I'm feeling bored with my blog, and bored with this boring post about the boring things I’ve been up to this week. I’m going to post it anyway, because my shrink told me that I must stop self-editing all the time and should forgive myself for the mistakes I make. So I’m going to post this boring post as a moral exercise. You are now permitted to visit someone else’s blog for more interesting material.
Suffering from Birthday Hangover
That last post about St. Patrick’s Day was a bit mean-spirited. The thing is, with Birthday Week officially coming to a close today, I’m feeling very, very sorry for myself. After seven glorious days of being deliciously coddled and loved by friends and family, I have turned back into a pumpkin. Ever since, I've been petulant and insufferable. Friends, I am suffering from a mighty birthday hangover.
Gone are the lovely birthday treats. Gone are the dinners cooked on my behalf. Gone are the cakes, the phone calls, the lovely email messages and comments. I am now a normal civilian devoid of specialness, condemned to another 364 days of being ordinary. While the prospect of this is no fun at all, I have to remind myself that life is very difficult for some people and that my suffering is part of the divine plan.
Battling the Obesity Epidemic
One of the ways God is punishing me lately is by making me fat and pasty. I don’t know what I did to deserve this – possibly enjoying the excess of loveliness (the three birthday cakes and key lime pie, the homemade ice cream and the Peppermint Patties) - potentially moving only enough to prevent bed sores. Whatever it is, it needs to stop right now.
Every year around this time, God and I go through the same process: I emerge from hibernation fat and lethargic, look at my white, doughy flesh in the mirror and say, “Lord, I am a whale.” And then good Lord sends me motivation, and I get my ass in gear. I start going to the gym, I stop eating Ho-Hos. Suddenly, I overcome my aversion to shopping and buy clothing. I stop looking like I live in someone’s trunk.
This has not happened yet. I am waiting for signs from on high. The extreme body aversion is there - just yesterday, I got out of the shower and said, “Ewww” - so that’s encouraging. But what’s missing is the motivation. I cannot get myself to the gym. I cannot get myself to eat sensibly. Not even the horrifying thought of exposing my pallid flesh in a bathing suit in a mere two-and-a-half weeks is enough to get me in shape. I am now beyond shame.
Grappling With Hair Issues
Something is very wrong with my hair today. I can’t figure out what it is but suspect “it” has something to do with not getting a haircut since the traumatic Kentucky Coal Mining debacle this fall, or the comment about my lesbian ‘do. Do I trim my bangs or let them grow out? I am paralyzed with self-doubt, crippled by indecision. Meanwhile, my hair is sticking up in strange places.
Also: I bought my first home color kit this weekend. From here, it’s a slippery slope. Next thing you know, I’ll look like one of those Russian female prison guards with purple hair.
Hating Stylish People
Eventually, when my body deflates, I’m going to have to buy some clothes. And unless I want my colleagues to take up a collection at work, I’m also going to have to get a new bag. While I love and appreciate beautiful things, I have limited interest in fashion for practical purposes and even less interest in shopping. But since Something Needs to Be Done, I’ve turned here and here for wardrobe inspiration.
Bad idea. I am now consumed by a mishmash of awe and despair, rounded out by resentment. Who are these skinny be-otches and why are they so goddamn stylish? Why must they taunt me with their baby giraffe legs and inventive accessorizing? Why do they look so effortlessly jaunty and pulled together, as though mocking my realization this morning that I have been wearing my Hanky Panky underwear backwards for an entire year?
Damn them - damn them all.
"Good Luck With That" card by BearPaw, available here.
