Dieting

One day last year I was killing myself on the rowing machine (I have realized that I hate HATE HATE running), watching Netflix. I clicked on a show called Addiction. It’s a really good, graphic non-fiction show about–surprise!–addicts and alcoholics. The woman on the show was talking about how low she had fallen because of her heroin addiction and how she simply couldn’t stop using even though she was ruining her life and the lives of everyone around her. When she was describing what is was like with the heroin having so much power over her and not being able to stop, I burst into tears. I sat there and sobbed because I felt exactly the same way. But my drug of choice is not illegal. It is sugar.

If you scroll through my recipe tab you will notice that pretty much every recipe I list is chock full of carbs and sugar. These things are my very favorites in life. I grew up baking, teaching myself how to bake at an early age because I simply couldn’t get enough suweets (this is what I did whenever you left the house, Mom! You told me not to use the stove or oven but I just had to). Luckily I was blessed with a decent metabolism that tidily sorted through the sugar and pop I existed on for most of my life. Once I hit 40, though, my metabolism waved goodbye. Practically overnight it came to a screeching halt. I did what I had done in the past: went to Weight Watchers, tried to be reasonable about portion sizes and switched my full-sugar Mt. Dew habit to Coke Zero (sorry, but I find Diet Coke to be utterly vile.)  Nothing happened. I couldn’t lose a pound if my life depended on it.

Then I was called to be the Relief Society President. This means I was put in charge of all the women in my church congregation. Not only am I in charge of planning activities and lessons, but I’m the one on the front lines when the women have major setbacks due to illness, depression, death or unemployment. All sorts of fun things. All this new stress and responsibility left me exhausted and depleted at the beginning. So I did what every red-blooded American would do; I turned to food. Now I wasn’t stress-eating just for my own problems, I was stress-eating for everyone’s problems! The results were not pretty. I didn’t even know you could gain weight that fast!

I cut down on calories and took up running (I had to try it before I realized I hated it so), and rowing and exercise videos. Unfortunately my weight stayed exactly the same. The scale would not budge. I cut out most white flour and ate nothing but whole grains (hey, whole wheat chocolate chip cookies are really fantastic, by the way! Super chewy!). And there were no more calories from soda since I was drinking diet. I couldn’t figure out what was going on or how to change it.

I knew exercise must be important but so far I hadn’t found the thing that rocked my world. And I knew I needed a partner to help me find some accountability. I’d been hearing about crossfit a lot so I found a place near us that had fantastic reviews on Yelp and got my friend Anna to go with me. It was hard. Really hard. But I really liked it. And hated it. If you know crossfit, you know what I mean. I’ll talk more about it another time. But the foundation of crossfit is good nutrition. That’s a really big deal. In particular, crossfit people are totally into paleo.

My crossfit coach suggested I try Paleo but once I found out that sugar and grains are forbidden I was like, “HELL NO!” Like, no way would I ever, ever eat that way in a million years. My coach just smiled, “after about a month of crossfit I bet you’ll try it.” I snort-laughed because there was not even a shred of possibility that that might happen. Obviously he didn’t know who he was talking to; I have won blue ribbons for my baked goods! That stuff is in my blood! Sugar and flour are my soul!

But this voice in my head kept nagging at me to think about it. Even doing crossfit several times a week was not helping my weight. The numbers refused to get lower. I began to face the fact that flour and sugar were like a dysfunctional relationship: they were doing me nothing but harm although I still loved them desperately. It was time for us to break up.

I read several books about eating Paleo* and here’s what turned me onto it: it’s all about getting over sugar and carb cravings. It’s about teaching your body to have a healthy relationship with food. It’s about healing your body from the damage you’ve done over your lifetime, and becoming as healthy as possible through clean eating. And most importantly to me it means eating foods that provide a healthy psychological response.

In other words, not eating because of sadness or boredom. You don’t think of food as a reward (that’s a big deal for me. I think of food as the ultimate reward). You can find all sorts of “heathy sweets” that have honey or agave. Or sugar-free chocolate. But those aren’t going to do you an favors if you’re a sugar addict. I needed to teach my body how to not crave things like that anymore. And the only way to kill a craving is to starve it to death. (Not starve as in “no calories”, starve as in “no more sweet things whether they are ‘healthful’ or not”.)

Paleo pyramid

Not eating carbs and sugar is pretty much the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Without a doubt. I face a temptation every hour of every day. Unlike heroin addicts, though, sugar is not only served everywhere, it is encouraged!  (Who’ll bring refreshments? Who wants some birthday  cake? It’s free slurpees today!) I’ve had to stop bringing people cookies because I can’t bake them and not eat them. I have to buy snacks for my kids that I wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole so I won’t be tempted (It would have to be the end of the zombie apocalypse before I would put a baked Cheeto in my mouth.) I psyche myself up and do a pep-talk before I go to any church function (Refreshments are so hard to say no to!). And I practically wear blinders when I go to the grocery store .

It’s getting easier, though. I pray a lot (seriously. “Please Heavenly Father, do not let me think about peanut butter M&Ms”. I know it sounds pathetic and cheesy but it really works). This morning I took my kids to our favorite donut shop  (I love donuts with a grand passion) and I sat and watched them eat their donuts without even having a bite. I abstained from ordering a donut for myself even when I saw them carry out a fresh, hot tray of chocolate glazed with peanuts–my favorite! I haven’t had soda or caffeinated anything since New Year’s Eve and I’ve stopped staring at the soda fountains longingly. I no longer think about how great a Big Gulp would taste right now. When it gets really hot out, though, I’m probably going to die without pop. Gotta stay strong!

The good news? The weight is coming off. Slowly. But it is coming off. And unlike Weight Watchers** or starving myself, I have plenty to eat. I’m never hungry. Thank goodness bacon and cashews are paleo or I would probably kill myself. The best thing, though, is that I feel strong and healthy. Not just physically healthy but mentally and emotionally healthy. I don’t reach for food when I’m bored. Although I have discovered that I am not a bored or sad eater. When I’m depressed I don’t want food. I’m an angry eater! When I’m frustrated and angry I want to “show everyone” by pigging out. I know, it doesn’t make any sense. But that’s what I’ve discovered about myself.

Will I stay paleo forever? I don’t think so. I really do think that whole grains need to be part of the human diet. I’ve been doing a lot of research and really feel like whole grains are important. But I need to be in a healthy state of mind before I can make that happen. I need to exist without thinking/wishing/pigging out on sugar day after day. I need to get cravings out of my system so one cookie doesn’t turn into fifteen cookies (which is what happens now, no lie). I need to be able to say, “that’s enough” and so far that’s not part of my lexicon.  But I’m hoping that I will be able to change that soon. And permanently. Until then, bring on the pea pods!

 

*If you’re interested in Paleo (which is a stupid, stupid name), I would HIGHLY recommend getting the book The Paleo Coach by Jason Seib. It’s fantastic.

**Weight Watchers has worked really well for me in the past but recently it just hasn’t done the trick. Plus it doesn’t really help with my sugar addiction. Instead I end up eating all my points by lunchtime and then I’m left with ten more hours of starvation. You’d think I would learn my lesson but I never did. Then there is the whole issue of weight being the ultimate gold standard. Weight is just a number. It doesn’t mean you’re healthy or that you look good. And who hasn’t felt great going into a meeting because you’ve tried so hard only to have all the feelings negated because of what the scale says. It’s not right!

I’ve been reading a lot lately in the blog world about people having Anorexia/Bulimia/Some-strange-condition-where-they-seems-themselves-as-fat-and-hideous. It takes a lot of courage to talk about hating your body and how much you hate that you hate it. It’s made me think about my relationship with my body. I pretty much have the opposite of Anorexia. I’m not sure what it’s called but I always think I look fantastic. I check myself out each morning and say, “self, you are looking fine!” So I’m always caught off guard when I see a picture of myself or–even worse–my reflection in a store window. “Huh??? What the heck? There’s no way I look like that!”   What is it called when you think you look terrific even though there is evidence to the contrary? Like how Anorexics see nothing but fatness when they look in the mirror, but the opposite.

Those blobs of fat oozing out of the top of my jeans? Meh. It’s just how I’m sitting; it can’t possibly be because there is actual fat spilling out my clothes. No, not possible at all.

My jeans size is in the double digits? Only because they’re skinny jeans. The sizing is way off.

The reason my shirts are size large is on account of my nice chest. That’s the only reason.

According to society I should hate my body. It’s downright embarrassing to like your body if you are larger than a size 6; anyone larger than that should be ashamed. We full-figured gals are hideous monsters blah, blah, blah.

It’s not just about my weight either. I wear red lipstick and imagine how full and pouty and beautiful my lips are. Which made it all the more surprising when my son took a picture of me yesterday and my lips looked entirely average.  And in that same photograph my eyes look dull and brown when they are not dull and brown at all. They are golden with flecks of green! It’s true! They are!

I’m pretty sure I can blame my disorder on my husband, who has showered me with compliments even when I’ve been post-partum with a belly like deflated bread dough. If you’ve been told you are gorgeous and sexy every day for twenty years, you start to believe it. I can also blame my mother. She has this same disorder but I think it’s even worse. Once I was sitting around reading a People magazine with my mom and a few other family members. I came across a picture of Harrison Ford emerging from the ocean. This was about fifteen years ago and he looked mighty fine for somebody his age. I held the picture up and announced what a fox Harrison still was. “Oh, I look just as good as he does,” my mother informed us. She was dead serious and didn’t notice us all rocking with silent laughter. She was quite the hottie back in the 1950′s and in her mind she still was/is. All I can say is good for her. And good for me because she has passed it on.

Does that mean I wouldn’t love to lose twenty pounds? Of course I would! I’m not mental! I would love to catch my reflection out of the corner of my eye and have it actually look like what I imagine it to look like. Which on a good day is Audrey Hepburn* and on a bad day is more like Joan from Mad Men.

Next time you see a ginormous lady in Walmart wearing high heels and miniskirt, cut her some slack. Sister is suffering from the same disease as me.  We can’t help it if we think we’re gorgeous.

 

*Intellectually I am fully aware that I haven’t looked like Audrey Hepburn since I was 11. Not exaggerating. I went from a from a girl’s size 12 to a Juniors size 7 in one year. I have been and will forever remain hourglassy. But the mind plays tricks. And if I see Audrey in the mirror what am I supposed to do?

So, it’s time to fess up about my New Year’s Resolutions. We won’t get into the sordid details of every single one, but the big one has been giving up sugar. Which I have done. Sugar and I have gone our separate ways. Yes, I still eat things like bread that have some sugar in them. But I try to at least stick to whole wheat.

As I’ve mentioned about a million times on this blog, I have a major sugar addiction. An honest-to-goodness addiction and I’m not even exaggerating. I have never traded sex for baked goods, but I’ve done just about every other unseemly thing that involves sugar. And I was starting to scare myself.

Unlike other people who can “fill a craving”, I am a bottomless pit when it comes to sweets. There is no “off” button; only one that says “more, please”.

So I decided on New Year’s Eve to go cold turkey. As a farewell I ate half of a lemon pound cake (I would have eaten the whole thing but I didn’t make it til 3:00.) I also drank an entire two-liter of Mountain Dew. Myself. And I wasn’t even wired.  So you see why I had to do this?  It’s gotten a bit out of control.

You guys, I have been praying my guts out. That is the only way I have been able to have the strength to do this. I started the year out with a fast. Which I think will be my new tradition because it is such a zen, contemplative way to start new goals. Every day, almost every hour, I have had to pray for strength and discipline.  And that’s what I’ve gotten.

So last week when I did my cinnamon roll tutorial? I didn’t have even a smidge.  When I made coffee cake for my family on Sunday? Not a bite.  Nor have I had cookie dough all the times when my kids have made it. I am so incredibly proud of myself.

So proud.

But I’m still praying hard. Because it is still difficult. Man, is it difficult. It’s easier to say no than it was at the beginning. But it’s hard having the thing that you love so much surrounding you at ever store, at every restaurant and church activity.

My goal was to make it sugar-free til today, which is York’s birthday. I decided that I can have a piece of birthday cake on my children’s birthdays and then it’s back on the wagon. So I had my one piece of cake. A cake which is one of my favorites.

Holy crap, I feel horrendous. The sugar made me feel like I’m going to either throw up or die. And the cake didn’t even taste that good!  What is happening? Who am I?

So, yes, sugar free again. I had my little fling and I’ll be good  until March 14th when I get my slice of cake (it’s the next birthday in our family).  And after the reaction of my body to the cake tonight, I’m kind of excited to get the sugar out of my system again. Bleh.

Photobucket

I mentioned a while ago that I’ve been trying to be healthier. This is a lot different than my usual “I’m only eating healthy until I’m a size six”. (“Healthy” meaning “not as much food”.) I’ve always avoided fruits and veg. I even resisted guacamole because it’s green and seemed too vegetal. How very foolish I’ve been (especially about the guacamole).

But I know that I need to be healthier. The number 40 dances menacingly around my head and stares me down in the mirror. As do his friends Cancer and Diabetes (OK, I got it! I’m middle aged! Shut up already!) I’ve even changed my focus from losing weight to treating my body well. And apart from a frightening sugar-and-soda-fueled bender I went on last week, I’ve been doing a good job.

This is the thing: eating healthy is not cheap. At least that’s the way it seems at first. I happen to love raspberries more than all other fruit combined. I love their perfumey sweetness and they way they are soft but have a little crunch at the end after all the seeds have gotten stuck in your teeth (that is the best!). But unless you live in Oregon in July, raspberries are expensive. But what’s a girl to do? Eat nothing but putrid Red Delicious apples from Walmart?

And then I started to think about all the pop I am not drinking anymore. That’s a lot of money right there once you factor in the trips to 7-11 and Sonic Happy Hours. If you add in Little Debbies, Haagen-Dasz, and runs to Chuy’s for chips, salsa and Creamy Jalapeño dip–well, maybe buying fruit isn’t going to break the bank like I thought it would.

Eating healthier means eating out less too, since it can be tricky trying to find healthier alternatives. Also, I am notsogood at resisting temptation. Like, simply not able. I am a slave to my appetites. And when there is Chicken Piccata on the menu (which contains several sticks of butter, I’m sure) I cannot say no. Nor can I say no to breadsticks, chips and salsa, and chocolate cake. So it’s better for me just to stay out of restaurants altogether.

And, hey, that’s cheap! Even considering I have to buy more food at the grocery store. Restaurants add up fast. If you’ve been putting off eating healthy because it just seems too expensive, think again. I think you’ll be surprised. If I can do it, anybody can.

I’m not a big fan of New Year’s Resolutions. They seem so forced, so contrived. This year, though, there are just so many ways I’m fed up with myself. So I’ve made about a dozen resolutions. Way to set myself up for failure!

I’m a very firm believer in babysteps. It’s a concept that really works with me. I can’t just get up one day and start working out. I have to ease myself into it. Much like the swimming pool. I know it makes more sense to just jump in but I always find that so shocking and disconcerting (plus I hate getting completely wet). I’d rather ease myself in over a period of a few minutes, always trying to remain warm and dry despite being almost naked and in water, then shouting at the obnoxious kids about not splashing so much, what do they think this is, a pool?

What was I saying? Yes, babysteps are good for me. On my roster for goals are trying to pray at least twice a day, three would be better. Praying makes such a huge difference in my day to day life. I’m so much happier and less stressed when I do it. I just always forget. I don’t know how I’m going to improve because I already have giant signs all over my house to remind me to say my prayers and I still forget. Maybe I need to pray to remember to pray. That sounds like an iffy strategy.

Another one of my goals is to be punctual. Especially when it comes to church. Sometimes I do well for months and then it’s like I can’t remember how to use a clock and we’re late every single week. Not super late, more like slide-into-the-pew-during-the-opening-hymn late. As the dictator mother it’s my job to get everybody ready, dressed and out the door. I would like to say that my husband plays a part in it, but when he is in charge there is usually a lot of unbrushed hair and non-matching tights. It’s better just to take responsibility and get it done in myself. Also, I need to face the fact that it takes me longer to get ready than I imagine it does.

Sadly, this resolution has already been a flop. We were three minutes late to church today. Babysteps, though! At least I didn’t berate everyone on the way to church for being slow.

As far as diet and exercise go, it’s the usual: please let me get skinny like when I was in college. I’m kind of getting the idea that may be a hilarious pipe dream, but with my Big Birthday approaching soon, I want to make sure I’m not Fat and Forty. Let me be honest here, I am not interested in being healthy; I only want to be thin. I do not want to eat more vegetables. I want to eat lots of junk food and meat. My real dream would be to have fatness be super stylish. But in the mean time I want to lose weight. If that means I’m healthier as well, so be it.

I’ll keep you informed about the progress on my goals. If I remember, that is. Because half of the time I forgot that I even made resolutions, let along remember to keep them, let alone blog about them. But you’ll keep me accountable, won’t you?

I’m seriously sick of myself lately.  Do you ever feel that way?  You look at yourself and think, “Ugh.  What is wrong with me?”  

Everything I’m hating pretty much stems from an utter lack of self-discipline.  For example, I’m 39 and I still bite my nails.  All the time.  Why?  I’ve been trying to kick the habit for at least 25 years (by “trying” I mean “contemplating”).  I happen to be very fond of biting my nails.  I do it absent-mindedly mostly; when I’m watching movies or reading a book.  But I realize that a lot of people think it’s gross/juvenile/germy.  So this week I really, really have tried to stop.  No fingers in the mouth.  It’s hard for me, so no judging, mm-kay?

I also have realized that my name is Jennie and I’m a sugar addict (hello, Jennie).  Oh man, I got it bad.  I have come to understand that I cannot fill my craving by eating a little bit of sweets.  Because “filling my craving” has never happened.  Eating sweets just makes me want more and more sweets until the cake is gone, or the bag of M&M’s is empty.  There is no “stop”, there is only “more”.  (If only I were bulimic!  But I have to say that throwing up is NOT my favorite.)  This sugar thing is actually quite frightening.

And so I have cut sweets out of my life.  Completely.  No cheat days (because a cheat day turns into a cheat weekend, which turns into a cheat week and then it continues into a full-fledged spiral of shame).  No special occasions (addiction sucks, friends!)  I’m hoping to continue for a couple of months.  I have to give myself an end because you and I both know I can’t keep it up forever.

So far I’m on day five, and if you’ve ever tried to kick the sugar monster to the curb, you know the first three or four days are the worst. So I’m over the hardest part.  I’m very proud of myself thus far.  I went to Bunco last night where the homemade cookies and caramel corn filled every inch of the counter.  And I abstained.  I passed it all over.  Instead I ate most of the bacon-wrapped water chestnuts that I brought (hey, I’ve got to pig out on something!)

Next on my list of things I hate about myself is the fact that I just loathe exercising and cleaning my house.  I want to be thin and fit and I love having a clean house, but somehow the desire and the actions don’t quite jive.  But I can’t talk about those right now or I’ll just end up crying myself to sleep.

 

What about you?  What do you hate about yourself lately?

I gave up caffeine last week.  Mountain Dew and I were getting a little too carried away in our torrid affair.  We just need some time apart.  You know how it is.

Here’s the funny thing, though; it’s totally not a big deal, this giving up caffeine.  Do you want to know how to make giving up caffeine not a big deal?

Give up sugar at the same time.

Sugar will be calling you, beckoning you all day long and even filling your dreams.

Suddenly the lack of caffeine will seem completely unimportant.

P.S. This no-sugar insanity will only be lasting til mid-March.  (I need to give myself a time frame or else I’ll go batty. I may try to go longer, but I have to have the end in mind.)

I pretty much think my treadmill is a waste of time.  It’s great that I have a computer hooked up to it so I can blog and watch movies.  But the fact is, it’s barely exercise.  It’s way too easy to be a wimp on the treadmill.

I’ve been riding my bike off and on for the last couple of weeks, but I have a crazy, somewhat rational fear of being run over by a teenage girl who is texting while she drives (or a mom who is trying to toss animal crackers into the back seat, or other such scenarios).  I just can’t get over it, so my bike riding is limited to small neighborhood roads.

You guys, I don’t want to be in a triathlon. I think we’ve already had this discussion. Don’t suggest swimming or running to me because there are certain things in a person’s life that are just not going to happen.

 

I had completely forgotten about my favorite form of exercise–videos.  How could I have forgotten about these?  I love them! I used to have quite a collection but who knows where they are now. I’m on day two of having my butt kicked by Jillian Michaels.  I’d estimate that nearly every muscle in my body is hurting today.    Hurts so good, though, right?

And to celebrate my two-day milestone I ate two donuts for breakfast.  

Because I don’t want to look too good.

. . . because Jenna, the perky little Brownie from around the corner, came by this week toting her little wagon of sin (otherwise known as Girl Scout Cookies).

Jenna: Hi Mrs. W, I’m selling Girl Scout cookies. You’re my first customer!

Me: Hi Jenna. Unfortunately there’s this thing for grown-ups called Weight Watchers.

Jenna: [looking confused]

Me: I’m on a diet!

Jenna: Oh, we have some new lowfat cinnamon cookies.

Me: Ok, I’ll take a box of those.

[Pay Jenna $3.50. She starts to wheel her wagon away.]

Me: Wait!!! [Chase Jenna down the driveway.] I’ll also have four boxes of Thin Mints, three boxes of Tagalongs and three boxes of Samoas.

These will be the undoing of me.

Today is a big day.  It’s the beginning of Tiburon’s Biggest Loser contest, featuring a (hopefully) huge cash prize that I intend on winning.  (It’s not going to be like the last two times when I came in near–ahem–last place.)  I can just feel the motivation swelling within me!

In honor of weight loss I am reproducing Sue’s ultrafunny blog post about being fat (and, yes, I asked her permission. Unlike some people out there–you know who you are.)  

Here Is What I Hate About Being Fat
Where to start.

1) In my head, I’m totally a blonde, blue eyed, 23 year old ingenue, and it always surprises me when I walk by a mirror, like, AAAAAACK! (That picture up there at the top of the blog where I look almost average sized? Outdated by about 25 pounds.) (It’s been a stressful year, shut up.)

2) If you are me, which I am, you sometimes feel the need to make jokes about how fat you are, which is just a HORRIBLE thing to do to people. I mean, way to make everyone feel awkward. If they laugh, they’re jerks, and if they don’t laugh, then it’s like they’re acknowledging the truth of the statement. What are they supposed to say? “You’re not fat?”

3) Yes. That is what you are supposed to say. Even if your friend is 350 pounds, if she says “I’m so fat,” the correct response is a quick, automatic, “You’re not fat,” with a change of subject. Don’t worry. You’re not enabling her. The thing is – she already knows she’s fat. CRAZY TALK, I know. And if you don’t say anything, or if you say, “Here, let me give you the number for Jenny Craig,” she will drive straight home and eat another gallon of Ben and Jerry’s. And yes, I agree that true friends should be able to say anything to each other. Just – not that.

4) I don’t appreciate it when my skinny friends give me dieting tips. If I bring the topic up, which I don’t all that often, because HELLO, it’s not like I need to call attention to it, they will sometimes (gingerly and in a loving way) try to give me weight loss advice. This is annoying because, HELLO again, I know how to lose weight. I’ve lost my entire body weight, twice (spread out over time, obviously – I’m not MAGIC). I’ve read every weight loss/healthy lifestyle book known to man. I know about lifestyle change. I know about exercise. I know about muscle mass. I know, I know, I know, I know. I KNOW! I just… …really like to eat.

A Few of the Diets I’ve Been On: Weight Watchers, Body for Life, Atkins, the South Beach Diet, Carbohydrate Addicts Diet, the Rotation Diet, the Cabbage Soup diet, and the Diet Dr. Pepper-Fasting-Chewing Gum diet.

Once I talked to a doctor about it, and she actually said, “What you need to do is stop eating so much and exercise.” And then on a little pad she wrote Eat less, exercise more.

I stared at her. “Holy mackerel. I have never heard this before. I think you may have just unlocked the door to weightloss for all mankind.”

No, I didn’t say that. Actually, I just muttered, “That’s harder than it looks,” which led to talking about my unhealthy obsession with food, which led to her prescribing me an ACTUAL diet drug – phentermine. It was AWESOME. I lost 40 pounds in eight weeks AND I barely ever had to sleep. I was so productive, I can’t even tell you. My throat was hoarse from never shutting up, all day long. But eventually Dr. Jerkface made me go off of it, and I gradually gained it all back. (Big surprise.)

5) Highland, Utah doesn’t have fat people, other than me. I’m SPECIAL. But I love all of my skinny friends, and I never judge them for being all fit and healthy and semi-obsessed with running triathalons. My heart is big. I do not discriminate against the fit. I love ALL sizes (even the 2s and 4s! See? I’m a giver!)

But it would be nice to have a fat friend. It’s sometimes nice to have a friend who is fatter than you, so that you can feel like the skinny one. This is a politically incorrect but still true truth. I don’t do this anymore (LIE), but when I was younger I cycled between normal and chubby on a regular basis, and if I was with a fat friend, I’d constantly assess our relative fatness, wondering “Do I look like that? Am I that fat? Is she fatter? Or am I fatter? Huh. I think she’s fatter.” And if my friend was fatter, I felt way more comfortable out in public, because, yeah, I might be fat, but at least I wasn’t as fat as her. And then lightning would come down out of the sky and strike me dead, because MAN, that’s awful.

But anyway. I feel gross. I’ve gotten to my gross set point, and I’m ready for a change. (Yes again.) (The folks over at the weight loss blog I started and promptly abandoned are all snickering at me, I know. But I REALLY MEAN IT THIS TIME.)

So – LIFESTYLE CHANGE, HERE I COME. WOOHOO. Yippee. I’m SO excited. or something.

And now I’m trying to figure out how to go about this, so what I’m wondering is – anyone ever eaten a tapeworm?

P.S. I’m KIDDING, don’t send me gross pictures. BLECK.

P.P.S. Don’t worry fat acceptance people, I’m not down on myself because of my weight. I know that I am STILL FABULOUS. I’m a basically happy person. My weight is not constantly on my mind (um, food however…). It only bothers me every third Tuesday, when my jeans refuse to zip up. I don’t let my weight define me, blah blah blah. Whatever.