And We've Reached A New Low (Yet Again).

This was one of those days where I had a choice.

Choice A: Wallow in my own misery; refuse to get dressed or bathe; mix myself a screwdriver and call it breakfast; despair over the fact that I will never be loved, will never marry a man with a large trust fund; and send drunken text messages at 10:15 a.m. to all of my ex-boyfriends.

Choice B: I could vow to make a change and take charge of my life; practice yoga; sip green tea; make an inspiration board; take a long walk at the beach; and tend to my inner flame.


I think we all know how I spent my day (hint: not Choice B).

Baby Steps

Last night, I dreamed I was happy. I was engaged to a sexy French photographer named Pierre who liked to take nude portraits of me. We spent hours gazing into each others' eyes. We argued about who was more wonderful and he would read poetry to me while I took long lavender-scented bubble baths.

I woke up and for like 4 seconds, I was both awake AND happy. Then I remembered my life sucks and I started to cry hysterically. I think I'm improving. Ever since that Creepjerkpig broke my heart, I have woken up every morning, already sobbing. But today, the crying did not start until I was awake for 4 seconds. So, at this rate, I figure I might be only 50% miserable by the time I am in my 90s.

Shameful

Today, I could not stop thinking about my donut binge. I mean seriously, would you look at me?


I am so deeply ashamed of myself. I am shameful. I spent the entire day thinking about what a fat stupid donut crazy loser I am ... except then I would just think about the donut part. And then I would think about how delicious donuts are, and I'd start thinking that maybe, if I was good, and just had a few pieces of lettuce for lunch, I could have one donut hole as a treat after dinner. But then I would remember what happened this weekend, and how I have no self control and how will a fabulous wealthy man every love me if I just inhale every donut I see... and then I would start to think about donuts, jelly donuts, glazed donuts, donuts with sprinkles. It's a vicious cycle.

Well, there's obviously only one solution to my donut obsession/spiral of shame. I'm going to have to get drunk.

Donuts.

It's official: I do not have any self-control. I am missing the Self-Control Gene. This is a problem.

I decided this weekend that it's time to get my life back on track! So what if I had my heart broken? It's time to buy some new shoes, show off my hot body, and date lots of questionable but attractive men.

But first, I needed a small tiny little insignificant treat. Like a donut hole. Just one little taste of that heavenly fried dough and then I would be ready to get my life back on track.


I don't know what happened. One minute, I was asking the Donut Lady for one glazed donut hole... and the next minute, I was home with a sprinkled donut AND a chocolate cream donut.

I have no idea how these extra donuts got into the bag.

I remember taking the first bite of the sprinkled donut. And then I blacked out.

Please go away now.

It has come to my attention that at some point during the last month, I deleted most of my digital photos. Um, awesome? I have no memory of doing this, so it must have happened during the vodka/ice cream stage. Why does heartbreak bring out my destructive side? And if I must spiral into a blackhole of destruction, why can't I destroy something like a box of Kleenex?

Granted, I had a lot of photos that needed to be purged - basically, any photos in which I looked fat, pimply, bloated, ugly, plain, obese, etc. etc. But no, in my insanity, I purged all the photos in which I look cute, pretty and gorgeous. WTF???

I did save this photo from last summer. Look at me. So relaxed, happy.


And this is what I look like now:

I honestly don't know what to say for myself. The good news is that I don't need a Halloween costume - I already look like a homeless zombie serial killer witch hag corpse.

Sigh.

My life would be so much better if I was friends with Oprah. We could go shopping together in Dubai and throw elaborate dinner parties. I think it would also be really good for my self-esteem because Oprah is an even bigger yo-yo dieter than I am, so when Oprah is on the fat end of her weight spectrum, I would feel extra hot and sexy.

My life would be so much better if I didn't like food. If I looked at a piece of chocolate cake or a bowl of potato chips and thought, "Ew, gross. I'll just drink this glass of warm water."

My life would be so much better if I was famous and everyone paid attention to me. Then I'd get free things, like free soda at the movie theater and free towels and maybe even free shoes. I really like shoes.

These are just some of the things on my mind today.

I Know, I Know, I Know

Yes, I know, it's been ages since I posted. What can I say? I am a horrible awful ugly malicious beast. I fell in love, and was too happy to bother with this blog. We went on long moonlight strolls, held hands, counted the stars. He kissed me softly and murmured sweet nothings into my ear. We made love for hours and hours until I begged for mercy.

And then he dumped me.

I went through Wendy's Eleven Stages Of Heartbreak:

1. Shock
2. Horror
3. Disbelief (a milder version of Stage 1)
4. Ice Cream
5. Rage
6. Despair
7. Vodka
8. Drunken yoga (I do not recommend Stage 8)
9. the Stage in which I forget to bathe until I smell like death
10. Ice Cream and Vodka
11. Acceptance

And now I think it's time to blog again. I hesitate to post a photo of myself because (a) I look like crap and (b) I'm too hungover to remember how to hook up my digital camera to my computer and it's possible I destroyed my digital camera during Stage 5.

p.s. I should probably mention that I am also officially divorced.