I Hate Success

Lorraine Says: It's no secret really that I'm basically an Internet whore. Luckily, I'm writing this entry and NOT sending it to the rest of the Blobs, who I'm pretty sure are all dead. (Actually, I think I got an email from Lily sometime last week, about being too lazy to blog on another blog we share, so maybe she's just a missing person at this point and not entirely dead.)

I say luckily because I can already hear Bret and all his "whore" jokes which morph into racist jokes which all just translate into, "I'm still a fat fuck and picking on people much, much, much hotter than me makes me feel better about myself." There, there Bret.

ANYHOW, me = loves the Internet. I have my main blog, Childhood Trauma, 2 Tumblrs, Twitter, Facebook, a (semi-abandoned) music blog, I mod at 20sb, etc, etc, etc.

And then, there is this.

Oh, Blogging Blobs. It truly is a great idea. 5 overweight bloggers doing the weight loss thing together, with some combination of humor and demotivation.

It was a good plan for me. Why? Because I really am not a fan of other people's success. I mean, not as a general rule, but especially when it comes to weight loss.

I suppose that fact has a lot to do with where I've been during this period of Blob silence. I mean, the simple fact is that writing for a diet blog is pretty difficult when you aren't dieting, ya know? There wasn't any exercise happening either.

I wish I could blame it on one thing or another, but really, all the reasons I'd gained the weight in the first place overcame me again: laziness, chocolate, busy work schedule, big life changes, chocolate, dessert, the eating habits of a third grader, and laziness.

On top of that all, people around started losing weight. My older cousin, nicknamed on my blog as Ferfer, moved back to Florida a handful of months ago. Fer is a notorious weight yo-yo-er. And I'm pretty sure she's tried every lose weight quick scheme ever.

She's also the most pushy bitch ever. I mean, I love her, but she will argue with you about the sky being purple, and not blue, if one day she decided the sky was purple.

Well, after gaining a shit ton of weight during her last pregnancy, and holding onto most of it even after her daughter was born, she decided that enough was enough and that she was going to lose weight the old fashioned way: puking and corsets.

JAYKAY. Diet and exercise.

Her pushy self went around telling everyone that they were fat and gross and that they should come to her house where every day they would be using her covered patio as a makeshift gym. My sister and my good friend Venus drank the kool-aid.

And it's worked. Sometime during my silence, these girls have been working their asses off and slimming down and toning up thanks to some workout videos and dedication.

...
...

GAG.

It's fucking terrible. Fer was after me constantly asking me when I was going to join and the more I was pressured, the more I was positively reinforced, the more I didn't want to do anything healthy.

And it worked. Any progress I made during my Blogging Blob stint was completely erased. Two and a half weeks ago, I stepped on the scale for the first time in months and I was nearly back up to my original start weight: 148.

Holy. Shit.

It felt gross. It felt horrible. And the worst part was that there wasn't even anyone around to point and laugh or make comments about how I must not be getting any Exercise or must be missing the famine part of my Ethiopian diet.

With the Blobs all dead (RIP) and my body quickly chunking up out of control, I decided to take a positive step in the right direction.

Step one: The less-of-a-fat-ass diet.

What? It was a baby step and a good one at that. Two and a half weeks later I'm back down to 143. Five pounds? That's about the equivalent of what Bear eats in one sitting, so I'll fucking take it.

It feels good to be back down, but I'm trying to ride the wave of motivation and success. Step two will be the "move-more-than-a-fat-ass" portion of my plan. I'm dying to start the couch to 5k program, with an actual 5k in mind to run at the end of the summer.

I mean, sure I keep putting up excuses like, "I don't have running shoes," or "people get raped and killed when they go out running," but maybe now that I've announced it to the entire interwebs I'll try harder to make it happen.

I'll do my best to check in this time next week.

Goal: Three pounds to 140. 1-fucking-40. I'm gonna look so hawt.

Avoid these pitfalls: My new job is located in a plaza with a Chipotles, Yougurtland and a Starbucks. WHAT THE HELL? My co-workers take field trips down to one or all of these places on the regular and saying no all the time is no fun. (Sounds like my sex life?) I've probably indulged more than I should, but for the sake of my bank account and my body, I must say no.

Do these things: I need running shoes  and OMG, where do I even start? 

For real this time guys.

For real.

Push It

Lorraine Says: This week was not a great food week. I mean, there were no crazy sausage shenanigans, like the ones Bret is famous for, and I didn't drink my weight in vodka a la Lily, so in perspective, it was terrible but it wasn't great either. When I slipped up on my diet, I made it count. Cheesecake, in fact, seemed to be the theme of the week.

I only had a slice, promise. PROMISE.

But I ate all of this. Yep. All of it.

But that's not what I'm here to talk about really; I'm here today to convey to you all my strong dislike of Jillian Michaels.

See, I'm a weenie that doesn't like to work out by herself. When Rox can't gym, I might walk with Penny. When Penny can't walk, I'll go work out with my good friend Venus. Venus' poison of choice is a slew of work out videos (er, DVD's) she buys, sort of like one would buy crack. Or wait, how I would buy zebra cakes.

Anyways, whenever I'm working out with her, she subjects me to Jillian.

Now, I understand that Jillian hasn't really done anything to me, exactly, but you're also talking to the girl who's most viewed post is all about how much she hates that bitch Dora the Explorer. (I almost wrote 'Dora the fucking Explorer.' That just sounds like a terrible porn. Different sort of Cardio, folks. Different sort.)

Anyways, here's what I hate:

1.) Don't fucking tell me I'm doing a good job. I'm not sure what sort of condescending prick decided we need positive reinforcement from SOMEONE WHO CAN'T SEE US. Venus bought a new DVD the other day, a Dancing with the Stars one, and we sat on her couch eating crackers and watching it, laughing every time the dumb girl told us we looked great. Thanks lady.

2.) When she tells me to "push it." Uh, no.

3.) When this ho doesn't even do half of her own exercises and then tells me not to give up.

4.) When she is doing the exercises, and talking at the same time, not even out of breath, while I'm dying.

5.) Her face.

I've pretty much given into the fact that the morning gym will never ever happen for me. It's not the waking up, it's the getting out of bed, and putting pants on and stuff that gets to me. So, I'm going to try and do some of this Jillian crap in the morning.

Let's see how this goes.

ETA: It went for like 10 minutes before I wanted to puke. Jillian must be onto Lily's method of puke-ercise.





Injury Time Out

Lorraine Says: It seems that Bret can disappear for months at time (because he's "working" or "inflating his girlfriend") and that's alright, but a few of us other blobs miss a week or two and he tries to stage a blog coup.

Even though... if I'm honest, I'm not sure Bear is coming back either. Maybe he's hibernating? GET IT HIBERNATING. Okay, sorry I'm done. RIP Bear. We'll still be around when you wake, and chances are Bret will still be fat and Lily might be drunk or crying OR BOTH.

Now for me. Where have I been? Would you believe injured? See, my last post was all about my wild success and how hard I was trying to diet and especially exercise.

A few things happened that interrupted my gym flow, and then it hit me like a tons of bricks: a sharp pain in my chest. It fucking sucks.

Whenever I say something about my chest hurting to anyone they give me wild eyes and tell me that I'm probably dying and should get to a hospital immediately. See, I've been down this road before already.

About a year and a half ago, I had the same type of pain in my chest. I went to the walk-in emergency care center by my house, slammed my fist on the reception counter and proclaimed that I was dying. The nurse up front didn't even blink an eye.

"Sign your name on the list."

"Behind all these people that aren't dying as badly as me?"

"List your problem next to it."

So I signed my name. I was tempted to write "death" as my problem, but instead settled on chest pains. I handed the death list back to the rude nurse. She glanced at it and (in my head) did a very dramatic double take.

"How old are you?"

"23."

"There's 23-year old with chest pains! 23-year old with chest pains!"

Suddenly, I was dying a lot more importantly than the people bleeding and moaning in the waiting room. I was whisked away and my vitals were taken, I was put in a room, and then I waited. And waited, And waited. And waited. With no bra on. Seriously, apparently bras get in the way of chest examinations. If anyone knows me, they know that I'm only without a bra during Cardio and showers, so this was almost worse than the chest pains.

A couple of hours later (in my head) the doctor came in.

"I hear you might be dying."

Not fucking funny doctor. Not funny.

"Yep. My chest really hurts. It's a sharp pain."

"Does it hurt worse when you breathe in deeply?"

Breathes in deep.

"Ouch. Yes."

"Does this hurt," she asked, poking me in the middle of my chest.

"OW. YES."

"Okay, well, it's costochondritis. It's basically inflammation."

And she walked out.

Didn't she want to check my heart? Wasn't their some science-y machine that could confirm her diagnosis? Didn't she want to buy me dinner since she did, after all, get me naked?

Nope. It wasn't death, it was an inflamed chest wall.

The rest of the information I gathered was from the print-out diagnosis sheet the check-out lady gave me as I paid for the doctor's finger poke.

Basically, it hurts. It sucks. There's nothing you can do about it. And here, I'll quote Yahoo Health, obviously a very reliable source of information:

The causes of costochondritis are not well-understood and may be difficult to establish. The most likely causes include injury, repetitive minor trauma, and unusual excessive physical activity

It was costochondritis then and this is the same pain I remember. The breathe,ow! pain. The move,ow! pain. The lay down,ow! pain. It'd really suck if I were actually dying this time, but I'm putting my bets on it being costochondritis again.

Basically, exercise is trying to kill me.

So, that's where I've been. Not at the gym. Still eating all right, with the occasional churro and ice cream slip up (one to be exact.)

Well, how do I get better? I'll quote the Mayo Clinic for you:

Most cases of costochondritis have no apparent cause. In these cases, treatment focuses on easing your pain while you wait for costochondritis to improve on its own.

Oh, yay. I get to wait. AMAZING.

Lily Says: That just sounds very scary. This is why my physical activity is Cardio. I feel it's apt to blame Bret for your injury. I mean, you guys live in the same state.

The Root of all Evil Bret Says: Wow, thanks for this fantastic update that was 99% from a over a year ago. In my medical opinion you would probably be a lot healthier if you weren't such a slut. Having that many guys sit on your chest can produce negative results.

Also, you're short and likely under developed as a human being, so I can see you having weak lungs. I'm just here to help.

Lorraine Says: The anecdote from the past was necessary to understand my present condition, asshat. Is reading comprehension something else you struggle with? I guess, though, if you're Bret, that really is the least of your worries.

Weak lungs? Really? From the guy who ran a minute and almost died? Nice try.

When You Can't Feel It

Lorraine Says: I just finished having the driest salad ever invented. I’m pretty sure it had two bite-sized pieces of chicken and three cranberries. It came with almost no non-fat-blah-blah-blah dressing. I could’ve sneezed on this salad and it would’ve been wetter. (I’m preemptively regretting saying wetter in a post.)

This, sadly, is what my life has come to. I’m trying. I’m trying a lot.

For the second week in a row, Roxanne and I took a Sunday night, joint grocery store trip, to make sure we had healthy food options for the week. We’re still consistently attending the gym, and on days we need a break, we walk around the track at the nearby community college, or around the small airport that’s just next to it.

Can we talk about the gym for second? We do a ton of cardio whenever we’re there, and no you sick bastards, Roxanne and I don’t cardio cardio. Occasionally, we’ll use some of the other workey-outey machines, but lately we’ve been interested in using the free weights.

Oh, Lord.

We’ve run into these problems so far:

1. We don’t exactly know what we’re doing.
2. We are easily embarrassed, which means that we’ll mostly try to run away from people. This leaves us using the aerobics room, when there aren’t any classes going on, which brings me to problem #3:
3. Who thought it’d be a good idea to fill the gym with mirrors? Wanna know what I don’t want to do? Work out in front of a mirror.
4. We suffer from the “I don’t feel it, this isn’t working” complex, where you don’t feel it so you think it isn’t working. I’m sure anyone who’s slept with Bret knows what I mean, but lets focus on actual work outs for a moment. We jump the gun and either end up abandoning the 5 pound weights for something only Superman should handle, or we just keep doing crazy shit with the weights so that the next day, we want to chop off our extremities.
5. When we’re sore, we don’t want to push ourselves at the next workout. We want to not move our arms.

We’ve taken to Googling articles and attempting to build some sort of smart work out plan that doesn’t consist of “move a lot” and “don’t bring chocolate to the gym.”

Speaking of chocolate, on Monday I realized that it’d been approximately 2 weeks since I had a chocolate bar. I thought of how awesome it would be to write about that in this here post. I thought about it a lot. I started to get twitch. No. Chocolate. Two. Weeks.

I’ll let you guys guess what happened next. It rhymes with Twitter Fort Mar. It’s okay though because I skipped dinner that day and instead had a double helping of guilt.

Not everything has changed, obviously, but like I said: I’m trying.

 

(Also, I’m not pregnant like Lily, so I win!)

Lily Says: Embarrassing yourself at the gym is priceless. I wish I could be there.

If your salad is dry, you should try getting Bret to cry in it. I'm sure the salty tears would add tons-o-flavor to the lettuce and what nots.

Lorraine Says: Apparently, my actual effort  have left the other blobs speechless. They don't even know what to say when someone isn't going on and on about failure. 

Maybe next week, blobs. Maybe next week. Or! Wait until tomorrow for Bret, who might even have another picture that'll break the internet. 

Dream a little dream.

Street Walkers Burn Lots of Calories

Lorraine Says: Today, I've decided not to cry over how I'm not as cool as these other blobs who are spending their days playing video games and using apps to calculate how fat they are, though I'm sure looking in a mirror would help as well.

Today, I'm just going to complain about this really old school concept, back from the days when we started this blog and wanted to lose weight and look like Ethiopians: the gym.

Here's my problem this week, I'm finding, in my quest to be even skinnier than you bulbous bitches: fitting the gym into my schedule. Of course I'd find all this "get up and go" motivation the same week I start school again. Maybe there is just something about being 24 and deciding to go back to school that makes you feel you'd rather be at the gym. Regardless, I have significantly less time after work and the gym just isn't fitting as nicely as I'd like.

So, last night, I basically decided that if Gym and I were going to remain on a first name basis, I was going to have to start seeing him first thing in the morning. This is almost like that time I convinced myself I should stop eating chocolate.

Basically, I like to sleep. I start work at 8:30am and wake up at 8:45am daily. My bosses love it, I'm sure. This whole "waking up early to work-out" thing is going to be difficult for me. Then again, I only ever have to do it once a week, and I'll still have all of you beat.

There's this week's new goal. Oh, and also, buy a new scale. No. Seriously. For real this time.


The Bear Monk Says: Morning gym? Are you really going to feed us that line of bullshit? Thought about trying a gym that's open 24 hours a day? Then you could hit the gym after you're done with your street walking. Hell I'm betting street walking would be some pretty decent cardio as you're clearly not getting any of the other kind of "cardio".

Why don't you grab another chocolate bar and a zebra cake and drown your sorrows with a tall glass of beer?

Oh and as a side note...good luck shopping for a scale that will lie to you in a more satisfactory manner.


Lorraine Says: My gym is open 24 hours, but after the work, school, and street walking, really I'm all tuckered out. As you can imagine.

Don't make any comments on how much "cardio" I'm getting. We all know the only reason you get any is because you tricked the Wife into marrying you and now she's stuck. Oh, and because Bret won't stay away from your asshole.

Also, my current scale seems to think I'm skinnier than I think I am. I don't need lying to. I need truth!


Bret the wee-wee-less wonder says: I still say all the workout you need is a pee-wee football team and a jar of Vaseline.  Isn't that how you were conceived???   


Lily Says: Are we not using No-Wee-Wee's scale anymore????


Lorraine Says: Bret, you are confusing the story of how I was conceived with where you've been since the start of the year. And Lily, I'm determined to use an accurate scale. No-Wee-Wee can keep convincing himself he's losing weight on the "Chee diet."

Hell is Never Losing Weight

Lorraine Says: I've lost my will to diet. I don't even know what else to say other than that. It's like I need a diet nap. I'm a bit exhausted, a bit disillusioned, and a lot in love with free holiday cookies at work. 'Tis the season.

I hopped on my stupid, defective, inconsistent and poorly made Scale of Random Numbers this morning (no, I still haven't bought a new one...) and it told me I was still squarely where I was last time I checked like two weeks ago. I'm not surprised. To make matters all worse, here comes Christmas.

Actually, this Christmas won't even be so bad. I think perhaps Santa gifted me with the best possible way to do the least amount of holiday dinner damage: Our family will be going to Orlando to spend the weekend there.

See, usually we celebrate on the 24th with a ginormous family dinner followed by waiting for midnight to open gifts. And by "waiting for midnight" I obviously mean "nibbling on every snack available in order to pass the time more quickly."

Christmas is bad.

But! Since we'll be out of town, Christmas dinner will be downgraded from ginormous to simply big. Also, snacking will be limited as no one wants to pack the amount of food we usually consume. See? It's a Christmas miracle.

Can you all just call me after the New Year too? I'm pretty sure that's what the Ethiopians do, anyways.

Little Tiny Bret Says: Even Ethiopians feast at Christmas.  The roast the bones of the famine dead loved ones that died the previous month.  For desert they have the almost dead.

The Wife Says: We're going to hell for this.  Well, maybe just Bret. The rest of us will get time in purgatory or something.

 Lorraine Says: I'm pretty sure we'll all be skinny in hell. Or maybe hell is never eating but still being fat.

Noooooooooo...!!

Shrinkage

Lorraine Says: This has been one of my best weeks since this all started. I'm doing well about eating before I'm dying, I'm still drinking lots of water, and my stomach has apparently shrunk - it takes a lot less to make me full than it did before.

I know, I know. I'm amazing. But just so I don't give you all inferiority complexes, I'll just tell you about how flippin' cold it's been lately. And by cold I mean 30's-40's-50's. This to me is torture. I'm not prepared for the cold. I don't want to be prepared for the cold. I am not amused by this dip in temperatures.

It's like I'm cold blooded. Something about the cooler temps makes me want to go into a lizard-coma. Getting out of bed is a mission. Getting out of the house is a bigger mission. Staying active at all? Mission impossible.

So while with each passing weeks I'm gaining significant ground in my quest to not eat like a third grader, I have yet to get my proposed active lifestyle off the ground.

Also, my scale is totally defective. I have no idea where I actually stand with weight so until I buy a new one (today at lunch? Maybe.) we'll be happy to cheer my new eating habits on. Not too loudly, though. I'll probably be napping.


Mini-Sausage Bret Says: Who cares about your stomach.  Did anything else shrink?


Lorraine Says: Aaaand now my mind is off with me to the land of your shrunken sausage.

Size matters, guys. Size totally matters.


Lily Says: It even matters with imaginary girlfriends.


The Wife Says: If Bret shows you "proof" of his girlfriend, don't believe him.
http://www.nerdist.com/2010/12/theres-an-app-for-reminding-you-that-your-life-didnt-go-the-way-youd-hoped/

I Either Get To Be Social or Skinny

Lorraine Says: It seems I've returned to some sort of normally scheduled programming. AKA, I've finally forgotten all the turkey I ate, and hopefully after a very good week, so has my body.

I say hopefully because I still don't want to get on the scale. I'm holding out hope for next week, but for now, I can only report that no boxes of zebra cakes were devoured in the making of this post. VICTORY.

Anyways, it's time for my difficulty of the week. Yeah, yeah, I mostly use these posts to complain about diets but whatever. It's sort of the point. Plus, despite an otherwise good week, I thought of something as typed this up and my stomach began growling at me angrily.

I'd like to say that I'm an emotional eater, but that's not entirely true. I mean, if I'm sad or bored or whatnot, I'll go for chocolate (duh) but not really food, food. I rarely crave things. I sometimes forget to eat. I only eat when I'm hungry.

Now, that might seem like an okay thing, but I'm talking about only eating when I'm really, really hungry. I just don't have a thing for food, so it isn't until my stomach is burning and grumbling that I think, "you know what? I should eat." Then, at that point, get me around food and I'm just gonna stuff my face.

I eat faster than my brain can process it all and tell my stomach it isn't ravenous anymore. I eat past the point of full. I'm not really an expert, but something tells me this is doing it wrong.

Since the start of this diet, I've been trying to correct this behavior - to eat because I have to and not because I want to. I've tried to put myself on a schedule.

I'll be honest that it hasn't always worked. Sometimes I still forget to eat. Like last night's dinner. At this point, the last time I ate anything at all was 24 hours ago.

I'll end this post now, and try not to eat a small island. Or all the Ethiopians. Or Bret's sausage.

I don't think I'll ever be THAT hungry.


Wifey-Poo Says: I know what you mean.  I have to force myself to eat breakfast every morning (or try to at least).  Otherwise I don't eat until my sugar drops so low my head hurts and my hands are shaking. 

And then I eat everything in the house.

A schedule is a good idea, because then you'll start to recognize your body's signals easier when you get hungry.  It sounds kinda lame, but would it help if you set alarms on your phone or something?

Congrats on the no full boxes of zebra cakes!


The Bear Monk Says: I've been pretty successful at adhering to a schedule myself.  It's all about being in a place and getting into a habit.  First thing I do when I get to work is fix myself oatmeal and a coffee.  At 11 I go to lunch and at 2-3 I have a 100 calorie pack of popcorn.  After that we just have dinner after the gym.

I always find it helpful to associate 1 action with another to help keep me on track.

Having said that...my eating schedule on the weekend is completely fucked.  I rarely wake up early enough for a normal breakfast and if I do I'm likely gaming while the Wife is sleeping in.  And then there's the urge to go out.  The Wife is cooped up the whole week at the house while I'm at work so she wants to go out and as we all know it's a real bitch to eat right at a restaurant.  Especially here in San Antonio. 

It's a love hate relationship I have with this city.


Lorraine Says: I feel better knowing I'm not the only one who has to be mindful about an eating schedule. I suppose this means I should clear out all my "eat chocolate now" alarms out of the phone and add in "eat oatmeal, BOOOO" alarms. Hmmph.

Also, the eating out thing is big with me. Catching up with my best friends happens over dinner. Conversations with co-workers happen over lunch. Dates happen over dinner.

Do I have to chose between being social or being skinny?


Wifey Says: This is kinda the million dollar question isn't it? I guess it's just a matter of making difficult choices about what to order and maybe beinng more creative when it comes to the social stuff.  No easy answer, I'm afraid.


Lorraine Says: Unless you are Bret and don't have a social life. Why is he fat again?


Wifey Says: Don't know where this image came from, but I just pictured Bret on a date with a woman made of sausage.
Could that be the answer?


Bear Says: Oh and lets think about eating Bret's sausage for 1 second, there's no way in hell anything that small would be satisfying anyway.


Small Sausage Bret: Wow, I got a lot of press for a post I hadn't even written in.

Seriously though Lor, it seems like if your emotions get the best of you and ends up causing you to stuff your face with anything you can find, then the only possible solution is for you to get a boyfriend.  Then you can stuff your face whenever you want, but it will be a low calorie workout instead.  Of course, to be fair to him you should find someone that already suffers from Herpes so they don't get a nasty surprise in the future.  Oh, and they should be blind. 


Lorraine Says: If by "press" you mean, "let's all point and laugh at Bret the sausage lover when he isn't around" then yes! What a whole lot of press!

And if by if by the rest of that you mean "I hit on Lorraine and have propositioned her multiple times and may have even tried to rape her but she keeps turning me down and/or running for her life so now I must make fun of her and call her easy and ugly and herpes infected," then I see where you are going.

And to that I say: the answer is still no Bret. As Bear said, not a very satisfying sausage. And Bear knows his sausage.

Guilt, Pork and What Bret Needs More

Lorraine Says: Stinky Fish Bret made a comment yesterday about this all turning into a celebration of our flab. I don't think so, but as I sat here today, wondering what to write that wouldn't essentially be Bear and Lily's failure posts combined, I sort of saw his point.

I ate a lot on Thanksgiving. And I didn't even set out to eat a lot. I thought I would be okay just taking tiny portions of all the different things I wanted to eat. I wasn't okay. I couldn't even pack any leftover when all was said and done because just the sight of food made me want to barf.

The next day, I was still pretty turned off by food so I didn't eat anything, until dinner time. By then, I had gotten so hungry, that I ate my face off again.

So, here's the trouble: falling back into the pattern I'd set up for myself. I've started again, lots of water, better foods, less chocolate, etc, but I still feel the disappointment of Thanksgiving hovering around me.

Like I said yesterday, I'm refusing to get on a scale. So, what's the positive in all this? GUILT.

I feel bad when I don't eat like I should. I feel bad when there is no progress. For a girl who would openly eat Hershey Almond bars for breakfast in front of her co-workers, guilt certainly is a different feeling.


Lily says: Guilt is such a Catholic thing. *prays a rosary*

And I wasn't a fail. I mean. I didn't eat the pork. But I'm sure Bret ate enough pork for all of us.

The Wife Says: I think it's a Southern thing, too. Which is especially messed up in a culture that forces you to eat ALL THE TIME.

Lorraine Says: Well, I'm not Catholic. And I do live in south Florida but calling this the south is pretty wrong. Guys, I think it's just good old fashioned, "hey maybe eating an entire box of zebra cakes isn't good for me" guilt.

PARTY!

Anyone have a single zebra cake?


Lily Says: I bought a twinkie so I could throw it at this kid in my Spanish class. He didn't go. So you want that?

Wifey Says: I think we all have to take charge of the guilt thing. When I start feeling guilty about my eating habits, that's when I'm on the road to throwing in the towel. "I'm never going to change" etc.
We're having to unlearn years of self-imposed bad behavior (although it sounds like our backgrounds didn't help any). ANY step is a step in the right direction.

Lorraine Says: Lily offers me a twinkie and Wife offers me magical words of wisdom. THAT, ladies and gents, is why Blogging Blobs is amazing.

Lily Says:  I offer treats because I care.

The Great Tickler of Women and Fish Bret Says: While sitting down and reading today's thoughts I decided to have a piece of chocolate.  This week has been a complete disaster, but I was watching Good Morning America and they had some expert in something who gave out millions of pieces of advice.  The main one was "For the week of Thanksgiving and week and a half around Christmas, quit the diet.  You are going to do it anyway, so it's not worth the guilt of failing."

Thus my diet starts anew tomorrow, runs for a few weeks, and then the period of gluttony takes over again.

I just can't take all of the guilt that I am feeling for this week.  Maybe Lor can, because she has endured and gotten used to a lifetime of failures.  Maybe Lily can, because she is able to replace pork with getting porked repeatedly, but I just can't do it.  So I'm going to have another piece of chocolate.


Lily Says: I call it CARDIO, not "getting porked". Duhhhh! Also, eat some Chick Fil-A like a man.


The Bear Monk Says: We're getting kind of deep into this aren't we?  Guilt can really do a number on us all.  We feel guilty about over eating and as most of us are likely emotionally eaters, we will in turn eat to ease our guilt.  And so the cycle continues.

I'm with you on this whole take a week off thing Bret, but that shouldn't mean that we cave in to gorging ourselves on whatever we'd like.


The Fishiest of all that Fish Says: I don't understand Bear, my entire diet philosophy has been to NOT gorge myself whenever I'd like.  Thus taking a week off means that I will literally be stealing candy from babies.

I think the important thing is to not quit exercising.  I say this in a week in which I all but quit exercising. 


Lily Says: So you're going to quit exercising next week?

Blah Blah Blah Fish Says:  Actually I just need to make sure I DO exercise.  Work has been so busy that I skipped my usual lunchtime walk...and then still worked an extra half an hour at the end of the day.  730-630 without a break?  That's how I live!


Lorraine Says: So basically you work all day with no breaks, have an imaginary girlfriend, occasionally tickle ovaries and love your Grandfather's sausage?

Have another piece of chocolate Bret.

You know, I'm feeling better already.


Lily Says: Lor, can I have that twinkie back? I think Bret needs it more.

After Thanksgiving. Honest.

Lorraine Says: To sum up my week: FAIL.

 

There is no lying to you, to the diet gods, to the Ethiopians or to my scale who remained unmoved and might have even rolled its eyes at me.

 

This week was a diet fail. I wasn't even trying. Yeah, yeah, two or so weeks in and I sort of gave up. I have a Play-doh will and dandelion self-control. I've been surrounded by friends and family this past week and all anyone wants to do is flippin' eat. It's not even Thanksgiving yet and I'm in charge of making all the dessert. Do you see where I'm going with this?

 

Anyways, I did at least learn a lesson from my fall from diet victory this week: I need to get back to the gym. Just cutting out zebra cakes isn't going to help me reach my goal. Plus, I obviously haven't cut zebra cakes, I just started buying the Christmas tree ones. I have the least amount of weight to lose and really a lot of it is tightening up the flab. The gym will be my best friend.

 

After Thanksgiving.


Lily Says: For some reason, I anticipate Bret or whatever his new name is, making this about him. *Sits and waits*

Are you making homemade zebra cakes for dessert? Or are you going to just place unwrapped zebra cakes on a tray?


Lorraine Says: I wish that would fly! Unfortunately, the stuff I'll be baking will be much, much worse than zebra cakes.


Tricky Fish Says: Well thank you for that intro lily, I just read it after my 45+ minute walk with my girlfriend.  During this walk I also did not eat any zebra cakes.  Of course that's enough about me.

Lor, don't think of your week as a fail.  Think of it as a win.  You win the most pathetic award.  You write with 4 different people that are way larger than you, and yet you are the worst at controlling your eating habits.  That's really something.

Just think, as you get older and your metabolism gets worse and you start getting really big you can get on disability and make the government deliver chocolate to your house for FREE.

I see a bright future for you.  Bright in the sense that you will one day fly in an airplane that cannot support your mass and the ensuing wreckage will light up the night sky.  I hear fat is very flammable.

Happy Thanksgiving.  I hope you eat a thigh bigger than your own. 

Home Is Where The Food Is

Lorraine Says: In some ways, I think that quitting food is quite like quitting smoking.

Not that I would really know, seeing as how I've never been a smoker, but I have heard it said that half the battle is overcoming the habit. WORD.

To explain better, there's a little bit that you should know about me. If Bret's racism wasn't a big enough clue, I'm brown. More specifically both of my parents are Dominican. My mother is one of 17 total children (that includes half brothers and sisters) and my father is one of 22 (and that includes your mom. Seriously. That family tree is so fucked, I wouldn't doubt it.)

Essentially: big Dominican family. That said, my mother raised me on two rules about food:

1.) Never, ever, ever ask for food at other people's houses. It doesn't matter if you are starving. It doesn't matter if this food is for children in Africa. It doesn't matter if it is a stranger or your aunt, don't fudgin' do it.

2.) If food is offered to you, politely decline once. If they insist, eat it. It doesn't matter if you aren't hungry. It doesn't matter if you don't like it. It doesn't matter if you are allergic to it. Suck it up, and eat it.

To say that food is a big part of our family dealings would be an understatement. We do everything to food. We celebrate everything with food. For every person that steps across the threshold of our house, another pot of coffee is made.

I thought about this on Sunday night as I laughed with my cousins about our other cousin who has become rather unfortunate looking since becoming pregnant. I laughed and laughed into my giant cup of coffee. Mid-sip, I thought, FUDGE, I'm supposed to be quitting coffee.

It hadn't even registered up until that point. It was habit: people are here, pour me some coffee. You offered me a slice of something? Eat it. Bored at work? Reach for the chocolate. These are the things I've been fighting against.

And it isn't easy at all.

Despite that, however, I've did good-ish! Not Bear-Grease-Coma-good (as is evidenced by my presence on this blog. Seriously. Where the hell are Bear and Mrs. Bear?) but actually good. 

Failures:
-Two cups of coffee. A frozen thingy with Rox before we went shopping Saturday and the gossip coffee on Sunday night.
- I had chocolate 4 days out of this past week instead of 3 days. Which is still pretty amazing if you ask me.

Success:
- I lost three pounds.

Yes, BRET. That is lost as in lose, as in you can suck a fat one because I still hate you for nitpicking on that. Stupid head.

Lily, your one pound looks all lonely. Might want to step up your game. Or, you know, drink your sorrows away.

--------------------------------------------

Bret Says: Quitting food is harder than quitting smoking.  You HAVE to eat to survive.  Going Cold Turkey makes you look like a holocaust survivor.  Thus with eating, multiple times a day you have to make a smart decision, and that's hard.

And let's not even get into the fact that you have to exercise to do this right.

Smokers are pussies.  They have two choices.  Yes or No.  Yes is always wrong, and No is always right.

That's right, 2 choices.  Whereas for we fat people, Ben and Jerry's has well over 32,000 flavors, of which at least 17 include tobacco, so really it's like we have to quit smoking as well.

And while I am honestly proud of you and your 3 pounds loosed, I must say that in reality you don't stand a chance.  From your own words:

"Mid-sip, I thought, FUDGE, I'm supposed to be quitting coffee."

Yup, even when you are profane it involves chocolate.  Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe it's a crude allusion to gay sex.  For your diet's sake, let's hope that's it.


Bear Says: Sorry all...I've had a really busy week here at the office.  I'm currently stuck between 2 teams on my project and trying to meet the standards for both is proving to be time consuming.

Lor!  3 pounds is fudging awesome!!  I mean I can't fudging believe that you've lost that much fudging weight in a fudging week.

I mean I'm super fudging impressed.  And fudge that fudger Bret.  He's just a fudging motherfudger.  Fudge him!!

BROWNIE!!


Lor Says: It's okay Bear. We know that you often play for two teams and that you are consumed by trying to please them both. See what I did there?

Bret, remember when I said "moist" and it made you all happy in the pants, or something? That's what Ben and Jerry's just did for me. I'll skip the tobacco flavors though, because imagine having to quit smoking AND food. It would never happen. Well, just look at Lily; she's trying to quit drinking and eating and well... "her scale is broken."

I didn't loose pounds. I don't know why, but I always relate pounds to you Bret. And to loose your pounds... EW. Dammit why do these things always revert back to terrible mental images.


Lily Says: I feel that this is going to be Bret going on a racist rant again.... feel free to use that tag, Lor.

Yes. Congrats on the 3 lbs. My one pound may be lonely... but it's gone and pretty sure it has found it's way to Bret.


The Wife Says: Sorry I went MIA yesterday guys.  My white guilt had me so horrified by Bret's racism that I couldn't take part (plus meeting, doctors visits, etc.).

Lor, I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not as pasty white as I thought I was.  Maybe there's some brown blood in my family somewhere, because I can totally relate to your mother's rules. 

A third rule of my mom's was always offer your guests something to eat (the less healthy the better), so I also have some enabling in my genes, too.  TBM has a healthy dose of that, too, though.  He just sent me an e-mail with a recipe for Sopapilla Cheesecake.

God, this is going to be a tough week.


Lorraine Says: Lily, I think we should all wish our lost pounds on Bret.

Wife, Bear is obviously sabotaging you. 3 Muskateers tortillas, Joseph's Bakery, Cheesecake recipes and.. well.. you can admit it: Lackluster sex lately, right? Just really lazy, non-calorie burning sex.

It's a conspiracy, Wife.

Also, offering your guests a diabetic coma is a must for my family as well.


Bret Says: I'm not sure if this has already posted or not, but i'll try to throw this in anyway...did anyone notice that Bear said he was "stuck between two teams at the office?"  Now I understand why Bear needs to lose weight...

Also, if you think I'm racist he called Lor a "brownie."  I don't mind Hispanics.  I think they should get the same opportunities as the rest of us, but not really in the same vicinity.  I call it "seperate but equal."


Lor Says: "Seperate but equal" is what I call your multiple servings at dinner.

And The Default Winner Is Me

Lorraine Says: "I saw you were doing that blob thing and I thought, 'Why the hell is she doing that?' And then I realized that you were just gonna write about not dieting, right?"

That priceless gem of a quote comes from my best friend (and obviously my number one supporter) Roxanne.

No one believes in me. Okay, fine sure, that might have come after Rox climbed in my car and found an empty box of zebra cakes hiding underneath the passenger side, but all I'm asking for is a little support.

He forgot to buckle up.

Why? Because no matter what anyone on this blog says, I win this week by default. It's no secret that Halloween is probably my least favorite holiday. Maybe not as bad as Earth Day. Okay, probably as bad as Earth Day because that's easy to ignore but Halloween is just all in yo' grill.

So while my fluffy, spirited pals were off chomping on fun sized packages of candy they were supposed to be giving to little children (and while Lily was drunk somewhere), I was straight ignoring the holiday, and thus I win. Please keep that in mind as I update you on the rest of my week.

TBM made a comment in yesterday's post about wanting to find out my weakness. Well, fuckin' DUH, TBM. Where the hell have you been? CHOCOLATE.

We started this little venture officially on Friday and that was the day I ate my way through the zebra cakes box. FAIL.

The next day, feeling the guilt heavy on me, I decided that I was going to stick to my guns and do productive ish like eat food and not chocolate but the damn Universe had other plans for me: I was sick all weekend. So while I did manage an IHOP trip  Saturday morning and a few cups of coffee, my desire to eat (along with my will to live) were pretty non-existent as I slept most of the weekend and prayed to baby Jesus that I would better soon.

I'll call that an overall health fail and a dieting WIN. Hey, isn't disease part of the Ethiopian diet? Then I'm doing it right.

Monday, I was feeling tons better and began trying to put myself on a normal people eating schedule. I've done breakfast every morning this week! Not even the fun kids cereal like Count Chocula or Cocoa Puffs: boring stuff with "bran" and "almonds" in the name.

I've not eaten any fast food since this has started, but like I said, food is not really a big deal. I've had small sandwiches or salads and only water to drink.

The End.

Oh. What? You want to know about my chocolate intake? Sigh.

Monday was fine. I went the whole day without any.
Tuesday though, I bought a Kit Kat bar and I housed it. Plus they brought in warm and gooey chocolate chip cookies at my job and I had one of those too.

To make up for it though, I went to the gym! (No matter how much I convince myself that that all balances out, I keep feeling like I'm doing it wrong.)

So, after this morning's weigh-in I'm still at 139. Guess what? No weight gained is a victory indeed.

On Tuesday, I also told my mother I was going to start a diet.

"Ay, si? Again? And are you finally going back to school too? Is there a man outside waiting that you are going to introduce me to? Grandkids?"

Gee, thanks mom.

Someone pass me a brownie. I'll skip breakfast tomorrow as a trade-off. (No seriously, does that work? Calorie swapping? I feel like it should work. I'll trade you all of my protein for the day for one bag of M&Ms.)

Goals for the next week:
- Eliminate all beverages except for water, including coffee.
- Still no fast food.
- Limit my chocolate intake to only 3 days per week. (STFU. I have to start somewhere.)
- Gym at least 3 times in the week.

Alright you over-sized jerk-faces: have at it.

------------------------------------

Lily Says: I seriously seriously don't think you'll stick to the "chocolate no more than 3x a week..." I believe you stole my taffy apple?

However, I do believe staying even is neither win or fail. Slightly more win than fail... considering the IHOP. 

But there's two more days in the week... and who knows, maybe this week Bret didn't single handedly put the Chik fil a's owner kids, grandkids and greatgrandkids through college (at like Harvard ... or something equally as expensive). 

Also... no coffee? I think the first to die is you. Because, coffee is like our blood. NEEDS IT TO LIVE, yo.

Witless Says: I would think there's protein somewhere in a zebra cake.  I mean, it's got zebra in the name.

Disease is definitely part of the Ethiopian diet plan. One of the three pillars in fact: disease, famine, and political unrest.  It's election season, so I'd say you've got two of the three out of the way!

Hey, Lil, last I remember, taffy wasn't chocolate so it's fair game. Plus it's got fruit in it.

But despite that healthy choice, poor Lor will most assuredly be the first to die.  No coffee? Just start drinking it extra strong and black. I'm pretty sure that caffeine's a good substitute for exercise.  I think I heard Oprah say that, so it's got to be the truth.

TBM Says: Shame on me...I guess I should have realized you are what you eat. Chocolate lady eats chocolate...no big surprises there. Perhaps as you're hoovering your Kit Kats you can choke down a few fiber pills to even things out...or at least pass the calories in a timely manner. Oh and I'm sure those Zebra cakes are rife with protein...much like girl scout cookies. Speaking of girl scout cookies isn't that time of year fast approaching? I bet you LOVE those thin mints. Chocolate and mint...saves you the step of brushing your teeth in the morning I bet.

But seriously...3 times a week? I'll be surprised if you can do 3 times a day.

Perhaps breast reduction is the way to go for you? After that post you did on Dan's blog I'd say that would be the first source of weight to deal with. After all, they're always getting in the way, right?

Can you see my desperation? I'm trying to talk a busty woman out of her bust. It's a sad day for all of mankind.

And just so we're clear...breaking even on weigh in day is like coming in second place. It just makes you the first loser.

Lorraine Says: WHAT THE HELL? I thought we voted Lily as most likely to die first, and suddenly you're all turning on me? For coffee and chocolate vs. gin and tonic? You fickle, fickle bunch. Lily will die first, Bret will outlive us all. It'll be him and cockroaches. 

Wife, are you trying to ruin zebra cakes for me? I want my zebra cakes to be all artifical flavoring and sugar not protein and zebra meat. Seriously, ew. Also, I see what you're doing by passing along Oprah advice: YOU WANT ME TO LOOK LIKE OPRAH? That's the meanest thing that's happened on this blog yet.

TBM, shame on you indeed. First for failing to realize how essential chocolate is to my life and secondly for trying to pass off your shitty diet on me. 

Is it seriously girl scout cookie time, though? No, c'mon. Seriously? 

And just so you guys know, and I fully intend on exploring this in a later post, nothing should substitute brushing your teeth in the morning. And more importantly, burshing your teeth and Listerine are a dieter's best friends. No one wants to each anything after a mouthful of Listerine. You're welcome.

Aaaaand it always goes back to the boobs. Dammit people, it always goes back to the boobs!

Lily Says: Speak the troof!!! Brush your teefers and you won't want to eat anything after that. A good way to stay on the Ethiopian Diet.

But really... I won't die. Skinny Bitch cocktails yay! I'm back in the game.

Bret Says: It appears as though Lor's weight loss plan is simple:

1.Eat chocolate
2.Eat more chocolate
3.Become diabetic
4.Get leg amputated.

The average leg weighs about 15 pounds, however with her thighs I'm sure she'll lose 35-40.  It's brilliant.

Lorraine Says: And now it's time to ask yourselves what exactly Bret knows about my thighs...


And the saga continues...