Jeans

I was at Maurices today, buying jeans because all of mine are way too big for me now, where I always used to go with my mom a few years ago, and the girl there said, "Hey, I remember when you always used to come here with your mom!" and I thought it was so crazy, and nice in a way, that she actually remembered me from two years ago when I had bangs and such. And she asked how old I was and I said 15, 16 in a few months, and she said she was 18, 19 in a few days, and getting married. And I said that was really cool, and she said, take it slow, make sure he buys you a big rock (jokingly), and I stood there for a good ten seconds really confusedly thinking about some big foot-long chunk of granite before the popular culture slang clicked in my mind. That's how dense I am by Wednesday.
The jeans I bought were a size 1, which is crazy. How in the world did I manage to drop that many jean sizes over a year and still look just as fat as always? I don't get it! I'm really frusterated about how what I see in the mirror has never really changed, but people think I have.
I think there's a part of me that's innocent, that thinks stupid things, that doesn't get jokes, and then there's another part of me that's always criticizing. I tend to talk to myself a lot, mostly the critical part talking to the naive part. Maybe this is left over from my multiple personality disorder before it was suppressed again (I'm so looking forward to it reappearing in a few years... not). But I'm definitely extremely weird but I don't care.