Cinderella

So tonight is the semi formal at my high school and what did I do tonight? I worked. Oh, and I cheated...on my diet, not The Poet.

So instead of feeling pretty in a black and white gown, I sit here in his hoodie. I should be satisfied, but I had been dreaming to go for months and I just stand completely disappointed. He wanted to take me but couldn't, I wouldn't go without him because that would make him feel awful-- so I worked.

And I ate chinese food and ice cream. I haven't cheated since February. Shameful and disgusting. Bad, Cinderella, bad. No one is going to find your shoe.

Scrub away.

So today I felt hazy. Just horribly hazy.

Between funerals, and a stupid fight with my poet (that simmered down today to back to normal) I wasn't feeling so wonderful. I am 17 days late on my period and I'm bloated like a balloon. I hate this. The cramps started today so fingers crossed Aunt Flow will pass a visit soon.

I got home and actually fell asleep while watching Sex and the City. That never happens. So I decided to admit defeat and go to bed at a pathetic 5pm. Then I got a fb msg from the poet "Try taking a bath before you go to bed."

So I did. And I exfoliated my entire body. By that point, I felt better.

Then to make things even MORE wonderful, I went on my old fitday (a wonderful free site for tracking calories and activities) and decided to measure myself with a measuring tape for the first time since August.

I lost one inch on my arms, THREE inches on my waist AND hips and twi and a half inches on my leg.

I know.

I know I won't live forever.
So I'll make sure that I live today.

I'll write another letter to myself.

Last night I started writing a post that tried to explain how grateful I am for all the love in my life. That lately I haven't been fighting my flaws the way I usually do. That's the thing with me; I have to be perfect. Perfect room. Perfect body. Perfect life essentially. And I'm never able to achieve it.

I wanted to write a wonderfully long entry about how Glamour is the best un-biological sister I could ask for, and that no one has impacted my life she way she has. I wanted to write a long entry about how the Poet makes me want to be a better person, and that when he holds me I feel like my chest is about to explode from happiness. I wanted to write a long entry explaining how wonderful it is that my father is trying to have a relationship with me, that even though months of us not speaking he wants a small part of my life.

I should be happy. I was so happy. Then the flaws took it all away. Call me selfish, call me crazy. I just feel like I don't deserve any of this. It's just too good for me. They all deserve better.

So as goes the update

So we have a problem.

I look like a clown. A big ugly orange haired clown that has eyebrows that are too dark. I went to the hair dresser to get my hair stripped today and I spent FOUR HOURS tilted back into a rock hard sink--- to have my black hair (that was SUPPOSED to become blondish brown) turn I'm a ginger that fail led at being a ginger orange.

This is bad. So bad. The Poet is currently getting his hair cut. Let's hope things work out better for him. I'm bribing him with marshmallows to cut it short--- that 'fro is wayy too long.

So yes. I'm ugly. Just thought to throw that out there.

In other less vain notes, I received a note today from someone who I thought hated me. A friend of mine, Glamour. I thought she hated me, but she thought I was angry at her. It's screwed up, but I'm happy in a little fucked up sense because I don't think things are permanently broken. Which is a nice little piece of relief.

Sex and the City brought this up so I care to share.

A woman can have everything; a job, an apartment, a man; but it's all worth nothing without your friends.

Dear---

I have lots of things to say to many different people....

Dear job, thank you for being a nice place to hide.

Dear Poet, you are more than I deserve. My optimsm originates from you, so thank you for putting the smile on my face. Also. Call me. Right now. You can't read this but I'm sending you brain waves to call me. Caaaaaaallll meeeeeeee.

Dear you know who, what's happening between us? This scares me. I don't want us to be the song. Please...

Dear self, stay strong.

Dear readers, are you sick of the blogs yet?

Skinny jeans

It's not a physical state, but more of a mentality. Every woman has a pair of skinny jeans, and I don't mean a pair of jeans that hug your ankles. No. I mean a pair of SKINNY jeans, that one pair in the back of your closet that you bought 3 sizes too small because it was on sale. Every woman keeps them in the vain hope that someday they shall fit her again.

Today ladies was that day. I'm down 12 lbs and my none of my pants fit me. I was stomping around my room trying to figure out what to wear and them I remember them. My skinny jeans. I yanked them out of my closet....they fit perfectly- even a little lose. That was a fucking HUGE thrill.

So yes. I now fit in my skinny jeans. Fuck yeah! 18 more lbs to go and I am done. Starting size; 8/10 Current size; 6 Goal size; 2

In other fabulous note worthy things to mention; the poet and I hit out 5 month aniversary today. Well it's not the exact, exact 5 month aniversary but we decided to ignore our month long split.

18 more lbs to go. Let's do this.