Oh, my God. I cannot believe these dailies. They say the camera adds 10 pounds, but in my case, it has got to be more like 20. I just knew I shouldn't have let Freddie talk me into getting the spinach salad with balsamic vinaigrette at Spago. Especially not with shooting the next day. I mean, I only ate half of it, but still!

What sucks is, I was really hoping the critics would be impressed with this one. That Lisa Schwarzbaum bitch is totally gonna mention my thighs in her review, I just know it. Now, be honest, okay? Totally honest. Do you think I look fat in this motion picture? God, I am such a cow.

Even though you've only been my personal assistant for a few weeks now, I totally love you like a sister, and feel like I can completely trust your judgment. I seriously cannot blow this, you know? This is a very critical time for my career, what with Jennifer Love and Reese looking really thin these days, so I definitely cannot afford not to look my best right now.

I work out every day. You know that, right? And I've been making amazing strides with my personal dietitian over the last three months, so it's not like I don't make the effort to look good. I'm worried that maybe there's something about this particular director of photography that doesn't bring out my best. Like yesterday, when we shot that scene where I was gazing out the window and being all introspective and stuff, I thought I had the emotional range down. But, I don't know, did you think maybe I looked a little puffy in my cheeks?

Because I sort of thought that maybe the lighting was, you know, making the backs of my arms look flabby. Oh, you're just saying that! You're just trying to make me feel better. Oh, my God, I hate backlighting. It makes me look as big as that Alicia Silverstone hog. Every time I'm backlit for anything closer than a medium-depth cutaway, it's like, oink city. And I don't even want to talk about the way it brings out the dark circles under my eyes. Let's just not even go there, okay?

Maybe it's the script. Do you think this premise makes me look bloated–single girl finds love and a career in fashion design when she befriends a pair of magic talking pumps? It's not my fault, right? I just don't think supernatural romantic-comedy scenarios are slimming on me.

And the pool scene! Let's not even discuss it. Because if we do, I'm totally going to start bawling right now, and we'll have to bring Diandra back in here to redo my entire face, and I just can't handle her at the moment. I looked hideous in that bathing suit, I just know it! How could I have let that costume designer talk me into that horrid chrome and magenta one-piece anyway? It was so not Sarah Michelle. I looked like some fat old 30-year-old in that thing. At this rate, I just know Freddie's going to dump me and take Kirsten Dunst to the Oscars!

Fuck Kirsten and her stupid hit cheerleader movie. I could have had that part if I wanted it.

Oh, God, I'm hyperventilating. I have to go on camera soon, and I simply cannot work in this state. Oh, God, I need some Vitamin B. Give me that plate of arugula. Give it! No, I don't want any foie gras with it, you moron, just the arugula! Like I need any more fatty acids today? Hel-lo?

I'm sorry I snapped at you, Rochelle. You know how upset I get when I'm retaining water. I just need to channel that energy into my craft. It's all part of the creative process.

Maybe it's not so bad. I mean, these publicity photos aren't that awful: I'm looking provocatively at the camera, hips cocked and fingers splayed out over my hips. But, still, doesn't my bellybutton look a little spongy? Maybe it's the outfit. I should've gone with the other tanktop. I knew it. I so totally knew it. Okay, new topic! Because I do not even want to talk about it.

Do my ankles look swollen in these press-release photos? Be honest. Kind of thick? Or is it just me?