Posts from — November 2009

My husband was sweet enough to share a crouton from his salad.  It even had a shred of lettuce on top. Thank god because that water was going nowhere in terms of satisfying my appetite.

Every year Americans give thanks for the same old cliche bullshit. This Thanksgiving I’ve decided to take a different approach by  listing a few things I’m not thankful for…

Number 1:  Food. I’m sure this is taboo to say, but it’s true. I could use a little starvation, and I know there are people out there who need food more than I do. Why can’t my portion to go to them?

Number 2:  Family, especially my mother who goes to great lengths to ensure that she makes my life as miserable as she has made her own.

Number 3:  Friendships, particularly in the workplace because inevitably they translate into regular lunches out.

Number 4:  Fat. It may have once served an evolutionary purpose, but now it only serves to hinder my ass from fitting into size 2 jeans.

Number 5: Fleas. I tried to do a good thing by rescuing some homeless kittens and it came back to bite me in the ass. Literally.

For those of you who may read this and think that I’m an ungrateful, unpatriotic bitch, you may have something there. Of course, you can go shove a turkey thigh up your ass if you don’t like it. To the rest of you, have a happy thanksgiving and try not to get fat.

“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”

Kate Moss, revealing her personal motto to WWD

Yesterday, 10:53 p.m.

Emaciated Lady: The BLT your mom made you today looked so delicious. I’m craving imitation bacon.

Extra Large Man: Why didn’t you have one?

Emaciated Lady: I’m trying to consume as few calories as possible before Thanksgiving so I won’t have to commit suicide. I don’t want my parents to mourn during the holidays.

20 minutes later…

Emaciated Lady: I almost punched your sister in the neck when she told me I needed to change my expectations about spaghetti squash. I wanted to say, “Bitch, spaghetti squash is nothing like real pasta and if I want to be disappointed about it, then I will be.”

Extra Large Man: You know you think about food a hell of a lot right before you go to bed. Food and violence.

Emaciated Lady: I’ll grind your fingers with a food processor if you ever try to divorce me.

Every week or so an old friend and I go walking together. On our walk this morning, I happened to catch a glimpse of our shadows on the pavement before us. I know shadows can be distorting, but it’s still pretty much official - I’m now the fat friend.

When was the last time you saw a giant pay scale? I assure you, I was in a civilized place with a Victoria’s Secret and H&M when I took this picture.

It’s not 1952 in an ice cream parlor for God’s sake. Who the hell would A. weigh themselves in public and B. pay money to be told they’re fat?

Extra Large Man finally had enough of making daily trips to fetch my wine. Yesterday, he came home with a cheap gallon of chianti. He’s convinced it’s going to last me all week.

“I’m sick. I’ve pooped fourteen times today and counting. My abs are gonna look AMAZING tomorrow.”

– Matt, a dear and fucked up friend of Random Anorexics. I’ve asked that he send a sample of his virus, which I think will make a great prize for our next giveaway. Of course, I’m going to have to test it on myself first.