Notes to Self

I used to HATE that expression when every third douchebag was using it, but I think we’ve all had time to heal, so I’m taking it back.

Note to Self:  It is simply not physically possible for someone your height to ever again be a size 6. Your BONES weigh more than that!  Throw that shit OUT!

And don’t give me that old song-and-dance about that one size-6 dress that still fits.  You got that shit at T.J. Maxx, that label is a MISPRINT.

And while we’re on the subject of your wardrobe, Self… You know those brown scruffy loafers than you think look all cool and beat-up and “Martha’s Vineyard-y?”  They make you look like a hobo.  GET SOME NEW SHOES.

Note to Self:  Putting on way too much bright blue eyeshadow and then wiping some off with a washcloth does not negate or even lessen the Joisey.  Throw that shit OUT, you’re not even from there! 

And let’s also point out that you keep old makeup like a hoarder keeps margarine lids.  Get some new, or you’re gonna get the pinkeye.  No wonder the cat is a drag queen!

And Self old friend, I know you think you’re “eating healthy” by having a salad… but it pretty much ruins the whole point when you smother it with bleu cheese dressing and shredded cheddar.  Although it’s probably STILL better than your usual food group, known as “fried.”

And one final Note, dear Self:  You cannot bitch that nobody thinks you have a “grown-up” job when you get paid to say “trouser-snake” on live radio.



Filed under La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s), Notes to Self, Random Thoughts

30 responses to “Notes to Self

  1. Oh this made me so sad because I really continue to hold on to the delusion that I will, too, one day fit back into my size 4 jeans. I keep my “skinny clothes” JUST IN CASE I get the stomach flu or ebola or some other kind of disease that will make me glamorously thin again. Also, I like to firmly believe that one day of eating crap doesn’t count based on the circumstances of that day. For example, when my boyfriend and I were holed up in my apartment because of hurricane Irene, the pancakes, sausage, and cinnamon rolls for breakfast; homemade cheese nachos for lunch; and homemade pizza for dinner; plus all the fucking snacks in between, including chips, cookies and muffins…. did not count towards my caloric intake. At all. We had no choice but to eat ALL THE FOOD. Right? RIGHT?!


  2. Margarine lids! Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring that’s a damn riot.


  3. Fuckmejesus. Over here, the only person wearing a size 6 is usually 6 years old. We don’t get to feel bad about ourselves until we pass 12 years old, or 10 years old, and our sizes keep growing with our ages. Apparently people can fit in to size 8 dresses here, but they all seem to be about 4ft tall.

    The dumb collecting thing here is either twisty ties, or those little plastic mostly-squares bread bag thingies that you put around the twirled plastic to keep the bread fresh. They probably have a technical name but I wouldn’t have a clue what it is.


    • Here in the US, we like to start destroying little girls’ self-image as soon as possible… have you seen “Toddlers and Tiaras?” And I can’t believe people can actually COLLECT the things I always lose the minute I open the bread!


  4. Are you saying fried ISN’T a food group? The guy at the fair LIED to me.


  5. I was contemplating my closet this weekend, actually. Shoes that aren’t even donation-worthy, t-shirts from high school, and a stack of “this shit needs to be mended, and I’ll get to it SOMEDAY, so shut up and leave me alone about it” that has been in the same place so long it’s dusty. I have a pair of dansko clogs that are double-digits old that I refuse to get rid of because I spent triple-digits on them, even though my dog, who is now six teethed on them. I’m pathetic. I have a pair of boots from – I’m so not kidding – EIGHTH GRADE – because they still fit, dammit! (Try wearing a size 10 in 6th grade. NOT okay.)

    Fuck. I think I just diagnosed myself as a full-fledged hoarder. No, wait. I can walk through my house without fear of dying from blunt force trauma. I think I’m okay. For now.


    • I have this horrible fear I’ll finally throw something out because I never have anywhere to wear it… only to need something EXACTLY like it the next day! And I, too, tend to wear things until even Goodwill don’t want ’em!


  6. Dear Sweet Mama

    Now that is a definite sign of the Apocalypse – little Hoody cleaning out the closet. Scarey. Bout time, but scarey. One of the advantages of being in Witness Protection, as the Concubine and I obviously are since we move so much (though I think I should know, good grief I could give us away or something) – is the frequent throwing away, donating, giving of stuff. However, we do still have piles of shit.


    • In my defense, some of the piles of shit you “gave away” have become MY piles of shit! And just so you know, now that you live on the Joisey Shore, Poor Ol’ Dad has renamed you M-Woww.


  7. I love people who actually address themselves as, “Self….” Cracks me right up.

    Salads are indeed healthy, dressing, cheese and all. You need fat to process some of those nutrients. Eating a salad without fat means your body gets no nutrition and ends up hungry an hour later because dammit, you didn’t eat! There you go, nutritional science FTW. Personally, I think I’m doing well with my diet when I can recognize all of the ingredients in what I’m eating. In fact, that IS my diet. “What’s in this? Do I know what that is? No? Toss it the eff out.”

    My weight makes me its bitch all the time. It goes up and down more than the stock market. I’ve learned the hard way not to get rid of stuff because my body will be like, “Ahahaha, you have no size 6s anymore. Let’s drop some poundage!” Or conversely — “Got rid of the size 10s did ya? Good, let’s pile on some curves!” Cleaning out my closet mainly boils down to — “Do I still like this? Does it make me look like a crack whore?” If the answers are yes and no respectively, it stays.


    • every now and then I do what I call, “The Medieval Foods Diet.” That means no processed crap, fast food, etc — only things you could get in Ye Olden Tymes. You end up eating a lot of meat and drinking a shit-ton of wine and beer… WINNING!


  8. I have a full range of sizes in my closet, most of which I will never again even come close to fitting into. I keep them because, well, fuck reality, I’m living the dream of one day fitting into those size 8 jeans. My ass looked fantastic in those . . . when I was 12 apparently. I did have to get rid of a bunch of shit from college, but mostly because the styles were just awful. Apparently half shirts are coming back, but I don’t ever want to even acknowldge that I wore those suckers back then, so sayonara whore clothes.

    I am old. I am fat. And it is sad. Hold me?


    • I am unable to hear the words “Hold me,” without thinking about the Married With Children episode where the neighborhood has a Peeping Tom. Peg is disappointed when she doesn’t get peeped and tries to sit on Al’s lap saying, “Hold me, nobody wants to peep me!” And his response is, “Nobody wants to hold you either.”

      Al was a massive asshole. A very funny massive asshole. You can sit on my lap and I’ll hold you, but not in your whore clothes. Deal?


      • I’ll hold ya both… apparently my ass is wide enough to support ample lap space! And some of the things I wore in college make me cringe to think of now… how did I ever get on the Dinosaur Bus to go to classes?


  9. Getting paid to say “trouser snake” on air sounds like an awesome grown up job to me!


  10. Note to self: Start using the phrase “note to self” again. Hoody said it’s aight.


  11. What! I’m not allowed to expand my collection of margarine lids further….what lies is this!!!


  12. Salads covered in cheese and dressing aren’t healthy? ::plugs ears:: I’m NOT listening! Not listening!


  13. Pingback: Th Useless Crap Store | hoodyhoo

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