I just want to put that out on the table before continuing.
I've put on weight.
For some reason, people within a certain weight class are not allowed to say that they're putting on weight. Whenever I say that I've added a few pounds people scoff. What they don't understand is that I'm not saying that I'm fat, but that I merely weigh more than I did, say, a few months ago. And this, people, is the case. Weighing in at a whopping 140 pounds, I'm 10 pounds heavier than I was a few months ago.
When I was visiting J in San Francisco last month, we were standing in the bathroom (naked, incidentally), and he said, "Ooooo you're putting on weight!" Naturally, I denied this vicious accusation. Then he said, "Yes you are! The proof is in the pudding!" and he grabbed my belly (he didn't do that at all, but if I had been the one accusing him of putting on weight that's what I would have done. Get it? Pudding? Ha!). He did, however, in a very cute, non-insulting way, tell me that I have most certainly filled out since last December. Obviously, I knew this. I have put on weight. But, people, let's tell the truth here. Could you eat essentially nothing but chicken finger subs and Double Stuf Oreos for 5 months and not put on a few?
I've set a goal for myself, though. I will lose those 10 pounds before I re-cohabitate in August. Granted, I also promised myself that I would have a fair amount of money banked before the move but we can't have it all now can we? Despite the fact that I actually weigh half of a pound more than I did two days ago (I think this may or may not have something to do with the fact that I ate two lunches yesterday), I feel like I've made some really great strides.
Firstly, I've eliminated all soda from my diet. In fact, I really only drink water. This is a rather large feat for me, being someone who doesn't like the flavor of water (and I don't want to hear that water doesn't have a flavor or that the flavor is "refreshing" because "refreshing" is just as much of a flavor as "blue" or "green" and we all know that those are flavors.).
Second, as of this week, I have been bringing my lunch to work with me every day. This actually satisfies both promises, eliminating the chicken finger subs and saving roughly $50 a week. Unfortunately, Bitsy thwarted my reduced-fat-money-saving plan yesterday when she suggested a plan of her own: We could split my homemade lunch at 9:30 and then split a small vegetarian hummus sandwich for lunch. Though I had evenly divvied my turkey and Muenster on wheat, Double Stuf Oreos, and Cape Cod chips, come noon we still ended up ordering both a vegetarian hummus sandwich and a proscuitto and mozzarella sandwich.
Better luck today, people.
What I should really do is have some more surgery. I lost 10 pounds after my surgery and that was when I didn't even need to lose weight. Yeah, surgery would be a hell of a lot easier than cutting back ok on the chicken finger subs!
I say: Okay Taylor. Why? Why should you get out of bed this morning?
It typically doesn't take much to get me out of bed. A favorite outfit could do it. Something of interest to discuss with Bitsy could do it. A new favorite song that I can't wait to listen to could even do it.
I lay in my bed for eight minutes this morning because I could not think of one single, solitary reason to do anything otherwise.
Bitsy has always said that she thinks she's on a reality show. She's convinced that there are hidden cameras tucked away in our office and that, if she completes one year at the company, she will be awarded with a million dollars. I can't help but agree. I also can't help but be pissed off for being forced to endure the pain and agony of this obvious television experiment with her.
These people here? They don't really exist. I'm telling you right this very second that people like this do not exist. They're actors and I think they've been tipped off. They've been briefed on all of the things that would drive us crazy and do those things over and over again, day after day. This, obviously, is a ploy to ruin our chances at winning the million dollars.
Mouth has earned her moniker a thousand times over. There is absolutely no imaginable way of getting her to stop talking. Even flat-out telling her to stop talking only incites a sotto voce monologue. Complete and utter disinterest is also ineffectual. I was sitting at my desk reading my US Weekly when she came in and started yammering on about something. One would think that since I didn't once during that entire "conversation" utter a response, look up, or show even the slightest spark of interest, she would stop talking to me. No. Not so much, people.
Margie Gal has gone from muttering under her breath to having full blown, audible conversations with herself. She is horribly unprofessional 100% of the time. She wears black or tan jeans to work every day with white tube socks (rolled down over themselves at the top) and black ballet slippers. She calls the customers "hun" and "honey" despite being asked to stop numerous times, and has recently taken to asking customers for their "zippy" instead of their zip code. Also, she has the mental capacity of a lint roller. One covered with lint. Not even a new one.
I haven't even gotten to the supporting cast:
The Deaf Dock Man who likes to tell me about his sex-capades with hooker-like women
The Elevator Driver Man who is roughly 416 years old
The Mentally Challenged Man who Empties my Trash who is often doing something akin to karate or interpretive dance when I come in every morning
The wicked receptionist we call Attila (Tilly for short)
Sundry drunk homeless men
And more!
One might argue that this is a learning experience for me. That this will teach me acceptance and patience. To those people, I say, "Go fuck yourself." I have learned all that I possibly can from this place! I accept that these people are not at all like me and anyone with anything less than the patience of Jobe would have committed bloody murder by this point. Please. Someone. Anyone. Help me.
to Bitsy's girlfriend for finding THIS gem of a website.
Posted by Taylor on June 23, 2005 @ 11:01 amI get bored at work sometimes. I suppose that's just one of the, um, perks, of working in an office where we have maybe two to three hours of work a day to split between four people.
I find ways to keep myself entertained, though. Last week Bitsy and I taught ourselves Finnish (counting and basic phrases). We played MASH today (I'm going to be a neurophysicist with paper mites for pets). I check my email alot (read: A LOT). Also, I like to think of the many ways I could take my life with common office supplies.
Sometimes, though, I actually do productive things, like sketch. I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, an artist. Though my drawing skills continue to improve I still have a long way to go. I have a favorite subject in the office. I love to draw Margie Gal. I draw her over and over and over again. It never gets old. And every time I draw her I find something new. A new curve in her bloated cheek. A playful bounce to her intestine-like braid. These are the things that keep me coming back time after time.
And now, I share with you, Margie Gal.
Please make special note of the black scrunchy, the beaded dreadlock, and the buffalo plaid shirt.
Posted by Taylor on June 21, 2005 @ 8:36 pm