Yep, you read correctly. I’m totally and 100% ripping off the phrase that my favorite west coast diva, d, coined. But hey, imitation is flattery, right? And I’m giving her credit. So, yeah. Back to the topic at hand.

Chunkler, aka, me.

No, really. The universe has decided that I need to be 10lbs heavier than my fighting weight at what I’ve remained for awhile, and can keep at semi-easily. And by semi-easily, I mean the extent of my exercise regimen is lifting bottles of wine to my face, and getting in the occasional walking aerobic activity such as walking to class across campus, or from local bar to bar. Although, the latter usually involves stumbling which is a fantastic source of using extensive muscle coordination so as to not fall off the sidewalk, and, oh, you know, DIE in a gutter because you’ve cracked your head.

But I digress.

The real source of the problem, is mother nature. Men, unless you’re in the medical field or totally attune with your feminine side, you might want to skip this next paragraph.

See, I mentioned that I’ve been having issues with the lady parts for the past couple months. Specifically, Aunt Flo who overstayed her welcome-making her total visit a ridiculous 3 week stay. HELL. HELL. HELL. If you didn’t get that, PURE HELL. So, after many, many visits with my lovely doctor, numerous tests, blood work, and even a hormone holiday so my body could reset itself, she decided to put me on a new pill. One, that has a significantly higher amount of hormones. Because my body needs a higher dosage of hormones to maintain the monthly woman cycle.

Oh, HI HORMONES and WEIGHT GAIN. SO F*CKING NICE TO MEET YOU.

You can ask my roomies, I really don’t eat a lot. In fact, I can pretty much get by on one meal a day, dinner, with some occasional snacking in between. Now? NOW?!

I’m eating myself out of house and home.

I am RAVENOUS. ALL OF THE TIME. So, in addition to this new found hunger and poundage there, my boobs and ass? Have poofed out. Literally. My bras and pants are tight on me. Which, really? Makes me want to fall into a big heap in the middle of my floor and sob. And then devour a bag of reduced fat kettle cooked potato chips, and string cheese because I’m so EXHAUSTED from all of that SOBBING that I need energy to pick myself up off the floor again to try on another pair of jeans that don’t fit, only to repeat the cycle.

My conclusion? Mother nature wants me to be a chunkler. Or, just have my period for three straight weeks.

I’m pretty sure that’s the superficial version of FML right there.

So, if you need me, I’m pretty sure you can either find me cussing out my uterus, stuffing my face, or curled up in my bed sobbing because my clothes don’t fit me anymore. I suppose I could breakdown and go to the gym…but it’s the gym on campus and there’s so many teenyboppers there that are stick-thin. And quite frankly? My chunkles don’t want to be flapping in the breeze next to the size double zero on the treadmill next to me.

Rock? Meet hard place. Hard place? Meet rock.

Le. F*cking. Sigh. Being a woman is SO HARD.