I saw a dude in the cafeteria today getting the following items for lunch:

• 1 slice pizza
  
  
• 2 doughnuts
  
  
• 2 cookies (large)
  
  
• 4 juices (small)
  
  

Bastard. He was standing right behind me in line, where I was primly purchasing my salad with nonfat ranch dressing and hyperventilating about the two whole pounds I've gained. (Where’s the scale? Maybe I’ve gained another pound since yesterday!)



And it's not even like this guy is one of the 30-ish, fat, balding-yet-with-ponytail, millionaire developers who run this place, and at whom I can glare while they’re purchasing their double bacon cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate cake for lunch and think “Rich ponytail dude, you are a heart attack waiting to happen in five years!” (While in fact, I, with my Boca Burger sans bun, no fries, broccoli on the side, am probably the heart attack waiting to happen, given the genetic cesspool -- that term courtesy of L’il Sis -- from which I spring.)







No, Pizza-and-Doughnut-Man was already old! Early sixties maybe! He’s survived that long on his diet of lard, cholesterol, and sugar! And it pisses me off! Cause you better believe I would eat that day every day if I could. He was, of course, not exactly svelte. In fact, he was sort of rotund. But with his white beard, it made him look like a lovable Santa Claus wannabe. All the grandmas are after him, I bet. And with all those doughnuts and all that booty, he is one happy fellow! And I bet he doesn’t agonize over two LOUSY pounds.



ANYWAY. On to juicier topics. I bet you’re all DYING to know about my trip to Smell-A. Well. There were the movie negotiations (which are too boring to get into, except for the catfight between Marissa Tomei and Sarah Michelle Gellar over who got to play me, which turned into a steamy l*sbian sex orgy). And other than that, let's put it this way. The “Fun in the Sun” vacation that I dreamed of was really more of a “Drive Around in the Gray and Cold Vacation.”



I did, however, get to know Pierced Political Boy better (Note slight change of name, at his request, though he is officially not allowed to read the blog anymore). In the biblical sense. I KNOW, it was really only our second date -- though to be fair, our first date DID last 24 hours! On general principle, I don’t give it up so easily these days, but drastic situations (i.e. PPB living in Smell-A), calls for drastic action. And I am nothing if not someone who rises to the occasion, especially when s*x is involved. PPB, I must say, also rose to the occasion with amazing zeal, given his advanced age of 32.



Also, *extra credit* to PPB for lavishing attention on me wherever we go, making me feel like the specialest person on Earth. Ain’t no one been that sweet to me since…well…



OK, speaking of The Great Unpleasantness, here’s a question. I’ve decided that I don’t need to call Loser Loser anymore. I am SO over that. I can’t of course, call him by name HERE, lest he finds this site (has he already?) and decides to sue me, TP my house, etc. I need a new name for him. A male name that is completely emasculating (as is his real name; too bad I can’t use it), to properly portray the rather weak and pathetic non-Alpha male that he is. An acronym would also do.



A subset of my friends are already calling him “Luther,” which, as you might guess, is a variant of Loser. I’m partial to “Frances.” But if anyone has any ideas, please let fly.