So here are a couple of pages I just put up: one is about some upcoming events (readings and rock and roll!) and the other is a little cheat sheet so that people who come here after reading I’m Not the New Me can get caught up to the present (because that stuff was five years ago and I got fat again!). Oh, and my friend Shylo and I did a really demented follow-up to our American Girls Adventure at Gapers Block. (Where, yes, we went to see My Little Pony Live at the Rosemont Theatre, and it made American Girl Place seem like the fucking Louvre, because our minds seriously curdled and turned into pink glittery agar. I do not recommend it.) But anyway I present these links as evidence that I have not been slacking quite this whole time.
Last week and the week before were very good Thing I’m Doing weeks. in which the digital scale blipped up all kinds of impressively low numbers and chirped approvingly. I was twenty-three pounds down and I fit into some jeans from 2003 and the spring breezes tossed me around ever so playfully like the American Beauty plastic bag. This week, I am not so sure, as the scale seems bloopery and wrong (but of course it’s probably right) and the victory jeans I just bought have staged some kind of coup or mutiny (they did come from Old Navy) and are now the oppressor jeans because they feel so tight. I hope this is temporary. It’s true I ate several very unauthorized things this week, ate them for no good reason whatsoever except that they were there. And it was a very drinky week, tooâ€”beer at a party, wine at a bar, and some bourbon at home on Saturday night (aka the Massacre at Knob Creek, which, fun as it was, is something Chris and I probably should not repeat for awhile). But I’m starting to think I just have a lurchy metabolism, one that jerks ahead and then stumbles back but somehow manages to move forward in freakish Quasimodo fashion. But I would expect nothing less from my body.
Speaking of bodies, even though the results of the Anna Nicole Smith autopsy surprised absolutely nobody in the universe, I’m sort of glad the report of her druggy, abscessed ass still made news, if only to show that a skinny Anna Nicole could “let herself go” just as spectacularly as a fat Anna Nicole. Inspiring, to say the least.