Category — BFFs

Emaciated Lady has a knack for accurately judging describing people. Just the other day she likened one of our former coworkers to an upside down tv. It was one of the most apt descriptions ever, and one that I think also applies to me. Please see the picture below. Emaciated Lady took it while I was visiting her last week.

Dear Everyone,

It’s me, Emaciated Lady. I’m so grateful for Skinny, who’s been covering for me in my absence, and I apologize to those who depend on us for a daily dose of cynicism. But I promise you, there’s nothing scarier than a fat anorexic and you’ll thank me someday for keeping my distance. Skinny Lady outed me today and now that you all know I started smoking again, I’m confident that I’ll get skinny in no time and help be your inspiration. In 38 days, Skinny is going to be by my side and I need to impress her with a wardrobe that doesn’t include spandex. Skinny, this is for you.

Oh also, most of my blogging inspiration comes from my ridiculously obese coworker and I feel guilty writing about her because she’s a kind person. And I don’t want to get fired for being a mean bitch.

Kindest Regards,
Emaciated (not so much) Lady

Nothing is more challenging than trying to starve yourself in the face of a bunch of fat, perpetually hungry coworkers.  But I need to be able to fit into my jeans before my visit to Emaciated Lady in March, which means I’ve had no choice save to bring my starvation out into the open at work and dare a mother fucker to ask me to lunch.

Meanwhile on the opposite end of the country, Emaciated Lady has fallen back on her old faithful:  cigarettes. Why? Here’s what she says:

My weight gain was directly correlated to my quitting smoking and I need to get back on the skinny track or else I’ll find other ways to kill myself. Plus everybody needs a vice, right? And because I know I’m going to try and have a baby next year, I don’t have many days of smoking ahead of me.

Dear Emaciated Lady, don’t you know that cigs + pregnancy = low birth weight? Do yourself and your unborn child a favor and smoke for God’s sake.

Emaciated Lady and I don’t usually participate in Facebook status update idiocy because we like to keep our idiocy private, or at the very least anonymous. This is why, while other fools are out there posting profile pics of their supposed celebrity doppelgangers, we’re privately stroking each other’s egos over gchat.

Here’s Emaciated Lady’s most recent attempt at stroking mine: “You officially look like Gisele. I see you all over this picture.”

Unfortunately, this does little for my ego since I know Emaciated is FULL OF SHIT. Seriously, people, I look nothing like this. Emaciated Lady is a liar and I’m a troll.

 My dear, sweet Emaciated Lady gave me this book for Christmas. She must think me unrefined, but the reality is I already live like a lady. For the most part anyway. At the very least, I never go to buffets and that’s got to count for something.

Also, it seems like she’s sending me mixed signals with the second gift pictured below. While I would love to host a dinner party wearing nothing but that cute little houndstooth apron, I thought the whole point in life was to avoid dinner parties at all costs. That’s not to say I won’t wear it while pouring myself a glass of wine or boiling hot water to pour in my eyes as punishment for thinking about food, but still. I’m supposed to be starving over here.

P.S. – This photo has been cropped for your viewing pleasure. The fat in the original version was vomit inducing. Buf if you look close enough, you can still see vestiges of a muffin top.

P.P.S. – I love you, Emaciated. So much that I’m considering not breaking up with you if you get fat.

In the spirit of giving, I thought you’d all enjoy a recent email exchange between me, Skinny and our fucked up friend Crazy D.

Skinny Lady: I just wanted to let you both know what a fat and gluttonous pig I am – I have in front of me a sandwich AND a piece of pizza (left over from the tree trimming party on Friday). And I’m thinking about what I’m going to munch on when I go home to check on the dog in 5 minutes. WHAT IS MY PROBLEM?

Emaciated Lady: I want to let you both know that my obese coworker brought me a grocery bag filled with super-sized ginger cookies. Her mother baked them for me this weekend and HER MOTHER wrote me a note that said: “I know how much you like these Emaciated Lady. Enjoy!” I don’t know what’s more disturbing. That her mom knows me by name or that her mom is spearheading the “Get Emaciated Lady Fat” movement.

Crazy D: Ha! You both tell very sad stories. They are also reminders that we are entering the treacherous waters of the holiday season, bane of the eating disordered. My birthday was last month, so what did my wife do? Made me a cake *and* gave me a box of Godiva truffles. You can see that her definition of “love” is unique to her and indeed looks more like what most people would call “sadism.” And this was two days after Thanksgiving of course. Perhaps we need to commit to some kind of no-eating pledge for the rest of the month. Please advise.

Emaciated Lady: It’s too late for my no-eating pledge so I will encourage you both to join me in the “I don’t give a fuck if I’m fat in December” pledge.

Every day, I hike five long blocks to work from the parking garage and five long blocks back to my car when I leave. As if this walk wasn’t miserable enough, my mean homeless friend recently drew the word FOOD on the street in giant letters and with permanent marker that refuses to fade. He also accented the double OOs with a smiley face so it looks less intimidating. I think he’s on a mission to get me to face my fears and overcome my eating disorder. I knew I shouldn’t have confided in someone who doesn’t starve by choice.

Emaciated Lady likes to flatter me. After seeing a few pictures from Halloween, she told me that I look “incredibly emaciated,” which is absurd considering the fat beast I’ve become in the past couple of months. Unfortunately for me, what Emaciated Lady saw was nothing more than smoke and mirrors – an illusion created with the help of a little artfully applied cosmetics. But now that I know how successful I was, I have no choice but to be a zombie every day, which really isn’t so bad given that the alternative is to be a plain ol’ lard ass.