Carry that Weight

Yes, I am (and always have been) a rabid Beatles fan, and although the subject line of my post isn't one of my favorites tunes by Lennon/McCartney (although the "Golden Slumbers" part is), it, quite succinctly, sums up my thoughts today.  "Yesterday" was not a good day.  Work was "Helter Skelter" and I hadn't gotten any sleep "The Night Before."  I didn't have any energy and just kept thinking "I'm Down."  As a result, I almost sabotaged this diet by devouring a Hot Pocket.  As it approached my eager mouth, my brain shouted, "You Can't Do That" and I threw it away.  Instead, I glumly ate what, basically, you can find in an "Octopus's Garden" - veggies and water.  My head was aching so from the lack of sleep that I needed "A Little Help From My Friends" - some ZZZZQuil.  Worked great and today "I Feel Fine."  I have a new attitude today 'cause I don't want to be fat "When I'm Sixty Four."  There are many things that I cherish "In My Life," and my health is one of them.

Sleepless in Suburbia

I don't know what it is about this diet that has me up at night pacing - BUT IT HAS TO STOP.  Three hours of sleep per night makes this chica a nasty bitch - and it's been going on for days.  I'm so used to eating a nice layer of fat right before bed that my body can't switch off without it.  I could be an extra on the AMC show Walking Dead.  I look so haggard right now, I know what I'm going to be for Halloween (no, not Hillary Clinton).  Thank God I have wonderful Danish skin or I'd be SOL.

No Pain, No Chicken Chow Mein

I had a very disturbing dream last night.  Maybe it was the effect of the Excedrin PM I took but, nevertheless, it was the most lucid dream sequence I've had in awhile.  I was a contestant in a Chinese game show that measured how much Chinese food one could eat in sixty seconds.  They weighed me before the snarf fest began and, once again, after filling my gullet.  I gained 140 pounds in TWO MINUTES!!!!  I must have inhaled the noodles, etc. through orifices other than my mouth to put on that poundage.  Anyway, I won the contest but had to be rolled out of the venue like Violet Beauregarde in the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the great one with Gene Wilder, not the crappy version with Johnny Depp).  At least they didn't squeeze me. 

Alive and Burning to the End

Famous last line of a famous poem by a famous Russian poet.  I suppose one could interpret "burning" as having spirit, vitality, or some eternal will.  I interpret "burning" as the process of expelling calories.  I think Pasternak is with me on this.  :-)

Leave the Gun, Take the Cannoli

Or the fruitcake.  Or the Spam sandwich.  Or the - you get my drift.  I made a mistake last night by eating something I shouldn't have.  It wasn't a big indulgence, just something to help me drift off to sleep (after four hours of tossing and turning).  This morning I'm bleary-eyed but, amazingly, not guilt-ridden.  How can I be perfect when I live in a sadistically tempting world chock full of whipped cream, fried onion rings, and turducken (that's right - a chicken stuffed into a duck, stuffed into a turkey, stuffed with stuffing - check it out, it's delicious).   Now, if I had to choose between a gun or a cannoli, I guess I would first determine who was chasing me.  A thug - I'd take the gun; everyone else - the cannoli.

Just Nod If You Can Hear Me....

...is there anyone home?  That's how I feel today.  Trance-like.  Uncomfortably numb.  Not quite sure where I am or what I should be doing.  Sometimes I need to eat fat to stimulate my brain but I've banished it from my refrigerator and cupboards.  My cat is lying next to me.  Her plump little tummy rises and falls with every sleepy breath.  Wonder what she tastes like..........

Patience Is a Triple Dipped Chocolate Caramel Ice Cream Cone with Sprinkles

I'm hungry for patience.  In fact, starved for it.  I see other people gorging themselves on it every damn day. Standing in never ending lines, allowing the aroma of patience to waft over them like a particular good blend of Jamaican ganga. I so want to have what they're having (not the weed, of course).  But patience is a filet mignon in my world, and I can only afford flank steak.  So for everyday I've struggled on this diet, I imagine devouring a luscious spoonful of patience.  The ability to fend off short-term rewards for long-term results.  But a spoonful of chocolate caramel ice cream with sprinkles sounds a helluva lot better.

Gordon Gekko Says....

"Lunch is for wimps."  This quote may be less famous than his "Greed...is good" evocation, but it is more troubling, IMHO.  To me, a world without lunch creates serial killers and other nefarious villains.  A good, hearty lunch warms the soul or can even create one where before there was none.  It is the lifeline that tethers us throughout the day.  Without it, we become monsters, ready and willing to devour our young and cannibalize our neighbors.   I've never felt anger or hatred after slurping down a savory bowl of chicken noodle soup.  I think the path to world peace is lunch.  Mark my words.

Crime and Punishment

The crime - a miniature box of yogurt-covered raisins - the punishment - extra-strenuous leg lifts and self-flagellation (with a wet, but whole wheat, noodle).  But a part of me felt that committing this indiscretion served a higher purpose, much like Dostoyevsky's conflicted protagonist/antagonist Rodion Raskolnikov felt.  I experienced a sugar high like nothing I've ever experienced.  Almost euphoric in nature.  However, once the sugary orgasm subsided, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.  Atonement and fat-free cheese is in order.

White Russian...

...is really a Mind Eraser with cream instead of club soda.  Both are extremely potent and one is key to a short story I'm writing.  How does this relate to my diet, you ask?  Alcohol is strictly off-limits right now.  No beer, wine, mixed drinks, or spirits of any kind.  Just water, tea, OptiFast shakes, and coffee.  Maybe if I brew my coffee long enough it will magically become coffee liqueur (another key ingredient of a White Russian/Mind Eraser).  Until then, I'll stick to my Propel water (great thirst quencher) and dream of rocks glasses.

Say Hello To My Little Friend(s)......

Yes, I'm a Scarface fan. But this post has nothing to do with Cuba, cocaine, or Al Pacino.  It seems I've developed an affinity for two inanimate objects. They've become close (I mean close) friends to my thighs, ass, and arms.  I'm referring to exercise equipment of the Precor-kind.  I've fallen head or heels for the elliptical machine and recumbent bike.  It could be both have video screens and cable so I can focus on NCIS or CSI instead of my burning appendages.  Regardless, I'm exercising at least one hour a day.  Let me say that again - ONE HOUR PER DAY.  Before this diet, I was lucky to exercise one hour per week.  So, I'll sign off with another Scarface quote. "Say goodnight to the bad guy" - cookies, donuts, French fries, white bread, white pasta, soda.......you get my drift.

I Know What I Did Last Summer

Ate myself stupid while working ungodly hours and having absolutely no fun whatsoever.  This summer it's going to be different.  No more black on black crime (I mean black shirts worn with black fatty pants) and lots of lipstick; the redder the better.  Yep, it's about time.  Gotta go now and eat some broccoli.

Mignon - And Not the Filet Type

I caught a glimpse of it in the full-length mirror today.  It barely was peeking out from behind me.  My ass, that is.  And, lo and behold, it was smaller - noticeably smaller - and rather round and perky.  Shall I dare say it was mignon?  I was so in awe, I had to cop a feel of my own derriere.  It felt like victory.  A small, pretty one, at least. It's interesting how the loss of six or seven pounds really can make a difference - a visible difference.  Now back to ass groping.  :-)

Hell Has Frozen Over and Become a Sugar-Free Mango Lemonade Slurpee

Or even a frozen Skinny Girl margarita!  Great news!  I lost over 3 lbs last week.  That's never happened on any diet (truthfully, I've only tried Weight Watchers before this).  In fact, I thought Hell would freeze over first.  I guess a low fat diet and frequent exercise do work after all.  Who would have thunk it!?!?  Now, anytime someone tells me to "go to Hell," I'll just sit back and enjoy the experience.

Seven Deadly Cinnabons

Ah, my former life.  A cornucopia of grease, salt, and indigestion, smothered in frosting and deep-fried in doughy gluten.  I look back and feel - shall I say it - almost giddy about my prior eating habits. Giddy that I actually survived and lived to tell this tale.  By all accounts,  I've committed (and recommitted) every single one of the seven deadly sins.  However, the sin I held closest to my remarkable bosom was GLUTTONY.  Pure and unadulterated.  Jabba the Hutt kind, with all the characteristics attendant to it.  Drooling, burping, temporary choking on an extra large piece of steak, having one's tongue encircle the entire mouth searching for the remaining bits, etc. And, to my surprise,  there actually are six glorious ways to commit this sin:

Praepropere – eating too soon

Laute – eating too expensively

Nimis – eating too much

Ardenter – eating too eagerly

Studiose – eating too daintily

Forente – eating wildly

I've certainly never eaten too "daintily," and I'm unsure what eating "wildly" entails, but I suspect I indulged in this vice at least once or twice in my twenties.  How many have you committed?

But, alas, those carefree (and metabolized) days are gone.  I am left wondering whether those youthful excesses were worth the price of being overweight and having to don a pair fatty pants.  I think it's time to commit a new sin - the sin of self-love.  The kind where I put myself at the front of the line and make it about me - and my health.  Sin is good, don't get me wrong, but Slim is better.   

Korova (Fat-Free) Milk Bar

I've always wanted to spend an evening (or thirty) at the Korova Milk Bar. Sipping ice cold milk (1% or fat-free, of course) laced with a variety of mood altering substances and cavorting with my droogs.  Too bad the bar's only a figment of Anthony Burgess' (brilliant writer) imagination.  Not that I'm advocating drug dabbling.  Most certainly not.  I'm advocating fat-free milk!

The Urge to Purge

No what you think.  This morning I rid myself of all the calories and latent fat hiding away in my cupboards and fridge.  Dried pastas, fattening soups, rich sauces, frozen treats, etc.  I swept the scourge from the shelves and neatly placed them all in plastic bags - in a nice little row.  I felt, somehow, "virginal" after the cleansing.  Maybe I'm just born again! 

Would You Like Thighs With That Beer Gut?

Why is it that men only gain weight in their stomachs?  I saw this dude today and he had the biggest gut I've seen...with little stork legs and no ass.  I mean, when I pack on the pounds it travels to my ass, knees, ear lobes, arm pits, and ankles.  It seems easier to lose the weight if it's concentrated in one section instead of spread (like velvety cream cheese frosting) over the entire surface area of my being.  It basically just pisses me off.  Frankly, I'd rather have all my fat concentrated in my tits.  I'd be worshipped the world over and never want for an extra tray table or shelf.

Well, Isn't That Special

I was standing in line yesterday; my grocery cart brimming with every cruciferous vegetable known to man.  This is what I overhear from the two "ladies" standing in front of me.  "It's so hard for me to keep on the weight."  "Me, too.  I can eat a whole pizza and still lose two pounds."  I wanted to shove a spork (combo spoon and fork) right through their anorexic little hearts.  As I trundled out of the store with my greenery, I saw both women smoking by the side entrance.  I just smiled to myself - there is a God!

Carniwhore

No, not a vegan who has "relations" with a meat eater.  Not even someone who flirts with those bearded dwarfs at creepy sideshows.  No, carniwhore means someone, such as myself, who isn't "monogamous" to any particular meat source.  I believe we have teeth for one reason and one reason only; to tear the flesh off of some poor, unsuspecting animal (preferably grilled and smothered in barbeque sauce, of course).  Now, don't get me wrong.  I like veggies.  But veggies have no soul, no pulse, no bones.  In fact, I'd eat that plump pharmaceutical salesman in seat 34B if our flight went down over the Andes.  That's why I think I will do well on this OptiFast diet.  It allows me to exercise my inner cavewoman - but only lean mastodon allowed.

Cyclone Ranger.....

You know - like the lyric in "I'm Turning Japanese" (The Vapors).  I'm beginning to feel like a food outsider; avoiding those "people" who actually eat solid food.  I find myself panicking when I see some creaton devouring a glazed donut in one hand and some Pop Rocks in the other.  I have the urge to smash a perfectly good (non-fat) grapefruit right into their scum-sucking face - then grab the donut and run.  Am I becoming a Diet Outlaw?????

Blood, Sweat, and Smears

No, I'm not referring to one of the greatest speeches of all time (Winston Churchill for all of you non-history buffs); I'm referring to my day.  First, I cut myself this morning in a futile attempt to smash a spider with my chef's knife.  That's right.  This diet has reduced me to a cleaver-wielding spider killer.  After I sucked as much blood out of my finger - let's just call it breakfast - I walked 10,000 steps then spent over an hour at my doctor's workout room sweating like nun in a field of cucumbers.  See, even my phallic images are fat-free.  Anyway, I'm driving home, high on endorphins, and, suddenly, I pass Einstein's Bagels.  I'm rather unclear whether Einstein actually ate bagels, but I do - did until two weeks ago.  Plump, doughy cylinders of love with a dense coating (or smear) of cream cheese.  I slowed down long enough to envision the rapture of my mouth encircling the yeasty concoction, then resigned myself gnaw on a piece of marinated tree bark.

Would You Like Some Baba Ganoush with Your Tandoori Chicken?

Desperate as I was for sleep, I, apparently, had something else on my mind.  A new career, perhaps?  A new career, you say?  Isn't being employed at one of the best companies in the state enough?  Apparently not.  Last night I slept for 10 hours straight.  That's right.  Ten continuous hours of lustful frolicking with a youthful Sean Connery.  But alas, it was not to be.  Instead, I dreamt I was one of those drive-up order takers at a - get this - Indian, Greek, and American fast food joint.  For $8.25 per hour, I had to be trilingual and surly, all at the same time.  Suffice to say, my subconscious is crying out for help, longing for a greasy bag of curly fries and a side order of tzatziki sauce. 

NEXT POST - never tell your cat to "GO SUCK IT." It will unleash a chain of events too horrifying for even the most seasoned FEARnet devotees.

Let Me Be Brief.....

I got no fucking sleep last night as my body was in a battle with itself to see how quickly it could devour whatever poor morsel remained in the desolate wasteland now known as my stomach.  I tossed.  I turned.  I kvetched.  Finally, I got up and gnawed on a lean piece of steak like some guttersnipe.  Slumber finally came and I ended up dreaming I was in the Navy.  WTF????  Not only in the Navy (WTF????) but selling Hello Kitty luggage to several well-muscled naval aviators.  This diet is fucking up every molecule of my being.  I can't even get one good wet dream in anymore.  I think I lost another pound, though.  :-) 

Do I Have to Resort to Self-Mutilation?

I lost only 1.1 pound in the last six days. WTF???  I adhered to the diet and didn't cheat - not even once.  It seems my body loves its insulation, its warm blankie, its fat laden Snuggie.  So I was thinking; which of my appendages is the least useful?  I would have to say my right arm, as I do everything with my left hand - everything.  So, I weighed it just to see how much this longish piece of flesh and bone weighs.  Thirteen pounds exactly.  Hummmm......it's tempting.

A Midsummer Night's Dream....

This post is NOT about weddings, fairies, actors, or asses.  It's about the juiciest dream I've ever dreamt.  It DID NOT involve sex, drugs, or rock and roll.  It involved a twenty foot cheese pizza and one naked girl (me).  I've almost completed two full weeks on the OptiFast diet and, although I don't crave this savory Italian wonder during the day, I long for it in the bowels of nighttime when my true intentions are revealed.  I don't want sex.  I don't want diamonds.  I want pizza.  I want the cheese to ooze all over my taut (soon will be) body, drip into the dark crevices of my psyche, and dominate my very soul.  In other words, I WANT PIZZA!

Night Moves

Just when I thought the nighttime growling had ceased.  A few glorious nights of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.  Dreams galore.  The vampire hunger returned.  Not the voracious roar, but a muted, sing-songy hum. Almost silent but deadly.  For over two hours I shifted, switched, and pretzeled.  Every move I could think to quell the fanged chatter.  Alas, I trudged toward the kitchen and downed a dozen peanuts just to satiate the impatient beast.  As the sun rose and sliced through my Hunter-Douglas blinds, sleep enveloped me - along with my vampire belly.

Maniac....

Remember that scene in Flashdance (I'm severely dating myself, I know) where Alex (welder by day/Broadway quality dancer at night) is working out to "Maniac" (performed by Michael Sembello)?  The audience sees only her torso (swathed in black spandex) and thighs gyrating and undulating to the beat. Well, that was me today, sans the taut thighs.  Worked out for an hour and burned over 300 calories.  The sweat flowed and it felt, almost, orgasmic.  Gotta go now and find my old hot pink leg warmers.

To Pee or Not to Pee, That is the Question....

Imagine this; you're in the middle of a wildly lustful dream involving a young Sean Connery, a Big Mac, and some magical spoons.  Just as things start to get juicy, lucidity rears its ugly head and you realize you gotta pee - badly.  Do you: (1) keep on keepin' on with Sean, or (2) wrest yourself from his arms and make the 10 foot trek to the loo?  For me, the loo wins every time.  The OptiFast diet requires you to drink liquids like a college frat boy on Spring Break.  Lots of liquids.  Primarily water or other zero calorie libation.  And there's only one place it goes; into the bladder.  My bladder is rather petite and never has served me well.  However, it's also good to know Sean is waiting for when I trudge back to my bed - spoons at the ready.   

Strangest Thing...

After 10 days on the Opti-Fast diet, my allergies are all but gone.  Let's see, I haven't had bread, pasta, sugar (only a smidge), red meat, or any carbs worth mentioning and, POOF, I don't need to take my allergy medication.  I'm starting to like this.  Moreover, my body is beginning to adjust to the two liquid meals/one solid meal per day.  No more growling (stomach or otherwise), and no headaches in two whole days.  Constipation is easing and I seem to be losing weight.  I can feel it.  I even went out and took a three mile walk yesterday.  Maybe I'm not gonna die after all!

Follow the Yellow Brick Road......

Okay, so there are no munchkins in sight and I don't have a guy in a tin man or scarecrow costume gamboling along side me.  But this is the beginning of, hopefully, a journey to my own kind of Oz (key in Berlioz's Fantastic Symphony).  A journey to good health and self-love.  Yesterday was my first weigh-in.  Meh - two pounds.  Better than nothing, I suppose.  I feel much better today.  Lots of energy and no headache.  Maybe I'm too impatient for results.  My body likes its curves and will try to hold on to them for as long as possible.  Maybe if I just click the heels of my tennis shoes three times and repeat:  "There's no place like thin.  There's no place like thin." 

My Mother Should Have Aborted Me

That's a horrible thought, but I felt so shitty this morning I just wanted to close my eyes and implode.  You might be thinking, "what caused her to do a George Bailey?" (It's a Wonderful Life reference for all you non-film buffs)  I stepped on the mother fucking scale, I did.  See, I thought I'd magically lose 20 pounds consuming mostly liquid for the last seven days.  But nooooooo.  I lost a paltry two pounds.  TWO POUNDS?  WHAT THE FUCK?  Okay, okay.  I know it's only the first week but can't Dietress, the Goddess of all that is Sexy and Thin, shine brightly upon me just ONE FUCKING TIME?  There.  It's out of my ever so slowly shrinking system.  Now I'm good.  Two pounds?  It's actually a decent start.  Now back to gnawing on celery.

The Growling

Okay.  So I decided to take the plunge and sign up for my doctor's Opti-Fast diet.  Two liquid meals, two low-calorie snacks, and one 400 calorie "real" dinner each day.  My stomach (I shall call her Beatrice) has grown accustomed to a cornucopia of Satan food; French fries, warm bread with real butter, etc.  You get my drift.  Imagine how Beatrice felt the moment I broke the news.  "Hey Bitch,  no more food for you."  Well - she let me know of her displeasure.  Day and night.  Night and day.  The complaining.  The grumbling.  She even began to gnaw on herself.  After four days, however, Beatrice surrendered.  No more growling.  Just a limp attempt at a yelp.  Now my brain (I shall call her Alise) is fucking with me.  Turning off the switches to my mouth.  Making me slur my words or forget them altogether.  This Bitch is going to be harder to suppress.   

Weapon of Choice

So, I did it.  I went to a diet doctor - a fatty foe, a calorie crusher.  And guess what?  I was impressed with her, her staff, and her state of the art facility.  I spilled the high fat, refried beans about my life long struggle with genetics (Dad thin/Mom fat), and how I longed to take a shower with the light on.  She nodded, having heard all this before, then whipped out a glossy white sheet reflecting my fat stats.  Earlier in the meeting, she had poked, prodded, and penetrated me (with a needle, of course), and voila, the results of my life of excess emblazoned right there in Times New Roman.  The stats, mostly, were good - low blood pressure, optimal cholesterol, no diabetes, etc.  However, I couldn't take my eyes off of two numbers.  My BMI was 27.5 and my weight, a staggering 187lbs.  Equidistant between being overweight and obesity.  On the highway to Heifer Hell.   And to think I used to weight 135lbs and comfortably wore size 8 clothes.  I looked down at the roll of flab partially hidden by the oversized pullover I've worn 1000 times in the last 1000 days, and made a decision.  Stay tuned.....

WEAPONS OF ASS DESTRUCTION

Okay, okay, I don't want to annihilate my ass - I just want it reduced to a petite, smoldering pile of embers:  embers small enough to squeeze into a size 12 pair of jeans - hip hugging jeans. Not the kind my mother wore.  You know, the kind specifically manufactured for an unsexy Mom?  The kind that left an indelible mark around her ample midriff.  The same kind of "scar: left by those, now classic, sanitary belts all the rage throughout the Middle Ages.  No, I want to fit in jeans that will cut off circulation to my lower extremities when I wince my way into a low back chair. 

SUICIDE MISSION

That about sums up that last six years of my life as it relates to eating.  Constantly seeking out foods deadly to my overall health and well-being.  Who can blame me for killing myself with delectable desserts, piquant pizzas, and satanly sinful Sachertortes?  After all, we're all gonna die sometime, right?  Why not hasten the inevitable with a finger-staining bag of Cheetos? Although I want to die with a smile on my face (preferably contorted in some type of geriatric Kama Sutra sex position), I don't want to die with my ass still jiggling in the coffin (or the urn, for that matter).   So, last week as I was contemplating my navel - orange, that is, I decided to plan a new err.....mission.  A mission of life and healthy eating.....So, here I go....

Fat Stats

Weight - 187
Height - 5ft 9inches
Age - 50
BMI - 27.5

Stay tuned........