no subject

The last 24 hours have been really rough on me. If you came here last night between about 7:30 and whatever time I drunkenly turned off my computer, you may have seen a short post in which I explained that we were going to the wrap party for the Tenacious D movie and I was feeling fat and ugly and didn't want to go. Comments were turned off and I decided that I didn't want the post there at all without further context.

I've gained between 10 and 15 pounds since we quit smoking nine and a half weeks ago. Totally normal, right? But on my frame (very small) it's a lot. And yes, it's given me fabulously large bosoms. But the bulk of the weight is on my hips and thighs. It has gotten to the point where I only have one pair of pants that fit. Wait, two. Regardless, I feel fat. I look better naked than clothed, which is inconvenient if I want to leave the house. It doesn't help that my skin has been a mess lately, too.

My self-esteem (self image?) has gone through the floor. I feel wretched about my appearance. I can't even do yoga, which allegedly helps with problems like fatness and depression, because all of the floorspace in our living room is taken up by two gigantic couches. We can't afford to move right now, so I'm looking for a job. But I just started looking and so far I've only applied for the one, which was a sham to begin with since they hired from within and that always means that the interviews were a "formality." And while I'm not too disappointed about the job itself, I am concerned that if I can't get a job whose requirements literally matched my resume word-for-word, it seems unlikely that I can get any other job.

So I changed out of my pretty dress that made me look fat and into jeans, which were at least less offensive in that area, and a top that ensures that anyone looking at me sees pretty much nothing but my tits. I am shallow. Shut up.

And we went to the party (Jason Segel was there and he looks all grown up!) and it was OK. It was in this funny little night club sort of place in Silver Lake with loud music and dizzying lighting and good Asian-ish food (fusion?) and an open bar which I proceeded to drain. I think I had six vodka-cranberries over the course of about two hours. Possibly only one hour. I really have no idea, because I got totally wasted and forgot that I was miserable. We hung out with Rob Schrab (I am name dropping but whatever, he created Scud the Disposable Assassin!) and his girlfriend Kay. It was nice. When I was utterly and completely shitfaced I insisted that Will take me home and...none of your business.

So we got in the car, where I lost it. I went from giddy to hysterics in about point five seconds. According to Will, I was crying because Kay isn't my friend. I don't know. I may have also been bemoaning my general uselessness. It wasn't pretty, even from my hazy drunken perception.

I woke up this morning at about 5:00 with a jumping stomach and slept fitfully until about 7:00 when I puked my guts out. That hasn't happened since the infamous Andrew Bird Incident. And this time I didn't even tell anyone famous that I love him. (If I'd known I was going to blow chunks I totally would have accosted Nick Andopolis.) Anyway, I slept another hour or so, thought I was going to puke again, cried a little because I didn't want to puke, fell back to sleep, and woke up around ten starving. Will had gone out for supplies and he made me some bread and butter and gave me a glass of juice. I have spent the rest of the day alternately eating, sleeping, and being depressed.

The best part of all this is that apparently my coping mechanism for depression is to take it out on Will. He, of course, has never been depressed and doesn't know how to handle it. So I am depressed, I am a raging bitch about it, and my partner is trying his best but sometimes he is so unsympathetic that I want to strangle him.

Comments are tentatively on. Use your brain. I am letting you in on some very personal stuff. And remember that I can have you killed. I know ninjas.