Hello friends!
This morning I have had a brilliant idea!
How could our dear Ves possibly get any more brilliant and enchanting? you ask yourselves.
Here's hows! I have decided, after much careful consideration and mental acrobatics, to become anorexic! Because it's something I haven't done yet, and as you all know, I am more of a glutton for new experiences than I am for food.
And also I hate fat people. Especially fat women.
This deep and abiding psychological heebiejeebie all started in my earliest youth, when I did way too much ballet. Of course my right ankle has never been the same ever since Miss Nanuschka started me on pointe shoes at the tender age of ten, beating the soles of my feet mercilessly whenever I didn't perform to the lofty standards of the New Soviet Style.
Fifteen years of intensive ballet starting at age three have forever fucked up my body image, and I am therefore a ripe candidate for anorexia nervosa. I felt a chilblain hoodie-doodie run down my spine on the day Kate Moss first uttered those prophetic words, "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels." Amen, sister. Amen.
Last year, when I was in marginally better mental health, I did something somewhat similar. I fasted for a week, for spiritual reasons only, or so I convinced myself. I turned my thoughts towards an alternating loop of Jesus, Buddha, and the Karmic Kahuna. By the end of a week drinking only water and eating only dirt, I felt...I felt...enlightened! It's true that starvation has incredible benefits for one's mental acuity (up to a point) and sense of sanctification. By the end of that week, I was clean. I was wise. I was thin. Then I ate a pizza and it all dissipated like methane out a window on a cold winter's eve.
So this time I will stop fucking around and just call it what it is: AnorexiVes Fabulosa!
I ain't no Gandhi Gimmebeefawanda. I ain't no Bobby Head-in-the-Sands. I ain't no Jeebus the Christmas Crystalball. I'm just completely cruckin' fazy!
After enjoying my Last Lunch of egg-and-cheese croissant and a tube of white cake frosting (white is for purity!), I will begin my fast of length still-to-be-determined on this very day, the twenty-sixth of January in the Year of Our Lord two thousand and twelve.
I will report in daily, or maybe hourly, to tell you all how I'm feeling, what I'm experiencing, and whether I've died yet. My mind may soar to strange and wondrous places. Surely my belt notches will deepen--cuz' let's face it, at the end of the day, it ain't about philosophical asceticism or the quest for goodness or even physiological detoxification. It's all about...
BEING A skinny bitch! HOORAY!
This morning I have had a brilliant idea!
How could our dear Ves possibly get any more brilliant and enchanting? you ask yourselves.
Here's hows! I have decided, after much careful consideration and mental acrobatics, to become anorexic! Because it's something I haven't done yet, and as you all know, I am more of a glutton for new experiences than I am for food.
And also I hate fat people. Especially fat women.
This deep and abiding psychological heebiejeebie all started in my earliest youth, when I did way too much ballet. Of course my right ankle has never been the same ever since Miss Nanuschka started me on pointe shoes at the tender age of ten, beating the soles of my feet mercilessly whenever I didn't perform to the lofty standards of the New Soviet Style.
Fifteen years of intensive ballet starting at age three have forever fucked up my body image, and I am therefore a ripe candidate for anorexia nervosa. I felt a chilblain hoodie-doodie run down my spine on the day Kate Moss first uttered those prophetic words, "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels." Amen, sister. Amen.
Last year, when I was in marginally better mental health, I did something somewhat similar. I fasted for a week, for spiritual reasons only, or so I convinced myself. I turned my thoughts towards an alternating loop of Jesus, Buddha, and the Karmic Kahuna. By the end of a week drinking only water and eating only dirt, I felt...I felt...enlightened! It's true that starvation has incredible benefits for one's mental acuity (up to a point) and sense of sanctification. By the end of that week, I was clean. I was wise. I was thin. Then I ate a pizza and it all dissipated like methane out a window on a cold winter's eve.
So this time I will stop fucking around and just call it what it is: AnorexiVes Fabulosa!
I ain't no Gandhi Gimmebeefawanda. I ain't no Bobby Head-in-the-Sands. I ain't no Jeebus the Christmas Crystalball. I'm just completely cruckin' fazy!
After enjoying my Last Lunch of egg-and-cheese croissant and a tube of white cake frosting (white is for purity!), I will begin my fast of length still-to-be-determined on this very day, the twenty-sixth of January in the Year of Our Lord two thousand and twelve.
I will report in daily, or maybe hourly, to tell you all how I'm feeling, what I'm experiencing, and whether I've died yet. My mind may soar to strange and wondrous places. Surely my belt notches will deepen--cuz' let's face it, at the end of the day, it ain't about philosophical asceticism or the quest for goodness or even physiological detoxification. It's all about...
BEING A skinny bitch! HOORAY!
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