I’m probably going to have to have one wall of my apartment removed, so that Jerry Springer can come rescue me and ship me off to the fat farm, because I cannot stop eating. This phenomenon started about a month after I moved to New York. I blame it on the following things:
1) I walk everywhere. My car still lives in Massachusetts, and obviously no one drives in New York anyway. I’ve also stopped taking the subway whenever I can walk, because when the train is even five minutes late, or God forbid, delayed in a tunnel, I go completely insane and start rocking and muttering to myself. Now we know where all the homeless people come from.
2) I stay up too late, even when I am not out at a free happy hour, which is where I was last night, and aren’t you jealous? You should be. Mama got crunk, babies, and then she started talking like this. I blame alcohol poisoning. P.S.: Ma Smash called me twice, and the second time I decided I better pick up the phone. Meanwhile? She’s totally going to send me to rehab. You better hope they have Internet access there.
3) No, I am not pregnant, Rolfe. Jeez.