So, I’ve been half-heartedly attempting to lose part of my ass.
Not the cute part. Don’t freak on me. Just the gross, bulbous, “I’m turning into Ethel the Lunch Lady whose polyester Lunch Lady uniform squeaks when she walks because her thighs are rubbing together like Keith and Colby trying to start a fire while Jerri plays her bongo inneffectively” part.
I decided that Monic@ Lewinsky had it easy.
Jenny Cr@ig was going to give her $10,000 PER POUND that she lost, or some other unbelievable sum like that. That’s a lot of money. I could earn enough to pay off my student loan after a couple of days…. or maybe even after eating a rousing meal of Esteban’s hot pork.
Now you know why I put the asterisks in her name, right? Because I didn’t want to get googled off of “hot pork” and “Monic@ Lew1nsky”. That stuff gives me the willies. The time I got hit off the search “wet boy scout underpants” I couldn’t sleep for a week, I tell you.
Anywhoo, if someone would offer my that kind of ching, I think I could lose my ass. Or at least a good part of it.
So I mentioned this to Esteban. And he knows I’ve always wanted to go to Disneyland. Bad. In the worst kind of way. Because I had a horrible childhood and never got to go to Disneyland or DisneyWorld or even Stumpy’s Animal Petting Zoo of Hwy 32 (turn before you get to the Dump).
So he makes me an offer. If I get to half my goal, we will go to Disneyland. Or World. Whichever one is in Florida… I always get confused.
And then he upped the ante: if I met my goal, we’d go to Europe.
Now, before Esteban starts to get hate mail about not loving his wife for the round chubby sex goddess that she is, he does. Believe me, he does. More than enough. Sometimes innappropriately, in fact. He’s quite happy with me just the way I am.
I just want to be to the point I was at when I met him, when I was nineteen. I was still a curvy round sex goddess. Just less of one. I hate the fact that I look at pictures of myself then and think “Look at you! You were so cute! Why did you hate yourself so much!?! Why did you think that you were a big fat piece of shit?!?! You were awesome and cute and adorable!” So maybe I just want a chance to appreciate it a little. And maybe I hate being 30 and want to be 20 again. Who knows.
Anyway, I’ve been half-heartedly on a diet for about two weeks. I got all excited and thought I was starting to lose weight, so I went to the doctor to weigh myself (because it is NOT a good idea for me to have a scale in the house as I will obsess about it for hours and weigh myself five times a day, otherwise).
I had gained a pound.
(insert face dead of emotion, full of weltschmerz here)
Oh. Boy.
So after weeks of eating miniscule amounts of food, I fucking gained a pound.
But the thing is that I think that I’ve lost weight some how. Or at least some ass. I keep lifting up my shirt, looking at my gut, feeling the hips that are shrinking.
I actually went up to someone at work and did that. “Look at my gut! Is there less gut here than there was last week? Look! Look at my gut! Hey! Where are you going! I’m serious! Look at it! Stop walking so fast!”
Esteban commented that he thought I had lost some weight. Mo commented that as well. No one else though.
(sigh)
I hate this. I hate the fact that my genes want nothing more than to cling to my decades of poor food and exercise choices. I hate that trying to lose weight is such a stereotype. I hate those thin people who say “If you put your mind to it, you can do it!” Yeah, well, if YOU put your mind to it, maybe you can envision what I’m thinking you should stick very snuggly up your ass.
Ok. I’m a little cranky.
I think it’s actually all the fault of McDonald’s. Because I am so addicted to their Diet Coke, it makes it very easy to order a Sausage and Egg Biscuit in the morning (17 points on the Weight Watchers plan… most people get 24-30 points a day). I tried quiting cold McTurkey, but it just wasn’t happening. I crave the bubbly stuff too much. So then I tried doing an Egg McMuffin in the morning (10 points on the WW plan) but then the scale told me that I had gained a McPound, so I stopped that. Now I’ve been ordering a plain english muffin with jelly. I may be ready to chew my arm off, but I hope it’s working. I mean, UncleBob is on his way to becoming one svelte mutha. I can do this too.
Of course, the migraine helped a lot. That was good for several days of eating very little.
I’ve also being trying to eat a lot of Campbell’s soup. I’ve found that I am fairly full if I have a can of Chicken & Stars (yes, I am four years old, shut up!) or a can of Tomato Soup with Pepperidge Farm goldfish crackers swimming in it (shut UP!!!) and a glass of skim milk. That seems to do the trick, pretty much. Now, a general can of soup has more sodium in it than your average shaker of salt, but I’m living with that.
Maybe I’ll do for Campbell’s what Jarad did for Subway.
Except I wouldn’t let them film a bunch of stupid commercials where I’m walking around to horrible music with my over-inflated lips sticking out and surreal people doing yoga.
