So much of nothing. I'm glad Kat's all better. I want more something. Not sure what the something is. It's one of those I'll know it when it happens things? The limbo is irritating. And unsettling. I'm writing short sentences. Again, unsettling. I'm not appreciating the short sentences.

Timmeh and I went to the Moon Cafe last night. We were hungry. It was open, and we didn't have to wait for a table. It's more homey looking than it used to be. That said, the last time I went to there was when the really bad skinny chinese waitress from Singapore was there. This would have been early 2006? She was the epitome of what a bad waitperson is, and an SPG (read Sarong Party Girl) - only she was indiscrimate on whether her was fawning over an anglo-looking male or female. The decor is semi-similar, they've decked out the rear dining area with a couple of couches and arm chairs creating a bit more of a relaxed, chill space. And they've up their prices a little and now have a larger drinks menu - mostly devoted to alcoholic beverages.

I ordered a large serve of the baby calamari, and Timmeh chose the chicken parmagiana and spaghetti. The food was decent, but not quite good enough to be good. It wasn't bad, it just wasn't good - it's like it was a little bit short of good. The serve of baby calamari should have been described more as a large serve of shoestring fries, (not-so-generously) topped with deep fried baby calamari slices served with mixed salad greens and funky dressing. Oh and decent dipping sauce. The chicken parmagiana and spaghetti was as decent chicken parmagiana and spaghetti is, nicely cooked fillet of chicken topped with tomato paste and cheese, a-top spaghetti napolitana, served with mixed salad greens with funky dressing. I'm not sure what made up the salad dressing, but it had a tart, sharp mustard like twang - I'm undecided if it was pleasant. Beverage wise, I had a chocolate coke (read: coke with chocolate sauce at the bottom of the glass) and Timmeh had his standard Coopers which at the Moon is classed as a "premium" beer. Hehehehehe. All bitching aside, the service we received was prompt. Not the most cordial or polite, but it was most definitely prompt.

I'd say service at the Moon Cafe would be rated as like watching all of the Lord of the Rings (trilogy) at once on DVD, with a bowl of nice popcorn, only to find out you fell asleep through the bit where Gimli tells Aragon to toss him and not to tell the elf. And waking up to find your friends ate all your popcorn. Overall good, but some bits like nice-ness quotient can definitely be improved upon. 5 colours of the rainbow.

Food I would rate as trying on, loving and buying an awesome dress at the store, only to find out that you look like a baby beached whale - not quite a beached whale, but now you know why you fell guilty everytime you have a whole family sized chocolate bar. Okay, but not really good, but you've rationalised and know it was ok, given what it is. 4 colours of the rainbow, with a views of the 5th.

I would have loved to linger a little longer after dinner, but we had to go home to feed the meow-lings. I would rate the Moon Cafe as somewhere that looks like a great place to chill at, grab a couple or three of beverages and chat about the procrastinations of tomorrow. I wouldn't go there for a good feed, unless everything else was closed.

The name rang a bell, I don't know her or anything .. she's some chick that does recipes in the local paper and other places. A few minutes ago Donna Hay was on the morning show doing a segment on "cheater's pie".

It was wrong of me to refer to her as a chick, she's more an old boiler. She looked huge! Huge like a disco ball in the tight, clingy silver emsemble that looked much like a twin-set. Her hair and face glistening with what looked like grease. Any motivation I had to consume food has ebbed, much like my inclination for pies. The pies on her segment looked good, but if there's any chance at all that I could end up looking like her - even in a parallel universe- because I had one of those pies... Hell no! And on national telly to boot!

Telly cooks need to look good. It's all about the packaging. Nigella Dawson.. now there's an attractive looking package. She's not petite or small by any measure, the grub she has on her show looks lush and "hay" does she looks awesome! This coming from a chick that's not a fan of the "larger-greek-goddess" style woman.. It's all in the presentation my dear Watson.

There's this huge possiblity that I'm seriously contemplating an eating disorder somewhere in the puddle that is my mind. The first steps have already been taken. 14 hours into this day, and my digestive system has been privy to five large glasses of water, a handful of potato crisps and a mouthful of low fat iced coffee.

The empty feeling in my tummy is growing, and I can't think of anything but. Okay, I'm lying about that last one, thoughts are doing their usual contortions and races about the small confines of my consciousness. I've walked to the fridge maybe five times in the last twenty minutes and each time I can't convince myself to eat anything.

I have yet to learn how to count in calories, it seems like too damned much to remember. There goes any support I'm going to get from the pro-ana movement - joke. I usually think of food, eat it, and sometimes feel really sick. Too much of anything is never great, but try convincing me mid eat. It never works.

Working on psyching myself into going to the gym this evening. It's just horribly discouraging to not be able to do what I believe myself capable. I bought Timmeh a gym membership probably with some hope that trying to motivate him to go will help me get my fat arse there. It hasn't worked. If anything it's been a waste of money and I feel blobby, ick and truth be told, absolutely disgusting.

I just had my first McDonalds' Chocolate sundae in several years. There was that yummy feeling when I was spooning the chilled McLardy goodness into my mouth.. it's been about ten minutes since my last spoonful. There's this strangely phlegmy substance that's icky sweet now lingering at the back of my throat. The words light-headed and nauseated come to mind. I'm spinning out, I sweat it. Just a little. My eyes are focusing funny I kid you not. Fuck. I so wish I was kidding. This might be the universes way of saying -

"McLard is evil and I will have your stomach vilify your mind every time you have anything from its evil depths".

I'm going to go lie on my side in the recovery position with a towel by my mouth, so I don't drown myself in my McLardy sundae vomit and the carpet won't stain.

There's something about fat women that scares me. I wish I could say I wasn't sure what it was about them.

For one, I'm terribly afraid I'm going to wake up one morning and be disgustingly fat like they are. I'm pretty sure I have a bad case of fat phobia. I already look in the mirror and see fat, wobbly bits I would love to have hoovered off.

Then there's the "facts" that they use to make themselves feel better about their pathetic state. The ones about "the average Australian woman is a size 14 and about 165cm tall", and that "men like bigger girls anyway". Spin it however you want, there's nothing attractive about blubber, and worse short, fat blubber. Really, size 14 is pretty damned huge - especially if you're only 165cm tall.

And then, oh lordy, the fat chicks that think they aren't and wear clothing that's obviously too small. Just because the zip or buttons will do up and scream as they strain to hold together or that the seams don't pop and rip, doesn't mean the piece of clothing is your size. Muffin tops are only great looking atop muffins, and tyres look pretty sweet on vehicles, not around the tummy or hanging over leg-wear. I sometimes see a bit of muffin over my jeans and it's enough to make me not eat anything for the rest of the day.

I'm not saying it's just the morbidly obese fat chicks that make you want to scoop your eyeballs out with a ragged piece of tree bark.. there are heaps of fat girls that simply don't think they're fat. They think just because they can fit into a size 10 or 12 piece of clothing that they aren't fat. The bit they don't seem to consider is that not too long ago they were several sizes smaller. They've just literally gone disgustingly pear-shaped. These women are the ones that really cause retinal damage. They live in their delusion that they can still dress like they're Christina -Dirrty- Aguilera when she wore those chaps. Just because you have a boyfriend that says he love you, doesn't mean you can let yourself become a jiggley, wobbly, unattractive lump with feet. There'll be a moment when he sees you and it clicks that as much as he loves you, you're just physically repulsive - you no longer look anything like the woman he met, just some fat, blobby thing that has a similar face.

What seems to be the latest article of clothing maimed by snow-women is the pinafore-style dress with what seems to be a bit of an empire line cut and buttons on the shouder staps. I don't know why but the fatties seem to think it's a flattering look on them. It really isn't. the bias of the lower neckline does flatter the big bust that fat girls usually have, but the dresses they pick often look a size too small - read: they fill out middle section of the dress with their huge protruding stacked tyre style stomachs so all that's accomplished is a very pregnant look - just without the nice roundness of a real pregnant belly. Not flattering. This brings me back to my take on "just cos it fits doesn't mean it looks good".