I Can't, Vol. 22

I can't... with Guy Fieri's hair, and I'll never be able to. I get it -- it's a gimmick. It's his designated "celebrity" look. But it's offensive, it's rude, and it makes me irrationally angry. Like makes me want to hit shit, angry.

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I can't...

with the reaction my body had Sunday night to Chipotle. It was like my longest friend, my most trusted confidant, turned on me. Suddenly, something I could always count on had me writhing in pain, damning my decision to go forward with finishing the entirety of the burrito bowl in front of me rather than stop when I felt my first Chipotle baby form in my stomach. No. I had to go until I was desperately scraping up rice and was pregnant with Chipotle twins. I fear that my 'Potle endeavors from here on will have to be 1/2 a meal or nothing at all. 

I can't...

fully grasp the claim I just made.

I can't...

not eat my entire Chipotle order. Do they make half bowls? Half burritos? HALF SOMETHING?

I can't...

believe how much water has to make you pee. It's really quite annoying. It's like you're trying to remain hydrated and healthy, but you're also getting up from your desk to pee every hour on the hour. That's roughly eight bathroom trips a day, sometimes more or less depending on how hard or not hard you're working that day. 

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I can't...

believe how excited I was about finding free blank CDs at work so I could burn copies of T. Swift's "1989" for my friends (whether they wanted a copy or not), only to discover that neither my work desktop and laptop have CD burning capabilities. All I wanted was to force loved ones to listen to "Bad Blood" over and over and over and over AND OVER.

I can't...

stop listening to "Bad Blood," clearly.

I can't...

with these $3.50 touchscreen compatible gloves from Target. Thin? Yes. Most likely won't last past this winter? Yeah. But super cute and work as advertised? You betcha! (For whatever reason, the gloves aren't online, so I can't link you. But there was an entire display of them in every color imaginable at the front of my target... so).

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I can't...

handle how pretentious I sounded getting blood work done this morning. When the lab tech asked if I had eaten or drank anything today, I replied: "No, just a little hot water with lemon." Believe me when I say she paused, not-so-subtly furrowed her brow, half-rolled her eyes and wrote something down. Probably "#whitegirlfasting." I hate myself.

I can't...

remember to drink hot water with lemon every morning, but when I do, I feel really thin and GOOP-y. Like Paltrow would be proud of me or something and finally accept me into her inner circle of anorexic girlfriends. 

I can't...

with celebrities like Blake Lively and ScarJo having babies. It's bad enough when your friends start putting little humans into their bodies, but when your wish-I-was-you-but-at-least-I-can-just-stare-at-you celebrity crushes are also doing laps around where you are in life, you're just like REALLY? ET TU, BRUTE?

I can't...

that I spent an obscene amount of money on a pair of "deconstructed" jeans (AKA really nice denim that the designer then took and ripped knee-holes into) and continuously kick my foot through the knee-holes whilst dressing, making the once tasteful rips ugly and much too wide. It's like -- what's the point of investing in torn up jeans if I can't get a handle on how to dress myself and ruin what the designer worked so hard to make look chic? Again, I hate myself.

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I can't...

comprehend how many likes some peoples' engagements/birth announcements accumulate on social media. When these life updates garner 300+ likes, I want to message them and ask, "Tell me: how does it feel to be liked by so many?" 

I can't...

on the other hand, handle when someone's big announcement (not a new job because you're hard-stretched to find 100 people who care about that unless it's, like, a super recognizable company name) doesn't hit at least 100 likes. I want to scream "COME ON, GUYS! LET'S MAKE THIS PERSON'S DAY AND GIVE HIM SOLID THREE-DIGIT VALIDATION. HE'D DO IT FOR YOU."

I can't...

understand how people still have chapped lips? It's 2015. There's lip balm and chap stick literally pretty much everywhere. Why do you have cracked lips and is that blood I see? Are you fucking kidding me right now? GO BUY SOME ESOS.

I can't...

with extreme dieting. I just need someone to teach me how to dougie, and by dougie I mean not cheat so damn much. MyFitnessPal helps -- I will admit that. Do it too long and it takes over your daily mood, but use it for a month or so to get your butt into gear and see exactly what you're doing to your body when you eat that small brownie, and you'll get real disgusted with your behavior real fast. "Oh. The calories in this one brownie account for an entire meal? Cool, cool. BRB -- I'm gonna go empty out my entire fridge and pantry and beat myself with a leather strap."

That's all for today, guys. Until next time...

xox,

emma

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