Crying and Starving

I’m going to start this post on a somber note as I haven’t been able to stop openly weeping for Aprox 36 hours. My beloved beauty angel baby cat Sage passed away yesterday. I can’t discuss it, or even think about it, for more than a few seconds without hysterically crying. And if anyone thinks that the loss of a cat is any less of a source of pain than the loss of a dog I will fucking come for you.

Anyway, my life appears to be on a prettttty steady downward spiral in all regards- not just my inability to stop Kim K ugly crying every five minutes.

 Let’s start with the most pressing issue, my weight. I have recently developed something of a cup of noodle addiction and have had to personally ask the woman who runs the café in my office building to no longer purchase them, as I appear to be the only one eating them on a daily basis. 

She laughed, but in a way that suggested that she agreed I shouldn’t be devouring MSG ridden ramen at 9:30 a.m. on a Monday and would stop restocking them. I have definitely had cause to question her condescending tone before, particularly on my second week of work when she said, “You have such interesting outfits, where do you get your clothes?” I’m still wondering what exactly she meant by that.

 Also, are there any real hard hitting studies out there that support this conception that Cup of Noodles are unhealthy for you? Or is that just an unfair stereotype perpetuated by college freshman with poor nutrition and a new birth control subscription? I mean, one billion Asian people eat some form of ramen on a daily basis and most of them are thin as can be. What’s their big secret?

Anyway, there is one mantra which I say to myself, and all my friends, whenever we find ourselves in the throes of heart ache, sadness, or despair. And that is the following: Keep your chin up, and may this heartbreak take the form of a diet. Amen. 

It may seem insensitive, but one of the only benefits of depression and anxiety is the subsequent weight loss- particularly being able to cry out all of that pesky sodium bloat from your face. Try it sometime. Go through his phone while he’s sleeping sis.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) the fast which I ordered a jaw dropping three weeks ago has also finally been delivered which, combined with my depression, should reaaally jumpstart Operation Skinny Arm. In a fit of desperation, I ordered something called the “Prolon Fasting Mimicking Diet” which is essentially a five day liquid fast consisting of powdered soups, teas, some sort of oil supplements, and a power bar you can shove down your throat if you feel like you’re going to faint. Yipee. However, because my two main food groups are already soup and iced tea, I figure that this should be relatively easy for me. 

Some of the other  beneficial side effects of tricking your body into thinking it’s starving is it  can reduce the risk of getting cancer and other diseases , better regulate your blood sugar, drop cholesterol/glucose levels and blahblahblah- I don’t care. I’m doing this for one reason and one reason only, and given the state of my most recent company headshots which I received via e-mail on Sunday, I can’t start this weight loss journey soon enough.

I was initially very excited when I got an e-mail along with a new corporate big wig here asking if we would like to have our photographs taken for professional or promotional purposes. I jumped at the chance, recognizing an opportunity for an Instagram picture with a clever caption letting people who I had gone to high school with know that I have moved on from waitressing and probably had a cooler job than them. 

The night before my photo was to be taken, I decided to get a trim and blowdry. Also, Thanks to last years quarantine and the endless amount of hours o spent watching the youths on tiktok, I knew exactly how to do my makeup so that it looked good on camera. It was going to be my time to shine, I thought.

When I walked in to the conference room the following morning the photographer, who looked like he most likely had attended preschool with one of the Three Wise Men and could not have been less than 479 years old, was already directing the Chief Director Deputy Officer of Something or Other to smooth out her hair. I sat down in a chair as he informed her he would “try to edit out her bald spots later”. She looked less than amused.

After she had fled from the room like her hair was on fire, it was my turn. I had been waiting all week for this, and I didn’t even think to question it when he informed me that he would be focusing “predominantly on my face”, because it was my “best feature”.  I had never heard anyone say this before, and I liked the sound of it. Usually my best feature is considered to be a toss-up between my upbeat optimistic personality or my breasts.

A few days later I received an e-mail from the photographer who sent me a few of the photos stating that they were “definitely the best of all we produced” and not to ask him for a preference because they were “all terrific”. 

I want to preface this by saying this man was extremely kind in that he was willing to volunteer time out of his own day to take these photos free of charge. With that being said, and without one shred of exaggeration, these photos will haunt me for the rest of my life. Although he took the photos from a relatively normal distance (I’d estimate eight feet) I was blissfully unaware over the course of the photoshoot that he was zoomed so closely in that you could count each one of white heads on my nose individually, and that he would then superimpose only my head from the chin up onto a plain black background.

On the one hand, I can’t place all of the blame on him. It is not entirely his fault that I look like a 45 year old bloated/obese Latina newscaster going through a divorce. Much of that is my own cross to bear. But come. The. Fuck. On. In addition to the bouffant hair and gaze which can only be described as menacing, he edited one side of my forehead with some sort of blur effect for reasons unknown. I believe during our session he said that my hair line was “distracting” and that he would fix it in post, but I did not realize it would result in what looks like the remains of a removed Siamese twin jutting out of the side of my head.

I immediately emailed him expressing my confusion as politely as possible, and asked if he had any photos that were not taken from mere centimeters away from the tips of my false eyelashes. He replied back informing me that there were no such photos, and that he intentioned to get “quite literally, headshots”. 
I’m getting hysterical just talking about this, but just know, I can’t catch a fucking break.

#cat #sage #rip #job #fasting #diet #prolon #starving #mealprep #weightloss #sAd

2 thoughts on “Crying and Starving

  1. Im sorry for your loss.
    And this whole post is completely relatable right down to the cup of soup addiction. Oh.. and the bloat haha. Bloat goes away though (that’s what I’m telling myself to make myself feel better). I mean.. it has to eventually..

    Like

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