Greetings from The Minimally Diseased

BLAMMO

BLAMMO

I made little bargains in my head all day before getting my biopsy results. It felt like a prayer kind of afternoon, so I prayed to my favorite Elizabethan ladygods: Liz Lemon, Elizabeth Gilbert, and Amy Beth Schumer. Couldn’t recall the correct format for praying so I was like

Hayyy, bitches

Y’all better bring it today

And whatever it is, make it funny

OKTHX

Love,

Marika

PS: Also, amen

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Donut Motivation

photohamdonut

Don’t be jealous of how good I am at making motivational posters (SEE ABOVE). The last week was kind of a slag – lots of organizing, and crying my way through two seasons of Call The Midwife – so I needed a little pick-me-up. The donut kind. But since I can’t really eat one donut without eating an entire murder of donuts, I had to content myself with a motivational internet donut instead (SEE ABOVE). Which P.S. looks good but tastes like shit.

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The Bearable Fatness of Being

metime

Did you hear the sound of a thousand trumpets heralding the return of my knees? Because after a three-month hiatus, they are back and not-quite better than ever. No more boneless elephant legs for this alleged human female! No more wondering how much fat and fury my kneecaps can endure.

Dear Instagram: Get ready for a deluge of sexy knee selfies today.

Being fat for most of my life hasn’t been terribly hard on me, at least no harder than any other psychological challenge. It seems like people who were extra hot when they were young have a difficult time being fat later on – they have much to compare to, from memories to photos – but that was never the case with me. I’ve always been this way, and by that I mean Polynesian, with brief bouts of having the flu and looking unintentionally good for the next few weeks.

If being overweight had a motto, it might be “Eat what you want, invest in yoga pants, and never take the stairs.” I’ve lived by that motto for so long it should be tattooed across my chest in Olde English lettering.

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Kidney Thunderdome: A Health Story

Last week I had one of those dreams where you know you are dreaming but don’t want to wake up, even if that means you are dead and will have to be buried in cake-themed pajamas. I won’t say the dream was pornographic, exactly, but I wouldn’t say it wasn’t pornographic. It was just MY kind of sexy.

HOT STUFF

HOT STUFF

The dream consisted of me eating a neverending supply of Cool Ranch Doritos. Each chip was the ideal shape – a perfect triangle, no broken halfsies or fold-overs – and each one had an obscene amount of Cool Ranch Dorito dust on both sides. I sat in the sun for hours, licking the dust off each chip in slow motion, while basking in what I’ve come to recognize as carb euphoria. Inhaling those Cool Ranch Doritos brought me closer to my authentic self – a new kind of mindfulness! – and completed me in ways no platitudes from Oprah ever could.

Welcome to Week 7 of my life without salt.

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Scrub Life: The Skin Wins

If the thought of an old Korean lady squirting hot milk all over me in front of a bunch of strangers makes you laugh, this story is for you.

If you’re anything like me, you’re lazy, somewhat-to-totally overweight, and a fan of living outside your means. This is AMERICA, right? Where anything is possible. Like freedom and cankles and an empty bank account.

Last month I got on a scale, and that scale told me how many chins I had: Around 19, and that was just on my left side. The scale was a self-righteous asshole but I value total honesty in a friend. Make it my new bestie or bury it in the backyard next to the Shake Weight?

Around the same time, I checked my bank account, which was like shouting down a well and hearing nothing but echo. ‘Stop doing things in reverse,’ I told myself. ‘Imagine a life where you lost weight, gained money, had an owl, and went to Hogwarts.’

Instead, my friend Andrea and I went to the naked Korean women’s spa in South Tacoma (which, like anything, when compared to a wizard school, is actually kind of dull). When she called to see if I was available, these were my first three thoughts:

-Yes! It’s the perfect time to relax and reconnect while surrounded by supportive women!

-No! This is the worst time to be fat and self-conscious in a place where everyone is nude!

-Wait! They have potstickers! I am totally going! AND A VIOLENT DEATH TO THOSE WHO STAND IN MY WAY.

To recap: Food was the motivating factor in getting me to the spa for services I couldn’t afford. We booked appointments anyway. Story of my life.

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