Fatty Confessionals

(In case you need a back story, you can read all about the time I figured out I was fat right here.)

Stupid fat.

Stupid food.

Anyway.

I finally relented and bought some bigger clothes.  I ordered them online, since my only local option is Walmart, where the same styles they were selling in California three years ago are gracing the racks in northern New York right now.

Also?

What the FUCK is up with the ugly-ass faux animal print clothing for fat chicks???  Am I going on safari... as a target?

Gonna cost a fortune to stuff and mount THAT bitch!

Anyway.

I ordered the clothes a leeeeetle too big, thinking it would be better to have them a little too loose than too tight, ya know what I mean?  It's traumatic enough that none of the clothes I moved here with can squeeze themselves over my ever-expanding ass, damned if I'm going to buy NEW clothes that I can't wear, either.

When the clothing arrived I was excited... and nervous.  What if they don't fit?  Oh my God... what if I'm even fatter than I think I am???


The good news is:  All the clothes fit.

The bad news is:  None of them were too big.

Fuck me hard, y'all.

I went through all of my really terrible Fat Habits and decided which ones to cut out completely and which ones to cut down on considerably.

(It's hard to let go of Fat Habits.  They're so... fun.  And delicious.)

Fat Habits That Need To Die


1.  No more popcorn.

Okay, you're saying "Popcorn?  What's wrong with popcorn?  It's a light, healthy snack!"

Sure it is... if you don't eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner... which I may or may not have been known to do.  I'm addicted to popcorn.  And yes, I buy the Light or the 94% Fat Free... but I'm not devouring the dainty little 100 calorie bags, people.  Oh no, not me... I'm wolfing down the big-ass bags that used to feed me AND my three kids when we'd hunker down and watch a movie.  One of the bags I was eating was a total of 230 calories.  Add that to your day, ever day, and believe me when I say it adds up.

Just ask my scale.

Or my ass.


Alas, dear Popcorn, I hardly knew ye.


2.  Candy for breakfast is never okay.  Never.

I shouldn't need to write that down as something I need to remind myself of, but there ya go.  Good n Plentys and coffee are made for each other.


3.  You won't die if you don't have a bedtime snack.  In fact, you won't get heartburn, either.  Pull your head out of your ass, Danielle.


4.  Booze is not a food group.  Rationalizing that vodka is made out of potatoes and is therefore, related to a vegetable, is fooling no one.  Not even you.

(A Bloody Mary also doesn't count as a vegetable, even though it totally should.)


5.  Butter goes on the bread, not the other way around.  



6.  Just because you CAN have two burritos doesn't mean you NEED to have two burritos.  Or half a pizza.  Etc.

No really... it's true.

No one will die if there's food left over.  The starving children in Africa will not sleep better at night knowing that the fat little piggy in northern New York cleaned her plate.


7.  Deliberately ignoring the nutritional information on the food labels because you don't want to know how many calories it contains doesn't make it less fattening.

It just makes you fatter.

And a little bit stupider.

Everyone knows that.  EVERYONE.

So last week, I did okay.  I wasn't perfect, but I did okay.   (Until I drank 564758473658 calories worth of Bailey's, but I threw it all up so it doesn't count.)

Naturally, I stepped on the scale this morning, confident in the fact that I had lost at LEAST 20 lbs due to my week of eating right and exercising.  (It's the LEAST my body could do, right?)

As I waited with baited breath for the magical numbers to appear before me, suddenly, there it was:

*drumrollllllllllllll*

A big fat maintain.

You heard me right... A BIG FAT MAINTAIN.

NO LOSS.  NONE.

Me, to myself:  "Well, I DID exercise, and muscle weighs more than fat, so I probably lost fat and gained muscle weight."


Me, back to myself:  "Suuuure you did."

Dammit.

Week Numero Dos, y'all.

It ain't over til the Fat Lady sings.

Or fits back into a size 7.

Whichever comes first.