Tag: Diet

Heavy Fucking Whipping Cream

So, like, you know how heavy whipping cream is like a staple of the keto diet? Sure, lots of greens and grass fed meats are pretty key, but

HEAVY WHIPPING CREAM

Have you ever just had a spoonful of heavy whipping cream (of course the fuck not because the majority of you- the odd three or so followers I have left- aren’t psychos)?

Heavy whipping cream is legit heavy. It sticks to the roof of your mouth and blankets your tongue in a thick coat of fat. It somehow makes it into your brain’s pleasure receptors, where it does the version of the Macarena where you just flail your arms around and laugh like a hyena because you have no idea what you’re doing, but YAY, HEAVY FUCKING WHIPPING CREAM.

Once you try a spoonful, it only makes sense to use it in place of your 1% Lactaid when you make yourself an entire box of Pasta Roni. And by you, I mean me.

Oh, I’m sorry.

Did you think I was doing keto, finally?

Excuse me while I laugh in fat and desperate, but still ain’t trying keto.

So, once I learned how absolutely mind-blowing heavy cream is in boxed pasta (like, no joke, better than any of the pasta I ate in Italy), I knew I had to try it in my Chocolate Peanut Butter Cheerios.

Heavy whipping cream in cereal should be outlawed, in case you were wondering. It’s just not fair to regular milk.

These are just some of the delights I ate tonight, along with two mini bags of popcorn, a pudding cup topped off with a giant dollop of marshmallow cream, and some canned corn because I’m not a savage.

What makes this all the more oh-no-baby-what-is-you-doin was that just this past Monday, the day we returned from winter break, I chose to wear jeans to work.

Jeans.

Jeans, after two solid weeks of sweatpants and fists full of homemade Chex Muddy Buddies.

I figured… what did I figure? Was I even figuring?

If you must know, I still have an indent in my stomach from the waistband, and I couldn’t sit at a 90 degree angle the entire day. In case you weren’t aware, most sitting is done at a 90 degree angle.

So, what’s new with me? As you can see, not a damn thing.

What’s new with you two?

(I’m speaking to the two stragglers I have left here).

Have you ever tried heavy whipping cream in your cereal? Did it blow your pants off (just literally, unfortunately) like it did me?

WTF Wednesday: When Do I Ever Get a Cupcake?

I’ve been deciding it’s high time to get my act together, diet-wise (Want to guess how many times I’ve said that exact statement? Hint- a fuck load). I haven’t quite come down from my vacation eat-everything-I-possibly-can mode. I’ve totally been living the vacation food life sans the walking miles everyday aspect of that life, so the pounds really have the ability to pack on.

Literally me every time food was in front of my fat face on my trip.

I’ve probably gained at least five pounds since I’ve been home. I have no idea, though. My scale is propped behind my bathroom door with two inches of dust on it, because The Boyfriend doesn’t sweep behind the door, if we’re pointing fingers here, AND because I’m Anti-Scale. When my jeans fit again, I’ll know I’ve lost weight.

My blog buddy and sister from another mister, Cinzia, suggested we be diet accountability partners on MyFitnessPal.

Because I love the ever-loving-shit out of Cinzia and because I finally deleted my Weight Watchers app that I’ve been paying $20 a month for for the better part of a year, yet wasn’t even using, I was happy to agree.

We arranged to share each other’s food diary by way of a passcode. Essentially, she was able to see all of the ridiculous shit I put in my mouth and I could see how many pieces of lettuces she ate and miles she ran in a day.

It was great fun. Here is a rundown of some of the things I might have said to her about her diet:

“Wow. No dessert again. You’re doing that everyday now? Is that a thing?”

“You ran five miles? Are those the same kind of miles we have over here in the states?”

“AREN’T YOU EVEN HUNGRY?”

Now, here are some things she probably said (I can’t be certain. People say a lot of things to me everyday. So…):

“Girl, did you really eat a donut for breakfast on the first day of tracking?”

“You did so good all day. Well, except somewhere around ‘Taco Bell Nachos and Large DQ Cookie Dough Blizzard’.

And…

“What exactly does ‘small bite of entire Cheesecake Factory Chocolate Hazelnut Crunch cheesecake’ mean?”

Basically, I’m utterly failing.

Here’s the deal, and I’m just gonna be real forthright and candid with ya’ll.

When do I ever get a cupcake, though?

With MyFitnessPal, you get the calories you get and you don’t throw a fit (Except, I did throw a fit. I threw a full blown fatty fit, complete with legit crying over not getting to eat a chocolate cream pie * ever again).

This is why these kinds of diets and eating plans don’t work with me. I need to know that eventually I can have a cheat fry or two. Or, that the cupcake I inhaled on one of my students’ birthdays doesn’t mean my entire diet for the day/week/month is derailed.

I need some wiggle room, ya’ll.

I’ve mentioned quite a few times the success I had on Weight Watchers (like, 50 pound-weight-loss-success).

This is why:

You get extra weekly points.

This may sound like an excuse to eat what you shouldn’t on a “diet”, but hear me out…

If you strictly follow your daily allotted points, your weekly points don’t hurt your progress.

They don’t make hurt your progress, ya’ll.

As long as you track and don’t go balls to the wall insane, you can lose weight while enjoying the occasional french fry or 20 or the odd cupcake or three.

So, what I’m really saying is restrictive af diets aren’t my jam and life is way too sucky to not eat cupcakes.

I mean, right?

So, if you’re reading this, and I kinda think you are, I have a question for you, Cinzia…

Will you be my Weight Watchers Girl Friend?

I totally will only be a little sad if you want to stay with MyFitnessPal since he’s done a body good. I just don’t think he’s that into me and I miss my cupcake points.

Now, I just need to find the willpower to sign back up with Weight Watchers and count my points without cheating, and I’ll be on the right track to losing this is-she-preggers-or-just-fat belly.

The struggle is real, folks.

What diets or food plans have worked for you and if you say paleo or keto totally works without cheating ever, I want your proof! For realz, show me it’s doable and I’ll maybe consider it…

*whispers* No, I won’t.

The Avocado Incident

You know how when you have a really stressful, crappy day the only thing that will make it better is massive quantities of carbs and a good angry conversation with yourself in the car on the way home?
Well, when you’re on a “diet” and all you have at lunch that even halfway resembles cake is an avocado (and it’s not even close to car convo time), that shit’ll do.
I brought an avocado for lunch with the intention of cutting it up and adding a few pieces to my Mexican-style salad.
After a morning where positively everything went wrong and after hearing some not-so-happy news, my emotions were conflicted and I was HANGRY.AF.
I almost forgot I even brought that damn avocado and didn’t recall my salad’s one saving grace until I had already choked down my plain lettuce and farty black beans.
I also forgot the butter knife I meant to take so I could cut said avocado.
It was almost animalistic what happened next.
I needed that avocado and not a few measly I-have-self-control-look-at me pieces.
I took the end of my fork and I just mauled that avocado like a savage until the skin was ripped to shreds and I could start inhaling the poop green goodness.
I sat and angry ate an entire fucking avocado.
And, it was a big boy, too.
Even when I bring healthy food options, I end up figuring out a way to royally fuck it up.
I need help.
Have you ever eaten a whole avocado in one sitting? Maybe I’m impressed/shocked/disgusted over something that’s not even a big deal. If not an avocado, have you ever eaten an entire *something* and then immediately felt like a fat bastard?
I need to know.

Food Baby

Because I just got back from Apple Hill and haven’t given “birth” to my current food baby yet, I felt this was an appropriate flashback post. I have no shame…
Ya’ll…
I don’t even know where to start. 
I think there’s no hope for me. 
I try to be good. 
No. 
No. That’s a boldface lie. I’ll be real. I don’t try. Not at all. 
My “trying” is remembering to ask for nonfat milk in my venti salted caramel mocha. 
This past week it’s been fall break for us teachers over in my neck of the woods. Because I had no solid, established plans to go somewhere cool, I knew I’d be making the rounds at my favorite eating establishments. 
Because it isn’t fall break unless I eat my weight in carbs and almost slip into a diabetic coma. 
So, I thought I’d share with you some of the ridiculousness I put into my fat gob this past week. It’s like a really pathetic travel picture slideshow, but instead of pictures of me in front of the Grand Canyon, you get to see exactly why I’m struggling to button my new stretchy jeans. 
How fun! 
But, first, I have to share with you just how much of a lost cause I am. It’s been a minute since I’ve shared a diet woe or food foible, so it was bound to happen that I’d find myself knee deep in embarrassment or ridiculousness.
On Saturday, I attended a family member’s baby shower. I was super excited to go, because I heard that they were ordering bundtinis from Nothing Bundt Cakes. Their cakes are just ungodly good. They must use a metric ton of sugar, butter, and unicorn blood in just one cake. That has to be why they’re so good. 
I also heard that if you didn’t RSVP and you just showed up, you wouldn’t get a bundtini, because they were ordering just enough for the attendees and no extra. 
I made sure I RSVP’d by phone, email, snail mail, and telegram. 
It was so hard waiting for cupcake o’clock. Pure hell.
When the time finally came to have our bundtinis, it was utter agony to choose just one. 
I could have eaten one entire cupcake tier and still had room for a steak dinner.
Eventually, I settled on red velvet.

It was delectable, but quite small. I really needed another bundtini, or 7… 
There were still, at least, 15 little morsels of heaven left. I reported this interesting discovery to my mom. I told her I was most definitely going to eat another one. 
She said, “Well, what if some people haven’t gotten theirs yet?” 
To this, I responded:
“Ya snooze, ya lose, ladies!”
Cupcakes, just sitting out in the open, after a good 20 minutes, are fair game in my book. 
Still, it made me question the possibility of just grabbing one and eating it right in front of God and everybody.
So, I scoped the cupcake spot out for a good 10 minutes until the coast was clear. Once there was no one in sight, I snatched one, and made a beeline for the bathroom.
Yes, I felt the need to have more than my fair share of cupcakes, and in utter disgrace, I scarfed down someone else’s designated cupcake as I hid in.the.bathroom.


The fact that my gut is resting ever so elegantly on the counter is evidence that I didn’t even need ONE cupcake. 
#whenyourfoodbabyisbiggerthanthemothertobesbump
This short aside ended up being a little more long-winded than I had first intended. So, I’ll share my gluttonous menu from this past week in a separate post. 

Just sitting in line to get gas, taking pics of my food baby. 
*Mother-to-be: If you read this, know you positively glowed with happiness and impending motherhood. I, in no way, wanted to upstage you with my food baby belly. This was unplanned, unintended, and rather uncomfortable. Please accept my sincerest apologies. 

Namast'ay Fat

As I was standing in the line at the grocery store, wearing my “Namaste In Shape” tank, I pondered how bad it looked that I was buying two pieces of cake, a bottle of Moscato and a bag of Cheetos. 
I mean, I know people were judging the chubby chick buying, at least, 4,000 calories worth of junk, in a shirt that proclaims she’d rather stay in shape. 
I’d be judging me too. 
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not delusional. I know this tank doesn’t magically make me look like a yoga-obsessed health freak. As much as I’d like it to camouflage all of my lumps and bumps, and be the fat person’s version of the magical Cloak of Invisibility, I know it’s not. 

Apparently, my fake look-like-I’m-working-out-with-my-vices-joke pose is the same as my poopin’ face. For shame. Utter fail.

I just like the color and the fit. It doesn’t cling to my stomach and it doesn’t get wedged between my back fat rolls. 
It’s the perfect compliment to my fat pants. 
It just so happens to make a false statement.  Extremely false. A bold-faced lie. 
I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll just lift my beer and the remotes a few times and count that as my fitness for the day. BTW, WHAT’S WITH MY FACE?

I’ve never been fit. Literally never. I’ve gone from baby fat to teenager fat to adult fat. 
So, as I stood, balancing my evening of fuck-it-I-had-a-bad-week, I got to thinking about all of the ridiculous things I’ve done in my favorite tank o’ lies:
1. Walked to 7-11 to purchase chocolate and peanut butter cupcakes. At least I walked. (If you’ve never had these cupcakes and you like peanut butter, you’ve been majorly missing out.)
2. Stood in line outside at our neighborhood burger and wing stand. Drool stains. No bra. Zero fucks. 
3. Sat on the couch with a paper towel bib as I balanced half a watermelon on my lap.
4. Made a tray of no-bake Reese’s diabetes bars that I hid in my sock drawer and inhaled over the next two days. 
5. Rode the elevator up two flights of stairs to the gym, where I just used the bathroom. 
6. Laid on the couch with Netflix and three beers, not getting up to do the dinner dishes  or even to get first dessert. 
7. Drove, not even two blocks, to mail a letter- a letter officially cancelling the gym membership I had for a year but never used. 
It’s been super fun going over all the fun I’ve had in my trusty tank. Maybe, at some point, before it becomes more chocolate syrup stain than cotton, I’ll wear it to exercise. 
Nah. 
If y’all ever see a shirt that says “Namast’ay Fat”, let me know ASAP. 

The Cupcake Incident: Flasback Friday

For Flashback Friday, I thought I’d share one of the first posts I wrote when I first started this blog. I think it got a measly two likes. It’s pretty much terrible, but it’s so incredibly accurate when it comes to my best friend, Cupcake and I. 
The back story behind this little exchange is that I was attempting to diet, and I was in the I’m-so-starving-I’d-lick-the-remnants-from-a-chocolate-wrapper-found-in-the-garbage-yeah-I’m-serious-so-fuck-you-and-your-judgy-eyes stage. 
I’d asked my teacher friend and classroom neighbor to help me resist the myriad treat situations that occur constantly at our school (really, any school, anywhere). 
She was also “dieting”. 
Two weakling, enablers trying to help each other diet. 
It was comical. 
Also, she had no idea the extent of my gluttony, or that I could sniff out a cupcake from three miles away. 
Without further ado: The Cupcake Incident
Sitting at desk. The whiff of cupcake starts wafting in from room next door.
Phone call is urgent, sweaty palms.
Child: “This is Ms. S’s room. How may I help you?”
Me: “Well, aren’t you just the most professional-sounding 3rd grader I’ve ever heard. May I speak with Ms. S?”
No response. Phone is dropped on table. 
Ms. S: “This is Ms. S…”
Me: (whisper voice, barely audible) “Cupcake? I smell.”
Ms. Silver: “Uh, this is Ms. S. Hello?”
Me: (slightly more audible) “Birthday cupcake? Cupcake?”
Ms. S: “I don’t know who this is. I don’t have cupcakes. You are mistaken. Good day.”
Me: (yelling voice) “You know who this is, and I want CUPCAKE!”
Click 
Running for the door just as a darling child delivers very roughed-up cupcake. 
Cupcake nonetheless. 
Drool is now escaping. 
Ms. S appears at door, tries to intercept, unsuccessfully. 
Cupcake frosting already entering mouth. 
Ms. S (the bitch) tries to swat frosting out of mouth. 
Instead of cupcake, the smell of revenge is now pungent. 
Ms. S is more elderly, thus, escape successful. 
Entire cupcake is lodged in mouth.
Delicious. 
Exchange ends with both Ms. S and culprit crouching over frosting remnants on tray, greedily licking fingers. Animals. 
*It is necessary to note that no child was injured in cupcake incident. Nor were children present during bloody exchange. They were outside getting exercise, like civilized human beings.

Flashback Friday: Be Cool, Alright?

I’m re-blogging this post for #fbf, because I almost wrecked my diet the other day with Boston Market Cinnamon Apples and mashed potatoes. Like, it was so.close. Too close. As in, I circled the whole of Boston Market five times, drooling, staring, frothing at the mouth. I can never be seen there again. So, I’ll just live vicariously through my past foodscapades. Is it bad that this post doesn’t make me feel shameful, but hungry for macaroni and cheese, and nostalgic for my bacon grease sweats? 
Dear Boston Market Yeller, 
My boyfriend and I visited your establishment this past Saturday, around 6:00 PM. You greeted us by yelling, “Welcome to Boston Market. What can I help you with?” from behind the counter, at least 15 feet away, before we were even in the door. While the gesture was, thoughtful, semi-courteous, it was a little overwhelming, as every single individual in the restaurant turned to watch us come in. I’m sure realizing it wasn’t the Queen of England entering, but a couple in their fat pants, was quite disappointing. Had I known I would have been welcomed so warmly, I would have worn a more supportive bra and my fancy sweats, the ones without paint and bacon grease stains. 
I want to say I appreciate your tenacity, but it just came off as abrasive. My boyfriend and I ordered the meal for 3, and we really didn’t appreciate your need to repeat this fact no less than 10 times to your coworkers and what appeared to be the lady behind us. Yes, we were two people ordering the meal designed for three people. We had on elastic pants, was that not evidence enough that we were planning on eating heartily? Also, I would like to point out that it was highly probable that we had an adult or two waiting at home. We could have been being thrifty and mindful of our diets. This could have easily been the case. It wasn’t, but it could have been. 
Furthermore, we were taken aback by your method of checking customers out. Instead of doing it yourself, you yelled our order, repeatedly, across the entire kitchen to the young man, who must have been hard of hearing, because Sparks heard what we had for dinner, while he didn’t. After the 3rd time this young man had to ask you to repeat yourself, perhaps it was time to just take over. I’m so glad that our choices, the most fattening sides possible, were repeated for all to hear. Just for future reference, when two people come in, in oversized sweatshirts and they don’t take off their sunglasses, they would like their poor life choices kept between you and them, not shared with the entire restaurant. 
I am only writing this letter to you because you have potential. The passion you have for your product is evident, but I would suggest you work on your voice level and tact. You have zero tact. None. I would like to assume that most people visiting a Boston Market have serious plans of wrecking their diets. These people are already low, don’t assist them with their impending demise. Do you want to be an accessory for death by cookie dough? I don’t think so. Just be cool, alright? Sheesh. 
Signed, 
The Couple Who Bought a Meal For Three, and Ate It ALLLLLL 
***As an aside…
If hearing…
“Mashed with gravy, Mac and cheese, and cinnamon apples for THREE!”
“How many?” 
“THREE!”
“You said, mashed, apples, and spinach?” 
“NO, mashed potatoes, gravy, MACARONI AND CHEESE, and cinnamon apples!” 
“OK, I think I got it. And that was the meal for three?”
“YES, the meal for three”
….doesn’t make you want to reevaluate your life, I don’t know what will. It’s time for a change. My “last resort” pants are tight and I’m certain my fat is trying to suffocate me in my sleep. Help. 

WTF Wednesdays #8

How in the crap have I been doing WTFWs for eight weeks already?! It feels like just yesterday that I chose to make my bitching a weekly, written thing (I had to distinguish written from spoken, because I vocalize my rants hourly).
Time flies when you’re being a bitch.
Today, my post is going to contain a lot of choice words. Brace yourself. Delicate flowers, you might want to go watch a cat video. 
Today is about the “Realization”. You know, when you finally realize you really can have too many cupcakes. 
Sometimes, it takes a lot. Sometimes, it takes getting into your car, in a pair of work pants that you haven’t worn in eons, and, as you squeeze into your seat, the button barely holding your pants closed, pops off and pings and ricochets off of every hard surface in your car, before it hits you in the eye, and finally, comes to rest in your fat crotch. 
Yes, this actually happened. Except, not to me (my Realization came in the form of a student being concerned about me falling on my belly, because, naturally, it’s got a baby growing in it. That’s why it looks the way it does. FML). It happened to my naturally thin, kick-boxing-obsessed boyfriend after we both gained our happy-to-not-be-in-the-dating-scene-anymore-weight. 
After he almost lost an eye to a Dockers Relaxed Comfort button, he thought about losing some weight. And, I shit you not, that’s all it took for him to go back to his Glory Days weight (watch for this to be a WTF Wednesdays rant. Men, the fuckers). 
Since I’m not a man, and my body hasn’t magically become a specimen of superhuman genetics, all of my cupcake eating has resulted in some added cushion. 
I’ve resorted to, again, getting on the Weight Watchers bandwagon. 
Years ago, I was super successful with WW, and lost damn near 50 pounds. I kept it off for close to four years doing the program off and on, and being somewhat resonable with food. 
Lately, all semblance of reason has gone out the window. Like, thrown out the window with my good arm. 
Thus, why I found myself on Saturday night, paying for three months of WW, while crying into a large Dairy Queen Reese’s Extreme Blizzard (just typing that, I’m fucking salivating and in heat). 
This first week I’m treating as a weaning period. Also, I just need some practice not eating everything in sight and I need fair warning for how much I’m going to be starving and dreaming of cake. 
The reason I loved Weight Watchers before was that I never felt truly deprived. Yes, my better-part-of-a-half-gallon-of-ice-cream-binges had to stop, but I still got to enjoy the occasional thimble-full of my favorite frozen treat. 
I’ve heard that “the fatties are in an uproar” over the new Weight Watchers points system, because it’s very restrictive. 
It’s only Tuesday, and I can confidently say, this Fatty is not happy. I’ll be positively starving on the new SmartPoints plan. It’s as restrictive as my no-longer-elastic bra strap. 
Here’s what sucks so far:
1. 12 tortilla chips are now five points, instead of three. Salsa and chips are now dead to me. 
2. TWO FUCKING TABLESPOONS of my favorite coconut cream creamer are three points. Now, I definitely can’t put my usual half cup into my English Breakfast. My mornings are ruined. 
3. This is SEVEN SHITTY POINTS:


These taste like fruit strudel. And, there’s frosting on top. But, these are no good to me anymore. I won’t be wasting seven whole points on a tiny fruit bar that I can down in two bites. R.I.P. 
4. The cream cheese chicken chili we are planning for dinner tomorrow will probably be 567 points, without the tortilla chips (I’m too scared to calculate it, so that’s just a rough estimate). 
5. And, this:


I.can’t.even. That’s practically half of the points I’m allowed in an entire day. 
I might as well just each dirt, or kale, they both taste the fucking same. 
Fuck.it.all. 

Glutton's Paradise AKA Apple Hill

It’s been fall break over in my neck of the woods. Us educators call this time, “Thank Baby Jesus We Made it to October”. I swear these breaks aren’t really for the kids, they’re for the teachers, for our sanity. 
Every fall, since I can remember, we have gone to Apple Hill. Nestled between South Lake Tahoe and Sacramento, Apple Hill is a labyrinth of orchards, pumpkin patches, wineries, and family-owned farms, open to the public. 
 

How gorgeous is Apple Hill?
  
 
Apple Hill has always meant eat all the apple treats, drink all the cider, and buy all the crafts to me. You can’t bring enough money, because saying ‘no’ to your tenth caramel apple and a bunch of overpriced, homemade crap is impossible. 
Since I’ve been a destitute teacher, I only buy the best of the best; no more hand-painted pumpkins and doilies for me. What is worth my money is this sign that I had to buy for my bathroom. I mean, there was no question. 
  
I also wanted to buy every single candle from B&B Candles. Not only are they the most delicious, long-lasting candles I’ve ever purchased, the older gentlemen who sells them for his wife is the cutest. #supportgrandmaandgrandpa
 
OK, let’s get down to it, I know you’re waiting to hear. Exactly how naughty and gluttonous was I? If success is becoming a diabetic on vacation, I went for the gold. It was bad, but so damn good. 
  Not even an hour in, and I found myself a cherry apple empanada. Delicioso! 
  

 Photo op tip: Always stand behind the other people in the photo. Instant diet! Wearing black will optimize your results! 
  This was lunch. They were called “Hog Fries”. How apropos. 
 “Cyser”: hard cider, mead, and honey. I had two. They were that good (I’m also a serious lightweight, and these bad boys were like 13%. You do the math). I didn’t capture my Chinese dinner, because I was drunk. What I did do was have a snorting, laughing fit in the Peking Duck, because apparently egg rolls are hilarious when you’re on a drunken, sugar-high binge. 
 Morning in Apple Hill means freshly-fried hot apple pie donuts and hot coffee! Look at those fat, hungry fingers! 
  Warmed Dutch apple sour cream pie for second breakfast. Yes, really. 
  Of course, I had to take a selfie! Come to mama! 
  This is an apple cider float. It was at this point that I began feeling my two days of absolute gluttony. When I bent over to tie my shoes, my apple treats and regret almost came up. My last words before my coma: “And…I now have diabetes.” 
The whole ride home was spent trying not to throw up. 
I went hog wild because Monday starts a new chapter. When people take pictures of the fat girl taking a selfie of herself eating baked goods, it’s time. Back on the wagon I go. 
I’ll let you know how God-awful Monday after a break, on a diet, goes. 

Shameless 

I have been a pretty shameless glutton most of my summer break. Weekends are hard for me to stay on track, let alone an entire school break. Give me almost 2 months of freedom, and endless hours to meet friends and family for breakfast, brunch, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, linner, dinner, cocktails, and late night binge-fests, and you pretty much have a recipe for disaster with a chocolate ganache and cherry on top. 
I fully plan on getting my act together when school, and a regular schedule commences. Until then, I’m trying not to be too bad. I got a half sandwich, instead of feeling satisfied at Greatful Gardens the other day. Last night, I ate only one bag of kettlecorn popcorn. Most astonishingly, I imbibed in one, count em’: one Moscow Mule at The Depot yesterday. 
After lunch, I usually want something sweet. Yesterday, I was craving some frozen yogurt with cookie dough and marshmallow topping something fierce. I told myself, “No, Fat Katie!”, and went home and ate a Popsicle instead (I’m also quickly running out of money-summer break, and being a fatty is EXPENSIVE). 
Additionally, I am working hard at not drinking my calories (I mean, unless it’s alcohol. Because alcohol). I’m also trying to drink green tea a couple times a day. I know it’s not a miracle fix, but it has been shown to boost metabolism. Disclaimer: I am, by no means, against “quick fixes”. I will, usually, buy in to any weight loss fad that requires absolutely zero effort. 
Another reason I’ve decided to not end my summer break in “Super Glutton” mode is: I spent $160 on It Works products. I purchased a month’s supply of wraps and fat inhibitors, hair, skin, and nails vitamins, and firming gel. My hard-earned credit card purchase just can’t be in vain. It doesn’t seem right to wash fat inhibitors down with a donut. Well, maybe it does, but I don’t want the donut to cancel out the hard work the supplement is doing. I’m not simply trying to maintain. Oh no. This lard has got to go. 
  My Fat Fighting Box of Shame 
  These are some real horse pills. And they taste like horse sweat. 
  Because ain’t nobody want to see my front butt. Here is another area that has got to get with the program and tighten up. I’m sick of my swinging arm flab. 
  Totally unedited and deelicious! 
  At least I remembered to shave my armpits for ya’ll. 
I know firming gel and supplements are not the only answer. I’m doing yoga, too. Remember? I bet you forgot, as I haven’t posted any embarrassing yoga pics lately. Stay tuned. 
*The little red mark on my arm is from my very first boyfriend, Karl Martin. We were having a pinching contest (we were 12). He won.