Y’all wanna know who annoys the shit bubbles out of me?

Beyonce.

Like, some days I just wanna sort’ve shove a cork in her face.

I can’t remember how or why this distaste started, but it’s been around since she was in Destiny’s Child. Wait, that was the name of her girl-group, right? I think?

Anyhoodle.

I liked Kelly better because she’s got a better set of pipes. In other words, her voice doesn’t make me want to run around shoving screw drivers in my ears.

But what really, really bugs me the most about Beyonce is her damn music.

And my inability to not sing along. For example. Right this second? I’m singing “if you liked it then you should’ve put a ring on it.”

It’s stuck in my head and refuses to release me of its vice-like grip. I may also be bouncing around to the tune but you’re not here to prove it.

I HATE that I love that song… and that every freakin’ time she puts out new music and sixty of her songs are on the radio at the same damn time, there are 59 that I actually like.

Beyonce, you’re on my shit list. You also suck because people confuse my real name for yours.

That’s right. You’re lame.

Because I said so.

There was a time when I would go without eating more than 500 to 700 calories in a day. I’d even walk around feeling incredibly accomplished for it. Every time I was able to keep my eating at bay, I knew it contributed to my super flat stomach and ridiculously skinny arms. The first time I fit into a size 2, I ran out of the dressing room and told random strangers of my accomplishment.

It was that big of a deal.

What bothers me the most about that time was clearly seeing that I was wandering through dark territory. That I was well on my way to an eating disorder.

And I didn’t care. 

I didn’t care at all. 

I just wanted to be skinny. Because then I would be pretty and noticable and find someone to date really easily.

Or so I told myself.

I certainly enjoyed the feeling of being that tiny. At 113 pounds, I walked around with my head held high and my attitude at equal level. Whenever I was around someone larger than me, I would feel disgustingly superior because I had dropped six dress sizes. I would sneer, albeit always to myself.

I was a total bitch, even if I never let on.

In those years I thought that I was doing so well. That my skinny outter shell was a clear indicator of my inner self. Unfortunately, I was dead wrong.

All of the insecurities I dragged around while I was bigger were still there. They weren’t fixed and a size 2 wasn’t going to resolve them. Neither were the drugs.

Eventually I began to eat more regularly and kicked the nasty habits. 

But of course, my own demons never really wanted to leave me. The skinny bitch that I was before was still condescending. I gained quite a bit of the weight back, so she no longer existed in a physical sense but she sure did fuck with my head. 

This time around, I remembered the attitude I use to carry around with me. I couldn’t help but assume that everyone else that was small did the same.

Walking out of the door with my head held high became impossible. Whether running into someone from the past or meeting them for the first time, my initial thoughts always ran to how big I felt. How big I looked to them.

I stopped bothering with putting my best foot forward. I’d run around in sweats and palefaced. I didn’t care what I looked like or how I presented myself.

And that’s why I’ve been going back to the gym. It’s not to lose weight. It’s to keep my mental attitude in check. It’s to keep my cholestoral down. It’s to have a place to focus and release my stress.

I don’t diet or starve myself anymore.

If that means wider hips and bigger tits. So be it.

Take me as I am or leave me be.

For about a decade I’ve been tossing around the idea of becoming a vegetarian. I’m not really sure why, but the thought has just always been there. Normally, I’m quite fond of meat. Hamburgers and hot dogs are absolutely my friend.

Other times, I get really nautious at the idea of eating beef and for as long as I can remember I’ve wished that the chili my parents made came with beans only. And hey, maybe I should just make my own chili instead of waiting for either of theirs. 

Every time I get really close to following through on this idea, I somehow get a ravonous appetite for a steak. 

And let’s not forget that there is chicken and turkey and pork and fish! I eat all of those! What if I try my hand at being a vegetarian and somewhere in the middle I crave one of the aformentioned non-veggie items?

Should I switch to veggies and seafood? Should I allow the occasional red meat? Should I continue eating chicken? What about schnitzel?! I LOVE schnitzel! What if it’s all just wishful thinking and I really just want to cut back on non-veggies?

Good grief! Why’s it gotta be such an ordeal to figure out?