That is me, as I would wish myself to look. The real me is fatty fat fat fat. I have ate ridiculous amounts of lardy food. I wouldn't normally speak to anyone about this, till I get drunk, just freak out about it in my head and pretend I didn't think of myself as an ugly obese pig. But this is the internet, and I am merely another faceless emotional drone. As such, I can rant as I like and never be worried that someone will discover my vomit inducing pitifulness.
So, I shall rant about calories. Let's tot up all the things I have forced down my aesophogus.
1. Bowl of strawberries, some muesli and yoghurt. This was probably about 300 calories. I didn't eat it till 12, so the day started pretty well.
2. Apple. 40. Not disastrous.
3. Tuna pasta and green leaf salad, probably about 250. And some chips off people's plates (yes, everyone else had fish and chips- I felt quite good because I didn't eat any). So let's say 350.
4. Some chocolate covered raisins and 4 chocolates from quality street. I think about 200-250.
5. 1.5 chocolate shortbreads and some doritos and dip. I dread to think how many calories this would add up to; more than the 350 I had left, probably. In fact, I am probably underestimating what I had for tea, I probably ate far more chocolate.
So. Lots of calories and a shortage of exercise. And I can feel my stomach jiggle. I detest my thighs.
I am so glad nobody knows I write this blog. I can put on a front, I think. I'd far rather be the fatty having fun than the fatty that whines about calories and exercise; those sort of girls make everyone want to shoot themselves. So, though when I'm drunk and in the company of those I trust I can rant about it, I don't usually. When people mention diets, I pretend to glaze over so that they can't see how much I really wish I could find the right one for me. Well, there is one, it's called eat less and exercise, fatty! I suppose I don't want to lose that much weight considering, its just hard to effect. I'd be happy if I could fit a size eight in England. I'd want to be smaller but I'm fairly tall and built like a beast so I know it would never happen. About a stone, maybe two... yeah, two stone.
So let's say after this holiday, if I start to run and stuff, I could lose weight. I could. I could NOT put weight on. I could be thin, and... well, not beautiful. But who wants to be beautiful anyway? Being thin would be nice, but I can settle with being quirky looking. Distinguished from the crowd of blonde pneumatic bimbos, that would be acceptable. If I could look like anyone, it would be Luisa Casati, vampiric and sepulchral. If I have to choose from modern day, I'd say Elyse Sewell- she was a contestant on America's Next Top Model, a TV programme that is like smack; it encourages young girls (and older ones like me) to be thin, is maladaptive for physical and mental health and highly addictive. I hate that I like it so much because it's vacuous and girly and utterly pathetic. But I like it a lot, because of the pictures they produce- I think they're interesting- and the bitching, and the glamorous lifestyle. And even though the judges are so up their own arses, and arbitrarily bitch about people, I'm always entertained by it. I change the channel if my parents are around though, because I know they don't like me watching it.
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