Crawling Back On

 

Last week, I took a six day sabbatical from Weight Watchers.  Don’t even start.  I know that’s not recommended.  If I may be completely honest… at the time, I didn’t care.  With all the baking for Tim’s birthday party, I could not sustain the willpower necessary for portion control and diligent recording.  So I said HELL WITH IT, wanna come to a party in my TUMMY?

I started back on Monday.  I liken this experience to a runaway teenager that has been unwillingly drug back home after a vandalism spree, only to maintain a serious attitude toward all positions of authority.  If someone even looks at me while I’m eating a roll, I’m all “DUUUUUUDE, WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?  I HAVE POINTS PLUS VALUE POINTS EVERY WEEK FOR BREAD.  GAAAAAH.  GET OFF MY FUCKING BACK, CARB NAZI!”

That’s right, Everyone.  I’m rebelling against Weight Watchers, a completely voluntary online weight loss organization.  Yep.  I’m paying them so I can lie on my daily water intake, shave off actual portion sizes, and perhaps even negate to record altogether that Heath bar I ate last night at 8:54 PM.  

Also, I need Jennifer Hudson to go away.  You have a personal chef, so I need you to gently shut your beautiful fucking mouth.  I’m glad you were successful on your weight loss journey, but I can’t relate to someone with a personal trainer and chef.  I CAN relate to complete chaos and not enough hours, nor extra hands available, in the day to possibly accomplish all I need to finish, while randomly shoving snacks in my pie hole. 

If I had a chef, I’d be skinny too.  <---- Who am I kidding?  That’s an outright lie.  In truth, I’d be like, “Bernie, fix us some cake and bring it to the pool on the good china.   No, Robin and I won’t be swimming laps.  We’ll be laying out. Thanks.  Don’t forget the mimosas, Bernie.”  Chef Bernie.  That would be his name… like Adrienne Maloof’s chef on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.  Because when I’m filthy rich, I want my chef to be ridiculously sassy and roll his eyes at my guests, possibly even make quips behind my back at how drunk I get before noon. <---- I don’t drink before noon now, so stop the intervention plans.  Howevercomma if I get really rich, I can’t make any promises on daytime sobriety.  I’ll pay you until you get over it. 

Don’t worry, it never escapes me how ridiculous and fat I can be on any given Wednesday morning.  I’m getting it back together though.  Today is the day.  Neveryoumind, that beer bread in the office refrigerator that I whipped up last night.  I’m sorry, but I found a beautiful cooking blog last week that really floats my boat. Shout out to Shugary Sweets.  If you love to bake, go there now.  Amazingly delicious recipes.  The beer bread being among those delicious recipes. 

Where was I?  Oh.  Yes.  Weight Watchers.  It’s a great program.  It helped me lose all the weight and then some after I had Bukka.  I don’t remember falling off the portion control wagon then, but I remember taking it very seriously.  So I will be snapping out of it today, and recording everything that goes in my filthy mouth, and I will also stop avoiding Jillian Michaels like she has Herpes. 

I just logged on and added the Heath bar and added the beer bread recipe should I decide to have half a serving of it.  See.  I’m trying.