Category — Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

Today I shared the elevator with a woman who should have been taking the stairs. But she wasn’t, and I was trying not to judge because there I was on the elevator too. Then I glanced down and saw what looked like a small suitcase hanging from one of her arms, except it wasn’t a suitcase. It was her lunchbox, and the reason I know is because it was advertised embroidered on the side like this:

Ummm, I know exactly where her lunch is and I can tell you, the one place it ain’t is that bag. I’m not judging. I’m just sayin’…

In honor of Valentine’s day, Skinny Man took me shopping for a new bra and panty set.  Sounds sweet, right? WRONG. Not because of anything Skinny Man did, but because I had to buy the panty in a size large.  Um, if this ↓ is a size large…

…then what the fuck is THIS?

My close proximity to Hollywood means I’m friends with people who regularly mingle with celebrities. A close friend of mine went to the Grammies on Sunday and told me something that made me more depressed than on the day I was compared to Kim Kardashian. She said that Beyonce Knowles is 5′1″ and skinny.

Does anybody understand why I’m so upset? Because Beyonce looks like a large-boned person with big thighs. I’ve always prided myself on being skinnier than her. If Beyonce actually is skinny, that makes me dangerously obese.

It’s been 4 days since I’ve had a bowel movement and there’s a pimple on my forehead that resembles a massive malignant  tumor. The last thing I want to deal with is some obese whorebag who feels it necessary to block a doorway while she licks every last molecule of frosting off of a piece of cupcake paper. I know what it’s like to want to have sex with your food, but seriously? In public? Either carry your fat ass to a corner or GET A FUCKING ROOM!

A package full of Harry & David goodies was hand-delivered to my office after I returned from lunch. Several of my coworkers began divvying up the goods, and what you see here is my portion. Mind you I just returned from a trip to the mall where I ate an Auntie Anne’s pretzel and a Mrs. Field’s semi-sweet chocolate chip cookie, after having had THIS for breakfast. Because I hate myself so much that I’m apparently TRYING to make myself obese. If only I had a gun, I’d be out of my misery by now.

I went to Starbucks with a coworker during my lunch break yesterday. I ordered my typical tall cafe au lait with soy, and she ordered a grande egg nog latte. Let me repeat that: A GRANDE EGG NOG LATTE. And on bagel day too. Yeah, so I don’t think I can be friends with her anymore.

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?