Ok this sucks.

Thanks to various stressors, medications, and bad luck, over the last 15 months, I've managed to gain 50lbs. Last night I was trying to figure out what I was going to wear today. I didn't want to wear the pair of jeans I wore on monday, and I didn't have time to wash my work pants, so I went lookng through my jeans drawers.
But then they wouldn't go on.
I looked at myself in the mirror, and yeah, I was a little pudgier than usual. But I didn't think I looked like my jeans shouldn't fit. I got one pair on, but I felt like if I breathed they would split. Besides, it created a rather unflattering pooch in my waist.
Now I always wear my jeans tight anyway, seeing as I hate anything baggy. But this sucked.
Of course, I couldn't wear the jeans I already wore this week because I'm up in front of the class part of the day. I don't really like them anyway.
So what's a girl to do?
I knew Ross had a great pair of jeans that I had tried on but decided I didn't need a few days ago. Of course I should have bought them, but it was 11pm, that wasn't going to help me.
My only saving grace was the fact that fred meyer opens at 7.
So I take a chunk out of my workout time to go to freddies before class, and grab a bunch of jeans in my size and go to the dressing room. Now the dressing room at freddies is a box in the middle of the store. There's no attendant with numbers or racks for you to hang your clothes on. The lady comes over to let me in and then insists that I can only take four in at a time.
For one, anyone who's ever thought about stealing knows that things like jeans are hard to steal when you're wearing shorts. Secondly, you just know that she wouldn't have made a middleaged woman limit herself to four items. But what makes a 40 year old klepto different than a 20 year old klepto? Nothing. Unless you want to include the chance that the 40 year old is better at it from honing her skills.
But regardless, she first tells me that I can only take four of my ten items in at a time, but then tells me to put my discards on the handicapped railing in the dressing room.
So, eventually, I'll end up with all ten items in there anyway. Either that or I would have had to stand there in limbo till eternity came and went.
So I grabbed my discards and went to change them for some new ones and before I could do that she squeaked and ran over to take three items and hand me four.
Obviously the woman was brilliant. I'm sure her IQ even rivaled my own.
So by the time I got finished with all the items there were four discards and two keeps in with me. She tried to stop me to talk to her as I left but I couldn't handle it anymore so I just left her standing there with her mouth hanging open.
I'm really getting sick of the age discrimination in this town.
So now in my room I have jeans from size 10 to size 16.
It's so tempting to just try and starve yourself. I'm so upset about this, and all I can think of is how last time I lost 30lbs I just stopped eating. So yeah, I was anorexic for a while. Brought on by depression. Doesn't help that I never looked better than I did then.
But I have a size 8 dress hanging in my closet and it drives me nuts to think that just a little more than a year ago I could wear that.
Whatever. Come be my workout buddy. Come do stuff with me other than go out to eat. Why don't we have a weed pulling party? Or a cleaning party.
Why must having fun always include food?
And why can't portions be smaller. I'm really sick of going to a restaurant and paying $10 for something you should only eat half of, or less than half of, and having to take it home and let it get gross.
But if you order a half portion, it's not $5. No, it's $8.50.
So my frugality gets in the way.
Anyway, I know what you're thinking. Quit whining, do something about it, if you don't want to eat it don't. etc. But I know all those things.
It'd just be a lot better if I had people doing it with me.