Tag: balls

Ya’ll.
Ugh.
OK. I started my “food plan” (I was going to put “dick diet” in parentheses to emphasize my utter disgrace for this food plan I’m on, but, well, “dick diet” could send the wrong message. Phew. Glad I caught that before publishing.)
So, I feel like any time I start a food plan, I ought to send out a mass message. You know, like, a PSA.

This message would serve a dual purpose: to warn and to implore.
A warning, because ain’t no one seen hangry like this kind of hangry.
It starts around 8 AM, when I realize I don’t have a glazed pastry for second breakfast.
It continues when I’m rabidly hungry before my feeding time while monitoring the lunchroom as 100 students stuff their faces with food, and I can’t ask anymore if they’re going to finish their obviously-unloved-food.
I get really effing hangry when I all have to get me through the after-lunch-slump is water instead of 15 Hershey Kisses.
When I get home, and I’m positively famished, don’t even try to look at me unless you’re sprawled out in front of the refrigerator, buck naked, seductively balancing a burrito on your balls.
Don’t.EVEN.
A plea, because as much as I want a gooey, carby, chewy, sweet donut in my mouth, I can’t anymore. My leggings are starting to get stretched out. I just can’t, ya’ll.
Please, please, please do not tell me there are muffins and bagels in the staff lounge. I’ll run my fat ass down there and eat one of each while the rest of my sensible colleagues eat half of either/or.
Please don’t invite me to any parties, celebrations, or special eating functions. The second I see more than one kind of dip, mayo and cheese-based anything, and an over-frosted Costco birthday cake, I’m not giving two shits how many points the 80th dip-covered-chip I’m cramming in my gob will clock in at.
I.have.no.control. 
It’s not that I don’t want to help you celebrate. I’ll FaceTime you and sing you Happy Birthday/Congrats/Good Luck, while I eat my Laughing Cow cheese and cucumber. Just don’t let me see any of the food. 
Sweet baby Jesus and all that is holy, don’t let me see the food. 
(Actually, I hate talking on the phone, and FaceTime is the devil. I’ll just text you.)
I would like to point out that I DO NOT like the fact that I cannot be trusted at parties and get-togethers. I, too, wish that I could attend events without eating enough for three people. I am sorry I suck.
So, as per usual, the week I finally start to get my fat act together, there’s a staff luncheon. Unless you weren’t already aware, teachers, despite being overworked and overextended, know how to work it in the kitchen. The staff luncheons are one of my favorite days of the month. Not to mention, there is usually a Costco cake to celebrate the birthdays that month. There ain’t anything better in this world!
This month, the grade level hosting is doing a Pasta-palooza.
A FUCKING PASTA EXTRAVAGANZA. 
I seriously think I will need to get a sub that day.
How in all-that-is-good-and-right-in-this-world will I resist loading my plate with carby goodness and luscious sauce?
Sure, I could always just not go to the staff lounge and be sad eating my salad. But, that only works when I have not one clue that there is food to be had.
It has already been advertised.
This is my problem-the fact that, like a crack addict, I can’t even be within a mile radius of my drug of choice. When your drug is food, that is flat-out impossible.
It is going to take the power of the gods and every ounce of whatever tiny shred of willpower I have in my body to not participate in Pasta-palooza.
Pray for me.
What are YOUR methods for resisting temptations? Let me know in the comments, and maybe I can be helped. Maybe.
Enjoy these memes that I made here. Weight Watchers uses points to track food. Fuck points right now. 




All of the memes I generated here were done on imgflip.