AUGUST THIRTYFIRST TWO THOUSAND NINE

I told myself I wasn't going to eat anything today. And not half an hour later, I've downed a fudge bar, an ice cream bar (which, in my defense, I THOUGHT was a fudge bar. They have the same wrapper, and I was about two bites in before I figured it out. Buh.) two cans of tuna, and some relish. Well goddammit, me. So much for no barfing today. Ack.

The roommate wants me to go to a mutual friend's house tonight. Which would be alright, except for the fact that this girl always has a TON of food at her place. I'm talking shelves upon shelves of food. And as my roommate put it,

"Going to her house almost always means pizza."

Which, okay, I love pizza, don't get me wrong. But I have this horrible tendency to eat a couple pizzas (not SLICES, PIZZAS.) in one sitting. And afterwards I usually move on to bigger and better binge food. This wouldn't be such a problem if I wasn't going to be surrounded by grocery-store quantities of prime junk food. Which is just a panic attack waiting to happen. I can just envision myself huddled in the corner of her kitchen with an open box of Knotts Fruit Pies, knee-deep in a carton of Rocky Road, taking breaks only to hoover chocolate-covered pretzels in my mouth. All while my friends are unsuspectingly watching Grandma's Boy in the next room. The next morning, this girl's poor roommate would wander out to the kitchen, only to find remnants of The Great Hostess Massacre of 2009. Which she would undoubtedly blame on my friend, who, let's be honest, would probably be so confused she would end up taking the fall.

It's idiotic how far my imagination gets away from me.

Or, I could just NOT go.

But shit.

Who turns down free pizza?