Doomtown

Sorry for the late update. Again. I was busy putting together my new blog, 365 . Suffice it to say, I did not accomplish items #1 or #2 from last year's New Year's resolution list . 365 is my last ditch attempt to force myself into being a healthier me. At the very least, I hope to amuse you with my fitness mishaps. Enjoy! God knows, I won't.     365: Regarding New Year's Resolutions Over the next few months, this blog will reveal pictures of food and half naked pics of the author. It will contain witty and probably cynical observations about the diet and fitness industry. Hopefully, by January 1, 2016, it will reveal a thinner and much healthier version of the author.   No, this blog is not written by an exhibitionist hipster. It's written by someone who's been struggling with her weight since childhood. I made a few silly New Year's resolutions last year, five in all. Among the resolutions listed were promises to eat better and to exerc...

This is not my first blog. A year ago, I started a blog with the same name. Ironically, I predicted that like the many diaries of my youth, I would eventually lose interest. I predicted it would last a week. It lasted close to three. No, I didn't lose interest. No, I didn't catch some life changing illness that kept me from my keyboard. No, I was not abducted by aliens-though I once used that as a tardy excuse in high school. The month of July I was busy moving in with my boyfriend. Then I was busy with work. Then I was busy with being stranded in parts of Louisiana and Texas during the evacuation. Then I was busy with clean up. Then the casino reopened, and I was working six days a week plus overtime. By the time things slowed down, I had totally forgotten I had a blog. These are all lame excuses at best, but there they are and here I am. It's good to be back. "Dear Diary, ...So...still have the white girl 'fro. And I'm still fat. How's things with ...

I promised myself I would never stoop to starting one of these damn things. As a kid, I had an obsession with unfinished diaries. I would see one at a book store, ooh and ahh over the thing. I would buy it. I would keep it for a week, tops. Then I would throw it in my bedroom closet to be forgotten until sometime in the next decade when I bothered to clean my room. There I would find it rotting with a dozen other journals, diaries, and notebooks chock full of the same old whiny crap kids write when they're in the mood to write instead of burning their retinas watching hours of television. And boy was I ever an angsty little punk! If you're good(and I get drunk or stupid)I might post a few excerpts from my embarrassing past. " Dear Diary, I have a white girl afro perm now...sigh ." Chances are, this blog will be just as whiny. The only difference between a sixteen year old Karma Girl and a twenty-year old Karma Girl is that instead of bitching about schoo...