muffin | tops | v2.0

A few months ago, I embarked on a glorious journey I liked to call Operation: Gain 10. This entailed me eating food in an effort to gain 10 pounds, all of which I hoped would spread evenly amongst my boobage and butt areas. My main goal was to look more like my idol, Kim Kardashian, and less like my non-idol, Olive Oyl, aka: Popeye’s lady love.

I am proud to announce that my goal has been achieved.

I discovered my victory one evening when I was getting dressed. First I put on my jeans. This took 6 minutes. I jumped around a bit as this was the only way I could get them over my thighs. Then I had to lie down to button them up. I admired my flat tummy while on my back and it reminded me of why I was so fond of being there so much. It was a lovely moment.

Next up was my top. I decided on a tank I had bought last summer. I put that one. Then I went to the mirror to check my hot self out. But the chick in the mirror wasn’t so happy to see me. In fact, she was frowning. And without warning, she just flipped out and started to yell.

“Damn girl. Your tummy is like a tsunami all up in dem jeans!!!”

I don’t know why my alter ego speaks ghetto but I didn’t try to figure it out just then. I was too busy sobbing in the corner, coming to terms with the fact that I, that skinny bitch, had succeeded in her mission and not only gained 10 pounds but a muffin top to go along with it.

A fucking MUFFIN TOP. It was a horrible site to behold.

For those of you not in the know, muffin top was designed to humiliate and cause extreme discomfort. It is your jeans way of letting you know they are not pleased to be on your fat ass. And we all know – if the fat can’t stay inside, then you should.

I immediately changed into something more comfortable – i.e. something out of my pregnant woman closet. That is where I stock my none-form fitting “fashionable” tops. The tops that, when worn with a belt, will completely mask the fact that I look like I just ate a three-month old baby. The tops that, when worn without a belt, will drape over my body like a designer garbage bag. I love those tops.

In conclusion, I am fat. And in the spirit of this new discovery, I’d like to invite you on my new journey, aptly titled Operation: Lose 5. Please bring your helmets – it’s going to be a turbulent ride.

baby in | toilet

Val, Zohra and I went out one night and somehow the conversation turned to motherhood. Basically none of us think we are ready to be moms yet. And basically, both those bitches think I’d make a terrible one. So I’m like, I’d make a wonderful mom. I love very well. And they’re like, but you have to take care of them and stuff and can’t do what you want. And I’m like, what are you talking about? Then they gave me a list of all this shit babies needs and I was like, oh man. But if I had one, I’d have lots to write about. And theyre like, but you can’t just leave a baby to go write a blog. And I’m like, really? What the fuck kind of bullshit is that. I’m going to Rite Aid to buy some Plan B.

The point of this story is that a lot of people need instructions on how to take care of babies – not just me. Take the sign above. Maybe, just maybe, someone out there does think its okay to flush their baby down the toilet. But because of the sign, they’ll now know its actually not okay. I wonder if Val and Zohra had anything to do with it because apparently they have it all figured out.

meet | doucharella

this past week, ive been participating in the national wahathon. i fucking wah at everything. my head hurts. im sneezing. my heart hurts. i’m hungry. im tired. i hate life. wah fucking wah. enough already.

so today i got a piece of somewhat not wah-like news. and so naturally i did what i try to avoid doing. i got excited. it was terrible. i had to remain calm as i was at work and so my hand arms started to hurt from composure. wah. then i couldn’t focus because i was excited. wah. then i wanted to go home and do a jig or some shit but couldn’t because i couldnt feel my hands and had difficulty typing up a sick note to the man. wah.

and even though im still excited and see somewhat of a light at the end of this miserable tunnel, i know better than to expect it to work out. high hopes lead to high falls. but if by chance it does (work out?), then i will be pleasantly surprised as opposed to no-fucking-kidding dissapointed. i look forward to finding out! and by that i mean i’ll have perpetual anxiety until i do. good times.

happy thursday.

that chick | i stalk | chap 2

Today (last Monday), that chick I stalk was sitting in the center of Starbucks. She was wearing brown boots and a blue top. I didn’t really think it matched. She was also wearing a funky ring on her wedding ring finger and I briefly wondered if she was engaged to Elmo.

I don’t know why but I kept turning in her direction. Actually, I do know why. It’s because I’m stalking her. But then for some reason I stopped looking at her (some reason=taking notes) and when I turned back around, she was gone. I wondered how this could have possibly happened as I was writing at a ferocious speed. How did she manage to pack everything up so quickly? Was this chick magical, too? Did she house unicorns in her closet? Then I spotted her by the window and jotted that down. I now know to sit there so that we have greater chance of meeting.

Then that chick got a phone call. She looked angry and this made me angry. You’re fucking engaged to Elmo, you sit in Starbucks all day drinking coffee and writing. It is illegal for you to ever be in a bad mood. This ruffled my feathers for the duration of her call but then I simmered down. I was scaring the couple next to me with my excessive foot tapping and knuckle cracking.

All in all, it was a successful session. I learned that comfy couch seats are so 3 weeks ago and that it is suspicious to others when you sit in said comfy couch seat with a rope and heavy duty duct tape in your lap. However, I consider this all to be progress and I look forward to reporting on our next date.

Read that chick | i stalk – chapter 1.

NYU kids are | douchebags

Did you hear about those loser NYU kids who barricaded themselves inside the cafeteria to protest financial and academic issue and were then suspended? Well now you did. And good riddance to them. Suspend them all. Hang them from nooses if necessary. Yes, even if they’re black because otherwise that would be blatant discrimination.

The thing is this – NYU is overpriced. But didn’t you know this before you accepted to go there? Didn’t you know how much the school costs and how much financial aid you weren’t going to be getting? That’s like me going into a Bentley dealership, buying a Bentley, and then coming back to protest the next day because I think their cars are overpriced and oh, shit, I just lost my mistress gig and won’t have the money to pay for it. It’s complete douchebaggery.

And please know that there are many great schools in New York that cost less and teach more. Just because Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen went to NYU doesn’t mean it’s a good school. Because James Franco and Julia Stiles go to Columbia. I’m sure someone noteworthy has gone to Baruch. There’s the New School and a bunch of other places that never have such public problems. Is it the school or just that NYU accepts retards?

(Sidenote: I actually saw Julia Stiles when I was working at The Og. She smiled at me and my friend. Perhaps she didn’t want us following her? I also saw Ethan Hawke. He didn’t smile. In fact he walked in the opposite direction. Am not sure why. Was offended.)

Anywho, this is the end of my rant against NYU kids. Just know that I hate you and that you ruined the West Village for me. And perhaps instead of doing these stupid things, read a book and actually learn something. You’re wasting your parents money, yo. And I’m sure they hate you, too.

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