Okay, I need to vent. This is what I have to say: thin people get a lot of crap. And we're expected to just take it.
Never in a million years would it occur to me to comment on someone's weight, exercise routine, or lunch. Yet I'm subjected to other people's comments on each of the above almost constantly. My coworker TD only eats an orange because she's not very hungry today, and no one bats an eyelash. I turn down a late afternoon cookie BECAUSE I JUST DON'T WANT IT and everyone's got something to say about how I never eat junk food. Which, if you know me, isn't even accurate, because I eat dessert on a daily basis. With more regularity than I eat anything else. But the thing that gets me is, even if I didn't, WHY DO YOU CARE WHAT I EAT?
Part of the problem is that we only see in two dimensions. Has anyone ever stopped to consider that someone might be thin and not belong in a treatment center? But here is the crux of the issue for me when it comes to people commenting on anyone's weight, food, or exercise habits: Mind your own business! Seriously. My sister always laughs when she recites what my mom used to tell us when we'd whine about one another. She would very matter-of-factly say: "You just worry about you. That's all you need to do."
So that's it. That's the very simple solution I'm offering up: Everybody just worry about yourself and your own damn cookie. Then we should get along just fine.
Quit picking on the small kids
A small perk of a loathful condition
BF and I are going to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, on a school night. I love being an adult.
Monday night wish list
I wish:
1. people who litter would spontaneously combust
2. I wasn't scared of the basement
3. someone would fix the @!#&ing escalator at Davis
4. I didn't have staff meeting tomorrow morning
5. my roommate wouldn't use the furniture as a drying rack
Movie magic or should I not even be allowed to watch TV right now?
Okay, The Wedding Singer. When Adam Sandler sings that song at the end, "I wanna grow old with you", to Drew Barrymore? That'd make anyone cry, right? I don't feel like I can trust my own judgment at this point, but that's the sweetest thing ever, isn't it? A three-tissue moment? Of course, I'm not only hormonally questionable tonight, I'm also getting sick. And for some reason just before I get sick I always morph into an emotional cripple. So I could be wrong here.
Tear jerked
The movie Stepmom is on TBS (note, sooooo NOT Very Funny) and I have PMS. Watching this is just finishing me off in one fell swoop. Is there anything more heart wrenching than Susan Sarandon saying goodbye to the children she'll never see grown up while Julia Roberts waits in the wings to take her place? I need a bubble bath, a box of tissues, and some high grade chocolate to recover. Better yet, fighting it is pointless - I'm just going to cry for the rest of the afternoon and call it a day.
