So yesterday, I decided to reach death earlier by sitting on my ass for 15 hours, stuck in Soho at work. I love my job, I love my job, I love my job. Isn’t that what Emily Blunt mutters to herself in The Devil Wears Prada? Regardless, I don’t think I can sustain myself and look as hot as she does on just cubes of cheese.
First world problems – feeling skinny fat because I have a paying job in New York City. How to combat this?
-Obviously read interviews of Victoria’s Secret models + their workout regimes.
-Contemplate eating less donuts + being addicted to exercise and pursue modeling.
-Go home for the holidays + go to the mall to try to attract those mall modeling agents. Sketch? Nah
-Reevaulate life. Perhaps a career as a hand or foot model will suffice?
LE SIGH. First world problems to the max. Maybe I should stop rambling, get some dinner + put a damn face mask on and go to bed before 10 PM. Maybe I’ll post something worthwhile?
ONE MORE WORK DAY + HOPEFULLY EXTRA DOLLA $IGNS IN THE PICTURE. FINGERS CROSSED.