Either I get really serious, become a competitive eater and go toe-to-toe with Adam Richman, or get my ass in gear and get in shape.

Solution: buy a scale and join Weight Watchers. Updates to follow

In some ways, I love the predictability of being at my parents’ house for the holidays. I can be sure that my mother will wake me up by coming into my room at about 9 am “just to straighten up.” My sisters will open their Christmas presents and scoff at them, and then count up all the receipts for all the things that they are taking back and complain that my mom bought things on sale. My family will buy me a combination of juvenile socks and jewelry and weird old lady sweaters. I will go two days without cigarettes on Christmas and Christmas Eve and want to kill someone. There is approximately a 90% chance that HGTV will be on when I turn on my TV. I will go to Coney’s at least twice and for at least one trip I will be drunk. I will blow up Stef’s phone and she will constantly flake. I will make plans with people from high school that I do not at all intend to follow through on. I will sit and lament the fact that I am sitting bored in the suburbs, and then feel guilty that I am not enjoying this time with my family. Predictable.

I asked for one thing for Christmas - a blu ray player. I did not receive a blu ray player. Instead, I received a Pandora bracelet and a Coach wristlet. Apparently, I am a sorority girl. My father brands us like cattle every Christmas Eve by buying my mom, my sisters and me all the same bracelet so everyone knows that we are his family and that he is a good Dad. And this year he decided to get us all Pandora bracelets. For those of you not familiar, it is a glorified charm bracelet which you can buy charms for that look like they came out of a quarter machine. But instead, rich suburbanites spend obscene amounts of money (I’m talking up to $500) on things like baby carriages, Christmas trees, and their favorite animals to put on their wrists. And now my family “KNOWS WHAT TO GET ME FOR EVERY HOLIDAY.” Awesome. I am forever doomed to receive charms for this bracelet that I probably will hardly ever wear. Mostly because I am way too edgy for this shit, but also because I just do not care about stuff like that. Why ask me what I want for Christmas when you are not going to give me the only thing I ask for? Or just give me money to pay for rent. They just don’t get it.

I didn’t have a window or a light in my room at my parents’ house for about two years. But good news; now I have a new window with no blinds and a sheet nailed over it, and a bare ass lightbulb hanging from my ceiling. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I almost have a real bedroom again.

Other updates:

-I am going to fit everything for DC into a carry-on! And I am leaving in two days. So exciting.

-I ate California Pizza Kitchen for the first time and had an extreme foodgasm.

-I still don’t know what I am doing with my life after I graduate.

-I realized that if I do not have a job after I graduate, I can always go back and work at Deneweth’s. Why did I have to remember this? If I have to go back and work there, someone will find my body hanging alongside the overpriced hanging plants.

-I love my dog.

-I wish I was as funny as Erin Kaplan

Can someone please hold me accountable for updating my blog?

Facebook has come a long way in revolutionizing the art of stalking. I can find pretty much anyone I went to high school or college with, and even teachers and older family members on facebook. Some idiots even “Check-In” at locations that everyone in the world knows where they are at all times. Are you serious? I am not going to waste my time on explaining why this application is a bad idea. I will just say that I hope your house is getting robbed right now since everyone on the goddamn internet knows that you are at Waldo’s and not at home.

If the wonderful world wide web can inform me where you are taking a shit right now, why am I not informed who the douchebag is who just defriended me on facebook? My friend number went down from 500 to 499 today. Facebook should require everyone to send out a dignified message to those who you are about to defriend. Don’t embarrass me. 500 is a distinct number. You could have at least waited until I was at 507 or something, then I might not have noticed. I want to know who you are. And I want you to break up with me respectfully.

The most depressing thing about getting older is you just keep getting uglier and uglier and you never appreciate how cute you are at the moment because you used to be cuter. Does this make sense?

I bring this up because I recently found my photobucket account from high school. In high school I thought I was ugly as shit and now I am looking back and thinking that I was damn sexy. Here is a picture of me when I was like 18:

Please notice how cute and not fat I was. In contrast, here is a picture of me now:

See the difference? Time has not been kind to me

I realized that I have a serious issue. Well, I have a few serious issues, one being that I am single despite my sassy hair and fabulous legs. But that’s besides the point. My most serious problem at the moment is that I am constantly choking on my food. And drinks. Anything that I put into my mouth really. Not like that, you’re gross.

Anyway, I apparently can no longer be trusted to regulate my own food and drink intake. This has started to become a big issue very recently. I am sure we all know the feeling of drinking something either too quickly or just incorrectly and it just goes down wrong. “Going down the wrong pipe” my mom calls it.

I have become like an infant. Unable to eat or drink without almost spitting up on myself in front of large groups of people. I realize that my body is rebelling against me. My college aged body has taken a bit of a beating, I admit it. I don’t sleep much. I have discovered that food is enjoyed most when it is delivered right to your couch. I enjoy Four Loko and might drive down to Ohio to get some since it is outlawed here now. Etc.

So now, every time I try to eat, something goes terribly awry. Today I was sitting in Flossie’s, quietly eating pizza and reading a book. It was a quiet afternoon in Flossie’s and there was only about 4 more people in the cafe. I take a bite of pizza and I start to choke on it. I have tried to pinpoint exactly what happens, but I can’t. All I know is that one second I am eating a cheap, cardboard-y and delicious slice of pizza and the next second I am coughing uncontrollably, my eyes are watering, and I just want to die. It’s like my body is screaming “Hey fatty, if yo eat one more morsel of food I am going to choke you out, bitch!” Taking a sip of whatever I am drinking at the time doesn’t help either. “Lay off that diet coke too. Don’t you know that shit gives you cancer?!” And I am a crying, choking mess, bargaining with God to help me get through this awful moment.

And I do. And I am thankful that it’s over. But deep in my body, I hear a voice that says “Until next time, you fat fuck.”

Well, this is my first blog post. I decided that I need to start a blog because my thoughts are the most important thoughts ever. This is probably going to end up being just a part of a manic fit where I think that I am going to do something SUPER COOL AND AMAZING. But really, I am just going to get bored with this in three days and it will never be used. And then it will be just another wasted domain name floating out in cyber space.

Just a quick story for the first entry:

We just spent 20 minutes explaining to Chris that the vagina and the urethra are two totally different things. This included a diagram and a lecture and he really seemed to understand it. Then Laura asked, “Now Chris, where does pee come out of?” And without even hesitating, Chris said “The vagina.” He said it quite confidently. Which was sad. Because we just spent a lot of time trying to educate him. But these things are lost on Chris.