Category — Killjoy

After a miserable work function this afternoon, I thought I’d treat myself to food for lunch. I chose to go to an organic pizza place where I ordered a personal-size multigrain thin crust pizza with vegan rice cheese. The waitress told me I was a “champion” as she picked up my empty plate, but immediately realized how insensitive her comment was, so she followed it up with “you look great babe.” I can’t decide which is worse. Being called fat or babe.

Don’t forget to phrase your answer as a question!

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.

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.

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?

It’s true. There’s a rumor going around my office that I, Emaciated Lady, am pregnant. I went into hiding immediately after hearing this, but it’s time I confess. For a number of reasons, it’s been difficult for me to maintain my desired emaciated frame. I wish I could chalk it up to stress or age, but whatever the case, I know I’ve hit rock bottom when others are convinced I’m stashing a fetus in my womb. The obese idiot coworker who was dumb enough to tell me swears I haven’t gained that much weight, but apparently, it’s enough to make everyone believe I’m with child. In either case, I’ve decided to take extreme action. As soon as I get back from my mini Vegas vacation (where I plan on being nothing less than intoxicated 13 hours a day) I’m going on a cigarette/Bikram yoga diet. I need to prove these bitches wrong. Wish me luck.

Last weekend I went to LA to celebrate my cousin’s birthday. All was well until Sunday when I saw photos of the previous night. I know the camera adds a lot of pounds, but in one photo in particular, I looked exactly like my mother when she was 12 months pregnant with me. You would’ve sworn I was carrying an extra large fetus. As disturbing as the image was, I’m trying to be positive and in this case that photo has motivated me to skip dinner every night since. I’m framing it. There’s nothing like a fat picture to help me get skinny.

Yesterday, I had lunch with some coworkers and in bad taste, admitted to them that I’m decidedly obese. One of the fat girls yelled that there was no way I was 100 pounds overweight. I told her that technically, you’re considered obese if you’re 30 pounds over your ideal weight. I’ve never seen a person’s face fall so quickly. It was like I told her she was dying. Now I feel bad.

Note: Fortunately, I’m not actually obese. Unfortunately, I’m at a healthy weight.