Now that I am one of those dieting people, I have begun the search for low-cal desserts because, well, every now and then a fat man needs some dessert. Yes of course there's Jell-o and that certainly has it's place but these days I have desired something a little more... um... substantial.
During our last weekly shopping excursion I noticed that Klondike, the makers of those ever-so-lovely ice cream bars, have a 100-calorie version available and it was on sale. Double happy bonus baby!! Low-cal discount snacks are like gold to me right now. So I buy a couple boxes and run home to try them out.
Now let me just say that Klondike and I go back a long way. We're old friends, as it were. In fact, Klondike bars are part of the reason I'm in this mess in the first place. So when it comes to eating a Klondike bar I have certain expectations. When I open the package I have a rough idea in my head of what this thing should taste like and what size it should be. Needless to say, when I opened the box one of my expectations was crushed instantly.
Here's how Klondike created a 100-calorie ice cream bar: They took their regular ice cream bar and made it really friggin' tiny. It was like they dipped a postage stamp in chocolate. That's cheating! You can't just give me a dinky version of your product and call it low-cal. If I could exist on smaller portions I wouldn't need to buy low-calorie crap in the first place. Weight Watchers is the ultimate producer of this kind of evil sorcery. Sure they sell chocolate cake, and yes it's very low in calories. That's because it's the size of a booger. So you eat 8 of them which kinda defeats the purpose.
It is unwise to fool a fat man, Klondike... from now on... I'm watching you.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
Differences
OK, so good news first. By losing another pound (finally) I have officially been downgraded from obese to simply overweight. That's right... I can now proudly call myself just plain old fat. When you think about it, it's a rather sad state of affairs when I'm supposed to celebrate being "merely fat". It's like being downgraded from a Category 5 hurricane to a Category 3. Sure the storm may not go down in history, but it's still going to f@$ up your house.
So three cheers for the fat guy. Whoopee hot shit.
This weekend is my son's birthday and as is tradition he got to pick dinner tonight. He picked Chili's. 3 months ago this would have been a blessing. I'd like to think that when fat people die, the heaven they end up in is like Chili's. 2-for-1 margaritas, big-ass burgers and all the food that a fattie loves. However, I am a man on a diet. A soul-sucking, suicide-inducing diet that turns a joyous trip to Chili's into a hour-long session of Cambodian prison-level torture.
Let's start with the menu. The "low-cal" portion of the menu leaves plenty to be desired. I settled on the 6 oz. sirloin that comes with a metric ton of steamed broccoli (it's steamed to guarantee any semblance of taste is completely wiped out). A 6 oz. sirloin. Frankly I didn't think steak came that small. When it arrived it might have been the most depressing piece of charred cow I'd ever laid eyes on. I've crapped bigger than my steak. *sigh*
My kids, oblivious to my plight, order macaroni and cheese and a cheeseburger, both of which look positively delicious next to my turd-meat.In the old days I would finish my meal AND finish whatever they left behind. This time I was merely a hapless bystander as the majority of their dinners went uneaten. *double sigh*
Just when I think the night can't get any worse, the wait staff does their birthday song shtick for my son and deliver unto him the molten chocolate cake. For the unaware, it's a chocolate cake in the shape of a volcano. Inside there's a puddle of warm chocolate goo, and sitting on the top is a big ol' scoop of ice cream. It's one of the 7 wonders of the dessert world. This isn't just a food item, it's a freaking achievement. Naturally my kids pick at it for a couple minutes, eat most of the ice cream and leave the majority of the cake. The moist delicious warm cake is now sitting in a pool of recently melted ice cream (which as we all know is a fantastic combination). And it's just sitting at me. Staring. Begging me to eat it. It was the saddest piece of volcano cake I'd ever seen in my life. As the waitress cleared the table I damn near cried. That cake was my Juliet and I was it's Romeo. Star-crossed lovers destined to never be together.
Shoot me now.
So three cheers for the fat guy. Whoopee hot shit.
This weekend is my son's birthday and as is tradition he got to pick dinner tonight. He picked Chili's. 3 months ago this would have been a blessing. I'd like to think that when fat people die, the heaven they end up in is like Chili's. 2-for-1 margaritas, big-ass burgers and all the food that a fattie loves. However, I am a man on a diet. A soul-sucking, suicide-inducing diet that turns a joyous trip to Chili's into a hour-long session of Cambodian prison-level torture.
Let's start with the menu. The "low-cal" portion of the menu leaves plenty to be desired. I settled on the 6 oz. sirloin that comes with a metric ton of steamed broccoli (it's steamed to guarantee any semblance of taste is completely wiped out). A 6 oz. sirloin. Frankly I didn't think steak came that small. When it arrived it might have been the most depressing piece of charred cow I'd ever laid eyes on. I've crapped bigger than my steak. *sigh*
My kids, oblivious to my plight, order macaroni and cheese and a cheeseburger, both of which look positively delicious next to my turd-meat.In the old days I would finish my meal AND finish whatever they left behind. This time I was merely a hapless bystander as the majority of their dinners went uneaten. *double sigh*
Just when I think the night can't get any worse, the wait staff does their birthday song shtick for my son and deliver unto him the molten chocolate cake. For the unaware, it's a chocolate cake in the shape of a volcano. Inside there's a puddle of warm chocolate goo, and sitting on the top is a big ol' scoop of ice cream. It's one of the 7 wonders of the dessert world. This isn't just a food item, it's a freaking achievement. Naturally my kids pick at it for a couple minutes, eat most of the ice cream and leave the majority of the cake. The moist delicious warm cake is now sitting in a pool of recently melted ice cream (which as we all know is a fantastic combination). And it's just sitting at me. Staring. Begging me to eat it. It was the saddest piece of volcano cake I'd ever seen in my life. As the waitress cleared the table I damn near cried. That cake was my Juliet and I was it's Romeo. Star-crossed lovers destined to never be together.
Shoot me now.
Monday, September 17, 2012
A Powerful Force
As an Italian, I am what you would call an "emotional eater". When we're happy, we eat lots of food to celebrate. When we grieve, we eat lots of food to commiserate. When we're sad, nervous, celebrating, tired, overjoyed, slightly annoyed, depressed or just a little down in the dumps... we eat. It's one of those things that makes it very hard to stay on a diet because no matter how we're feeling we generally have only one response: break out everything in the fridge and party down! There is however one particular emotion that tends to trump the others in my case: frustration.
I have the tendency to lose lots of patience in a short amount of time. Sunday several tiny frustrations hit me in rapid succession while I was attempting to clean the kitchen. Taken separately... no big deal. When they gang up like that it's a recipe for disaster. Actually it's more like a recipe for an extra large pizza with 4 toppings and 2 kinds of cheese. When I get pushed to the edge of frustration my appetite becomes a super power. Some of you comic book nerds might be familiar with Galactus, a being so large he eats entire planets. Yeah, I'm kinda like that.
So there I was Sunday, building into a Hulk rage (seriously, what's with all the super hero references?), standing right next to the fridge and I suddenly developed a craving for... um... everything. If a live animal wandered by, I would have thrown it on the grill, doused it in ketchup and the rest would be history. Thankfully the livestock knew better then to get in my way. The salad however was not so lucky. It died a horrible death. A quick and painless death... but horrible nonetheless. The rest of the day was spent looking for other similarly low-calorie foodstuffs to maim, but came up painfully short. I kept stalking the kitchen like a crazed lion to no avail. This wild beast would have to wait until dinner.
Those chicken tacos never knew what hit them.... poor bastards.
Somehow I made it through the day without completely going off the diet, which is a much more monumental achievement that most people understand. From that perspective I feel pretty good about myself, but honestly I kinda miss my old buddy. As always when I look in the mirror I'm happy, but when I look in the fridge I'm so, so sad.
I have the tendency to lose lots of patience in a short amount of time. Sunday several tiny frustrations hit me in rapid succession while I was attempting to clean the kitchen. Taken separately... no big deal. When they gang up like that it's a recipe for disaster. Actually it's more like a recipe for an extra large pizza with 4 toppings and 2 kinds of cheese. When I get pushed to the edge of frustration my appetite becomes a super power. Some of you comic book nerds might be familiar with Galactus, a being so large he eats entire planets. Yeah, I'm kinda like that.
So there I was Sunday, building into a Hulk rage (seriously, what's with all the super hero references?), standing right next to the fridge and I suddenly developed a craving for... um... everything. If a live animal wandered by, I would have thrown it on the grill, doused it in ketchup and the rest would be history. Thankfully the livestock knew better then to get in my way. The salad however was not so lucky. It died a horrible death. A quick and painless death... but horrible nonetheless. The rest of the day was spent looking for other similarly low-calorie foodstuffs to maim, but came up painfully short. I kept stalking the kitchen like a crazed lion to no avail. This wild beast would have to wait until dinner.
Those chicken tacos never knew what hit them.... poor bastards.
Somehow I made it through the day without completely going off the diet, which is a much more monumental achievement that most people understand. From that perspective I feel pretty good about myself, but honestly I kinda miss my old buddy. As always when I look in the mirror I'm happy, but when I look in the fridge I'm so, so sad.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
B(S)MI
OK, I think I have successfully made it through the dark times of craving things and the Fat God's have rewarded me by getting me off the plateau I was on. Big time. Since last week I'm down another 5 pounds after a couple weeks of holding steady. This, of course, is great news because it brings me 5 pounds closer to my goal weight, which I will celebrate by eating the world's largest burger, thus starting this whole process over again. Que sera sera.
After recording my weight loss this morning I decided I could use a good laugh so I activated the BMI Calculator on MyFitnessPal. For those not "in the know", BMI stands for Body Mass Index. Ideally, you type in your age, weight, sex and height and it spits out a number. That number measures whether you're underweight, perfect, overweight or obese. In reality however, the people that invented the BMI statistic are a bunch of celery-crunching hippies who hug trees, smoke pot and still think it's cool to own a VW microbus. They are also a bunch of dumb, stupid crazy jerk-faces..... so there.
The BMI chart is so completely out of whack with reality, that at first I thought it was invented with some dark, Lord Voldemort type shit. This morning is the perfect example: Back in March I totally agree that I was obese. Beyond fat. Extra super fat ass. Boldly going where no FatMan has gone before. Since then I have now lost 35 pounds (yay me!) but according to BMI I'm still obese. WTF? In fact it turns out I have to lose another 5 pounds before I can officially be classified as "overweight". Yes you read that correctly, I have not begun to be fat! I'm actually busting my ass on this diet just so I can call myself fat.
In case you're wondering, once I attain "fatness", I would then have to lose another 35 pounds to be considered normal by those skinny freaks. My "target weight" is anywhere from 180 pounds to 132 pounds, which may be the most unreachable number since Joe DiMaggio hit in 56 straight games. Seriously folks, I have body parts that weigh 132 pounds... I'll let the ladies guess which ones.
Thank you, thank you... I'll be here all week. Try the veal! (But don't eat a lot of it or you'll never reach your ideal BMI!)
After recording my weight loss this morning I decided I could use a good laugh so I activated the BMI Calculator on MyFitnessPal. For those not "in the know", BMI stands for Body Mass Index. Ideally, you type in your age, weight, sex and height and it spits out a number. That number measures whether you're underweight, perfect, overweight or obese. In reality however, the people that invented the BMI statistic are a bunch of celery-crunching hippies who hug trees, smoke pot and still think it's cool to own a VW microbus. They are also a bunch of dumb, stupid crazy jerk-faces..... so there.
The BMI chart is so completely out of whack with reality, that at first I thought it was invented with some dark, Lord Voldemort type shit. This morning is the perfect example: Back in March I totally agree that I was obese. Beyond fat. Extra super fat ass. Boldly going where no FatMan has gone before. Since then I have now lost 35 pounds (yay me!) but according to BMI I'm still obese. WTF? In fact it turns out I have to lose another 5 pounds before I can officially be classified as "overweight". Yes you read that correctly, I have not begun to be fat! I'm actually busting my ass on this diet just so I can call myself fat.
In case you're wondering, once I attain "fatness", I would then have to lose another 35 pounds to be considered normal by those skinny freaks. My "target weight" is anywhere from 180 pounds to 132 pounds, which may be the most unreachable number since Joe DiMaggio hit in 56 straight games. Seriously folks, I have body parts that weigh 132 pounds... I'll let the ladies guess which ones.
Thank you, thank you... I'll be here all week. Try the veal! (But don't eat a lot of it or you'll never reach your ideal BMI!)
Friday, September 7, 2012
A PSA for "normal people"
This is a Public Service Announcement from the National Fat People Association: If you are carrying any food item that would be considered a dessert or anything that approaches the realm of "fast food", it is not considered wise to get anywhere near one of us "Fatties". This is especially true following a hard day at work, or a Friday after a long week, or any holiday. Screw it... how about just any day ending in a "y" OK?
If you come across a fattie on a diet then you must be extraordinarily careful not to get too close to them while holding the aforementioned tasty food item. Tempting or teasing the fattie with the food could result in loss of said food, and serious injury. Health risks include:
*being trampled by fatties en route to the food
*being stabbed with sporks in an attempt to snare the food from you
*being sat on by a fattie because you refuse to give them your food
*being beaten to death with a pizza box or similar container that holds tasty food
If you or someone you know is in possession of tasty food, run and hide before it's too late!
Seriously, my wife came home with half of a cold pizza last night after I had used up all my calories and it nearly brought me to tears. Today I took my son to Publix so he could pick out a treat. He grabbed a maple-glazed doughnut which as everyone knows is only the greatest thing in the history of the world. I kept meandering around the store like an orphaned puppy looking for anything that would match the awesomeness of that doughnut yet still be low in calories. I came up very empty.
On a positive note I have now made it through the 220's and sit at 220 pounds even as of this morning. Yes I've now lost over 20 pounds since starting this crapstick diet. Whoop-dee frickin' do... now give me a cheesecake and get out of my way.
If you come across a fattie on a diet then you must be extraordinarily careful not to get too close to them while holding the aforementioned tasty food item. Tempting or teasing the fattie with the food could result in loss of said food, and serious injury. Health risks include:
*being trampled by fatties en route to the food
*being stabbed with sporks in an attempt to snare the food from you
*being sat on by a fattie because you refuse to give them your food
*being beaten to death with a pizza box or similar container that holds tasty food
If you or someone you know is in possession of tasty food, run and hide before it's too late!
Seriously, my wife came home with half of a cold pizza last night after I had used up all my calories and it nearly brought me to tears. Today I took my son to Publix so he could pick out a treat. He grabbed a maple-glazed doughnut which as everyone knows is only the greatest thing in the history of the world. I kept meandering around the store like an orphaned puppy looking for anything that would match the awesomeness of that doughnut yet still be low in calories. I came up very empty.
On a positive note I have now made it through the 220's and sit at 220 pounds even as of this morning. Yes I've now lost over 20 pounds since starting this crapstick diet. Whoop-dee frickin' do... now give me a cheesecake and get out of my way.
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