BODY OF LIES

All my girlie bits are seemingly healthy. I guess it's just that Cerazette isn't a very loving pill. But, a mon avie, it looks like I'll be having a demon child for Christmas. And yet, new French gyno informed me, in her effortlessly sleepy-sexy manner, that I have nothing to worry about. Trust, I shall.

My mom told me not to post my breasts and vagina on the internet. She says it's none of anybody's business.

Anyway, didn't end up going to the Sophomore Pop-Up Store Opening Reception last night. Just couldn't be arsed to put on THAT face for the evening and remain unnoticed among a see of girls in American Apparel, just ready and waiting to step on a catwalk. As I was heading upstairs to shower, I could only picture myself at the event swigging less than half-heartedly from a can of Red Bull (still sober, can you believe!?) and mentally willing my legs not to crumple beneath me in their Topshop hooker heels. Plus, food seems to be priority these days, which means, me and bulges A through Q can't be seen at killer events like that, and only at Walmart. So all through Friday and Saturday, I banished carbs.

Speaking of food, it's Ramadan now. Last year, I fasted because I was back home in the UAE and it's so much easier to do there obviously. Firstly, I have no life there so my days consist of snoozing. Secondly, everyone's doing it so you get pressured into it because seeing perfect arabic women not eating a scrap makes you feel pretty fucking obese. Thirdly, the food can't compare to California and fourthly, even if it could, you couldn't order or buy a single morsel, and aren't allowed to eat in public til after 6pm. By that hour, I'm back on snooze number 2. So I partook in fasting, in a weird, anorexic sort of way that made me feel accomplished. I also love how their days are tailored around the fact that they can't eat. Businesses close up, school is scarce...really, you can't go wrong during Ramadan in Abu Dhabi, which only makes me respect my muslim friends from back home in Trinidad even more; dealing with us munching away in front of them during lunch, and yet, still hanging around us without fainting. But anyway, I'm not about to elaborate on that...

I love that I am in charge of a space where the essays can range from breast and cervical cancer to fashion to anorexia to islamic culture to effortlessly embarassing myself...

I think I'm just getting way too used to writing in short 140 character spurts on Twitter, hence this wayward monologue. The intended conclusion of the post was that, last I checked (July), I don't have breast or cervical cancer.

Logging out.