Category — Am I Skinny Yet?

Carrie Bradshaw would be ashamed, but I consider this another milestone in the fight against obesity. I’m ordering my pair now! They’re ugly as hell, but at this point, I’d wear a vinyl thermal sweat suit in public if it means dropping a few pounds.

Last weekend I went to LA to celebrate my cousin’s birthday. All was well until Sunday when I saw photos of the previous night. I know the camera adds a lot of pounds, but in one photo in particular, I looked exactly like my mother when she was 12 months pregnant with me. You would’ve sworn I was carrying an extra large fetus. As disturbing as the image was, I’m trying to be positive and in this case that photo has motivated me to skip dinner every night since. I’m framing it. There’s nothing like a fat picture to help me get skinny.

Last week I decided I was officially obese so on Monday I made a severe lifestyle change: No more wine or almond butter. However, I am allowing myself five almonds in the mornings and three alcoholic beverages of my choice on Saturday. A girl has to indulge every once in a while. I know I’m always crying sobriety, but this time it’s true. Drunkorexia will have to wait until I’m a size 0 again.

Last week, a handsome local television news reporter was getting ready to interview me (because I’m slighty famous in my place of residence) when he grabbed my shoulders, looked me straight in the eyes and said “You’re tiny.”

Of course this was in reference to my height compared to the tripod he set the camera on, but I swear on everything that is holy that I experienced multiple orgasms on the spot. I still get chills when I think about that wonderful moment.

With the beginning of any new season, one must accessorize accordingly to make oneself appear as emaciated as possible. My summer accessory: a deep golden tan. My latest must-have: Ovation Cell Hair Therapy. It’s designed for cancer patients and promises to make my hair thick and beautiful. The bigger the hair, the smaller I’ll look. It’s the perfect way to camouflage fat.

I noticed this morning I’ve gained some weight in my ass. The bad news…I have a fat ass. The good news…my fat ass helps my waist look smaller.

I dread going to doctor’s appointments, but only because I know I’m going to be forced onto the scale while fully clothed with someone peering over my shoulder. It’s one of the most horrifying scenarios I can imagine (much less experience), and I always promise myself that I’m going to avert my eyes when the dreadful moment arrives.  

But morbid curiosity usually wins out, as it did yesterday and as suspected, I was greatly disappointed by my numbers. NUMBERS, plural. Though it’s long been my goal to reach a single digit weight, I’m not losing hope. I found out that my blood pressure is on the low side of normal, which kind of excites me. If I can’t get my weight down to zero, the least I can do is get my blood pressure there. Yay! I love setting goals. It gives me something to live for.

This past weekend marks the second time I’ve moved in less than six months. I thought I had built up some muscle during the last move, but I think my muscle cells are so starved that they’ve resorted to some kind of cannibalism in there and left me with pretty much next to nothing. So while my 17 year old niece was helping the men move the heavy furniture, I was lifting pillows and blankets and hoping no one would notice.  Now maybe this doesn’t sound so bad to you, but please note that here I am two days after all my hardcore lifting and I’m still so sore I’m practically bedridden.