I am most definitely a stress eater.

I've had a trying evening.

Very trying.

I went to spin class and damn near died. Mostly because I think I overdid it at spin class last night. And then...

Did I say and then?

And then my lock won't unlock so my $300 pocketbook is held captive in my locker and I can hear my phone ringing and ringing and my blood pressure starts to rise and to rise and I'm all sweaty and exasperated and my legs are burning because I overdid it last night at spin class

Did I mention that part about overdoing it last night already?

and my freaking lock won't open. At all.

This is at which point the girls from spin class decide to help. This girl

Did I mention she was a girl? She couldn't have been more than 18.

completely ignores the fact that I graduated from Wake Forest and are not stupid which was completely obvious because I'm wearing my grungy Wake Forest shirt, tries to open my lock. WHICH MAGICALLY DOESN'T OPEN!

Seriously. I almost punched her in the face. I wanted to rip her arm off her body and beat her bleeding torso with it.

Her next piece of advice is priceless:

"I guess you could cut it off."

Well since it's not coming off any other way I'm going to agree with your brilliant and accurate assessment of the current situation.

"Yeah, I guess I'm going to have to."

"Do you want me to get someone to come down here when I go upstairs to leave?"

Yes, not only am I such an idiot I cannot open my lock; I am also so stupid that I cannot function in public. You're lucky I haven't asked you to accompany me to bathroom to wipe my ass.

"No, I'll do it."

So I meander upstairs which is painful because my quads are still burning because I overdid it last night and for some reason stuck through the whole 45 grueling minutes of spin class tonight and ask the guy at the front desk for the bolt cutters which was way more difficult than it had to be because when I asked for the bolt cutters he said:

"Oh, Do you need to cut your lock off?"

No, there is this really annoying girl downstairs that I want to beat with them, but she's probably already left by now so I'll beat you by proxy.

"Yes."

So bolt cutters in hand I go back down stairs to the locker room. I must say at this point I imagine that I make a pretty menacing figure with my sweat stained shirt and my honking legs and my crazy hair and my highly exasperated face tromping down the stairs with a pair of very large bolt cutters in my hand. I think this image was truly the only thing that saved me. Long story short, this very nice man whose name I've already forgotten because I'm not only ungrateful but apathetic as well, managed to get my lock off. I must say once I had my expensive pocketbook in my hands my mood improved significantly. I returned the bolt cutters to the cute gym guy I've had a crush on since day one who was mildly impressed with my ability to cut my lock off.

I neglected to inform him that it wasn't I who did it. I was having some self esteem issues and needed the pick-me-up.

So I proceed to my mothers to watch our Thursday night tv shows and I am ravenous! But does she have anything to eat? NO. Why would she? I thought it was a rule in the South that if you have children you're required to keep food for them. So for dinner I had 10 olives, which are probably closer to my calorie plan anyways.

I'm still not happy about it though.

So I've spent the last 20 minutes trying to ignore the oncoming indigestion because now that I'm freaking old olives OBVIOUSLY give me indigestion. How fun.

I'm still hungry.

I am most definitely a stress eater.