Hello, People. I’m coming in hot, here to tell you that the situation is DIRE:
MY FAT PANTS ARE GETTING TIGHT! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!
Perhaps I should back up a bit. I’m not tooting my own horn *queue aggressive bugling* but I’m preeettttty good at baking. All kinds of baking. Traditional, gluten free, vegan. If sugar is one of the ingredients, I CAN THROW THAT SHIT TOGETHER. And I am even more prolific as an eater of these baked things. Hence the Tiny Pants Rebellion of 2018.
Can I buy larger pants? Sure. Of course I can. But to what end?? MY ENORMOUS BACK END. That’s what.
I am not sure if I have ever mentioned that I am an avid fan of My 600 Lb Life (TLC). I find it very inspiring that a guy who whuffles down an entire pizza while he’s DRIVING HOME can turn on a dime and switch to a 1200 calorie per day diet because he wants to change his life. And so I say to myself– this guy was eating a box of donuts for breakfast and now he’s getting by on 2 eggs and piece of celery. Surely you can keep a brownie out of your face for 10 minutes.
So I suggested to Mr. Betty that we quit sugar for 30 days. And he agreed. And then I said, hey! Let’s also not eat fried foods for 30 days, and he was ON BOARD. And then I said, how about no dairy for 30 days. And he was WITH ME. So I said, that means no cheese. And I turned around to see that I was ALL ALONE IN THE ROOM. Just me and the crickets.
So I’m not baking fantastic chocolate chip cookies or banana bread. And I’m not drinking the occasional Coke or sweet tea. I am omitting cheese from my sandwiches, tacos, salads, pasta, and generally my mouth. I have made vegan sour cream (not bad on burritos, I wouldn’t eat it straight like real sour cream– but of course that is the point.) I eat a lot of avocado. I drink a ton of La Croix. I do put agave in my coffee but that is really just concern for the safety of others. For fucks sake, do I have to give EVERYTHING UP????
So if you’re not completely horrified already, let me further inform you that I am only eating between 11am and 7pm (ish). This is keeping all manner of deadly calorically dense proto-food out of my gullet. I’m wont to finish dinner and then insist that I need something that I don’t need and then proceed to consume it until I make myself ill. Sound familiar??? Fuck ya, it does. That’s basically what alcohol is. Except with a Clif bar and bowl of popcorn. NONE OF WHICH I NEED.
I knew some of my eating was addictive because the during first week I starting getting the brain itch around 7:30. Sure, it’s easy to make these proclamations about future dieting while inhaling a patty melt on parmesan-encrusted Texas toast, but at 7:30 when the cold reality sets in and you remind yourself that you are DONE EATING FOR THE NEXT 16 HOURS…. well, let’s say there was some twitching involved.
I had to remind myself that there will be pain with progress. And it’s very encouraging when I’m uncomfortable because when you are simultaneously hungry, miserable and enraged, you KNOW you are losing weight. My co-worker is less than optimistic however, and has lain in a supply of Oreos to chuck at me, shouting, “Eat a cookie, bitch!!” should I become snarly.
I believe one has to be somewhat careful with dietary restrictions, particularly people who have addiction issues (like moi!) Deprivation of foods can cause a case of the Fuck Its and if there is a choice between, say, a delicious donut and a bottle of wine, take that fucking donut. I do think sugar can be an addiction, but it’s waaaay easier to quit for most (My 600 Lb Life notwithstanding) than alcohol.
I have to get dressed and go to the gym *twitch* so I’ll leave you now. Please think of me while eating your fondue.