"The Glass is Half Empty" or "Where is My Big Mac"

Dieting. We've all been there and if you haven't fuck you. I'm still at that miserable point in my life where I'm "figuring things out" (**reality- waiting for something miraculous to happen like a career idea that I don't have to work hard for or even better a proposal!) And when your life consists of a piece of shit job (retail, waiting tables, 9-5, etc) it's the little things you look forward to... the weekend, nights out, dinners, brunch, bars, ice cream, popcorn at movies, and WINE. If I'm suddenly deprived of these things I feel as if I have nothing to live for. Dramatic? Yes. Truth? Yes.

I know what you're thinking... "Tanya, you don't have to deprive yourself of anything--moderation is the key" Or "it's all about finding a healthy balance" When someone tells me this I would literally rather have my eyes taped open and watch the scene in black swan where winona ryder stabs herself in the face with pencils on repeat. I'm hungry dammit!!!!! The day I look forward to a handful of almonds or a piece of cinnamon raisin Ezekiel bread is a very somber day. The only kind of food I allow with any bible references whatsoever is In-N-friggin-Out!

I find myself getting very anxious and on edge. Working out helps temporarily. But as soon as I'm out of there I'm back to being miserable and angry. Possibly even worse because now I'm tired. The littlest things set me off... I was telling my sister (a very skinny workout-nazi) that I was going on a power walk today then she said in what i thought was a very condescending tone "Ohhh, well I wouldn't like that. I like to sweat when i work out." Bitch, I sweat eating a bowl of fucking cereal.

I think everyone is out to get me--it's like I'm in this permanently paranoid state of hysteria a la claire-danes-in-Homeland, minus her skeletal, delicate frame. The commercial ads clearly know when I'm dieting so they run the carl's jr. breakfast biscuit spot ONE MORE TIME. My friends sense my weakness (much like dogs smell fear) and want to go out for a margarita. First of all, I can't go for A margarita --that word to me is forever set in the plural punctuation margaritaS--which leads to chips, salsa, guacamole, and cheese quesadillas. And NO i will not dip veggies in my guacamole. I refuse. That would be like dipping strawberries in shit.

Clearly I have some issues to work out. This will forever be a battle I cannot win. But in the meantime I will no longer starve and binge. I will work out. I will have a cheat day. I will learn to reward myself with pretty clothes and not just vodka. Most importantly I will work with what I've got and be eternally grateful for my giant tits and my ass.