  Crispy Minis- annoying spokesperson, lovely snack. I mean, gooooooooooood. I'm not into ricecakes, and i love these things. Speaking of rice cakes, and crap such as that, Kurt and I are going to battle our pizza blubs by beating each other up, (started that - I'm sore, got hit in the nose, and spent a lot of time flinching) swimming (it's too damn cold so far). We also notice that we eat like freaks - one meal a day, usually something from work, which means grease, carbs, and fat fat FAT. So, we're going to try some meal replacement shakes. you know, one for breakfast, one for lunch, and THEN, a nice, fatty supper.
Well, we're going to try and stop that bit, but groceries are expensive, pizza tastes good, and pizza with the works with donair sauce is even better. And then, there's poutine, a myriad of other fried things, pop. You get the picture, I'm sure, and the picture is round. We reckon that eating things (or in this case, drinking said meal) might help with the blub. Or, we'll get so fat we'll explode. (Are you sure you don't want a wafer, sir? it's Waaaaafer thin! ) Mama is going through similar brain meltdowns for different reasons. She's not chemical, or, anyways, hasn't been diagnosed (diagnonsensed? ) with anything. But, she runs her biz, deals with shit that way, has a baby, and a fun-filled family. And she lives above the shop - the woman gets no rest. Misery does love company, tonight we discussed various head-exploding topics, and although nothing was done, and little was said, the mutual sympathy helped.
Been dealing with inferiority issues. I think, sometimes, that no one is ever going to approve of myself and Kurt. His roomates, when we were first together pretty much had an intercession on his behalf, they were concerned for his spiritual well being. I was threatening his very Christianity. I'm still not over that. One of the roomates appologized to Kurt yesterday for his intercessions. All I could think of was "Good. " Not cool, I admit. Still seething. I keep thinking those jerks...those jerks...they never asked what I thought or believed, they didn't know me, how could they try and keep kurt away? What gave them the right to make me feel so unworthy? And, why did I let them? I know their approval, in the long run, means less than a pair of fetid dingoes kidneys, and for the most part, I feel that. But when I'm down, I'm downer than down, and this becomes another reason why I should jump off a building.
And then, I look at kurt, and he looks back, everything is back to Young Married Paradise, till the creditors call. My parents approve, my family, some of my friends, though, emphatically, not others. Kurt's parents don't know me. I'm pretty sure, if they did, they wouldn't overly approve. I swear, I drink, I did Tarot cards as a job, played D&D, there's a lot of things they wouldn't understand.
I've never been a church goer, not really. Not overly inclined to start, either. Heh. One of my first memories of church, besides my great grandmother's funeral was a sister asking me what my name was. I told her, and she got upset. mad, even. She yelled that my name was not a Christian name, and took me by my hand to find my mother. My mother looked vaguely embarassed, and told her my middle name was Marie. The sister, somewhat appeased, stalked off. Weird, huh? Perhaps that singular childhood event made me all approval crazy about Being Good. Well, no, probably not. 
