Oh hey I'm Julia. I'm 23. I graduated from Rowan University, and I live outside of Philly with my boyfriend and our cat Chauncey. I rule. I enjoy the finer things in life such as live music, knitting, reading, talk radio, Wilco, and Mr. Peanut.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
I have spent the last month slaving at the gym, seven days a week (I missed three days, total - one being yesterday), counting calories, skipping on foods I crave, no candy, etc. Only to blow it all off in one weekend.
I wanted to waste my precious calories on alligator, gumbo, or even the world’s tallest margarita on Canal st., decked out in beads of green, purple, and gold. Sadly, I spent Friday and Saturday at restaurants, ordering countless IPAs, pasta, muscles, cheesey things full of carbs and fat and so much more. Woe is me.
I have no one to blame but myself. So, I guess I’ll deal with it (while still giving Scott mean looks, because who else can I get mad at?). I learned my lesson, and now I will spend the next two hours trying to undo what I did. Can I drop my pasta weight by Wednesday? Possible? I think not.
Words can’t express how upset with myself I am. But at least it was delicious. :o(
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jonstars said:
laxatives
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shootthepianoplayer liked this
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jgbones posted this
