Congrats! You're in week seven...

I went on a joining spree about seven weeks ago to attempt to negate the complications happening here in this ole apartment. I've mentioned this before- the language clubs, the writer's ateliers, etc. What I have not mentioned is that I also re-enlisted in the entirely free service of "Body by Glamour," which is an 8-week Internet diary in which you record your daily exercise and everything you eat. I think I was feeling fat after eating 3 bowls of chex mix (see: PURE BUTTER and some onion salt) per day over the Christmas break.

I was good the first week; I recorded everything and even went out of my way to walk an extra half hour so I would have something to report to the exercise gurus at Glamour.com.

And yet sometimes dreams die.

This afternoon I received an email from glamour.com with the subject line: "Congrats! You're in week seven..." There is no need for the Internet to send me false congratulations, knowing very well that I haven't recorded walking 30 minutes at a moderate pace in 5 1/2 weeks. This email was like the girl in your lit class who asks "so how many pages did you read this weekend?" and waits to hear that instead of reading what you should have, you spent the weekend watching Sex and the City reruns. The only subject line more insulting would have been "hey FAT ASS, good idea dropping the program, you could have lost 10 lbs by now!"

So I am (for the second time, I'll admit) a body by glamour drop-out. But what glamour.com doesn't know is that I've also spent the past 5 1/2 weeks drinking chai for lunch and not having much of an appetite. Oh, and walking up and down those 5 Parisien flights which I so missed in New York. So though I'm an admittedly more stressed person than before, my skinny pants fit again. Take THAT, week seven!

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