The “I will do anything to lose five pounds except eat less and exercise more” diet. I am trying to make a lifestyle change here people. It was easier to lose weight for spring break because there was an end in sight, but like the Bible says, man cannot live on 35 calorie bread, light mayo, and turkey, sandwiches alone.

Needless to say I have put on a few pounds since spring break. Some of my friends have been telling me that’s “comfort weight,” it’s natural to gain weight once you’re in a relationship. You’re so lucky, you don’t have to worry about what you look like anymore, he will always think you look beautiful. Bitch, puh-lease. It’s not like the second you’re Facebook official your jeans stop fitting. My relationship isn’t placing me in the “more to love” body shape category. That’s I-split-large-pizzas-and-ranch-with-one-person, weight. On second thought, give me a box of wine and a passive aggressive mindset and I am sure I could find a way for it to be my boyfriend’s fault. Maybe if you didn’t have so many female co-workers I wouldn’t crave cheese all the time. 

I have tried the master cleanse. That lasted about thirty-six hours before I had phantom back pains and thought the red lobster, of the Red Lobster logo, was talking directly to me. I tried the cabbage soup diet. Only problem is I hate both cabbage and soup. Thought about P90X, until I remembered a girl in my sorority tried it and I walked in on her crying through her jumping jacks. I cry more than a newborn. Next.

Which brings me to where I am now, a motivational Pintrest board smartly named, “Shit I Will Pretend to Do.” That detox water made of lemons, cucumber, and mint leaves? I am basically second story beer bonging that shit. Shot of apple cider vinegar? You bet I throw back that crap every morning. Cosmo says girl on top? Not my favorite, I prefer to do as little as possible, but fine- if that means I can stop doing lunges around the lobby of my workplace, I can compromise. Also doing the “Burn 100 Calories” workout, where the caption is do this as a reason to shower. Aka it was made for me because I am always looking for a reason to shower. Almost didn’t Pin it though, the chick with the camel toe really threw me, so I just memorized it. 

I have been losing weight though, but only because my third floor apartment doesn’t have air conditioning. I also have this pair of crazy crack whore squirrels who keep trying to break into my place, regardless of my attempts to hit them with my car. 

Usually I go to an air conditioned bar with wifi and play Sims all afternoon.

Instead, I am making myself staying in my room, in my apartment so I don’t spend any money, because I got a Chase message my account is below $50 dollars. It’s because I got a pedicure yesterday. I don’t know why I even get them, they just tickle the entire time, and I  have to watch old women talk about young things, and then I walk barefoot to the bar the same night anyway. I am actually playing The Bachelorette, which I don’t even like that much, on a loop to keep myself from online shopping on the sites advertised on my Facebook page. 

So here are a bunch of things on my mind that aren’t long enough to be their own blog post, but together warrant one mediocre entry. Yes, I had to copy and paste “mediocre” into the sentence because I don’t know how to spell it and my dad isn’t here to make me sound it out, or clap out the syllabus, like I am in first grade. Which is exactly how I feel sometimes. 

How come all the other girls can wear trendy high waisted jeans shorts where they have butt cheek cleavage dripping out, but whenever I try them on I get an insta-mom butt where it just looks like a saggy back extension? 

Next thought, what is the difference between old and vintage?

Does anyone else hate those guy’s that work at the hair straightener kiosks at the mall? I always pretend to talk to my mom on the phone when I approach them. I actually go out of my way at the mall to avoid them. Second thought, why are they always wearing vests? That’s it, I have decided vests are the creepiest thing a guy could wear. Only magicians can wear them, and even then just barely. 

I got lost driving to my cousin’s bridal shower at a church. I borrowed a friend’s dress to wear there, but she has boobs and I don’t, and it keeps me up at night to think about because there is a good chance I flashed the parish’s youth group getting out of my car. On the same dress note I was also chugging a gallon of cranberry juice at a stop light in the front seat and it dripped on my crotch-al region. The dress was white. 

Note to others on attending a bridal shower:

1. Apparently you’re not supposed to wear white unless you’re the bride. Who knew. 
2. When playing bridal bingo (the kind where you fill in the spots with gifts you think she has received) don’t cheat and look up her Bed Bath & BEYOND registry online. Specifics will kill ya. Also, don’t put vibrator in an open square when seated at a table of children and older aunts. 
3. Don’t be hungover unless you can drink more there.
4. I am going to start my bridal registry now and only add items to it when drunk.
5. Can I have a bridal registry at a liquor store? 

Glad I got that off my chest. BRB adding purple streaks to my hair and reading the second Hunger Games which has taken me five years to get into, but I just want to know who this rumored Finnick-whatever sex beast is. Why? Because I can / am really effing bored because I work weekends and am off Monday / Tuesday. Oh the woes of being a wedding coordinator. 

One of these things is not like the other. 

…with a BFA and a boyfriend. If only my bra size were a B I could think of some witty boob joke about how they are all related. My dad informed me that BFA actually stands for “big fucking asshole.” So I guess there could be some correlation between the first two items on my B list that I actually have; as for the last I will continue to fit the girls’ size butterfly print bras from Kohls. Just kidding, no on shops at Kohls anymore.

I have been a grad for just a few days now and its pretty much the same as any other day, just more hungover. Graduating college feels like waking up on a Sunday morning, only everyday is Sunday- and you have to work on the weekend. 

Everyone hopped on the band wagon for the last week of undergrad classes, being all sentimental and shit. Yeah, I am sure you will all miss two hour blocks of sitting on Facebook pretending to listen to a middle aged man lecture. Sounds like a weekend at home visiting my family.

The best part of graduation is all the random assholes I shared magical DFMOs (dance floor make outs, you newbs) , who I also believed to be my soulmates at some point, are getting the hell out of Michigan. Not just the school, but the whole damn state. An added perk for attending a University in a state ranked in the 10 least happy in the United States. Chances are that mean’s my main bitch’s man’s exs are leaving too! That right there prevents like, five fights. 

In other news I had stopped binge drinking since I have to work. If I went to the bar every time a friend texted me saying tonight was their last night, and I had to be there to help them use their thong as a hair tie while they puke… I still wouldn’t get any texts. 

Worry not, for I am going to start drinking again because:

• Apparently, much like the transformation to womanhood that comes out of fucking no where in 8th grade at a cheerleading meet, I am supposed to use gchat now- not Facebook, and NO ONE TOLD ME THAT.
• Diet coke tastes like carbonated piss without rum. 
• I will never have another summer again, and the next time I do get a chunk of time off like that will be for maternity leave. 
• I just threw up some crazy in my mouth. 
• The Walk of Shame Shuttle is real people, stop calling me from out of state unless you want an actual ride home in Ann Arbor. Boxes of wine can’t buy themselves. 
• I will continue to do nothing right in a relationship. Now you know where I got the ‘shit’ from.