Friday, November 2, 2012

Here's the Skinny

Why do all these weight-loss ads try to lure me with the promise of skinny jeans? When I lose (or re-lose...grr, damn candy) this weight I'm going to treat myself to something more flattering than skinny jeans. Skinny jeans look good on NO ONE. I define skinny jeans in the traditional sense: Those jeans hidden in the back of your closet that you refuse to get rid of in some desperate hope that you will fit into them once again. I'm pretty sure that definition is in the Bible (somewhere in the back).

And as long as we're on the subject...I became enraged/incredibly depressed/disgusted when I saw my reflection in the mirror at the gym tonight. I knew I was off track (to put it nicely--the more accurate statement would be something along the lines of "I knew I'd royally f*cked everything up again.") but for some reason tonight was the first time I actually saw it.

I managed to finish out Hip Hop Hustle without crying and then (naturally) proceeded to my car in order to weep like a crazy person. Once my overreaction had downgraded from Biblical to merely ridiculous, I began to drive home. I started thinking about the cause of all my problems.

Sweets. I love sweets. You know those people who say, "I'm not really big on sweets,"? I always want to ask them if they're certain they're eating sweets correctly. I mean, have you tasted sugar? It's delicious! I guess sweets aren't the root of the problem. The problem is my lack of self control combined with an addictive personality. Do you know how often I think to myself, "it's a damn good thing I never did any hardcore drugs,"?

Moderation ranks right up there with patience on the List of Things I'm Super Good at. This is America after all. If you're going to do something, you'd better be willing to give it one hundred and crazy percent. I finally recognized the fact that I cannot be trusted to eat delicious, delicious sweets. So I will be attempting to go cold turkey from things like candy...starting tomorrow. I didn't even do my usual "last meal".

According to all media portrayals of an addict getting on the wagon, "admitting you have a problem is the hardest part." That may be true, but I have a feeling that the "not eating amazingly tasty treats" is going to give "admitting I have a problem" a run for its money.

Why am I telling you this? Well, because I wanted to write that skinny jeans thing down before I forgot. And I'm also warning those of you who actually interact with me in the Real World. I can't imagine this is going to be pretty. If I threaten or insult you while suffering sugar withdrawal, I apologize.

It's going to be like the episode of The Simpsons where Marge gets sugar outlawed and everybody loses it. I plan on portraying the role of Ralph Wiggum, who sits on the playground rocking back and forth saying, "My baby! My baby!" I was going to compare it to Golum's obsession with The Precious but I hope to God I'm not that bad.

 

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