As of this morning, I have officially gained ten pounds. I am fucked. That number was also clocked first thing in the morning – after a shadoobie – so I know I am totally screwed. My incessant eating and lack of exercise has finally caught up to me. Now, I am literally that beached whale picture I have been sending to guys on Grindr when they ask for a shirtless photo of me.

Work was okay. I stared at spreadsheets all day. Robyn and I are slowly making progress on our projects, but then she gets busy. The result is me sitting at my desk and twiddling my thumbs, as I’m not allowed to work on things alone yet. Also, Robyn always seems surprised that I like to be organized – as if it’s a bad thing. The woman is so scatterbrained and all over the place, but I told her this morning that it’s absolutely ridiculous she’s expected her to run the entire membership office for a membership club by herself. It’s a complete set up for failure and/or a heart attack from the stress.

I will say that I am very happy with my work hours, though. I love the fact that I can go into the office, do my job, and leave without any sort of take home baggage or emotions when the day is done. You hear all of those horror stories about people working super late, or taking their laptops home for the weekend to get more work done. Uh, fuck that. One of my rules is that I don’t work for free. Hell no, bitch.

Despite my foot, I walked home after work. Around that time, I finally got a response from my new husband, Marcel – the hotel designer I met on Grindr last night. We talked a lot, and he asked me when we were going to hang. What does “hang” mean these days? Why don’t people use the word “date” anymore? “Hang” is so non-committal.

Anyway, I told Marcel that our “hang” would happen, “As soon as possible, or once you give me your phone number. Whichever comes first.” On that note, we exchanged digits and will likely meet up at some point this weekend. Marcel doesn’t know it, but we have a mutual friend – Christina Liu from high school. I sent Christina a Facebook message asking about Marcel, and she gave me the thumbs up. However, she also made a good note that I should try and figure out what Marcel is looking for before I get too into it – a.k.a. sleep with him. We’ll see.

Side note: how many times do I write, “we’ll see,” in a journal entry?

I want to meet Marcel. I’ll figure things out from there.

I talked with Lexapro a lot today. Nothing out of the ordinary. Although, Lexapro expressed the desire to take me on a date, which I guess I saw coming. That’s slightly risky business, given that he frequents The Clubhouse, though. It’ll be fine, I’m sure.

I also talked with another guy on Grindr today – Steven. He was so fucking dull. I entertained the conversation for a bit, because I figured that nobody could be that boring. Sometimes emotions can be lost through text. Nope. Steven really was that bleak. At a certain point during our exchange, I called Steven out on not giving me much to work with, what with his one word texts. Steven responded, “That’s not how a conversation works.”

Uh no, buddy. One person cannot carry a conversation. That’s not how it works. Why am I always getting into arguments with people I have never met? After Steven told me to tell him about myself – to which I sent two Legally Blonde quotes about being a “Gemini Vegetarian,” both of which went completely over his head – I asked Steven a ton of questions. He ended up telling me that he doesn’t drink, smoke, do drugs, or even go out that much. Confused, I asked Steven if he had been to rehab. He said no – he just doesn’t like it. How fucking stupid. I will not stand for that type of intolerance! I wish I never gave Steven my phone number. Damn it.

I was thinking about this earlier, though. I keep saying that I want to focus my time on myself, or how badly I wanted to be alone while I was with Bryan. Now, it’s hardly been a couple of weeks since I cut Bryan loose, and I have a whole new batch of boys lined up again. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time that I was truly single. I know that I’m “single” right now, but I still have my attention being pulled in a so many different directions when it comes to the romantic stuff. Maybe I should cool it. Or, maybe I should fucking live my life and enjoy my summer and youth while I can. As I once said to Aunty Judy when she told me that she was concerned about my life choices: “I wanna fuck around.”

On the way home from The Clubhouse, I stopped by the liquor store to pick up some champagne for this weekend’s festivities. The cashier told me that I had great hair. It always worries me when someone with awful hair – in this case, yellow skunk stripes in black hair – tells me that they like mine. It’s almost like a backhanded compliment. What are your qualifications to give a statement like that?

Back at the Witch Cave, I watched TV, worked out on my floor, and talked to the aforementioned boys for a while. I must have guzzled about six liters of water today. Maybe I can flush the fat out? God, I hope so.

Goodnight xo