Posts from — April 2009

I have a bum ankle, which means I’m going on day seven of no physical activity. I’ve decided to allow my bum ankle to prevent me from exercising for an additional two days so I can enjoy this weekend guilt-free. I’ve already warned Skinny Lady that I plan on getting fat and she assured me she’s three-fourths of the way there. Well, Skinny Lady, I’m four-fourths of the way there and I count on you to still love me come Monday.

My long lost half-brother randomly contacted me the other day. Clearly not one for small talk, he cut right to the depressing stuff and informed me that his mom is battling anorexia and alcoholism. Eating disorder is a battle close to my own heart so even though I don’t know his mother personally, I find this to be sad and upsetting news.

Forgetting that my mom is a hard and bitter woman who lacks the capacity for empathy, I decided to share this news with her — a decision I immediately regretted when I heard her response, which went something like:  ”REALLY? Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha….” I chose not to say anything about the obvious insensitivity and meanness of her laughter. It would be pointless. But inside I was screaming, “BITCH, YOU’RE THE REASON I NEED TO ADD ALCOHOL TO MY OWN EATING DISORDER.”

I had a virtual anxiety attack the other day when I noticed that McDonald’s is now printing the nutrition information for large fries on the back of the packaging. And just in case you can’t figure it out in the standard format (on the rear left of the package), they’ve added an easy-to-read/hard-to-ignore chart (on the rear right). This way there’s no escaping the fact that you’re eating an alarming 500 calories and 25 grams of fat in one sitting. 

Now I would be lying if I said I didn’t already know that McDonald’s french fries were on the high end of the fat/calorie spectrum. Of course I know that. But somedays I need to forget reality, drown out the anorexic voice in my head and enjoy life for a minute (which is precisely how long it takes me to inhale a large order of fries). How am I supposed to do that when the fry box is screaming FAT?

I suppose the corporate assholes over at McDonald’s might say this is merely an attempt to be more transparent, and maybe normal obese people appreciate this. Maybe they see those 500 calories and are encouraged since 500 calories for a fatass is a drop in the proverbial bucket. But the only calorie count that encourages me is ZERO, so please, McDonald’s, spare a starving anorexic and stop this nutritional transparency nonsense.

Two of my favorite pastimes include:

1. Eating high calorie foods and complex carbs while watching shows with skeletal actresses (i.e. Beverly Hills 90210).

2. Watching the Food Network to satiate my appetite when I’m starving myself. Some might call it torture, but it helps me cope.

Since I’m now officially a chunk, I decided to be really good about starving myself yesterday. For breakfast, I had some Kirkland Signature Premium water and for lunch, a few broccoli florets. It was relatively easy since we had nothing to eat in the house.

At 5, Extra Large Man called to tell me he wouldn’t be home with groceries until later. I was starving at that point and decided that instead of digging into the bag of broccoli, I was going to do what true red-blooded Americans do regularly: I ordered a pizza online. Papa John’s had a special running for an extra large three-topping and I decided that if I asked them to go light on the cheese and monitored how many slices I ate, I would be in the clear. After I placed my order, I called and asked if they could make my pizza thin or wheat crust and I could tell the bastard on the other end of the line was judging me. Apparently, they don’t offer those healthier choices on their extra large crusts.

My pizza arrived a short while later and I swear to God, I ate half of the extra large (that’s five large pieces) before I had a chance to think about the ramifications. Then I called Extra Large Man and told him he’d better show up with ice cream. Not my usual frozen yogurt treat, but the real, creamy, fattening thing. After I polished off my dessert and glass of wine, I spent the rest of the night fretting about how I was going to confess my sins to Skinny Lady and all our fans who look up to us as role models. I’m sorry Skinny Lady and fans. I promise to be better from this day forward.

Toothpick skinny. When you’re skinny as a toothpick, every day is a sunny day.

It has been years since I’ve stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts, but today was one of those days when I felt like I could no longer fight the good fight. So I steered my car straight into the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot, sauntered up to the counter and debated as to whether I should splurge on a muffin, a donut, a bagel, a muffin and a donut, or one of everything.

After several moments of painstaking deliberation, I settled on a single chocolate glazed munchkin. And a corn muffin, though the muffin is actually beside the point since it was the singleness of the munchkin that baffled the guy behind the counter.  When he asked, “Why only a single munchkin?” I thought, “That’s a good question.” Such a good question that I immediately second guessed my decision. Had he not just swiped my debit card, I would have told him to go ahead and make it an even dozen. That’s because I’m a food slut – all I need your implicit approval that it’s ok to pig out eat more and I will.