ishly

new year’s eve

(don’t act like you don’t kick off the new year by taking inappropriate love pictures of yourself with meat.)

And then.

I wanted to lose weight starting Januaryishly.

And not because of some dumbass resolution that I felt compelled to make as I jumped off the cliff with all the other lemmings just because of the scribbled marks of letter and number on a calendar that tells us what we are supposed to call this time in space that we are all sitting in.

Yeah, it was January.  A new year happened. (you can hear the whoopty-frickin-doo in this, right?)

Contrary to my having been “2009′s Anxious Mistress,” nothing magical happened when the clock struck midnight and 2009 rose in all its glory.

My ass stayed fat, my heart stayed broken, my mind stayed confuzzled, and there was no effing prince charming standing here waiting to cram a glass shoe on my foot and tell me how DAMN GORGEOUS I AM.

Which makes him a big, fat doodiehead jerk, because it would have been nice to go to the ball.  Or live happily ever after.

AHAHAHAHA.

I can’t believe I just wrote that.

Because, BLAH.  And also?  GAG.

Resolution Schmesolution, in other words.

But I did want to lose the weight.  The weight that I had ALREADY lost through a lot of hard work and will power (no, I have no idea where the hell I got it from, so I have no secrets for you) Augustishly 2008.

You know, back when I was bragging about being able to pull my pants down without opening them, and being such a womping moron that I posted a video of it online.

And that was the 10lb mark, and I lost at least 5 more lbs after that and I was feeling really great.

But shit, man, sometimes it just seems like life hates it when things are going well.  (I’m so optimistic, it’s disgusting.)

So I got pregnant, and got fat way too fast, because that’s also what life likes for me.  Pregnant = sick-novomit-butlotsoffat.

So 3 months in I got all the fat and none of the baby.  And then the none of the baby part made me do what?  Sit on my ass and eat.  And drink.

Because cookiescakeburgerschocolatewinepeanutbutterpizza = happiness, right? (RIGHT!?)

No.  But still.  This is my reaction.

Yeah, when the worst of the shit of life smears itself across my upper lip, forcing me to think the world smells like an asshole, I can think of nothing to do but cram food into my facehole.

And all that weight I lost Julyishly and gained back Novemberishly got added to, even, Decemberishly.

Causing me to feel quite lardishly.

And so? The desire to lose weight Januaryishly 2009.

And now it’s Februarishly.  And I’ve really lost no significant weight.  My body is still lumpy and plumpy and the fat pants are tight.  Oh, woe is me when the FAT pants get tight.

Why, oh why are the fat pants tight?

It MIGHT be because I haven’t tried in any remotely small way to exercise or get back on my old healthy diet.

YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T GET MAGICALLY UNFAT JUST BECAUSE YOU WANT TO?

Oh.  Yeah. Ok.  But there’s one problem I’m having.

I can’t find the motivation.

Honestly, most of the time all I want to do is sleep.  Just wanna curl on up into a big, fat-roll adorned, snoring, furry (shaving? hah!) ball and EFFING SLEEP.

It’s called HIBERNATING.  And bears get to do it.  Yeah, they are allowed to do this.  They’re allowed to eat like total jerks until they’re fat and gross (and furry, them bitches don’t shave, yo) and then they sleeeeeeeep. And what do the damn bears do that’s so great that they deserve this? Hmm?  What do they do that makes them soooo great?

Nothing. That’s right.  I am giving the bears EXACTLY ZERO PROPS.

I want to hibernate.  And God Help Anyone who tries to wake me.

That’s what the CLAWS are for.

Repeat after me:  “Lotus is sleeping.  We shall not wake her.  We shall make pies for when she awakes. But we shall not wake her.  All hail The Fat, Furry, Sleeping Bitch.”

Tell me when it’s Spring.

Maybe then I’ll feel motivationishly again.