I Hope My Ass Smothers My Scale, Because I Hate That Lying Bitch

My scale lied to me. Like, for real. If it were Pinocchio, its nose would be 10 pounds long. There's the long version of this story, which involves doctors and a contact case and a demon cat and a sobbing session and a really uncomfortable gym employee. Then there's the short story, which is this: My cat knocked my contact case off of the bathroom counter, and the case got wedged underneath the bathroom scale, so when I stood on it, it made it seem like I was 10 pounds lighter than I actually was, but I didn't know the

I Spanked a Stranger, and I Liked It

Anorexic, I ain't. In fact, I should bend on dimpled knee and beg Bob Harper to whip my atomic ass into a shape other than round. But I don't really feel like doing that right now because I'm cool with who I am. After all, my personality is pretty banging, and I've been seeing a therapist for a year now to help me cope with the fact that my mom called me on my birthday and offered to pay to send me to The Biggest Loser Resort as a gift. With Prozac's help, I've learned to find the story more

My Vagina Is On a Diet, And It Would Appreciate It If You Stopped Offering It Cake

Apparently, my vagina is hungry for more than mere man flesh, and according to the Internet, my honey pot's cravings for chocolate and Cheetos means that I am no longer desirable down there. All my life, I've been reasonably satisfied with my wahoo. I mean, I never entered it into a beauty pageant or anything, but the last time I checked, it seemed adequate. Fortunately, Pinterest sensed I was being naive about my corpulent copulater and remedied the situation by suggesting that I read the health article, "How to Lose Weight in the Pubic Area." Mind. Blown. Without that news

My Mom Offered to Send Me to Fat Camp.... On My 30th Birthday

Yeah, that's pretty much the whole story right there. However, I've been encouraged to wrap some words around this, but that only makes me want to wrap bacon around a slice of pizza. My mother assumes that's how I start my day anyway, so might as well... Truthfully, I'd super rather not discuss my obesity with y'all, but my hypnotherapist swears I can only achieve my goddamned "desired state of calm perfection" if I embrace the cathartic process of expressing myself. She wants me to use this blog to write about something real. I want her to get real about