"Damn it! What the hell is WRONG with these things? Why are all the labels switched?"
"Still too big?"
"YES! Who the hell would do this, dude? Who has the time to mess with this many stickers? Why are these labeled smalls?"
"I don't think they're switched."
"I gained weight, ok?"
"Maybe the pants just run big. Try these."
"Those are extra smalls...those fit o-2's. Remember the black pants? The slightly tight ones? Those are FOURS, honey. I'm still too fat for my 3's."
"Those are JEANS. These are workout clothes. Try it."
"I won't fit into a 0."
*Five minutes later*
"....sonovabitch. No. Nononono. No. What the--"
"Because they're your SIZE."
I'm not a size 0 or 2.
But I bought something today
that was meant for size o-2's, and it fits. Perfectly.
I'm convinced the pants are liars.
Because my size 5 jeans (my fat jeans) are still fucking tight.
Granted, they are shaped awkwardly, and were still a little snug when I was in size 3's,
but that's the point.
When those are loose, then I'll be a size 5.
Until then, I'm just fucking OBESE.
I went out to lunch with him.
Had 1 1/2 slices of potato spuds (like chips/hashbrowns, just cut very very thin, and fried so they're crispy outside, soft in), 1/2 a grilled cheese sandwich (maybe a little more--I dunno. I started to hide it in my napkin in my lap so no one would see that I wasn't eating), and then I had lettuce leaves.
I seriously feel disgusting.
Like...I wanna shove my purge-pen (yes, I have a specific pen--a purple sharpie that I fucked with so I can take it in the shower and purge while I'm in there when I get into those moods, and nobody will hear me over the water, and since our drain doesn't have a filter over it, it's relatively little clean up...) down my throat and see if I could regurgitate the fucking thing. Butter, and full fat cheese, and white bread.
If it tastes good, it's trying to kill you.
On a good note, I managed to get a diet pill in me long enough before lunch so that I felt sick by the time we got to the restaurant. Meaning, even though I had skipped breakfast and had three excedrin (which always makes me hungry), that rather than inhaling the first thing that was put in front of me, I was too nauseous to eat.
Like preventative epicac.
On a good note, I taught my first group fitness class today. It was a "meditation in movement; qi guong/tai qi for the beggining to intermediate student". On a HILARIOUS note, I was subbing for a family member, and I...hadn't been to the class more than once, and the extent of my knowledge on the matter is relegated to some work out DVD's I filched from said family member and studied the night before.
but still...i was asked how long i had been studying, because I did a pretty good job.
Now I am off to meet a friend.
A friend I have never met IRL. I know her from a writing group on line, and she happens to know about my ED, which is...pressure.
Because I feel like, since she knows, she's going to be expecting someone much frailer than my morbidly fat arms and body.
Oh, and on a good note?
though I probably undid it with the fucking sammich. UGH.