Come fuck with me now, Anonymous

Right. I've spent a great deal of time trawling through the archives of Dietgirl.org, as provided to me by the nice anonymous a couple of weeks ago. Or maybe it was the same anonymous, Jekyll & Hyde style? Who knows, they were ANONYMOUS.

Ahem.

So, for nothing if but my sanity, I'm now giving myself until the end of the year to lose 10 kilos.

"Again?"

Yes, again.

I am going bathers shopping on Saturday (FEEL THE EXCITEMENT, ONLY NINE DAYS UNTIL MY HOLIDAY), and am already loathing it. See, I haven't had new bathers since...1998, and when I tried those on the other night - OMG CAMEL TOE.

Hott in porn, not so hott on public beaches.

Also; I am far too pretty to be wasting away as a blob.

So, starting tonight:

- I'm going to sleep at 10pm, no later. Internet - off.

- I'm getting up at 5:30am, and going for a walk/run.

- I'm going to drink water all day, and TRY to use the toilet at the place where I'm currently working off-site, at least once. (I said TRY. This is going to be the hardest bit).

- I will buy my lunch tomorrow, and it will be my standard, roast chicken, baby spinach, tomato & cheese on Rye. I will cut out the margarine, but the cheese is going to be harder.

- I'm going to Safeway (AND NO I DID NOT WORK THERE, I WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR THEM WHEN I WAS 15; NOW LOOK AT ME, CUNTS), and I will buy salad ingredients to make up a zesty salad with ham lunch combo for the rest of the week.

- No pizza on Friday night.

- No alcohol

- NO MORE SNAKES ALIVE. Even if the 'green snakes' perk me up at 3pm.

- Why aren't I on one of those overhaul shows? I'd totally be prettier than that Fiona from TBL, but with better boobs, and I'd refuse to write a crappy column in the Sunday Herald-Sun, all about the boyfriend that dumped me, etc. Although, maybe I'd go on Dancing with the Stars.

Ok. So, I'm not going to be teh fucking hottness by next week. But by the end of the year, I will be well on my way. And you anonymous, will have to deal with that, especially when I pass you on the street, without even a glance.

50 Minutes Until Bedtime. OMG. So much porn to look at to do.

Movie Review by Martie: The Departed

I 'won' some free movie tickets at work, and used them as an excuse for my first time out in ages.

GOD DAMN, no one wants to see 'M' with me; I wanna tingle in my underpants everytime Mick Molloy is onscreen. So it's The Departed instead.

Don't know why. I hate Matt Damon. I hate Leonardo DiCaprio. But it seems like a cast of Hollywood 'names', so I think better than The Devil Wears Prada why not, and hand over hard won tickets.

Now, the fella I dine/watch with (LOLLOLOLLYPOP) wants to eat before hand. Cue, first place next to movies, the ubiquitous TGI Fridays (do they have these anywhere outside Melb??). Cue, a mini review. Their vodka is shit; the nachos are fucking amazing and I'm full before the movie starts.

This fucking pisses me off, because I like to buy a few ice-creams (as in the lollies, not choc-tops), some popcorn, and liquid crack a diet coke. But I'm too full. So into the movies we go, empty handed. Already the ULTIMATE MOVIE EXPERIENCE is starting to unravel.

Also, we are seated on the aisle. This also pisses me off. I like to sit on the side section, right up near the wall/curtain. But the Village Bimbo obviously misundertood me, and put us on the side of the main section.

And you know why this pisses me off. Because after the movie has started, and we're watching intently for the background story, some cunts walk in late, and proceed to a)make lots of noise b)get in the way c)step on my foot or d)all of the fucking above. Yeah, you know the answer already.

I hiss "surely it's not that hard to come in on time". Fella I'm watching with elbows me. Fuck decorum.

Anyway, this is my type of movie. They say Fuck a lot. Marky Mark says Cunt. Lots of people get their heads blown off. Matt Damon is as wooden a pine furniture manufacturer and Jack Nicholas says Pussy.

There's twists and turns and Alec Baldwin, as a bit part police detective-y type man, is my favourite character. It would help the storyline, if both the lead males (Damon & DiCaprio) didn't look like they were 15 years old, and should have still been in long shorts, than shooting people on the mean streets of South Boston. There were plenty of laughs, but not enough of the black strap-on Jack Nicholson donned. Gee. It's so hard to get some black strap-on action in movies today, isn't it?

NB - Movie goes for very long time. Was starting to get hungry half way through.

Did the movie engage me? Yes. Although they needed to stop fucking around with the girl character. I KNOW she tied it all together (sort of), but there was not enough time to develop her relationships with Damon & DiCaprio, and shoot cops/bad guys/visiting mafioso from Providence.

Incidentally, wasn't there a TV series called Providence? The one with the chick with the curly hair, and she's doctor, and she comes back to her hometown; has hometown romance, gets hometown job, etc. Very Gilmore Girls, but with no 's' on the end. I can't imagine Mafioso being in a place where there's autumn leaves blowing down the street every day of the year, and the town is so sleepy, it makes Perth look like a thriving metropolis.

So, lame research there, Departed writers.

I digress though. I need to tell you how good it was when Marky Mark tries to punch Matt Damon. Almost as good as Mick Molloy. Almost.

And now, the conclusion of my review. Don't go see this movie if swearing offends you. Go and see this movie if you like blood spattering everywhere. Don't go and see this movie if you are still holding onto the 'Good Vibrations' Marky Mark - his haircut is abominable. Go and see this movie if you like Jack Nicholson doing what he does best - playing a bossy, psychotic cunt, slighty unkept, but apparently still able to get the pussaaaaay.

I for one, am going back to see it, just to count the number of times they say fuck/fucking. If you come with me, you can count the 'cunts'.

NB - Had Swiss Mountain Malt from Pancake Parlour after movie. Mini review; was good, generous serving NOT ENOUGH FUCKING WHIPPED CREAM.

The End.

Love, kisses, treasure hunt, etc

Yeah well, fuck, I'm back.

Apologies for the NSFW title; I will change it, but for now, it was too good to pass up. Shame it didn't come back. Awwww.

Anyway, fuck off. I mean, not literally, but I've found myself a hot little leather chaise lounge, and it's fucking hot. I wish to save all my money to buy it; sit on it; fuck on it.

And, I'm selling my car. I *would* link you to the ad, but you know, THE INTERWEBS ARE A HAPPY AND ANONYMOUS PLACE, YO, and besides, I'm waiting for *someone* to find it anyway. Howevs, if you are in the market for a luxury small car (OMG A CLUE!!!!1!), email me, and we'll talk turkey.

Or you know, I will tell you what I've learnt by reading "He's just not that into you" (either way, great email conversations abound).

In other news, coral is the new black, and to date, I own two coral items. Hurrah.

And....I'm done. Before I go, here is a (NSFW) picture of what we're trying to achieve here at Arseholes Inc.:


Come join the chocolate starfish brigade.

Itsy Witsy Teenie Weenie

You've probably noticed an abundance of

these


sort


of


pictures

on my blog lately.

Yeah. I have bad body image. B.A.D.

Ever since oh, let's see, 1988, when I was in Grade Three, and my teacher did a weight graph of the whole class, and mine was the 2nd highest.

Ever since all through high school, in particular one comment from a cunt in Year 8 who promptly informed me (via messenger - AS YOU DO IN YEAR 8) that he didn't date girls over 50kgs.

Ever since Ex-Boyfriend No 2 dumped me in part because I was fat (SO WHY GO OUT WITH ME IN THE FIRST PLACE?).

Awesome.

Now, I don't neccessarily find myself to be grossly overweight a la the above pictures. Although, I have my days where I consider myself to be a pretty good representation.

My best friend tried to set me up on a blind date about a year ago; part of the description she gave my potential date was "she looks top heavy, but only because she has big boobs".

So I've got the curves. Years of netball have conditioned pretty good legs. But still, I fight every day with myself; every bit of food that I consume; everytime I look in a full length mirror. I'm depressed.

Not outwardly. Outwardly, I'm friendly, intelligent, happy. I'm 'smashing through glass ceilings' & wearing 'power suits' and shit (Hello-Hi!) as I climb the corporate ladder. I'm occassionly sexy. It stands to reason really; I've not been without a boyfriend for more than six months since 1997 (ALTHOUGH IF YOU'RE REALLY GOOD AT PSYCHOLOGY/MIND SHIT, YOU MIGHT SAY IT'S A SELF ESTEEM ISSUE AND I LET MYSELF GET TREATED BADLY BECAUSE I'M SCARED OF BEING ALONE - WELL DONE YOU). Regardless, people still want to have sex with me, in the daytime, with the lights on, sober. And thank god for disco pashes.

I've tried Weight Watchers at least four times; I've tried my own at-home version of Weight Watchers with some friends (who still have my $10 entry fee). I've tried Jenny Craig. I've tried a nutritionist. I've tried a personal trainer. I've tried exercising with friends. I've tried making the psycho ex-boyfriend act as my personal trainer, and get up at 5am in the morning, and drive to my house to go walking with me. I've tried exercising by myself. As a team sport. In a gym. I've tried hiding my wallet so I'm not tempted to by junk. I've tried making my mum my food nazi. Fuck it, I've tried everything.

It's said that you can never achieve something unless you truly want it. So you might be reading this saying "Oh, she's lazy, has no willpower, etc".

But that's the thing. It's the one thing that I want more in life. Not money, not sex with a fantapants. I just want to be able to fit into good looking clothes. It consumes me. Day & night.

This is the worst time of the year for me. It's the time that summer stuff is coming in & the realisation that winter is over & with it go the (long suffering) jeans & jumpers, and here come the singlets & mini shorts/skirts.

I try to stay away from people in the summer. I don't want a reminder of people wearing cute singlets looking cool (temparature-wise as well) while I'm stuck in my t-shirt to hide my ugly arms & a denim skirt to my knees to hide my upper thighs. Don't even ask me what I do to compound the problem that is my middle section.

I could probably write about try 170,892 at having a go at this diet thing - although I know you're probably all sick about reading about my failed attempts by now. I'm certainly sick of thinking about them - be grateful I don't write about this every day.

Please don't write me off as someone who is too lazy, and who has no willpower. Well actually, maybe I don't have any; I could be picking up, and paying for a bar of chocolate, just staring at it, and thinking of the million & one reasons I should put it down. Even while I'm eating it, I feel nothing but shame, & disgust for myself. To combat these feelings, I'll usually go shopping right afterwards (or the next day if it's a late night binge) and try to fit into clothes I want to buy, just to punish myself.

I need to break the cycle. Permanently. Not for five weeks, like my last big effort last year with my nutrionist, but forever. But how? How do I tell myself to break a lifetime habit, even with all the resources at my fingertips.

It does all come down to how badly you want it. And how strong the catalyst is. But where do I find my catalyst. Can it come soon; I really want to buy some new bathers for my holiday.

OR:

Martie on holiday

*withdraws*