You know that saying- "Find your bliss?" ...Well, I did. I found mine. And, as I should have known all along, my bliss was hiding in a small carton that bears the names of my two BFFs and trusted psychiatrists, Dr. Ben and Dr. Jerry. My bliss is Pumpkin Cheesecake ice cream. Who knew? Thank you, Doctors. I may be living on three minutes of sleep a night, but you've made my waking hours joyful again (Speaking of my lack of sleep... Thank you to all who commented and emailed with ideas for me! Much appreciated! I'm definitely going to try your suggestions and I'll let you know how it goes).
I've always been of the opinion that if a dessert or snack isn't made of chocolate, there's no sense in wasting the calories. I do loves me some pumpkin pie around the holidays, but I don't sit around and crave pumpkin like I do chocolate, so I was a little surprised at how much I LOVED this stuff. It is so, so, so good. I don't even know what made me grab it at the store the other day, but- Oh. My. Goodness. I'm glad I did.
I'm sorry, M&Ms, you'll have to try harder if you want to keep your hooks in me. Mac-n-cheese, you now have a rival for top comfort food. And, Chocolate Mint Milano cookies? ...Nevermind, we're still okay. You won't be leaving me anytime soon. I'm sorry I scared you, sweetie.
Hey... What was that noise? Oh. I think it was the sound of those two Honeybaked Hams that are my arse trying to bust out of the seams of my jeans. As you may have guessed from the better-than-sex ice cream description, that whole diet plan of mine kinda tanked.
Once my son's wedding was over, and I was so disappointed in myself for not losing the 35 pounds I had hoped to lose (because I kept cheating and procrastinating until I only had like 3 weeks to get serious about losing it, then was disgusted with myself for not being able to do it in that amount of time), I slowly reverted back to my old habits (and by slowly I mean it took one or two days).
I really need to do something. The weight I did manage to lose is creeping back on fast. I am so sick of myself. I'm sick of the "I'll go ahead and eat this, then I'll start my diet tomorrow" game I've been playing with myself since I got pregnant with my first kid. That was 19 years ago. Nineteen flippin' years of looking in the mirror and feeling humiliated and disappointed by what I see. Nineteen years of trying to avoid having my picture taken because that fat chick staring back at me makes me feel so ashamed. Nineteen years of holding onto clothes two sizes too small because I'm gonna lose this weight "soon." And I'm tired of using food as the answer for everything... If I'm stressed, I snack. If I'm upset, I comfort myself by stuffing my face. If I'm happy or celebrating, let's get the ice cream out! If Darrell and I get a rare chance to go out on a date, it's dinner and a movie with popcorn- extra butter, please. I'm sick to death of it. But on the other hand...
I hate being "On a Diet." I hate eating different meals than the rest of my family- cooking one thing (a yummy thing) for them and something different for myself. I hate plain, boring, grilled chicken all the frickin' time. I don't like fish, most veggies, or other diet-friendly foods, so I'm stuck with a pretty repetitive food plan when I try to eat right. It gets old fast. I can't stick to that forever. It's time to accept the fact that I am never going to give up chocolate... or bread, or pasta, or Chinese food... completely and forever. Just ain't gonna happen. I have to find a reasonable balance between what I want to eat and what I know I should eat. It's too bad those things seem to be mutually exclusive. But, as I said, I have to do something. Even my doctor said so... and that's bad. So I'm taking her suggestion and I'm going to give the South Beach Diet a try. Yay. I believe that means no pasta, or bread, no (sob) chocolate, or anything enjoyable for the rest of my life- isn't that correct? Did I not just say that ain't gonna happen? I bought the book today and, oh boy, I can't wait to get started. Hear all that excitement in my voice?
Trying to get the rest of the fam on board for a healthier lifestyle, though, will be like trying to stop wild horses. Darrell is a big Pepsi and chips kind of guy, and the Meat and Potato King. He isn't going to change that anytime soon. And as long as I'm buying and cooking that crap for him, it's hard to keep the kids out of it.
You know somethin'? Sometimes when I try to peer beneath all this fat, I almost think I could be halfway good-lookin' if only I wasn't buried under all this lard. I wasn't too darn bad when I was younger. Not exactly a hottie, but not bad. If only I would have known it and appreciated it at the time. Maybe I can lose enough on this new diet to be not-quite-a-hottie-but-almost, again. Ya think? My eyes aren't hideous. At least I have two of them and they both look the same direction at the same time... for the most part. My smile is so-so. It would probably be better if it wasn't surrounded on every side by such a ginormous expanse of face, but it's not horrible. I have all my own teeth, which is really saying something, considering my geographical location. My hair is passably decent on the rare days I make an effort. Can a house frau in her forties be almost hot? Is there such a thing as a "Luke Warmie?" Wish me luck. I'm sure I'll keep you all posted on how the new diet goes, since I know you have nothing better to do than wonder about the size of my backside.