I've been eating really healthy for the last couple of months. I mean, like seriously. People have tried to pull me down with their sugar, carbs and glorious concoctions of sinful deliciousness, but I have prevailed. I have been strong. Until this past weekend. I don't know what happened, but it all fell apart. I mean, I do know what happened, kind of. Due to my impending toe surgery, I can't have any medication of any sort, so as not to thin my blood and bleed out through my toe...and die. I mean, I already told you about how they won't resuscitate me if things go south, so I can't take any chances. But, as in many things in life, timing is everything. It turns out the very week I need to be medication free, it's PMS week. I don't want to get graphic, but a girl needs her meds. Without them, I am a raging, eating, cramping nightmare. I know that was a way overshare, but you know what, kiss my ass, this is my blog and I will say what I want! <= see what I mean?
Anyway, the weekend resulted in a few indiscretions. I felt bad. I felt like a failure, but in the end, it was what it was and it was over. It is now Monday, time to buck up and get back on the wagon no matter how much my body was fighting it. However, as I arrived at my desk, there was that stupid chocolate cake that my "friend" had left on Friday. I had ignored it on Friday because Friday I was a weight loss rock star. Friday I was in charge. Friday I was in the zone. Monday, I was a tired, pissy, hormone-infested mess. I made it until 10:30am, otherwise known as "cake-thirty." I cut a small piece. I wouldn't over-indulge. I just needed some chocolaty goodness. I just needed a fix. I just needed...something. It was delightful. My body protested a little and then I told it to shut the **** up and eat the damn cake and I didn't want to hear another word about it.
The morning progressed, then it was lunch-time. Stupid grilled-chicken salad and over-ripe apple. Who wants that? Not this girl. This girl wants cake. I cut another piece, another small piece. And that is when weight-loss karma Kicked. My. Ass. I should start by saying that it had a really rich, very creamy, thick frosting, almost with a syrupy texture and a moist two layer chocolate cake, with more rich chocolaty goodness between layers. As I said, it was a smallish piece. I went to take a bite and it proceeded to fall apart and land front and center on my chest. In my effort to catch the cake, I smooshed it against my chest and smeared it down the front of my shirt. I tried to wipe it off and it smeared even further. Two napkins and two Shout Wipes later, the entire front of my shirt is soaked. It was a silky shirt I wore today. I doubt it will recover. I am pretty sure the oil from the frosting has stained it forever.
To add insult to injury, my shirt also reeks of chocolate frosting. With every breath I take, I inhale chocolate. I smell like I bathed in it. And now all I want to do is eat cake or vomit. The remainder of the cake is sitting over on the other side of my area. I want to teach that cake a lesson. I want to show it that it isn't going to screw with me. I want to show it what the inside of my guts looks like. Take that chocolaty goodness. You bastard. The other side of me knows I should take the high road. My friend "Smarty Pants" tried to talk inspiration to me today and told me that you learn the most about yourself when you are at the lowest points in your life. You learn who you really are and what you are made of. What I have learned in my darkest hour is that, I want cake and that I am primarily comprised of cellulite. And, that I have a bad attitude. I think that pretty much takes care of my dose of inspiration today.
Ok, it's time to go home now because I have to get this shirt off. I'm like the biggest scratch and sniff sticker EVER. I could be brutally raped if I went to a Weight Watchers meeting tonight. It's that bad.
Now, what am I going to put that cake in to transport it home....?
Anyway, the weekend resulted in a few indiscretions. I felt bad. I felt like a failure, but in the end, it was what it was and it was over. It is now Monday, time to buck up and get back on the wagon no matter how much my body was fighting it. However, as I arrived at my desk, there was that stupid chocolate cake that my "friend" had left on Friday. I had ignored it on Friday because Friday I was a weight loss rock star. Friday I was in charge. Friday I was in the zone. Monday, I was a tired, pissy, hormone-infested mess. I made it until 10:30am, otherwise known as "cake-thirty." I cut a small piece. I wouldn't over-indulge. I just needed some chocolaty goodness. I just needed a fix. I just needed...something. It was delightful. My body protested a little and then I told it to shut the **** up and eat the damn cake and I didn't want to hear another word about it.
The morning progressed, then it was lunch-time. Stupid grilled-chicken salad and over-ripe apple. Who wants that? Not this girl. This girl wants cake. I cut another piece, another small piece. And that is when weight-loss karma Kicked. My. Ass. I should start by saying that it had a really rich, very creamy, thick frosting, almost with a syrupy texture and a moist two layer chocolate cake, with more rich chocolaty goodness between layers. As I said, it was a smallish piece. I went to take a bite and it proceeded to fall apart and land front and center on my chest. In my effort to catch the cake, I smooshed it against my chest and smeared it down the front of my shirt. I tried to wipe it off and it smeared even further. Two napkins and two Shout Wipes later, the entire front of my shirt is soaked. It was a silky shirt I wore today. I doubt it will recover. I am pretty sure the oil from the frosting has stained it forever.
To add insult to injury, my shirt also reeks of chocolate frosting. With every breath I take, I inhale chocolate. I smell like I bathed in it. And now all I want to do is eat cake or vomit. The remainder of the cake is sitting over on the other side of my area. I want to teach that cake a lesson. I want to show it that it isn't going to screw with me. I want to show it what the inside of my guts looks like. Take that chocolaty goodness. You bastard. The other side of me knows I should take the high road. My friend "Smarty Pants" tried to talk inspiration to me today and told me that you learn the most about yourself when you are at the lowest points in your life. You learn who you really are and what you are made of. What I have learned in my darkest hour is that, I want cake and that I am primarily comprised of cellulite. And, that I have a bad attitude. I think that pretty much takes care of my dose of inspiration today.
Ok, it's time to go home now because I have to get this shirt off. I'm like the biggest scratch and sniff sticker EVER. I could be brutally raped if I went to a Weight Watchers meeting tonight. It's that bad.
Now, what am I going to put that cake in to transport it home....?
No comments:
Post a Comment