Last night, I was so happy to slide into bed. I had just washed all my stuff and it was comfy and clean and I was so ready to sleep. Ha. For the last six hours, since going to bed, I have been woken up every damn hour by one thing or another. One dog wanting out; the other wanting out; one of them wanting water because the other one sucked down the whole bowl; a weird dream; and the crowing fucking moment, waking up because when I stretched out my foot hit puddle of fucking dog vomit all up and down one side of my bed.

Did I mentioned I just washed all my bedding?

So on Monday, on the way to work, the muffler fell off my damn ghetto buggy car. Annoying, but not too critical, especially since my dad is a car guy and can fix it. I took my car (which is actually my dad's car I've been driving for three years) to my dad today for him to fix it, and he gave me a loaner.

But while I was there, I saw something wonderful. On blocks, in my dad's shop, was MY car. My classic red, white hard top, leather interior, more horsepower than a sixteen year old girl should've had, '66 Mustang. My sixteenth birthday present, taken away at 19 when I went to college, because my dad was afraid it would be stolen on campus. For eight years, my beautiful car has been sitting in storage. Every year or so my dad would make some mention of getting it ready for the summer, but it never moved from its place in my dad's storage shed.

But today, she's getting worked on! I might actually get my baby back! I'm so freaking excited! Except one thing. One rather embarrassing thing, that I noticed a couple of years ago when I went to sit in my car and be nostalgic. That one thing is this:

So ... I'm dieting. For my car. I think it's a worthy cause. I wore an 18 when I was driving my car before. I'm a 22 now. Two sizes isn't really that much. And since my car can't adjust, well, my flab will have to this time. I know I feel better when I eat less carby crap anyway, so it shouldn't really be difficult. Right? Well, we'll see.

Once before, I wrote about parents that had their little boy on a diet. Honestly, I might not have recognized them as the diet parents, if they hadn't had their fat gram counter out on the table again! And it definitely wasn't for either of the parents, based on what they were eating. A burger and fries with mayo for dad, and a fried orange chicken dish for mom. And chicken fingers and fries for the older boy.

For the younger boy? Pasta with tomato sauce, no parmesan cheese, and dry broccoli. They did allow him to have regular Pepsi instead of diet--but just one!--probably because the poor kid looked like he'd lost weight.

Poor kid.

So tonight while I was waiting for the cooks to finish hosing down the floors so I could do my sidework, I wandered out to the table where my now-ex-roommate was eating. She had ordered hot wings and a chocolate chip cookie sundae, because 1) the other hostess wanted some and 2) no one's food is sacred in that place and she knew it'd be munched on by everyone else and 3) none of that matters, she was hungry and doesn't have to justify what she eats. Not that it matters, but my friend is skinny. She's perfectly healthy-looking and proportionate. To be honest, she's hot.

So I was really surprised when I walked up and she whispered to me that the three guys--total strangers--at the table next to her (two feet away) had been commenting on what she was eating. As in "oh my god, look at how much she's ordered! Look at all that food! I can't believe she's eating all that!" Like I said, they were two feet away; they made no effort to keep their voices down. They sat there, two feet from my friend, commenting on how much she was eating. When the other hostess came up and took a bite of the dessert, all three of them stared at her. Then they went back to commenting on my friend's food every time she took a bite.

Now, I'm sure we're all guilty at one point or another of judging what other people eat. I know back in my self-hating dieting days, I would look at fat people eating "unhealthy" foods, or large portions, and think uncharitable things. I still sometimes envy people who can put away all the food they want and be smaller than me. Sometimes I still catch myself thinking "what's the point of ordering diet Pepsi with that meal?"

But I would never, ever sit next to a total stranger and comment on their food! Well, okay, if it was something bizarre I might whisper to my friend that it looked disgusting, but I wouldn't vocally judge someone's meal and how much they were eating. I expect assholes to do it when I dare to eat and be fat in public; but for someone to rag on an average-sized woman, whom they'd never seen before, within her hearing range? Because she dared to have an appetizer and a dessert? Are you fucking kidding me?

Had we been out to eat, I would've turned to them and demanded to know what their goddamn problem was. But since I was in uniform and they were at work, I couldn't be directly rude. Instead, I stepped back from my friend a bit and said, quite loudly, "You know, I think it's really rude and inappropriate for strangers to comment on what other people are eating."

My friend about choked on her hot wing. I managed to keep a straight face and not even look at the assholes next to us. The other hostess asked what I was talking about, so my friend very quietly told her; I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was in the same vein, and it was quite loud.

I was very pleased when, about thirty seconds later, the asshats got up and left--leaving half-full beers. I didn't look at them as they passed, and I barely moved out of their way for them to leave, leaving my fat, full-meal-eating ass mostly in their way. I hope they're suitably humiliated for their douchehound-ness.

A couple of weeks ago, all of my standards bras were ... well, they stank of restaurant. My standard bras for the last year were full coverage balconettes from Lane Bryant; the year before that it was plunge bras, but those suddenly started being really uncomfortable and became my backup bras. Well, the day I realized all my bras were fragrant, I dug out a backup lunge bra, and it was actually super comfortable again! So I've been wearing them daily since then, and it's made quite a difference.

For one thing, my back doesn't hurt. It's very difficult to slump while wearing one of these bras, so I've been standing up straighter, which means my abdominal muscles have been engaged more, which means my back hasn't been hurting--awesome.

And then there's this weirdness: my overall tip percentage at work has been a little better, even at times when I've blatantly screwed up. And even though I've been too lazy to put on makeup most days, which usually drags my tips down. If it were just tips from men, I could understand--but it's overall tips from everyone. This mystifies me. I'm not acting any differently. You know what I think it is? My tits being accentuated makes me look thinner. And being more acceptance means I "deserve" bigger tips.

But maybe I'm being too cynical.

So today, after only three months, my roommate moved out. When she first moved in, I knew she was planning to get an apartment with a friend in the summer; I knew it was going to be a temporary thing. That's part of why I was willing to try it, when I wasn't really sure how I'd do living with somebody else. But then her friend decided to enlist, and it looked like she might stay. That made me happy--we get along well, and spent many a night giggling over stupid things together. Now she's moving to a different state, and she took 99% of her stuff today even though she's not heading out until Thursday (she's staying at her dad's).

And it feels weird. It's so strange to sit here in my house and not be listening for her keys jangling. It's weird to have her bedroom door open, even though I've already put some of my extra stuff back in there. It's just weird all over, and I'm really going to miss her.

But at the same time ... I think it'll be good. I don't think having a roommate was good for me. For one thing, we encouraged each others' procrastination and overspending. For another, I think she's part of the reason I've been up until truly ridiculous hours so often. I mean, obviously I'm an adult and make my own decisions, I'm not really blaming her. But I realized this week that even when I did go to bed earlier, I didn't stay asleep. I woke up a lot, and would toss and turn, until about 10 in the morning, which is when she would usually leave for work. I think any little noise made me partially wake up because I was anxious.

See, my bedroom door is right across from hers. And I can't close my bedroom door at night without locking all the animals out, which upsets them. And I also have a tendency to take off my pajamas in my sleep if I'm too hot, or whatever. So I think I was subconsciously worried she'd come out her room and I'd be stark naked for her viewing displeasure! Also, I think having someone else in my personal space was just really subtly stressing me out.

So I would end up not sleeping properly until late morning, and then sleeping until obscenely late, which would then mean I couldn't sleep until some crazy hour. I mean, I've always stayed up late, but it's been out of control the last few months. I guess we'll see after a few days; but already since getting home from work I feel different and more relaxed. I'm even starting to feel sleep now, at 1:30, which is really early compared to the last few months.

Of course, with no roommate rent is all on me, so that's a whole different kind of stress!

No, really. Literally.

Apparently, United Airlines has decided to punish fat people for giving them money. Sure, other airlines have freaked the fuck out about the fatties before; but I don't remember any of them having the neat little clause UA has stuck in there. Basically, if you're too large to fit between the armrests, or need more than one seatbelt extender, you can be made to buy an extra ticket ... or forced off the flight without a refund. Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? They can arbitrarily decide to just boot me off a place and keep my cash, with no obligation to provide any further service? For fuck's sake! How is that even legal?

Now, the last time I flew (other than a short flight to Vegas on a local carrier, which was quite different from a company like United), I was larger than I am now; and I fit in the seat just fine. I don't know if I needed an extender or not--I can't remember! I remember being terrified and horribly embarassed to think I might have to ask (this was pre-self-acceptance!) for one. But I don't think I had to. And I am still absolutely enraged by this. I read about it at Shapely Prose; between the original post and the comments, I can't say it any better. This is ridiculous and outrageous; it's shaming and dehumanizing; it's discriminatory and offensive. Please write to the CEO of United ( glenn.tilton@united.com) to complain and/or sign this petition against the policy.

Check out this hilarious post by K.H. at The Hooters Girl.

So I admit, when I was in middle school and had my first web page, I thought it was quirky and cool to type occasional things lIke ThIs. But it drives me nuts when people over drinking age, who are old enough to be engaged, and oh yeah, just found out she's knocked up, sign text messages with things like "lOv3ly lIsa".
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

I've been really trying to save money lately; and one way I'm doing this is by eating only at home or at work. Unless someone else is paying. :)If I make it to Wednesday it'll be three weeks. Well, while we were waiting to eat Easter dinner today, my grandmother was going on about some fast food chain, and I mentioned my fast food fast.

And she immediately starts into the diet talk, going on and on about my third cousin (who is a nasty, hideous bitch--and I mean that about her personality) and how she's been going to Curves and she's lost six pounds!!11!!

I waited until my aunt was paying attention to this rambling, and I left the room. Unfortunately, she started on it again when I came back. Finally I interrupted her and said, "It's not a diet thing, it's a money thing." She looked a little nonplussed but shut up about it. And didn't give me any lecture about how such-and-such on the table was made with fat free whatever. Maybe she's learning.

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Happy Easter, ya'll!

(This is a sponsored post. Yeehaw!)

A couple of years ago, someone I worked with gave me one of those double-ended makeup tubes. I only accepted it to be polite; one end was this garishly sparkly pink gloss that felt like coating my lips in epoxy resin. The other side was a perfume that, to be honest, I couldn't even really smell at the time. It wasn't until last summer when I finally had my sinuses fixed that I discovered I love, love, love Victoria's Secret Love Spell perfume. I still carry that tube in my purse and use it sometimes--but sparingly, because every VS I visit carries the lotions, but not the perfume. It's too bad, because I always get compliments when I wear it.

Another of my favorite perfumes is, shamefully, Britney Spears' Fantasy. I normally eschew anything trendy, anything with teen pop star labels. But one day at work I was walking behind a woman who was going into the fitting room, and she smelled absolutely amazing. So much so that I actually said "You might think I'm a freak, but you smell delicious!" And then I had to go and get some, because it really does smell amazing--sort of sugary and candy-like, but not sickeningly so.

Those are my two favorites; there's a new site for perfume reviews that's just started that might help you find some other ideas. So far they have review of Chanel No. 5, Versace Blue Jeans, and Christian Dior Addict. The site, perfume blog, has just gotten off the ground, but if you like perfumes or are searching for a new fragrance, it should be a great resource. You're able to leave comments on reviews, too, and leave your own opinion. I'm looking forward to seeing this site expand--there are a lot of fragrances I'm curious about.

I've been watching the series Dollhouse, mostly because I like Eliza Dushku--although I think she's way, way too skinny now--and I'm rather pleased with one of the characters, played by Miracle Laurie. She's by no means fat, that would be too much to hope for from a show paired with that stupid Terminator thing for its "sexiness". But I am pleased that Miracle Laurie isn't a stick figure. I mean, here we have a beautiful woman on a prime time show ... who actually looks like she has room for her internal organs!

Although, in watching more of the show, it's clear that the producers are trying to hide her "weight". Her body seems to be mostly hidden behind other characters; we don't get the up-close, scandalous shots of her body like we do the skinny girls; and the clothing they put her in the designed to be slenderizing--black, layered, ruffled, etc. But at least we have one average sized person on the show--and she's a love interest for a main character!

I've been thinking a lot lately about how some things seem to come so easy for most of the world, and yet are so difficult for me. I'm not talking special skills here, either; I'm talking things as basic as keeping up on the housework. I suck at that. My dad's always lecturing me about if I just spend thirty minutes a day on it, I'll keep on top of it--but the problem tends to be getting on top of it in the first place. And another problem is that I tend to fall in to an all or nothing mindset--if I don't have time to finish cleaning and sorting the entire house, why start? I'll just have to do it over, right? So why start?

Don't get me wrong; it's not like I live in a shit-smeared hovel with gravel on the floor. But I haven't vacuumed in about a week; there's laundry all over my room; there are spots on my stovetop; and I have three bags of trash I put outside the back door because I was too lazy to walk them another twenty yards to the dumpster in the cold.

Sometimes this doesn't bother me. Other times, I feel like I suck at life. This is one of those times. And I don't want to suck at life.

I hate you.

Love,
Me

(I have an exam in nine hours that I am, in typical me fashion, woefully unprepared for.)

I've suspected for a while that there's a ghost in my house; but some of the stuff was easy enough to brush off as just me being a ditz. Things like my hairbrush not being where I put it, or my Ped-Egg not being where I thought it was ... then turning up again in that same spot. But the first thing that happened that I couldn't dismiss was the re-appearance of my gloves in my coat pockets when I knew they weren't there the night before because I had my hands in my pockets coming in the house.

Since my roommate moved it, we've had more creepy stuff happen. She told me once that two of the cats started staring at the same spot, then both jumped off the couch, crouched next to each other on the floor, and stared at the same spot for a long time. One time, her allergy medicine vanished and turned up in the bottom of her laundry hamper. Last week, I knew she wasn't home but kept thinking I was hearing coughing coming from her room, to the point I opened the door to be sure. Yesterday I was sitting here at my computer and got the strongest feeling that someone was looking over my shoulder.

So sometimes it's creepy .... and sometimes, it's just plain silly. Three weeks ago, I was at Wal-Mart and got a copy of the movie Waiting for $5. I also got dog food, cat food, paper towels, and a bunch of other stuff. The pet food and paper towels I didn't bother to drag in that night, since they were just to stock up. But that night when I got home, I pulled Waiting out of one of the bags and said "Look what I got!" and showed it to my roomie, since we're both restaurant slaves. We both remember me excitedly waving the movie and saying it was $5, and then we decided not to watch it right then.

I went to get it one day to loan it to another coworker ... and couldn't find it. It wasn't with the other movies, or on the kitchen table, or anywhere else I could find. Well, tonight I found it ... when I brought in the plastic sack with the paper towels in it. Harmless, but creepy.