Fat Woman and the Diet of Doom

Anyone who is on Facebook with me knows that I'm on a diet.  Why because I'm posting about it all the time.  (Also known as bitching about it all the time.)

Jeez, I hate this.  On my last visit to the doctor, he tells me, "Well, look at that, we have some new news.  You're still a borderline diabetic, but now you've got Chronic Kidney Disease Stage 3."  I had to go look that shizz up because my mind kind of blurred after the words came out of the doctor's mouth.  You have to picture it in slow motion.  "CER-RON-IC...KID-KNEE...DEE-ZEES," he said.  Since he's the doctor, I'm technically obliged to listen, no matter how much I don't want to listen.

Then came some other stuff like Weight Clinic and Optifast and injections, and I think my brain kind of dropped out of orbit, kind of like Skylab.  (You have to be of a certain age to remember that one, so the hell with you if you have to Google it.)  (I looked for a Skylab meme and I couldn't find one and so I looked for one for the International Space Station and I did find a mildly funny one, but then I was really distracted and found one that has nothing to do with diets, space stations, or anything in the blog, which is the one I'm going to put below.)

In space, no one can hear John Williams'
infamous score.  You know it because
you're humming it right now.

Anyway, Skylab was the precursor to the International Space Station.  Astronauts went up, hung out, did experiments, and sang songs.  Then the whole kit and caboodle fell down in the seventies.  I think it hit part of Australia.  And you didn't have to Google it.

An International Space Station cartoon because I can.

So I talked to my husband about the diet.  Words were said like, "We must," "I must," and "You must."  I talked to our daughter.  Support was mandated.  I then went to this weight clinic because we initially decided to do the Optifast thing.  I talked to the counselor there.  This is where the problems started.

It's my concerted opinion that their weight control Nazi megalomaniac twat in charge of bringing in people to their $2300 program (not to mention $120 per week for the shake product) is, oh, shall we try to use a polite term, or should I just call a guilt-inducing, non-compassion having, prune-faced, know-it-all spade a spade?  I think I just did.

Of course, my mini-rant calls for a meme.

Therefore it dawns on me that it doesn't matter who is holding my hand, because I'm going to have to do it myself no matter what.

I hate Dr. Phil, too.  He's a total jerkface.  I don't think he really
has a degree in psychology, but I don't feel like looking it up.

And I thought about it and I thought about it.  There was only one way to go and that was to count calories and exercise.  It sucks to count everything that goes in your mouth, (no nasty jokes there), but I gotta do it.

Furthermore, I had to apologize in advance to my husband, HIM who still remains nameless, for transmogrifying into Diet Nazi Bitch.  I suggested to HIM that the reason that he wasn't losing weight was because he was eating too many calories.  I use the S Fit app on my Samsung which is pretty damn good for doing that, if a little time consuming.  (Insert fat joke here.)  So he's counting all his calories too.  We've both lost about ten pounds, which is good, but here's the shizzy part.  He eats about 2000 calories a day and I eat about 1000 calories a day.  This SUCKS!

I love this artist.

How is that fair?  He literally eats twice as much as I do (but he did give up beer and wine) and he gets the same bennies.  This blows.  Now I've plateaued for a few days which also blows because it's depressing to get on the scale after days of STARVING YOURSELF. for pete's sake, and there is no decrease in weight.  My mantra is usually muttered in a manic fashion while glaring at the numbers on the scale, "Stick to it, stick to it, stick to it."

Oh, I've gotten pretty creative.  We had turkey hot dogs today.

I'm going on a trip to visit my sister and I'm probably going to have to apologize in advance for anything that comes out of my mouth there, but this is not just a diet, it's permanent.  I have to eat like this for the rest of my life.

Shopping at Target: Runs into the sample woman.  The sample woman says, "Here, have one."  She offers something with sausage, cheese, and other stuff on it.  I say, "I can't eat that.  I wouldn't know how to count all the $#$%^!! calories on it.  What's wrong with you?  Can't you see that I'm a fat woman on a diet?  Can't you offer it to skinny women who obviously need the calories.  Jesus Tapdancing Christ, what is the problem with you people?"  HIM: "Honey, just let it go and we'll go browse through the vegetables again."

Dieting is definitely affecting me.  I was at Home Depot the other day and was minding my own business when I stopped to let a man with a cart full of siding go in front of me.  He saw my t-shirt which said: "Home is where the wifi is at", and said, "That's the stupidest t-shirt I've ever seen."  Then I said, without pausing, which isn't usually the way I am, but it was an hour before dinner, "No one $&*@#^!! cares what you think."  Well, he was rude first, and I suppose I should have been carrying my "Danger: Dieting Fat Woman" sign, but I wasn't.  Next time, he might know not to insult a fat woman.

In conclusion, the diet endures.