later to report that she gained back the thirty pounds she lost and that once again, it's back to square one. Unfortunately, that's me today. Well, pretty close. I'm at 394.8, which puts me pretty firmly back to the beginning. Four antidepressants and two sleeping pills and thirty pounds later and here I am again. Maybe a little worse for wear, but still here. I guess I'm a little upset that my magic pills didn't make me "normal." I still have the compulsion to overeat all the time and spend the day in my pajamas and only get off the couch when I TOTALLY HAVE to. I'm still me. For better and for worse. The good times are maybe even a little better but the bad times are still pretty fucking terrible, and there's still plenty of them. The older I get, the less magic I believe in. I'm not even sure Magic Johnson ever really had HIV. Publicity stunt!I got really sad when I found out Garrett died. I don't deal well with death, you know? I spent the last couple months pretty much ignoring all things Blogger and that included most of my blog friends, and for that, I am sorry. Garrett was a really nice guy to me and we talked on the phone pretty often and I got all pissed at myself that I haven't talked to him in a couple months and now I never can again. It pisses me off that his name's still in my cell phone, but I know I can't call. I went through this for a while when my niece died. She had this shitty modem that would randomly connect and disconnect for no reason. So at 3 in the morning on a Tuesday, I'd be online in my lonely apartment playing online Scrabble against the computer and suddenly my dead niece would sign into MySpace. That never went over well with me. I genuinely miss people when I know they're not there anymore. I don't even know what happened to him. I hope it wasn't anything too terrible. I just know I was really sad and pissed off and now here I am talking about it and feeling weird. That either means therapy's working or not working, so I dunno. I was talking about it with my therapist today though. I mentioned that I had a hard week because a friend died. I said I didn't know what happened, but I mentioned that we had talked before about our relative obesity. She asked me about how big he was and I said "I don't remember exactly...somewhere just above 500 pounds, I think." She got this wild look in her eyes and said "Isn't it so sad that someone can get to that size?" Uhhh. "It's not all that hard, really, I'm 400 pounds." She said she thought I was around 200 pounds! I could tell she felt bad, I mean, the whole thing was kind of a shitty exchange, but I really wasn't all that offended. I can't expect someone who's probably weighed 95 pounds her entire adult life to understand the concept of 400 pounds. I barely understand it and I live it every day. I think she's a nice lady and she's compassionate about my problems and she just didn't know. I let it go. I didn't wanna talk about him like some number or some lesson to be learned. He was a good friend to a lot of us. It just sucks. But seriously...200 pounds. Gimme a break, lady! Anyway...I'll try to update more often. Thank you SO much for all the nice cards and gifts I got in the mail and all the encouraging comments and emails. They made me smile and it's nice to feel like people all over the world care about me even during the weird times that I don't care about myself. Seriously, [...]

I didn't do it.


I've been talking to my therapist a lot about how I blame myself often for things that aren't my fault. Like it's my fault the world seems to have a problem with my fat body. She says it's ingrained from having a dad who always went out of his way to make me feel like I ruined his life just by existing...and I can agree that probably is where it initially stemmed from.

But as I was leaving her office today, she said "Just for today, try pretending that NOTHING is your fault. Just try it."

Is it weird that it kinda makes me wanna rob a convenience store? Wouldn't be my fault, is all I'm saying.

The College Years.


So I spent most of Thursday night in the Emergency Room of St Rose Siena Hospital last week. It sucked. I went to bed and woke up with my heart beating about a million times a minute. I felt so fucking weird and out of sorts, tingly all over and like dizzy and just fucking weird. I thought FOR SURE, this was it. The most-anticipated, most-feared fatal heart attack that would lead to the oversize coffin and my dad standing over it saying things like "I told her all that pizza would kill her one day" and "You know, that coffin cost twice as much!" Not that he paid for it or anything.

Turns out it was just a panic attack. Like, outta nowhere. I don't get it. Why would I have my worst panic attack ever one week AFTER I start taking anti-anxiety medicine? Why would it come to me in my sleep? I don't remember feeling especially panicky or anything so I dunno what the fuck was up, but either way, I guess I'm glad I'm not dead and my dad gets to save those rants for another day.

Also, the doctor told me I was "very dehydrated." What in the fuck?? I feel like all I do all day is drink water and drink water and then drink more water. They gave me an IV which took FOUR attempts from two different nurses to get the dang needle in the right place. That one bitch was just not good at it. She kept saying "it's RIGHT THERE, I can SEE it!" then still not getting it. And she was leaving her failure needles in my arm while sticking in the next one, so at one time I had three fucking needles sticking outta my arm at the same time and I had to just look away and start humming the theme from Saved by the Bell because if I saw that stupid confused look on her face one more time, I would have punched it and there were way too many cops around.

You know, it says a lot about a person when she's sitting in a hospital room thinking she's on death's doorstep and her heart's on it's last string and yet, still, she wishes she had some Oreo's to pass the time. I dunno if there's any hope for me. Therapy...not working. Drugs...not working. Imaginary heart attacks...not working. I'm not sure what's left.

Oh well, back to the drawing board.



Psychiatrists are weird. I've been going to my primary care doctor for over four years now and I could never get her to put me on Xanax for my weird anxiety attacks. I spend 14 minutes on a couch with some phychiatrist that has never laid eyes on me before that moment and I walk away with a prescription for Prozac every morning and Xanax twice a day. Whatever, I won't pretend to understand the medical field and all its weird just seems odd to me, that's all.

He said the Prozac might help as an appetite suppressant, which would be great, but I'm definitely not putting all my eggs in that basket. I still need to get my ass back on track. I need to care JUST enough to make me wanna change things for the better. In the past month and a half, I totally gave up on myself. My will to live was totally broken, and I just want it back. I don't think it's so much to ask. Hopefully these weird shiny blue pills will help. If they don't, I'll have to find another way. I just need something to work. Giving up sucks.

Also, in the past few weeks, I've met three new doctors and they've all told me the same thing. "Have you ever thought about gastric bypass? I really think it could help you." Then they sit there with some smug "EUREKA!" sense of satisfaction on their face like they just cured this fattie. Hmm, gastric bypass, EH? Never heard of it, doc. Of course I've THOUGHT about it. You think there's a person waddling around at my size who hasn't thought about it like every day of their life?? I THINK about it all the time. My insurance WON'T cover it. It's not even an option. I've already cried that river.

And when I say it's NOT an option, I mean some dude in a suit decided that I don't get that I don't. But then they always pipe up about how it could really "change my life." And they start telling me how I should consider "just paying for it." Yeah, okay. Look, dude, we'll both be lucky if that check I wrote you for 40$ even clears the bank, so let's have a quick reality check before you assume I can just plunk down $30,000 for something. My credit sucks and I wrote on your extremely extensive list of questions that a lot of my anxiety stems from financial problems, so let's just take those champagne wishes and cavier dreams down a peg or two.

I understand they're only trying to help, and I know my anger stems from bitterness over red tape bullshit that I can't even cut with a shiny new Ginsu knife (THAT CAN CUT THROUGH ALUMINUM CANS!!) It's just hard for me to open myself up for therapy and I'm trying REALLY hard and it's like "oh, your self esteem problems probably stem from your weight...that'll be $265." I know a lot of it is just snap judgements and that over time, it might, and probably will, get better. So for now I'm giving it the benefit of the doubt...and it's a really huge boulder of doubt, but still. I'll try to keep you guys posted.

And who knows? Maybe one day I'll blog about something that isn't therapy-related. Keep hope alive.

Wednesday, I feel better just for spite.


So tonight's the night, guys. Time to go see the psychiatrist and see if he thinks I'm as crazy as my therapist does. The more I think about my life, the more I realize that maybe I DO have some weird chemical imbalance that makes me think all the bad shit in the world should happen to me and only me. When I hear about happy or successful people dying, that voice in my head always pipes up "it should have been me, I'm not doing shit with my life." Do other people think this way?

It's not like I think he's gonna give me some pill and I'm gonna wake up tomorrow all happy and sunshiney and ready to take on the world. A pill that can make me eat right, exercise, organize my house, wanna have sex, not hate myself AND learn to save money? Doubtful. BUT...if it can make me stop feeling like all the terrible things that happen in the world are somehow my fault, that would help a lot.

I really appreciate all the comments and encouragement you guys have been giving me. I know I've been lackluster at best at staying connected during this unexpected turn towards shittiness in my life, so really, it means a lot to me to see you guys weathering this shitstorm with me. I rarely expect people to care about my life (shocker?), but it's nice to know that people do.

To change the subject a little, in some vain attempt to actually move my ass off the couch, I decided to go swimming Sunday afternoon at Jeff's sister's house. Well, "swimming", because I still don't know how to swim, but kicking my legs around in the water and wrestling 5 kids off my back for a couple hours is still pretty good exercise for someone like me. For the last 3 days, my legs have been freaking SORE AS HELL. How sad! How out of shape do you have to be to get leg cramps from essentially floating? Sigh.

I thought maybe I could start going over there a few times a week if they'd let me because the swimming pool at my apartment complex is super crowded every day since school's out and it seems like everyone living here has at least 3 kids running around pissing me off. I always check the pool when I get home from work in the hopes that maybe it'll be empty enough for me to dare showing my hyper-white legs and homemade swimsuit, but nope...Kid Soup every fucking day. Oh least one day those little jerks will have to go back to school. So suck on that.

Summer sucks, man. I was all hyped up to have this be the summer that I was gonna beat the heat and lose weight and brave the 120 degree weather to go hike and shit and say "fuck you, sun!" But so far that shit has NOT been the case. You win this round, global warming.

Hari kari.


Had therapy again yesterday. She gave me this workbook to do to assess my depression, and apparently, it's severe. Although I can't imagine taking those stupid tests and ending up with anything less than severe. Maybe I'm just crazy to think that everyone's at least a little depressed. The world is pretty sucky, especially lately, and if you're walking around with some perma-smile just loving life, then maybe YOU'RE the weird one.

Or maybe I'm just a downer...who's to say?

Anyway, I finally realized that if there's some drug out there that can make me not be sad, I want to take it. I dunno why I fought it for so long. So I was all geared up to start some new happy-pill-regimin today, but she didn't even prescribe me anything! She said I need to see a psychiatrist first? Stupid me, I thought that's what SHE was.

So now I gotta wait until next Wednesday to go see some dude to see if I should take pills, even though she already told me I should. Makes no sense to me, but then again, I'm clearly crazy, people.

I already feel a little better, though I don't think it's because of therapy. As soon as I see that lady's face, I start crying. Turns out I have a lot of daddy surprise there. But at least my days seem a little brighter lately. Still eating like a cow though. That part sucks. My jeans are so damn tight...the doctor asks if I ever think about suicide and I wonder if she means about how I stop breathing when I zip up my jeans? If that counts, then yes, all the time.

I have a secret


Okay, this isn't Tricia. I am like Tricialite. I'm 80% less funny, and 70% more likely to laugh at people. Who am I? My boss likes to call me "Dinalicious" but seeing as that makes me homicidal, I don't recommend it.

I do have a point to posting. I know Tricia sorta well, but I do know something she thinly veils. She friggin LOVES presents. Like if you send her a card with some stickers. Or a mix CD with "Tricia + Stinkynutz 2gether 4 ever" and put Boyz 2 Men and Slipknot on it. So, if you want to buy her way out of her funk, comment here with a way for me to get your email, and if I deem you uncreepy enough (or creepy but too lazy to drive to where she lives and slash her up) I will send you her address and you can cheer her up.

P.S. I think she is just on this therapy kick because she is trying to copy Ruby.



Not dead.

Just in a weird place. I started therapy on Tuesday and I was 25 minutes late due to some asshole customer I couldn't get off the phone before my lunch break. Therefore I only got like a 20 minute session, but I still cried. Talking about me makes me cry. It's weird to hate yourself so much. Not to mention the fact that I'm sitting there crying my eyes out and I start to feel worse because I feel like this therapist is probably thinking 'what the fuck am I getting myself into' after she asked me like 3 questions and I started bawling. Ugh.

Which is the reason I need therapy to begin with...because I'm paying like 200 bucks an hour and I feel bad that she has to listen to my story. I just wanna know why I hate myself so much. It's so hard to wanna take the steps to save my life when I can't even pretend that my life is worth saving. I dunno how it got so dark so feels like a month ago, I was happy.

Either way, I'm not dead.

I don't like to blog the depressing shit, you guys know that.

I'm pretty sure she wants me on drugs. I don't really know if that's what I want. I don't even like to have more than two drinks a night and now I'm supposed to be okay with being on some constant mind-altering drug? Just not sure if I'm ready to resort to that yet.

We'll see.

In the Year 2000...


It's weird when you think about what life will be like when the kids in our lives are our age. I'm in my early 30s and I'm already struggling with technology. Yet, Jeff's 10 year old niece is on top of shit. Using your text signature to announce to all other bitches that Justin Bieber is YOURS, goddammit. Whoa, technology. Alls I know for that I'm backing the fuck off.

(image) Meanwhile the clock in my car is never the right time...can't figure that shit out.

As far as life goes, I guess I'm going back to counting calories to see how that goes. Gotta do something, because all this doing nothing is killing me. Also, my new jeans are far too tight, but I refuse to go back to the old ones.

Breathing is overrated anyway. Better to be in tight jeans with a good plan than sweatpants with a bowl of ice cream. I think it says that in the Bible somewhere...

If not, it probably should.