Here Comes the Fattie

*Rocking out at right around 301 pounds still. I can seriously taste 299. If I cut off a foot, would that still count as weight loss?*

Anyway, my best friend is getting married. I am the maid of honor. The wedding is in October. Thus, dress shopping starts in two weeks. I really highly doubt I can lose 100 pounds in two weeks. Therefore, I have to go through the excruciating task of trying on dresses.

Oh, the horror…

At least I can thank my lucky stars that this isn’t the ’80s. I would look like a side of beef in these dresses.

Not only is every dressing room experience a fat girl’s arch nemesis, but most bridal shops only carry bridesmaid dresses in size six and twelve. I wasn’t even a size twelve in the seventh grade. So, I get to go through that awkward moment of standing around a gaggle of skinny ladies prancing around in adorableness and will all know, without saying, that I am too fat to try any on.

Is morning drinking OK during these events?

However, I will be thrilled to see my beautiful friend trying on dresses. She, unlike me, is a tall, thing dark-haired beauty who will be like my own life-sized Barbie doll. Just to be there for that experience will hopefully numb the pain of being the token fat girl who needs her dress made at the hot air balloon factory.

The Small Victories

(Back at a nice, plump 301. Please, God don’t let that number rise…again.)

Since I have well over 100 pounds to lose, sometimes it can feel like quite the load to bear (literally). There is no light at the end of the tunnel. Every pound feels like a teardrop out of a swimming pool. Negativity and I are star-cross lovers; we go hand-in-hand at every turn of the page.

So, on that positively depressing note, I thought I would take some time while I am a mere 24 pounds lighter to celebrate some of the positive changes that have developed in this new endeavor:

1. Those that follow me on Facebook (shameless segue into mentioning you can follow me by clicking the link at the top of the page) may have seen that I turned down a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese and a chocolate shake from my mother this morning. She dangled that deliciously dangerous carrot in front of my face and I told her to “shut the hell up and go eat an apple.” That felt fucking unbelievable.

2. I went down a pant-size. Now, size 22 might not sound like I’m hitting the runway anytime now, but I haven’t been down that far since motherhood. I even flirted with the idea of trying on skinny jeans. I respectfully declined myself that libation quite yet…all in due time.

3. Fruit is my new dessert. In another life, I would have kept candy bars and num-nums hidden in my cupboards and blow my last 12 points of the day on sugar. Now, I eat healthy food with my points and enjoy a couple oranges with TV time. I feel like a celebrity eating so posh-like.

4. I fit in my maybe-someday-these-will-button-again pants. Still got a couple pounds to go until my muffin top isn’t so outrageous, though.

5. I have the desire to exercise. Now, note I said desire. I am not, in fact, exercising quite yet, but the thought has crossed my mind. I have even Googled running shoes and researched if Under Armor came in my size (it does not). However, I have never, ever, EVER had the desire to exercise. Yes, five years ago I forced myself to get a YMCA membership. But, half the time I would get there and ride the bike haphazardly for five minutes before rewarding myself with a Whopper. All in due time, all in due time.

So, yeah, five “happy points” of eating healthy. Granted, I could much easier and more quickly ramble off the negative side of this new life change, but, I am not going to do that. Even though I really miss self-medicating with carbs, I will just let the positivity flow…for now.

McDamnit

Back down to 304. Still not feeling quite normal after the flu. However, of course I am feeling perfectly good enough to visit the Golden Arches. I have an addiction. I honestly believe McDonald’s is worse than heroine. I mean, with heroine you have to mess with needles, dealers and the impending foreclosure of your home. With McDonald’s you can eat sweet, greasy happiness for $.99. I mean, what can you buy at the grocery store for less than a dollar? Ramen? I will take a nice, mayo-infused McChicken instead, please.

Now, how do I break this hideous habit? I literally have a McDonald’s a stone’s throw from my office. When I sit and eat my hard-boiled eggs on lunch I stare at the parade going through the drive-thru and wish I was just OK with being morbidly obese. Who the hell needs to get out of bed? I can just snuggle up to sausage McMuffin wrappers with a grease mustache and be content.

Ugh. Now I want a chicken nugget.

Killin’ It

You know those times when you kind of want to choke someone until you see the life flutter from their bodies? No? Well that’s how I feel about my weight right now. I want to slit its throat Dexter-style and drop it at the bottom of the Atlantic.

Why you might ask?

I gained 7 lbs.

No, I didn’t have a breakdown and rob a bakery; no, I didn’t stuff chicken wings down my gullet; I didn’t even use my extra points for the week! It was that fucking flu. The mere fact of me not eating for ONE day send my body into such extreme shock that it won’t let an ounce of any morsel that touches my lips leave my hips. I mean, really, it wasn’t even a full day of not eating. That is how much of a fat kid I am.

However, I am going to (begrudgingly) keep on truckin’ and hope my body finally feels safe enough to let its claws loose on the toast I ate last week.

Good lord, I need therapy.

I Just Want to be a Stripper

I have always wanted to be a back-up dancer in a music video.

Now, I’m not talking one of those really talented In Living Color-type dancers. I’m talking the girl in the red bikini writhing around on the hood of a Lamborghini while rappers throw money on her. I want to not have to have a “great personality” but be nothing more than a set of knockers and legs.

Never in my life have I been able to just get anything by being “hot.” Let alone earn a living by just flopping around on the hood of a car. Now, before you feminists come picket my front lawn, I do know there is nothing more important than an education and personality and blah, blah, blah. But, damnit, sometimes I just want people to throw money for my great body!

Basically, skinny girls take one thing for granted. Fat girls spend their whole lives building a great personality and intelligence to pay their bills. However, skinny girls always have that safety net of knowing “if this all falls through, I can always strip.” No, that doesn’t seem like the most glamorous safety net, but it is one still. Sure, fat girls can do stuff like that but it’s more like sitting on birthday cakes for some weird substitute teacher on a webcam once a week.

I will dare to say it, though. Sometimes, I just want to be a stripper. Sometimes I just want to go to a job where people throw money at me to just stand there. My mind doesn’t matter. I am, literally, just a hot zombie that makes hundreds of dollars a night. Then, I would go home and spend all day writing in my robe drinking coffee that wasn’t from a  bargain bin and become a famous writer. Wait, what was that? I can barely see you through my rose-colored glasses.

I came to this great epiphany while watching Survivor, tonight. These pretty little things in their fluorescent string bikinis turn men to putty. I have seen a hot woman win this show twice by doing nothing more than flirting her way to the top. The saddest part is, the second time through all those men knew she won by flirting the first time but were unable to fall into her sexy little snare.

Bottom line is: if you’re skinny know that you always have that stripper pole as a backup plan.

Yo-Yo Dieting

I was on Pinterest today and discovered this photo:

This is very inspirational to me. Mostly, because my knee-jerk reaction to any emotion other than the mundane is to stuff my face. But, my whole entire life, all I can remember is wishing I was thin. I always imagined waking up one morning and looking like Kate Winslet (it was the Titanic years). I would just wake up and slip into size four jeans and saunter down the hallway of my childhood home and life would be perfect. Well, suffice to say, that never happened.
So, I am sitting here and thinking about all the women before me who have wished thinness upon themselves. I mean, Oprah has more money than God and she hasn’t been the same size for more than a year. She could literally pay someone to spoon-feed her the most succulent delicacies in the universe and she is still overweight. For crying out loud, every morsel of food that touches her lips is splashed across the front page of nearly every magazine in the country and she still struggles. 
I am having an epiphany…
This is who I am. This is my cross to bear. I will always struggle. I will always have to talk myself out of the drive-thru at McDonald’s. I will always want to eat until explosion when I cry. I will always want to celebrate with cheesecake and all-you-can-eat buffets. 
But is this the worst thing in the world? There are people out there who spend their children’s savings at a casino. There are people right now in this very town doing hardcore drugs that are zapping their brain cells out by the millions. There are people who are addicted to coffee enemas and licking their cats’ asses (trust me, my mom saw it on TV). All I have to do is stop eating so much. Good Lord, I got this.

Miracle Diet

Come on, flu, just two more pounds to go!

Weighing in at 301 lbs today.

You read that right…seven pounds less in two days. Now, I can hear your pleas already for the answer on what type of witch doctery I am practicing over here to drop that much that fast. No, I didn’t run the Boston Marathon. No, I didn’t have overnight lipo. No, I didn’t weight myself leaning against the sink to appear thinner.

Nope…I got the flu.

As much as I “love” writhing in the bathroom floor in the fetal position awaiting my body to evacuate the last dribble of nutrients it scrounged from some corner of my intestines…it actually was quite nice to see the scale drop so dramatically overnight. However, I was not the only one who was taken down by this nasty bug. My 9 month old son and husband were the first men down. I was skittering about all weekend among exploded diapers and puke buckets trying to keep everyone from dying. Two days in, I was hit. And being the true fatty that I am, I still managed to eat four pieces of toast yesterday. To my benefit, that was all I ate yesterday and felt somewhat less cathartic afterward; however, I find it quite discerning that while the entire house smells like a lower intestine, and the mere chore of blinking seems to laborious, I still manage to waddle myself into the kitchen to whip something up. I mean, I made it until the early afternoon without a meal, I am not living in a concentration camp.

My biggest worry, however, is since I haven’t eaten (really) in a day, I am going to eat a normal days worth of points and wake up tomorrow 20 pounds heavier from my body packing each calorie to that lower belly bulge that will just never die. The thought of exercising makes me want to jump in front of oncoming traffic, so that’s not an option. So, I guess I will just sit here with fingers and toes crossed that my flu weight stays off.

Food Porn

Stop smiling and start bakin’, blondie!

I have noticed that women have a dirty little secret. Something they only share with other girlfriends. Something their husbands would be mortified to learn about. Something they lay awake at night dreaming about.

Food porn.

Now, I’m not talking about American Pie style nastiness. I’m talking about that dirty little page called “Pinterest.” I mean, you should all really be ashamed of yourselves. Page after page of chocolate dripping, burgers sizzling, cream cheese shimmering…and you post and post them. There they sit, right next to your list of workouts and inspirational weight loss quotes. They sit there like a dingy pin-up in a 16 year-old’s locker. Women fantasize about food on a daily basis. I guarantee 90% of the fattening recipes on every woman’s Pinterest page have never been made. But, we just love seeing how one can concoct “Better Than Sex Brownies/Cheesecake/Cookies/Pie.”

Yes, we name things “Better Than Sex.”

I mean really, ladies. How many times have you been sitting there drinking your eighth bottle of water of the day, snacking on a low-fat string cheese for hours wishing it was a funnel cake dipped in milk chocolate, wrapped in bacon and served by Fabio? I betcha a helluva lot more than you’re fantasizing about actual sex.

Have you heard a man say, “This football game is better than sex.” Or, “Let’s go to the better-than-sex bar tonight.” Nope. This is women’s naughty little secret. Women want you to spend $100 on a box of chocolates she can hide in the cupboard above the fridge so she can sneak one or twelve every night when everyone is asleep. No one can know we love food more than life itself. Nobody except our fellow Pinteresters.

EASY WEIGHT WATCHERS VEGGIE DIP One single serving of plain Greek Yogurt Season with a packet of ranch seasoning to taste  3 Points Plus! | mrsmommymack.com
Weight Watchers Easy Veggie Dip
One single serving of plain Greek Yogurt
Season with a packet of ranch seasoning to taste
 Only 3 points for the whole container and oodles of veggies!
(Stole this from a friend. Thanks, Ang!)

 

Easy Peasy

Weighing in this week at a nice 308 lbs. I say “nice” with no sarcasm, surprisingly. No, I don’t think I am ready for the cover of Sports Illustrated quite yet. However, being the queen of yo-yo dieting, I know it can always get worse. I remember thinking if I ever weighed 250 pounds, I would run my head over with an 18 wheeler. Now, if I weighed 250 pounds, I would walk the streets in the nude.

Now, after you’ve collected yourself after that lovely visual, I will tell you the problem I am having and always have the first two-three months of starting Weight Watchers:

It seems SOOOO easy.

I can remember distinctly sitting with my best friend (and fellow WWer), Cassandra a couple of years ago sitting at Cousin’s Subs with our veggie subs and bottles of water and talking about how foolish we ever were to think losing weight was hard. I mean, the weight was literally melting off and we weren’t starving! What the hell was Oprah pissing and moaning about, we were ruling the diet kingdom!

Then you hit the three-month hump. That’s when you start really feeling good about yourself. So good, in fact, that you let yourself slide a little. Whether it’s Christmas, a birthday party, Friday the 13th, whatever, you’ll find a reason. You let yourself stop counting every morsel you sniff. You taste freedom and boy, oh boy, does it taste sweet.

Then, you convince yourself you are cured. Your “fat mentality” has just flitted away and you can live just like everyone else. You can just eat until you’re full and the weight will just keep on dropping off.

WRONG.

I have made this mistake so many times, I kind of feel like I need a straight-jacket. That’s why I am not quite ready to celebrate my recent convictions. It feels so easy, routing and rewarding. I am just waiting for the other wide-calf shoe to drop.

But, maybe my hesitation is healthy? Maybe it’s good to have lived and learned and know that it’s going to get fucking tough. I am going to want to sit and watch Sex and the City marathons with an apple pie and a Big Mac. I am going to want to “just celebrate” and make it rain calories. But, deep down in the back of my mind is 325 pound me screaming, “For the love of GOD step away from the buffet!”