Since I stopped counting the days..
The couches are starting to smell like bum.
I keep opening the fridge looking for cheese, hope and my old life.
What happens when all the reality shows dry up? Started binging the new Netflix series on big cats about a gun toting, mullet sporting, meth addicted guy from Oklahoma married to two men with three teeth between them who raise tigers. It’s starting to look bleak already and its only week two.
It’s official - I’m over the weight limit for my yoga pants. Thank goodness I’m not leaving the house anytime soon.
I use the Amazon return option “No longer needed” all the time so I can buy shit, use it and send it back. I looked at the fine print and sadly I can only use it for inanimate objects.
I love my job and continue to be so inspired by the amazingly creative and wicked smart people I work with on a daily basis.. Yes, I do fit right in, thank you very much.
Carbs contain the virus.. carbs contain the virus… carbs contain the virus.
I put make-up on for the first time in two weeks.. I can’t tell if I look better or I look like a clown… I’ve lost all bearings.
Botox is wearing off.. one benefit of fat-tox… maybe moving on to bang-tox here shortly…
How does that song go? “Head, shoulders, nips on knees, nips on knees.”