Ever eat an entire bag of Oreos? Ever finish off a whole box of Little Debbies in one evening? Ever have your mugshot posted at the check out counter at a buffet? Ever look at a wooden folding chair and whisper: “The fat person’s mortal enemy?” If so–welcome, friend. You are my people.
JoJo (the missus) and I were on a diet in April. In May, we had a cheat day. And we just went off the rails like the fatties that we are, inside and out. JoJo had lost 12 pounds and I’d lost 20–so we figured why not throw all that hard work out the goddamn window?
For the last few months, we’ve just been eating whatever we want, as much as we want, whenever we want. Not giving an eff of any size about it. And it was sooooo much fun. Two cheeseburgers in one sitting? Don’t mind if I do, Ronald. A huge bowl of ice cream–thank you, Cold Stone Creamery. Stare at me in amazement as I expand before your very eyes and float away until the Ministry of Magic can uncurse me and Obliviate all of the Muggles that witnessed it. That’s a Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban reference. If you don’t understand, get off my fucking blog. But, wait, come back. We’re friends. I guess. But I’m not going to put much effort into the relationship. Just sayin’.
Of course, like all good things, it had to come to an end. Mostly because we were feeling like a big pile of pig fuck and knew that we were just taunting the heart attack fairies. When you start feeling like a busted can of Jumbo Grands biscuits 24/7, you know that you’re just waiting for death.
I mean, I wake up praying for death…but I want it to be from something cool. Like bungee jumping and shooting straight to Hell. Or flipping my ‘Vette going 120 miles per hour around a sharp curve while listening to Megadeth. Not while grunting on the toilet like Elvis after a meal of peanut butter, banana, and candied bacon grilled hoagies.
So…we started a diet on the third of this month. Vegan. Yeah. We like to put the pedal to the medal in Crazy Town and slam on the brakes in Saneville. One extreme to the next. There’s no middle ground for us–whole hog or nothing at all.
I had prepped meals for us, we threw out all the stuff we couldn’t have (read: ate it all the night before the diet started), and mentally prepared ourselves for reverse fuckery. The thing we were both dreading the most (besides giving up dairy and meat) was weighing in the first day. JoJo took the stance that she wasn’t going to weigh. She just wanted to start the diet and when she started to feel better and her pants stopped cutting into her biscuits, she’d consider that a win and carry on with our healthy eating. I’m a glutton for punishment, so I wanted to know how much I weighed the day we started, so a week later, I could weigh again and see how much I had lost.
I like quantifiable measurements of success.
Anyhoozles, the day the diet started, we had breakfast and coffee, talked like couples do, fed the dog, did a few chores, cha-cha-cha. Then I got my shower and went into the bedroom to weigh my fatass. I stood there, looking down at the scale, saying a silent prayer to the gods that I hadn’t gained back more than the 20 pounds I had lost. And…I stepped on the scale.
I weighed 3 pounds less than I did at the end of our last diet!
Here’s The Thing™ – HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN??
Do I need to list all of the animals that met their death due to the needs of my hunger over the last 3 months? Do I need to explain how Cold Stone Creamery avoided bankruptcy due to my addiction? I mean, the free points I earned at Papa John’s (yeah, they racist, I know) in three months was astronomical. Combine all of that with the fact that I need as much laying down time as a cow, and there’s no reason for me to have lost more weight since going off our previous diet.
Obviously, I have the cancer and I’ll be diagnosed any day now. Unless I get a complete hysterectomy. Don’t ask.
Okay. I don’t want to be ungrateful or seem pissed off that I’ve lost more weight…but why do I lose weight when I’m not trying but struggle when I am trying? That makes absolutely no sense. It makes me wonder if it’s even worth dieting or if I should just keep eating ice cream directly from the tub while marathoning episodes of Diners, Drive-ins and Dives and hoovering Sun Chips while chugging soda directly from a 2-Liter bottle.
Until next time…