I started my diet again (yes, AGAIN and shut up, you naturally skinny bastards) today. I don’t even deserve to whine to you good people about the weight I’ve put back on this year. So I won’t. Well, I kind of will. Here’s how my day went in private thoughts, conversations and texts. Upon review, I may have a love/hate relationship with Delta Burke and I may be willing to go to prison if I’ll lose weight. Being fungry makes you do stupid stuff, y’all.
7:00 a.m. – Weigh in was good, I lost 2.2 pounds. I got this shit on lock.
9:45 a.m. – (thinking to myself as I was getting dressed to take E to the airport): When your Delta Burke panties don’t fit anymore, you are in some seriously deep shit.
10:30 a.m. – (still thinking to myself because E went all Sigmund Freud on me and told me to be ready at 10:00 a.m. when he really needed me to be ready by 11:00 a.m. and hadn’t even started packing yet. This reverse psychology fuckery will not be forgotten, damn it): Don’t judge me until you’ve waddled a mile in my Delta Burke panties.
11:00 a.m. (Headed out the door when E asked me why I had packed a small cooler): “I have 4 bottles of water, an Atkins chocolate shake, and a cheese stick – in case of a fat girl emergency while I’m running errands today.”
12:30 p.m. (bargaining with myself by using everything I’ve learned from movies about talking someone off a ledge, literally): Man, that Atkins chocolate shake was way too much. I can’t believe that was only one serving. I’m stuffed.
1:00 p.m. – That cheese stick is for an emergency. Stop it. Stop thinking about it. Right now.
2:00 p.m. – Drink another bottle of water. You’re not hungry. You’re dehydrated.
2:30 p.m. – Oh dear God, thank you. Sonic Happy Hour.
2:32 p.m. – You will order the fried mozarella sticks over my dead, cushy, artery clogged body, you son of a bitch!
2:37 p.m. – Demons vanquished, I head to school pickup victorious sans greasy fried fat sticks but sucking on a Route 44 Diet Coke like it is literally the last dick on Earth.
5:00 p.m. – Eating every last crumb in my Chick Fil A nugget meal (small fries) because if I have to count this shit on my calorie log, I’m not going to miss a damned thing. Also, I feel old as dirt and consider asking for the Senior Citizen Early Bird speical due to the fact that I’m eating before 6:00 p.m. because that’s what Bob Harper says to do. Fuck you, Bob Harper.
6:00 p.m. – Returning three pairs of yoga pants to Ross and feeling stabby because 1) They were too tight. 2) How in the hell are YOGA PANTS too tight?! 3) Does that bitch Delta Burke make yoga pants? 4) Do they have to put every mother fucking package of cookies they have right in the God forsaken register line? Son of a whore!
6:47 p.m. – How many Skinny Cows will make me a Fat Cow?
7:00 p.m. – I turn to my friend Lulu for help via Facebook Messenger. I’m the blue text.
And that’s when everything went dark. I did wake up with both of my tits, though. Glass is half full, y’all. You know that’s my motto.
I’m sorry for yelling at you when I was sleepy and fungry/hangry, E. Lulu, thank you for listening to me and encouraging me to start doing meth. I feel good about it and think it may work. Fingers crossed. And because once is never enough: Fuck you, Bob Harper. Also, make your panties stretchier, Delta Burke. I don’t buy that shit for looks.
God, I’m fungry.