I don’t think I want to be in a relationship anymore.
It was fun, and although I will miss my dear Matt, watching my waistline grow is just pissing me off.

Oh how I miss the days when he was busy, I was busy, and we could only see each other two/three times a week. We would anxiously await our designated Tuesday/Thursday “date nights”, and then we would leave each other even more smitten than the day before. There would be birds chirping, small animals would gather, and everything seemed as though it were kissed with dew. Awwww

You could take a dump on my hand right now, but I’m so happy, I won’t even flinch

Then we started to get selfish. We wanted to feel all tingly all the time, so we acted accordingly.  We started spending more, and more, and MORE time together, and yet there still didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to cuddle….

AKA, lay the eff around and do NOTHING.

Now I love Matt. That’s right, I said it, because I do, but damned if he isn’t JUST LIKE ME only with a metabolism of a jack rabbit. He loves to cook, eat, drink wine/assorted import beers, and watch the History/Discovery/Food channel until the wee hours of the morning. He also has a sweet tooth that is almost as powerful as mine, so a sugary treat is always a must.

What’s cookin’ good lookin’

What’s the problem, you ask?

Well, after all of this eating/drinking/sugary treating/t.v. watching has gone on, we wearily make our way to bed, look lovingly into each other’s eyes, and promptly pass out. True, there may be some lovin, but definitely not enough to make up for the calorie overload that occurred just the hour before.

~Waistline killer Number 1~

Then there’s bed time.
Again, I love sleeping next to Matt. He’s all tall and warm, and I fit really well right next to him, but the moment he’s comatose, I can’t find a comfortable spot to save my life. That lanky bastard takes up my entire bed, and the strength of 10 men could move his skinny ass. Go figure.
Plus, he evidentially turns into a turtle when he’s asleep and feels he needs to cling to me for my available body heat. Which wouldn’t be an issue if it wasn’t for the fact I sleep with a fan BLOWING IN MY FACE because I get so hot, even in the winter.
In the morning, he’s all, “I sleep SO WELL next to you…mmm (cute-sie cuddly sounds)”
“Oh, gee…sweetie…that’s good…(yeah, that’s really fucking swell babe. Get off me, I feel like a gorilla in a sauna)”

I can feel my skin boiling. I hate you so much.

Look at the clock: 7:58am.

Fuck you clock!

~Waistline killer Number 2~

***Maybe now is the time I should fully explain why I’m pissy about my new….uh….situation.

See, I’m used to getting up around 5:30am, making breakfast, watching the news, working out/yoga for an hour, get in the shower, make my lunch for the day, get ready for work, jump on my bike, and then breeze into ol’ office at 8:55am (give or take 15 due to the bastard headwind. Chicago bike riders know what I’m talking about).

The most crucial aspect about all of this is the fact it’s one of the few times I get to be totally alone, catering to no one, and taking my sweet-ass time to do all of the above.

*omm* Please everyone leave me the fuck alone *omm*

So you can imagine how thrilled I am to burst out of bed at 8:00, knowing I have about 3.2 minutes each for all of the things I have to do before leaving the house, try to ride as fast as humanly possible (into the bastard wind, naturally), and snort and pant my way into office around 9:20. You know, just early enough to not get fired, but late enough to irritate your coworkers.

ShitShitShitShit SoLateSoLateSoLate

So what is the third and final Waistline Killer??
He thinks I’m perfect.

Awwwee… shut up.  NOT cute. This is where boyfriends truly sabotage us girls. They think (say aloud) we’re perfect the way we are (to keep getting laid), “That muffin top over your jeans is cute honey”, and then we somehow convince ourselves they’re right and go for that second helping of pasta and fourth glass of wine*.

*These are the actual events from last night. I’m a beast, what can I say?

Just one glass for me tonight babe. *clink*

And, to top it all off, my digestive system seems to be reacting to my relationship, too. I swear to God and everything holy I cannot poop if that man is in my apartment to save my life! He could be on the other side of the place, watching TV loudly, yet I cannot……you know……drop them kids off at the pool. Stifling the necessary poo is just NOT GOOD FOR YOU, and yet I’m completely powerless to the stubbornness of my bowls.  Agony!

Ahh, finally somewhere I feel comfortable

All in all, I’m realizing I’m going to have to join a gym again in order to not kill Matty when he’s sleeping AKA the cutest pile of dead weight I’ve ever seen.