Dear Diary

I am a big, big fat pig. I ate everything I could get my grubby little hands on yesterday and today my jeans are tight and I was forced to wear my fat sweater that hides the bulges that exist when I don’t wear body armor.

This work thing is great except for that brotchen in the morning.  I love brotchen in the morning. Brotchen love me so much that they have found an abandoned area on my hips (where ice cream used to reside) and made camp.  I don’t like brotchen anymore.

This morning, I decided I would start the protein shake thing again but Sparky made it with warm water instead of milk and I got a mouthful of icky.  Blehhh.  He offered to make it with milk, but we only have an opened milk.  I don’t drink milk that has been opened by anyone but me.  And that milk I only drink THAT day.  I won’t touch it if it’s older than 12 hours.  I don’t want to hear it.  Have food poisoning more than once and come talk to me about weird things you do now to prevent  2 hours of exorcist-like projectile vomiting followed by 24 hours of dry heaves.  I don’t do milk. Okay?

So I’m just going to exist on coffee and cigarettes.  I’m doing the supermodel thing.  At least for today.

My cat got out last night and Sparky went in search of her this morning.  Am I a bad cat mom because I thought she was still under the kitchen cupboards and Sparky “Just Knew” she was gone?   I have chased that cat around continents.  She waits until we’ve moved and then heads for the hills.  That or any other time a door or window is left open and there is no one around to say “Get back in the house, Helen Keller.  The outdoor world is no place for you!”

He found her hidden in between boxes under the stairs.  It’s a good thing he went because I do not walk down basement steps when it’s dark outside.  Or alone.  Or actually ever.  I saw a lifetime movie last week about  a little girl being haunted by her dead cousin and it was terrifying.  I only watched it because I was tired of sobbing through the other lifetime movies I purchased on iTunes.  So now, I can imagine coming upon a spirit house (or doll house depending on how many scary movies you watch) as I walk down the creaky basement steps and freaking out.  Just plain freaking out with the scared dance and wailing and all sorts of commotion thus scaring the cat away and never finding her again.  Its a good thing she has Sparky.

The new place is great, except for the bed.  All night I fight to stay on.  It’s a European double bed and the middle is raised just enough that the occupants slowly fall off the sides.  I know why the birthrate is low here.  No one can snuggle.  No opportunity for an “Oops, it just slipped in” in the middle of the night because you’re both too busy trying not to hit the floor.

I had a dream last night that I needed a break so I hopped in my convertible and drove to Tuscany where I bought 3000 euros worth of clothes.  I had the top down and bought everything new from gorgeous panties (with magic fat suck-in capabilities) to new red shoes and skirts and flowey dresses.  I met my girlfriend Jami there and we had a cigarette together and talked about how because I was buying so much, I thought I should get 30% off.  She agreed. I ended up getting 6.6% off but I really didn’t care all that much. Then my brother walked down the street leading a tiger.  We thought the tiger was way cool and he talked to us like a sober Brian from The Family Guy, but stayed on all four paws.

I woke up sad because I really wanted to wear those new red shoes.

Ah well.  So there you go, dear diary.  I’ve got to go start my work day. Later.

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8 thoughts on “Dear Diary

  1. Wow,

    Your “nightlife” sure is more exciting than your days with me.
    Now stay put for a cigarette while I go to the Zoo to get one of ‘dem talking tigers. Can’t yield to the competition THAT easily…

  2. I have taken to hiding from my sight all the candy, nuts, cake, brötchen, whatever that people leave around the office for the taking. It’s a nice gesture, but men get fluffy too, and I’m one of them.

    What is a European double bed? Do you mean it has two twin mattresses stuck together? Ours is like that, and we don’t have that problem. Mind you, I’ve bought cars for less money than what our bed cost.

  3. Jen you are and have always been beautiful. You don’t need to worry about the occaisional german breakfast sandwich. We all love the way you are (which is a way many would kill to be)

  4. I give you two hours on coffee.

    Oh, and I heard this great quote from someone interesting who I don’t remember: “Only whores and children wear red shoes”. I love it. Everytime I wear one of my umpteen pair of red shoes I think about it.

  5. Sparky – no comment. I won’t mention my night with george Clooney.

    Ian – Fluffy. I like that. It’s as if i took a straightening iron to my waist, i might be able to tame it.

    J – I know. In our house the theme song should be “Oops, I did it again…”

    Mim – You’re my sister, you have to say those thing. And thank you. Struggling as i have with my weight, 4.4 pounds sucks ass, esp. when you can contribute it to work. Not the kind of earning I want to make. “We’ll pay X euros and 4.4 pounds a month.” Keep the pounds and raise the X, thank you.

    Jami – I guess i fit into that whore catagory, huh? great quote and i wear my red shoes with pride.

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