(no subject)
I am here again, sitting around (by myself, no less), on another boring Saturday night. I should be in a drunken stupor but I can't because I have to get up to go to the job, that I quit today, at 6:30 tomorrow morning. I am bored and fat and so I keep eating anything I can find. I always forget how gross KIX are. But, I am slowly learning Spanish- as "Dora the Exploraer" is on the box. If I ever go to Mexico to discuss nature, I'm covered thanks to this incredibly bland, incredibly inexpensive cereale. La Nuez, La hoja, La flor, El arbol, El pajaro, El insecto. Thank you, KIX. You are indeed mother approved!
And yet I keep pouring bowl after bowl and chomping it down, thinking how much better a bowl of Fruit Loops Or Cinnamon Toast Crunch would be. I need added colors. I need added flavors. I need artificial preservatives. Otherwise, you just have....KIX. The perfect cereale to go with my bland Saturday night, as well as my bland life.
I have developed an even bigger, less cute, potbelly- all within the past two days. I thought I just hadn't noticed how distended and round it had gotten. But I guess I was just blinded by the fat. But, it seriously does bother me. I doubt that it will make me do anything, other than buy Fat Reduced Pringles, but I don't want it to be there. I want it to just go away, preferably as quickly as it came. It wouldn't be as bad if it had gone to my ass or my already swollen ankles, but it went to the one spot where it is noticeable. Like a zit on the end of your nose, it just pops out in a perfect circle, like I've stuffed a small inflatable beach ball above my belt just for laughs. There's too much emphasis on looks, especially lately, and I suppose that is the only reason it bugs me as much as it does. Constantly being around shallow people does it to you, as does having an almost boyfriend [that drives you nuts] for approximately two days.
I'm one to be possessive and touchy, but goddamn. I was cringing at the thought of having to call him, which makes me seem really terrible, but I couldn't stand it. He always had to be touching me, and it was two days. Two days of that made me stop liking him, and so I was replaced. At least he figured out that I wasn't pulling away and making grossed-out faces out of love. It wasn't that that pissed me off, it was the fact that I was evidently extremely easily replaceable. Maybe not so much replaceable as just one on the list. The next day, the last day we got bored enough to go sit among the morons, he had already found a dumber, less attractive, easier girl to swoon over. I'm proud, I guess, but I just hate to see people skip around. I hope he doesn't get diseases, because I'm sure he will. That is why we don't like them anymore. We don't want to be in high school. We don't pretend to be "college students" at a party college, when infact we are design and IT majors at a fake "design" school (especially one with late-night commercials). This is why Sara and I have no friends. Other than being overly selective and elitists, we just don't want to hold on to high-school, or even junior high as the case may be. But those people, that's their life. It's very sad, but they can all be fine with only having friends because they share their pot and alcohol, or because they can be okay with trotting around in tiny skirts and halter tops- knowing that after having scored said pot/alcohol, they will probably be raped or at least conned into consensual fucking. And we are not. We are smarter than that, and people hate us for it. Either way, we have decided that high-school drama (such as "Linsey K" gossiping about whatever lies Steve and/or Dave told them about us, while we are sitting there watching her do so) is not exactly the way we'd like to spend our weekends. I'd rather spend my nights with my head under my pillow than deal with that anymore. I can get over loneliness, easily, and would rather feel that than have to listen to anyone tell us, "I totally normally dress like you guys, in T-shirts and stuff...." from a girl who has yet to have been seen in anything other than a halter top- not that it matters. It's good to be able to laugh at people, but after a certain point, it loses its charm and turns into the realization of how sad these people must be the second they are alone.
And that's where I decide that spending my Saturday night cleaning my room and building a dresser seems glamorous and I can feel good about myself, even if I am sitting on the computer, typing up a long nothing about KIX and the cruel politics of "college life" and obesity. But, at least, I feel alright with things, except for the fact that the only person I ever call is Brock and feel bad for doing so constantly. I need a new "Bff", as I'm sure he doesn't appreciate me calling him. But I don't want one.