I have shed more than just pounds. I have shed people. I have
less tolerance for people living on the fringe, immersed in drama, or
who are "walking black clouds." I am enjoying life more. I am enjoying
family more. I am enjoying making new friends, and I am enjoying most
of my old friends. But, there is a small group of friends I have
shed. The "friends" who really only needed my ear, my car, my loans,
my food, my 'eating buddy status', my typing skills, my opinion, my
reliability in the face of their unreliability, my everything -- but
gave very little back, and are now upset with ME for developing new
interests they won't or can't share.
To them, collectively, the reason I have not returned your calls and emails, and made plans to see you, is because:
I don't care about your problems with your teenage daughter,
anymore. So the school counselor sucks. Get her some counseling that
you pay for, and shut the hell up. You talk until you run out of
breath, yet you never say anything, or ask me how I am.
I don't want to hear about your dying dog, anymore. The dog is
diabetic, ancient, has bad hips, and has lived a long life. Euthanize
the poor thing, already.
I don't want to hear about your financial trouble. You financed
a brand new car when you hadn't paid your income taxes and now your
check is garnished. I'm supposed to hate the IRS for you? And give you
a loan? Grow up.
To the pre-op who reads Weighty Secrets and about a dozen blogs:
I don't want to hear about your struggles with your diet, anymore.
Can't we be honest, after all these years knowing one another, and
admit that you're not even trying?. You have access to the same
information I do, the same diets, the same resources. I've offered to
take you to my meetings a dozen times. I ask you to walk, swim, and
bike with me. You always say no and then you ask me "Why can't I lose
weight?" Well, that's why -- and don't ever dare tell me again "It's
easy for you, YOU got an easy way out." I want to bitchslap you and
watch your head will rocket back and forth and spew out that ding dong
you're eating. I walked, rode my bike, swam, ate string cheese and beef
jerky for a year, went to weight watchers and lost 46 pounds before I
climbed up on that gurney to get help for the REST OF THE WAY. To
you, I simply advise you GET. UP. AND. WALK. It starts there. Oh,
and mix in a salad now and then, and Peanut M&Ms don't count as a
protein source.
\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>I don't want to hear about your newest sexual liaison. Since you had the surgery yourself, you've replaced your addiction to food with your addiction to men, to make up for what you missed in your youth. I can't stand it anymore, that you say "One day soon I'll introduce you to my new boyfriend." You don't have boyfriends. You don't even have lovers. You have what's called "FUCK BUDDIES." In two years, not ONCE has any of these "weekly boyfriends" accompanied you to a single social event, or been at your house when you've invited me over. Here's a clue: If your "boyfriends" consistently arrive at 11:00 \np.m. for a "visit" and leave by 1:00 a.m. -- and you only have a cell phone, or worse, email address for them -- you don't need to wonder what to get them for Christmas (I can't believe you bought them all gifts) -- just keep stocked up on condoms. You ARE being safe, I hope? \n\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>I don't want to give you career advice, anymore, or help you update your resume. All I've done for you, for three years, is counsel you, type your resume, help you, give recommendations for you, and given you job leads, and called and been a "reference" for you. When I had surgery, all I asked was that you keep my lawn mowed for me, for a few weeks. You didn't. But, when I got my staples out, you asked me to come over afterward to "help you with your computer." Sorry. I'm busy. FOREVER.\n\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>To all of these "friends" -- :The number you have dialed has been disconnected, and there is no new number."\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>That message you hear? That was on purpose, and yes. It's meant for you, \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>WHEW! THANK YOU, THAT FELT GOOOOOOOOOOD!\u003c/div\>\n",0]
);
//-->
I don't want to hear about your newest sexual liaison. Since you
had the surgery yourself, you've replaced your addiction to food with
your addiction to men, to make up for what you missed in your youth.
I can't stand it anymore, that you say "One day soon I'll introduce you
to my new boyfriend." You don't have boyfriends. You don't even have
lovers. You have what's called "FUCK BUDDIES." In two years, not
ONCE has any of these "weekly boyfriends" accompanied you to a single
social event, or been at your house when you've invited me over.
Here's a clue: If your "boyfriends" consistently arrive at 11:00 p.m.
for a "visit" and leave by 1:00 a.m. -- and you only have a cell phone,
or worse, email address for them -- you don't need to wonder what to
get them for Christmas (I can't believe you bought them all gifts) --
just keep stocked up on condoms. You ARE being safe, I hope?
I don't want to give you career advice, anymore, or help you
update your resume. All I've done for you, for three years, is counsel
you, type your resume, help you, give recommendations for you, and
given you job leads, and called and been a "reference" for you. When I
had surgery, all I asked was that you keep my lawn mowed for me, for a
few weeks. You didn't. But, when I got my staples out, you asked me
to come over afterward to "help you with your computer." Sorry. I'm
busy. FOREVER.
To all of these "friends" -- :The number you have dialed has been disconnected, and there is no new number."
That message you hear? That was on purpose, and yes. It's meant for you,
WHEW! THANK YOU, THAT FELT GOOOOOOOOOOD!
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