Hot pizza ass

I'm working on my boundaries and being clear and assertive recently. Too much Girls and then an unfortunate hour long episode reading Vice magazines sexual advice columns has scared me into demanding that people leave me a metre squared of personal space at all times.

Knowing that I'm going to El's birthday party at a pizza pub makes me a little worried about testing this. One of my issues with discipline is surrounding food. Not even surrounding. The whole thing is food. I just can't say no. I am fully aware that if I eat big fat wheaty things they make me feel sick, bloated and crampy. And I hate myself even whilst I'm licking strings of melted cheese and crust crumbs off my lips. But I just still do it. The humiliation!

Well no more. No means no. No 12 inch pizza order, no more rimming everyone else's left over crusts, no ten pints and then spitting in Dragana's face when she tries to help me.

I'm going to take myself a little cous cous pack up, settle myself down with a soda water (with lemon) and see who I can alienate. Alienation is easier than assertion fyi. Less confrontational.