Hello dear friends,
I'm in a state of disgust and irritability. My work life is so tragically mundane and terribly lacking luxury. These longs days in the office are catching up to me. My waist has grown two whole inches since I started working here 7 months ago. I can't afford this, my wardrobe can't afford this, my emotional stability (courtesy of an amazing therapist and hot boyfriend) can't afford this.
What happened to those carefree school days when I was doing lines of cocaine, staying up all night, going to class the next day looking like the freshest betch on the block with my Giorgio Armani luminous silk foundation in shade 6.5 and Chanel BLONZER (blush and bronzer) palette. with my pale pink lips courtesy of Bobbi Brown and my 22' waist courtesy of Merck pharmaceutical GODS. and my 2" Ferragamo heels that made my stick thin legs look just a touch thinner.
These days I am drug-free and in-between "kind of skinny, kind of thick?" land. That might as well be morbid obesity if you ask me. I eat more sugar than most noncompliant diabetics. I eat more ice cream than Ben or Jerry.
I just hate this phase in my life. Of course the weight gain comes with the classic female insecurities of "does my boyfriend even find me attractive?" ... "does this chick really have to work out in her sports bra???" I can't stand girls who feel the need to strip down to their sports bras...like I'm sorry but I'm pretty sure 95% of the united states is experiencing some kind of shit snow/ice/winter goblin storm right now - it's really not the season for your pink under armour sports bra, you betch.
Sometimes I stalk who my boyfriend follows on instagram.
I wonder if I can spray tan these love handles off my body?
I contemplate if I really do need meds for this "ADD" of mine. I'm supposed to be writing an editorial on how Burkas will be the next black. I doubt that...especially when you've got pink sports bra wearing betches walking around...
OK I can't focus for another minute longer.
Until the next impulse to blog, xoxo,
ElyVas
