20 pounds and inumerous euphemisms later...

Okay. Here's the deal:
I am soooooo sick of people finding "nice" ways of saying I'm fat.

For those of you who haven't seen me since this summer (or earlier) I've gained about 20 lbs since, ehhh June? I can't remember. But I've been "I HAVE TO GRADUATE" girl all semester which has limited my active routines and increased my study snack food. Some days I hate how I look (who doesn't) but most days I'm like, "eh. I'm still hot."

But the other day, a good guy friend of mine used one of my least favorite fat euphemisms: larger. Larger? Honestly? Larger than what? A pinky toe? Size zero? What an ambiguous way to try and avoid offense! Well, I decided to forgive him and move on. HA HA! TONIGHT he used it SEVERAL times to describe me and others. I kinda flipped (thank goodness we were texting and he didn't see the look of murder on my face). And this is why I'm up at 1:45 a.m. (and to study. dangit.) posting a blog about being fat.

I KNOW I'M FAT!! I am SOOOOO aware of all the connotations that come with my weight!!!! I'm not stupid, and I'm not ugly either (I think that's a plus. Thanks to good genes for my decently cute face!). If you think by pretending (poorly) that I'm skinny you'll make me feel better, you won't. Maybe some people like it. But I don't. Why?

BECAUSE I THINK I'M STILL HOT, 20 POUNDS OR NOT. So, what I'm saying is SO WHAT IF I'M FAT?????

Why can't people compliment something else about me? Why can't they say "gosh, your eyes are so pretty," or "you dress so well." Why not? Why not reinforce good feelings about myself by being honest with me? I don't know about other fat people, but it really gets my goat when people try to convince me that I'm "just a little bigger than skinny" or, heaven forbid "larger."

Case in point: I have a roommate who I think honestly tries to be nice. Honestly. She just doesn't know how. So Tori and I were doing our hair in the vanity area, and Tori said something about being fat. Well, I am, and proud of it! Tori and I both think we're freaking sex goddesses, so there. But my poor, ignorant roommate says "You're not fat!"

Well, sorry but yes I am.

And why is that a bad thing?

I have better blood pressure than my ridiculously skinny aunt. Huh, even in the "dangerously" obese BMI range?

So, uh, fat doesn't necessarily mean unhealthy?? NEWSFLASH!!!!!

Anyway. That's my rant.


Sorry if I offended anyone, but these thoughts were keeping me awake. I'm sure later today I'll have a follow up based on the very same conversation with my guy friend on how unattractive and/or fat girls get the bloody short end of the stick on dating. Oh for criminy sakes...

Okay, I'm done for reals this time.

And the votes are...

Okay, so my mission papers are finally in. I asked the masses where they think I'll go. So far, the votes are:

France
Temple Square
Taiwan
Mongolia
Boise
Pocatello (please no!)
Toronto, Canada
Albania
Anywhere French speaking...


what are your votes?

Out of my world...

You know those days that life is just... down?

Welcome to my day.

And, to top it all off... I just realized, once again, how NOT upper class I am. Like these two tutors stand here and talk about things, and I can't help but feel slapped in the face with my middle-class status. Sorry, I don't really care about Apple's new store. Sorry, I'm going to stress about paying for my car repairs-- Mommy and daddy don't pay for everything. Sorry, my wardrobe is limited, and I'm too nervous about paying for things to get quarters for laundry.

And in case you didn't catch that-- those were sarcastic sorrys.

To fall crop circles

in the carpet...

I started this with such intention and commitment. Somehow, it flew out the window. I can't recall a single thing I was meaning to write, to tell and express. My high-energy roll must be over. Blast. It's only 11 a.m.

Okay. Well. Nevermind then.

Bugger it all.

Used textbooks and philosophical penses

One thing I love about buying used textbooks is that it gives me a chance to get to know someone on a secret level. I feel like they left all these clues to who they are without even realizing it. Like Melissa.

Melissa is the previous owner of my Abnormal Psychology book. Melissa obviously started out with serious ambition: she marked, highlighted and wrote notes in every margin space available. In fact, it was so bleeding efficient that it bothered me: where was I going to write my notes? Gosh, I guess I have to use paper like the rest of the world. Melissa lost ambition fast

Dreaaaaaammmmm

dream dream....


Some psychologists hypothesize that dreams are merely the brains way of putting random thoughts from the day into so coherent order.

Hahahaha. Maybe sometimes. But I don't know about you guys, but my dreams are usually not coherent.

For example:

Last night I dreamt that I had a new mother, and she was trying to find a husband, so she wore every bit of makeup she owned. We went walking with her two small, yappy dogs, prowling for a husband. Next thing I know, I'm at Grandma Carlee's house. Apparently, that's where the ward talent show/ family reuinion was being held. Everyone was on stage, showing us their talent. I was wandering around, just talking. Then, Brandon and Sarah show up. They tell me that there's a totally dismantled laptop on my car's hood. I ask them what I should do about that because my oil light has been spaztically blinking on and off. Brandon lectured me on taking care of the camry, and then I walked over to my car. Apparently, Grandma and Grandpa were storing it for me for the semester under a tree house. I see my car and realize that it's not a real laptop-- someone just drew (with window paint) a laptop on my window. I laugh, try to make sure the door's locked, and then stop-- my doors are ALL unlocked. How long had they been this way??? I get inside the car and try to find out if anything was stolen. Only two things: my phone's battery and SIM card. Yup. I then spent the rest of the dream trying to figure out why someone would just take my SIM card and battery.

OH WAIT, that wasn't all. While I was pondering this befuddling puzzel, Sarah and Brandon did their talent: it was a blindfolded pole/sexy dance. Though, there were no poles, and it wasn't all that sexy. And Sarah looked like my horrible roommate (trust me Sarah, that's not my unconcious saying I want her over you-- you're wayyyyy better than her. And cuter).

Then I woke up.

You call that coherent?