So I guess I’m growing a moustache now. I’m not excited, but the editor kinda bullied me into it, presumably so he has something else funny to look at when we hang out. I even tried to talk my way out of it last night, but motherfucker got a bunch of beardys to give me encouraging advice about growing a face bear. It was like I was back in the locker room, where everyone else is gifted with astonishing body hair and I’m still waiting for the puberty train to leave the station.
The diet kind of exploded this week and I will own it. I had a shitty couple of days and showed my belly weakness. I’m not gonna be mad about it, shit happens, and I can pretty easily look back and see exactly where things went wrong. I also don’t even know what I weigh right now, so it’s hard to be super mad at myself for spending an entire evening convincing myself of the nutritional merits of a whiskey dinner.
Today's weight: Three cases of off-brand candy corn.
I had a time machine moment this week. I found myself in a bar with basically every cool person I’ve met since moving to Seattle, listening to some radly violent music. I started to feel like I was too fat to be seen with guys like that, but I realized while it’s probably true, I’m way smaller then I used to be. Fuck. Yes.