Before we dispense with the hilarity I'd like to give a shout out to any fellow MyFitnessPal peeps who are now reading my blog! As always my goal is for many people to share my pain across a variety of platforms.
Now maybe it's the lack of real food that occasionally makes me delusional, but every so often I go off on a tangent that starts insane and ends up with me thinking I'm on to the next big idea. One of those tangents just happened, but I'll leave it up to you guys to decide if I'm nuts or brilliant.
Something (I won't mention what) reminded me just recently of a company in Orlando that used to sell chocolate body paint. My wife and I often discussed purchasing it, but never did. It made me realize that chocolate body paint is really something for young people, or at the very least... skinny people. Now that I'm squarely in the middle of my 30's and still a good 40 pounds away from being "not fat" I'm really no longer in the market for such things. What I am in the market for however is perhaps a Skinny Cow version. Maybe a 50 calorie, mocha swirl body paint that I could... ahem... use... and still feel good about myself in the morning. I'm not sure how much food you use in the bedroom, but if it gets out of hand you could wind up in a diabetic coma before rounding second base.
Well this of course got me to thinking a little more about the topic. Maybe I could produce a line of low-cal, dietary aids to assist in bedroom maneuvers (I'm desperately trying to keep this PG by the way). If this became a hit I could even expand beyond food. For instance, we all keep hearing how sex is this epic cardio workout. Well what if someone devised a... um... well... kinda like a pedometer but instead of measuring how many steps you take, it could measure how many... well you get the basic idea. We would just need to calculate a "calorie per thrust" formula and we'd be making real progress here.
And think of the applications! You would go to MyFitnessPal to chart your exercise and type in "sex". The app would then ask for how long you performed this activity. You would type in 15 minutes and MyFitnessPal could just slowly and sarcastically respond "Really? Reeeeaaaallly?"
The possibilities really are endless. I have tons more ideas but they involve discussions I probably shouldn't have in a public blog. I'll leave it up to you good people to let your mind wander. In the meantime I'll be trying to survive this Labor Day weekend without consuming the big juicy burger that's been in my dreams this week.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Temptation
I say this with all due respect to the woman I married... but I think my wife is trying to kill me. Saturday she pulled off her most evil scheme yet. I'm fairly sure that while she was planning it she twisted her handlebar mustache in one hand while laughing manically. I don't have proof, but in my head that's how it would have looked.
Saturday we had errands to run. 1st on the list: get Dave to the chiropractor. This whole being on my feet all day thing plus the building of the patio has taken a toll on what's left of my back. Her idea was simple: get up early, get my back cracked, then we can all go out for breakfast. Eating out is not the easiest thing for me these days but I figured I could handle it. Her recommendation: Dunkin Donuts.
OK, now she's just fucking with me.
Of course once the words escaped her lips and traveled into the ear canals of my darling children, there was no going back. So there I was, walking through the front door of the home of dozens of delicious bits of fat, lard and dough. They were all laid out in their pretty little racks right behind the counter. It was food porn. I would've felt less tempted in a strip club. Maybe we can eat breakfast at one of those next week. I approach the counter and I hear "And what would you like sir?"
Foolish question, mortal.
What I would like and what I'm about to order are two very different things indeed. Because at that moment I would have liked to shove a dozen anythings all over my face. Boston creme, Bavarian creme, jelly filled, and God help you all if there were any maple glazed donuts back there. I would punch a family member in the face for a maple glazed donut. I had to keep my eyes on the menu above me because staring directly at that many donuts in my condition could lead to blindness and possible death for anyone who gets in my way. I finally found something that I could order: A turkey sausage and egg white flatbread sandwich, with a side of bitterness and a big frosty mug of Please Kill Me Now.
My wife, who I love dearly (no seriously), orders the exact same thing (see, she's trying to be supportive), but then adds a side order of hash browns. Right in front of my face. Hash browns. Nature's most perfect combination of the potato and the deepest darkest grease containers any man could hope for. Now it's my personal opinion that McDonald's is home to the greatest hash browns this universe has ever produced, but Dunkin Donuts is safely in the top 5. And there my wife was, eating them in front of me. I really wanted to make out with her just so I could perhaps taste just a bit of the awesomeness for myself.
Later that evening I was pretty sure I had recovered emotionally from the breakfast experience. That's when my wife told me they just opened a Texas Roadhouse in Ft. Myers. If you've never been there before, then you have no idea why this information made me giddy and depressed all at once. They serve the largest most amazing steaks there. And rolls. Soft delicious rolls that you don't even need to chew. And do you know what you put on those rolls? Cinnamon butter. Yeah, I said it... cinnamon butter bitches! I first experienced this restaurant in Maine and haven't seen one since. The last time I ate there I ordered a 22 oz. steak (I have witnesses). Now my dear darling wife is letting me know there's one right down the road from me.
Told ya... she's trying to kill me.
Saturday we had errands to run. 1st on the list: get Dave to the chiropractor. This whole being on my feet all day thing plus the building of the patio has taken a toll on what's left of my back. Her idea was simple: get up early, get my back cracked, then we can all go out for breakfast. Eating out is not the easiest thing for me these days but I figured I could handle it. Her recommendation: Dunkin Donuts.
OK, now she's just fucking with me.
Of course once the words escaped her lips and traveled into the ear canals of my darling children, there was no going back. So there I was, walking through the front door of the home of dozens of delicious bits of fat, lard and dough. They were all laid out in their pretty little racks right behind the counter. It was food porn. I would've felt less tempted in a strip club. Maybe we can eat breakfast at one of those next week. I approach the counter and I hear "And what would you like sir?"
Foolish question, mortal.
What I would like and what I'm about to order are two very different things indeed. Because at that moment I would have liked to shove a dozen anythings all over my face. Boston creme, Bavarian creme, jelly filled, and God help you all if there were any maple glazed donuts back there. I would punch a family member in the face for a maple glazed donut. I had to keep my eyes on the menu above me because staring directly at that many donuts in my condition could lead to blindness and possible death for anyone who gets in my way. I finally found something that I could order: A turkey sausage and egg white flatbread sandwich, with a side of bitterness and a big frosty mug of Please Kill Me Now.
My wife, who I love dearly (no seriously), orders the exact same thing (see, she's trying to be supportive), but then adds a side order of hash browns. Right in front of my face. Hash browns. Nature's most perfect combination of the potato and the deepest darkest grease containers any man could hope for. Now it's my personal opinion that McDonald's is home to the greatest hash browns this universe has ever produced, but Dunkin Donuts is safely in the top 5. And there my wife was, eating them in front of me. I really wanted to make out with her just so I could perhaps taste just a bit of the awesomeness for myself.
Later that evening I was pretty sure I had recovered emotionally from the breakfast experience. That's when my wife told me they just opened a Texas Roadhouse in Ft. Myers. If you've never been there before, then you have no idea why this information made me giddy and depressed all at once. They serve the largest most amazing steaks there. And rolls. Soft delicious rolls that you don't even need to chew. And do you know what you put on those rolls? Cinnamon butter. Yeah, I said it... cinnamon butter bitches! I first experienced this restaurant in Maine and haven't seen one since. The last time I ate there I ordered a 22 oz. steak (I have witnesses). Now my dear darling wife is letting me know there's one right down the road from me.
Told ya... she's trying to kill me.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
MyFitnessPainInTheAss
A lot of people have been wondering how I've been keeping track of all my caloric happenings. The answer is a little website, MyFitnessPal. It's super simple, you just type in what you just ate, how much of it you ate, and it spits out how many calories it cost and how many you have left for the rest of the day. I think of MyFitnessPal as a computer generated prison guard keeping me safely locked in solitary confinement. The kind of guard who's kinda sorta your buddy and who runs the black market cigarette trade between the other inmates, but will still beat you stupid with his club if you get out of line.
My first experience with the website did not go so well. I wanted to see what a normal day of eating would look like in numeric form. Turns out I overshot my 1500 calorie goal. By a lot. I think the final number was somewhere around 2400. Not a great start, I grant you, but since then I've been able to keep under my goal every day but one (the ill-fated Beef O'Brady's experience I blogged about earlier). A pretty massive accomplishment considering where I came from.
Well now it seems I have a brand new problem. The school year has begun and I'm busy. Crazy busy. So busy that I'm forgetting to do things like eat and sleep, you know, minor things like that. The end result is that I'm staying way under 1500 calories a day without even trying. Now in my mind I'm thinking this is great. I'm busy, I'm active, I'm eating less food... what's not to like? MyFitnessPal should be singing my praises right now right? Of course not! Today I started getting warning messages (in bright red no less) on the website alerting me that I am eating too few calories and that I need to (are you f-ing kidding me?) eat more!
To recap: the website that has taken away my joy, my passion, my ever so lovely food... is telling me that I need to eat more food. Apparently I'm being TOO healthy and making too many good food choices. It was at this point that I began to look for my sledgehammer so I could put both my computer and myself out of our collective miseries. I can't win for losing for Christ's sake. But I figure, what the hell... let's try this whole "eating more" thing. Here's what transpired today:
Today was Open House at my school which meant I had to pack lunch and dinner. I skipped breakfast as always because I can't eat early in the morning (I drink coffee like a tweaking camel, but no food). For lunch I went with a can of tuna fish, mixed with light mayo and a chopped up tomato (no bread of course, because carbs are the Devil's work!). I also had a pear and a banana. I'm so healthy it makes me sick. For dinner I brought leftovers with me... 8 oz. of pork sirloin chop and a cup of broccoli. After adding that all up into MyFitnessPal I get a grand total of about 700 calories. Well shit, I'm 800 calories short so now what?
I get home and as it just so happens my fantastic wife took the kids out for pizza in my absence. Naturally the first words out of my mouth (long before things like "How was your day?" "How were the kids?", etc) were "Any left?" And as it turns out there was some left... 3 slices of Little Cesear's pepperoni pizza. Well hot diddle-y damn... looks like I'm having my happy ass some pizza tonight! I tap dance into the kitchen, floating on a cloud of fluffy bunnies and unicorns. There on the counter I found the blessed box, wherein I found 3 slices of room temperature (the ideal temperature for pizza by the way) pepperoni covered glory. Please note that just writing those words made me mildly erect.
I savor my first bite of pizza in over a month. I savor it the way a 40-year old virgin savors his wedding night. Every bite is a choir of angels in my mouth, all singing the Hallelujah Chorus to my taste buds. At this point I'm not eating this pizza... I'm romancing this pizza. I'm doing PG-13 things to this pizza. The pizza and I are rounding second base and sliding into third. It was good goddamn pizza. After my post-pizza cool down (seriously, if there was a cigarette in the house I would have smoked it) I hop onto my computer to tell MyFitnessPal the good news. I'm still in the middle of my afterglow as I tell MyFitnessPal what I just ate. And after a couple seconds MyFitnessPal returns the following information:
3/8 of Little Cesear's Pizza (pepperoni): Total calories 840
Your total calorie intake for the day: 1540
You have gone over your maximum allowed calories for the day
Damn you MyFitnessPal... damn you to hell.
My first experience with the website did not go so well. I wanted to see what a normal day of eating would look like in numeric form. Turns out I overshot my 1500 calorie goal. By a lot. I think the final number was somewhere around 2400. Not a great start, I grant you, but since then I've been able to keep under my goal every day but one (the ill-fated Beef O'Brady's experience I blogged about earlier). A pretty massive accomplishment considering where I came from.
Well now it seems I have a brand new problem. The school year has begun and I'm busy. Crazy busy. So busy that I'm forgetting to do things like eat and sleep, you know, minor things like that. The end result is that I'm staying way under 1500 calories a day without even trying. Now in my mind I'm thinking this is great. I'm busy, I'm active, I'm eating less food... what's not to like? MyFitnessPal should be singing my praises right now right? Of course not! Today I started getting warning messages (in bright red no less) on the website alerting me that I am eating too few calories and that I need to (are you f-ing kidding me?) eat more!
To recap: the website that has taken away my joy, my passion, my ever so lovely food... is telling me that I need to eat more food. Apparently I'm being TOO healthy and making too many good food choices. It was at this point that I began to look for my sledgehammer so I could put both my computer and myself out of our collective miseries. I can't win for losing for Christ's sake. But I figure, what the hell... let's try this whole "eating more" thing. Here's what transpired today:
Today was Open House at my school which meant I had to pack lunch and dinner. I skipped breakfast as always because I can't eat early in the morning (I drink coffee like a tweaking camel, but no food). For lunch I went with a can of tuna fish, mixed with light mayo and a chopped up tomato (no bread of course, because carbs are the Devil's work!). I also had a pear and a banana. I'm so healthy it makes me sick. For dinner I brought leftovers with me... 8 oz. of pork sirloin chop and a cup of broccoli. After adding that all up into MyFitnessPal I get a grand total of about 700 calories. Well shit, I'm 800 calories short so now what?
I get home and as it just so happens my fantastic wife took the kids out for pizza in my absence. Naturally the first words out of my mouth (long before things like "How was your day?" "How were the kids?", etc) were "Any left?" And as it turns out there was some left... 3 slices of Little Cesear's pepperoni pizza. Well hot diddle-y damn... looks like I'm having my happy ass some pizza tonight! I tap dance into the kitchen, floating on a cloud of fluffy bunnies and unicorns. There on the counter I found the blessed box, wherein I found 3 slices of room temperature (the ideal temperature for pizza by the way) pepperoni covered glory. Please note that just writing those words made me mildly erect.
I savor my first bite of pizza in over a month. I savor it the way a 40-year old virgin savors his wedding night. Every bite is a choir of angels in my mouth, all singing the Hallelujah Chorus to my taste buds. At this point I'm not eating this pizza... I'm romancing this pizza. I'm doing PG-13 things to this pizza. The pizza and I are rounding second base and sliding into third. It was good goddamn pizza. After my post-pizza cool down (seriously, if there was a cigarette in the house I would have smoked it) I hop onto my computer to tell MyFitnessPal the good news. I'm still in the middle of my afterglow as I tell MyFitnessPal what I just ate. And after a couple seconds MyFitnessPal returns the following information:
3/8 of Little Cesear's Pizza (pepperoni): Total calories 840
Your total calorie intake for the day: 1540
You have gone over your maximum allowed calories for the day
Damn you MyFitnessPal... damn you to hell.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Milestones
Was it Shakespeare or Wilfred Brimley who once wrote "Now is the winter of our discontent"? Well whoever said it, I'm willing to bet a sizable about of money that guy was on a 1500 calorie diet. Because there's pantloads of discontent going on around here.
For starters, today is Friday and therefore the end of the first full week of teaching. Now while I do love my class this year, I don't care what you teach, where you teach, and what kids you have... after the first week you needs to get you some drinky drinky (or as my wife and I refer to it around the kids "Pain Go Bye Bye Juice"). The problem (as I'm sure you can guess by this point), is that adult beverages tend to be rather high on the calorie count. Now that's not to say I can't have a frosty beverage or two, but methinks "one or two" isn't a number that's going to have any substantial effect. So instead of organizing an after school faculty meeting at the nearest happy hour (wink wink), I went home and ate pork stir fry. It WAS delicious but it was NOT 5 margaritas all lined up and marching their way into my mouth to have a little Mexican hat dance in my belly.
But hey, it's not all bad news... this morning the scale registered a 227 which means I've crossed the 230 pound barrier. Since I'm sure some of you have never quite dealt with numbers that large, please allow me to translate: I've been downgraded from a Double Super Fat-Ass to your standard garden variety Super Fat-Ass.
To put it yet another way, today I wore a shirt that was one size smaller than what I've been able to wear in well over a year. Instead of my normal XXL, the shirt was XL and fit me comfortably. And while that is in fact something to celebrate, let's not forget what XL actually stands for. It's extra-large, as in bigger than large. Like you are so large, you defy all previous measurements of just plain old large and we had to create a whole new way of sizing clothes just to find enough material to cover your fat ass.
I think Winston Wolf said it best:
Here's the raw data for you numbers people:
What I weighed when I first bought my scale around February: 252
What I weight before I went to see the Evil Doctor in July: 242
What I weigh as of this morning: 227
Total weight lost: 25 pounds
Total number of crushed hopes and dreams: untold millions
For starters, today is Friday and therefore the end of the first full week of teaching. Now while I do love my class this year, I don't care what you teach, where you teach, and what kids you have... after the first week you needs to get you some drinky drinky (or as my wife and I refer to it around the kids "Pain Go Bye Bye Juice"). The problem (as I'm sure you can guess by this point), is that adult beverages tend to be rather high on the calorie count. Now that's not to say I can't have a frosty beverage or two, but methinks "one or two" isn't a number that's going to have any substantial effect. So instead of organizing an after school faculty meeting at the nearest happy hour (wink wink), I went home and ate pork stir fry. It WAS delicious but it was NOT 5 margaritas all lined up and marching their way into my mouth to have a little Mexican hat dance in my belly.
But hey, it's not all bad news... this morning the scale registered a 227 which means I've crossed the 230 pound barrier. Since I'm sure some of you have never quite dealt with numbers that large, please allow me to translate: I've been downgraded from a Double Super Fat-Ass to your standard garden variety Super Fat-Ass.
To put it yet another way, today I wore a shirt that was one size smaller than what I've been able to wear in well over a year. Instead of my normal XXL, the shirt was XL and fit me comfortably. And while that is in fact something to celebrate, let's not forget what XL actually stands for. It's extra-large, as in bigger than large. Like you are so large, you defy all previous measurements of just plain old large and we had to create a whole new way of sizing clothes just to find enough material to cover your fat ass.
I think Winston Wolf said it best:
What I weighed when I first bought my scale around February: 252
What I weight before I went to see the Evil Doctor in July: 242
What I weigh as of this morning: 227
Total weight lost: 25 pounds
Total number of crushed hopes and dreams: untold millions
Monday, August 13, 2012
Good News Bad News
Good news gang! It's becoming easier for me to stay under that 1500 calorie mark every day. No seriously... today I think I ended around 1250. The bad news? I want to shove a whole pizza down my face right now and bask in the glory of sauce all over my face. Oh wait, there's more bad news! I'm not really... oh how do you say it again.... LOSING WEIGHT! Yeah, you would think my body would be rapidly running through its vast stores of fat considering the way I've been leaving the tank empty these past few weeks. Nope. Apparently my body is perfectly content to be both fat and hungry at the same time.
There's really not much more to blog about here, but as long as I've already started this post I might as well rant (be honest, that's what you read this thing for anyway). OK, here goes. People offering words of encouragement need to understand the type of encouragement that fat people want to hear. Here is a brief list of things you should NOT say to a fat man on a diet:
1.) "Ya know, pretty soon you won't even have those cravings anymore."- This is a vicious lie mixed with a healthy dose of bullshit. Of course I'm going to have those cravings! Back in the good old days of eating hamburgers, guess what my body said it wanted? More hamburgers! Now that I've cut off that beef-on-a-bun pipeline, not only does my body crave the burger... it n-e-e-d-s the burger. It wants the burger. It wants to put on sexy lingerie and leave a trail of rose petals for the burger, hoping that the burger will follow those rose petals into the bedroom, where my body can then make sweet, sweet love to the burger. OK, that went to a weird place just now but I'm serious. I'm not fat because I made a few wacky choices one day. I love my food. Italians don't eat to live like some of you heartless hippies out there. We live to eat. It's fun, it's awesome, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So you can sprinkle whatever crap ass appetite suppressant you want over your food. Your stomach may think it's full, but the brain (and the heart) may override the system and say "What the hell, 3 more slices of pepperoni please!"
2.) "This isn't just a diet, it's a new way of life"- Holy fucking monkeys you have got to be joking me. If this is my new way of life I think I'll swing by my local gun store and Cobain my way out of this Greek tragedy. Assuming I continue to lose weight (and at this point, that's a pretty big assumption), I can talk myself into this hell-on-wheels for a couple months but if you think I'm going to do this on a permanent basis then you are either delusional or I really need the number of your weed dealer. Actually, weed makes you hungry... scratch that thought. Here's the dirty little secret that fat people have a hard time admitting: On the list of things worth living for, food is safely in the Top 5. And to be honest, after family and friends (generally 1-2 in some order) food is probably #3 for me. The skinny people who read this have no idea what I'm talking about, but my fatties are all nodding in agreement.
Good food, and I mean really good food, is like a girlfriend you keep breaking up with. 6 months go by, you think you've gotten her out of your system then you see her at a club and she looks amazing. You rationalize every one of her annoying little habits as you pound drinks. You talk, you catch up and by your 4th margarita you're convinced that this time it's going to be different. "Moderation" you tell yourself. That's the key baby! Just take it nice and easy and this time things are going to work out. So you jump back into bed with her, have a weekend of mind-bending sex, and two weeks later she's moving back in. Fast forward 6 weeks and she's packing her bags in the midst of yet another screaming match and you wonder (like a schmuck) how things ended up like this, and you vow to never (and I mean NEVER) go through this shit again (and this time... I mean it!). Vicious cycle people... vicious cycle. Where was I... oh yeah.
3.) "One way to curb hunger is to drink lots of water."- Yes, and one way to get you to stop talking is to put my fist through your skull but I don't think it's the most effective way of getting the job done. I understand that water is calorie free and necessary for hydration and all that, but using it to stop me from being hungry? Bitch please. Do you know what water tastes like? It tastes like f-ing water! Who in their right mind goes to the fridge and thinks "Yeah, I really have my tasters up for some chocolate cake, but I'll just drink a big glass of water instead." INSTEAD? You're using water as a substitute for chocolate cake?!? Does your brain take the short bus to Special Olympics camp or something? Because if I tried to fool my brain into thinking that water was a big ol' slice of cake, it would activate the sensation of me getting kicked in the balls by a mountain goat until I gave it cake. And believe it or not, people actually do this. Then again, people also vote democrat and watch Jersey Shore so I guess nothing should be a surprise to me anymore.
So next time you see a fat person on a diet, instead of offering up one of these limp platitudes, try instead to console us through these dark times. Treat us like you would someone who's dying of terminal cancer... with a pat on the back and one of those meaningful "We're with ya buddy." looks. Because going on a diet is a lot like having a terminal illness... except not really because those people can eat whatever the fuck they want. Because... you know... they'll be dead soon and all. Just sayin'.... silver lining and all.
There's really not much more to blog about here, but as long as I've already started this post I might as well rant (be honest, that's what you read this thing for anyway). OK, here goes. People offering words of encouragement need to understand the type of encouragement that fat people want to hear. Here is a brief list of things you should NOT say to a fat man on a diet:
1.) "Ya know, pretty soon you won't even have those cravings anymore."- This is a vicious lie mixed with a healthy dose of bullshit. Of course I'm going to have those cravings! Back in the good old days of eating hamburgers, guess what my body said it wanted? More hamburgers! Now that I've cut off that beef-on-a-bun pipeline, not only does my body crave the burger... it n-e-e-d-s the burger. It wants the burger. It wants to put on sexy lingerie and leave a trail of rose petals for the burger, hoping that the burger will follow those rose petals into the bedroom, where my body can then make sweet, sweet love to the burger. OK, that went to a weird place just now but I'm serious. I'm not fat because I made a few wacky choices one day. I love my food. Italians don't eat to live like some of you heartless hippies out there. We live to eat. It's fun, it's awesome, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So you can sprinkle whatever crap ass appetite suppressant you want over your food. Your stomach may think it's full, but the brain (and the heart) may override the system and say "What the hell, 3 more slices of pepperoni please!"
2.) "This isn't just a diet, it's a new way of life"- Holy fucking monkeys you have got to be joking me. If this is my new way of life I think I'll swing by my local gun store and Cobain my way out of this Greek tragedy. Assuming I continue to lose weight (and at this point, that's a pretty big assumption), I can talk myself into this hell-on-wheels for a couple months but if you think I'm going to do this on a permanent basis then you are either delusional or I really need the number of your weed dealer. Actually, weed makes you hungry... scratch that thought. Here's the dirty little secret that fat people have a hard time admitting: On the list of things worth living for, food is safely in the Top 5. And to be honest, after family and friends (generally 1-2 in some order) food is probably #3 for me. The skinny people who read this have no idea what I'm talking about, but my fatties are all nodding in agreement.
Good food, and I mean really good food, is like a girlfriend you keep breaking up with. 6 months go by, you think you've gotten her out of your system then you see her at a club and she looks amazing. You rationalize every one of her annoying little habits as you pound drinks. You talk, you catch up and by your 4th margarita you're convinced that this time it's going to be different. "Moderation" you tell yourself. That's the key baby! Just take it nice and easy and this time things are going to work out. So you jump back into bed with her, have a weekend of mind-bending sex, and two weeks later she's moving back in. Fast forward 6 weeks and she's packing her bags in the midst of yet another screaming match and you wonder (like a schmuck) how things ended up like this, and you vow to never (and I mean NEVER) go through this shit again (and this time... I mean it!). Vicious cycle people... vicious cycle. Where was I... oh yeah.
3.) "One way to curb hunger is to drink lots of water."- Yes, and one way to get you to stop talking is to put my fist through your skull but I don't think it's the most effective way of getting the job done. I understand that water is calorie free and necessary for hydration and all that, but using it to stop me from being hungry? Bitch please. Do you know what water tastes like? It tastes like f-ing water! Who in their right mind goes to the fridge and thinks "Yeah, I really have my tasters up for some chocolate cake, but I'll just drink a big glass of water instead." INSTEAD? You're using water as a substitute for chocolate cake?!? Does your brain take the short bus to Special Olympics camp or something? Because if I tried to fool my brain into thinking that water was a big ol' slice of cake, it would activate the sensation of me getting kicked in the balls by a mountain goat until I gave it cake. And believe it or not, people actually do this. Then again, people also vote democrat and watch Jersey Shore so I guess nothing should be a surprise to me anymore.
So next time you see a fat person on a diet, instead of offering up one of these limp platitudes, try instead to console us through these dark times. Treat us like you would someone who's dying of terminal cancer... with a pat on the back and one of those meaningful "We're with ya buddy." looks. Because going on a diet is a lot like having a terminal illness... except not really because those people can eat whatever the fuck they want. Because... you know... they'll be dead soon and all. Just sayin'.... silver lining and all.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Stress
You know this diet has really sucked most of the fun out of eating, but when you're losing close to a pound a day, it's hard to argue much. The last few days however the weight-loss train has stalled and started even rolling backwards a bit. WTF people? How can you ever gain weight while eating meals that would only satisfy supermodels and Ethiopians? The answer, as it turns out, is frustrating and stupid.
OK, let's try to follow this logic: If you eat too much food, you gain weight and get fat. We all know this. If you eat too little food, your body shuts down, goes into starvation mood and you (wait for it) GAIN WEIGHT. What sort of magical voodoo bullshit is this? One of these days when I've shuffled off this mortal coil and I meet my maker, you can bet your sweet candy-ass that this will be Question 1. But wait, the stupidity doesn't end there.
When you workout or do anything exercise-ish, your heart rate increases, you sweat, you breathe deeper, and your muscles tighten more than usual. This is considered good for your body and will lead to weight loss. When you are stressed out your heart rate increases, you sweat, you breathe deeper, and your muscles tighten more than usual. This, however, is NOT good for your body and will lead to (you guessed it) weight gain. Are you f-ing kidding me? This has got to be some sick joke that Mr. Divine Creator slapped together on one of his off days. Turns out when you're stressed your body produces cortisol which does all sorts of wonderful things to your body including keeping you from losing weight.
So I have to eat less, but not too much less... and I need my body to feel all the side effects of being stressed without actually BEING stressed. All of this while I try to survive the first week of school, build a patio, and shepherd my children through their first week of kindergarten and VPK respectively. You can think whatever you want about God and his creation skills, but I think it's clear that his biological engineering skills suck big time.
OK, let's try to follow this logic: If you eat too much food, you gain weight and get fat. We all know this. If you eat too little food, your body shuts down, goes into starvation mood and you (wait for it) GAIN WEIGHT. What sort of magical voodoo bullshit is this? One of these days when I've shuffled off this mortal coil and I meet my maker, you can bet your sweet candy-ass that this will be Question 1. But wait, the stupidity doesn't end there.
When you workout or do anything exercise-ish, your heart rate increases, you sweat, you breathe deeper, and your muscles tighten more than usual. This is considered good for your body and will lead to weight loss. When you are stressed out your heart rate increases, you sweat, you breathe deeper, and your muscles tighten more than usual. This, however, is NOT good for your body and will lead to (you guessed it) weight gain. Are you f-ing kidding me? This has got to be some sick joke that Mr. Divine Creator slapped together on one of his off days. Turns out when you're stressed your body produces cortisol which does all sorts of wonderful things to your body including keeping you from losing weight.
So I have to eat less, but not too much less... and I need my body to feel all the side effects of being stressed without actually BEING stressed. All of this while I try to survive the first week of school, build a patio, and shepherd my children through their first week of kindergarten and VPK respectively. You can think whatever you want about God and his creation skills, but I think it's clear that his biological engineering skills suck big time.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Falling off the wagon
You know what I did today? I ate onion rings. Not a plateful like I used to, just a few... and they were freakin' delicious! It was like taking a bite of a rainbow that was deep fried in pixie farts, painstakingly hand crafted by magical elves who sprinkled it with angel dust, and delivered it to my mouth while riding Apollo's golden f-ing chariot. These were good onion rings people.
For the main course I ordered a salad. OK just kidding, I ordered the Santa Fe salad. Calling this thing a salad is like calling Twilight a piece of literature. Yes technically it is a "book" by the most standard of definitions. It is filled with pages and those pages have words on them, but after that the similarities end.
The "salad" I ordered did contain pieces of lettuce (standard operating procedure), and other fine veggies (off to a good start!). On top of said veggies there was even grilled chicken breast. (Zounds! This must be the healthiest thing ever!) Then we get to the cheese (not bad), and the dressing (hey, we need some flavor right?) and the sour cream on the side (wait, what?), and the fact that this whole thing came delivered in one of those yummy torilla-bowl-shaped-thingys. (oh shit!) Total calorie count: 1024
Considering I'm limited to 1500 of those things a day, using over two-thirds of them on one damn meal is a bit of a problem. Add the onion rings and today was not the best day diet-wise. However I did spend 6 hours outside in the face-melting Florida sun building a patio so I'm going to say that I earned my little trip down Crap Food Memory Lane.
And good news! We are no where near being done building this patio so I'll have plenty more hours to spend outside, pounding individual bricks into place while I sweat like a whore in church and my dangly man-parts adhere themselves to my leg like velcro. Joy!
For the main course I ordered a salad. OK just kidding, I ordered the Santa Fe salad. Calling this thing a salad is like calling Twilight a piece of literature. Yes technically it is a "book" by the most standard of definitions. It is filled with pages and those pages have words on them, but after that the similarities end.
The "salad" I ordered did contain pieces of lettuce (standard operating procedure), and other fine veggies (off to a good start!). On top of said veggies there was even grilled chicken breast. (Zounds! This must be the healthiest thing ever!) Then we get to the cheese (not bad), and the dressing (hey, we need some flavor right?) and the sour cream on the side (wait, what?), and the fact that this whole thing came delivered in one of those yummy torilla-bowl-shaped-thingys. (oh shit!) Total calorie count: 1024
Considering I'm limited to 1500 of those things a day, using over two-thirds of them on one damn meal is a bit of a problem. Add the onion rings and today was not the best day diet-wise. However I did spend 6 hours outside in the face-melting Florida sun building a patio so I'm going to say that I earned my little trip down Crap Food Memory Lane.
And good news! We are no where near being done building this patio so I'll have plenty more hours to spend outside, pounding individual bricks into place while I sweat like a whore in church and my dangly man-parts adhere themselves to my leg like velcro. Joy!
Friday, August 3, 2012
Seriously?
Let's recap shall we? My physician, Doctor Voldemort, instead of giving me drugs to help me lose weight (which he admitted he had access to), instead restricted me to 1500 calories a day. That, by the way, is the same number of calories a Cambodian prisoner gets. Fun fact. I was all prepared for it to fail and triumphantly go back to my doctor, call him a quack and demand my drugs. Fate, however had other plans. In less then 2 weeks I've lost 10 pounds. Which is a huge win for my fat ass, but a big loss for my indignation.
Now that we're all caught up, I can tell you that this week I participated in the sleep study. The doc recommended it because apparently sleep apnea can prevent you from losing weight. At least that's what he told me. Now that I've been through it, I think it was just him being evil again. For starters they hook you up to hundreds of wires, attached to all parts of your body. And since I'm a rather hairy man, they actually had to shave patches of my leg hair to get stuff to stick. Not all of my legs mind you, just patches. Patches just large enough so that people will look at me and think "That man is frigging retarded." Awesome. When they were done I looked like this:
Which of course made me think of this:
It's at this point that they tell me to sleep normally like I would at home. Do other people wrap themselves in bandages and attach wires to their face? Is this normal anywhere outside of Neverland Ranch? Is there a fetish out there I'm not aware of? Needless to say sleep was not on the table, so I can only imagine what their study will find.
But wait, it gets worse! (or at least more irritating) My wife is in the same "I need to lose weight" predicament as I am, and went to see the same doctor that I saw. Naturally I was chuckling to myself because I knew what he was going to say. No drugs for you, diet and exercise *insert evil laugh here* and whammo blammo my wife would be in the same boat as me. Huzzah! Someone else to feel my 1500 calorie pain!
What happens? First he orders her to retake her blood test, then he assures her that if there's nothing medically wrong with her, he can prescribe her some medication to help her lose weight. Are you fucking serious? Are you just trying to get into my wife's pants or is your sole purpose in life to make me a miserable wretch?
I'm not sure why God has unzipped his pants and pissed on me, but I sure would appreciate an umbrella next time. Until then, I'll be here slowly transforming from fat and happy to thin and surly. You've been warned.
Now that we're all caught up, I can tell you that this week I participated in the sleep study. The doc recommended it because apparently sleep apnea can prevent you from losing weight. At least that's what he told me. Now that I've been through it, I think it was just him being evil again. For starters they hook you up to hundreds of wires, attached to all parts of your body. And since I'm a rather hairy man, they actually had to shave patches of my leg hair to get stuff to stick. Not all of my legs mind you, just patches. Patches just large enough so that people will look at me and think "That man is frigging retarded." Awesome. When they were done I looked like this:
It's at this point that they tell me to sleep normally like I would at home. Do other people wrap themselves in bandages and attach wires to their face? Is this normal anywhere outside of Neverland Ranch? Is there a fetish out there I'm not aware of? Needless to say sleep was not on the table, so I can only imagine what their study will find.
But wait, it gets worse! (or at least more irritating) My wife is in the same "I need to lose weight" predicament as I am, and went to see the same doctor that I saw. Naturally I was chuckling to myself because I knew what he was going to say. No drugs for you, diet and exercise *insert evil laugh here* and whammo blammo my wife would be in the same boat as me. Huzzah! Someone else to feel my 1500 calorie pain!
What happens? First he orders her to retake her blood test, then he assures her that if there's nothing medically wrong with her, he can prescribe her some medication to help her lose weight. Are you fucking serious? Are you just trying to get into my wife's pants or is your sole purpose in life to make me a miserable wretch?
I'm not sure why God has unzipped his pants and pissed on me, but I sure would appreciate an umbrella next time. Until then, I'll be here slowly transforming from fat and happy to thin and surly. You've been warned.
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