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.

The One in Which Bret Is Still Getting Treated

Lorraine Says: Dearest readers and fellow bloggers,

What the fuck has happened?

This is putting it lightly. See, after our bestest (maybe one of the only) reader Chloe told me that her mom considers me her favorite blob, I was absolutely tickled pink. Eat that fatties. I'm funny.

But then I came back here to our blobby blog and checked out the dismal offerings of the past few weeks. First we blamed Thanksgiving. Then we blamed pooping out Thanksgiving. Then we blamed Christmas. Then we blamed throwing up Christmas liquor. Then we blamed the New Year and suddenly having lives and busy jobs and blow-up dolls to keep sexually pleased (BRET...).

We've been chock full of excuses. Maybe some of us haven't been trying, and what do you blog about on a dieting blog when you aren't dieting?

Maybe some of us have been kept away by guilt.

Maybe some our hands are busy with handfulls of suasage (BRET...)

Whatever the case may be, it's making me sad. There needs to be a really heavy foot being put down. We need to call the troops together.

In an attempt to do that I bring you "My Favoritest Things We Said, Back When We Were Trying And Writing Posts Consistently:"

"I mean really, while Lily was out getting drunk, Lor was debating the merits of Zebra cakes with Rox, and TBM and I were guzzling sausage: Bret was by himself having a heart attack. Guys, we came this close to actually knowing someone who died in their apartment and wasn't discovered until weeks later." - The Wife

"So let me get this straight:  We have had a diet blog for just over a week now, and the sum total of influence that we have had over one another is that Lily influenced you to melt 3 Musketeers bars over tortillas?" - Bret

"Now, I know nothing about his g-parents, but I do know the town they live in, which might as well be called "Retirement Town for the Infirm and Innocent Elderly Who Love Their Graindkids, Florida." Bret can't control his eating and he blames his grandparents who are feeding him out of the kindness of their hearts (because if I were as cheap as Bret claims they are, and I had a super-sized grandkid, I wouldn't even open the door.)" - Lorraine

"What he didn't tell you about was the two glasses of beer he had last night.  They probably equal a loaf of bread a piece.  He likes his beer dark and rich just like he likes his women...wait, yeah, doesn't quite work here." - The Wife

"Gosh Bear, I still can't figure out why you are fat.  It must be a hormone problem." - Bret

"Putting together that nifty little example you used about gaining weight, plus the fact that you love sausage plus the fact that you gained 16 pounds right at the start of this all, I'd venture to say that you know a thing or two about dropped Kit Kats and taking it from behind. (This would be a good place to insert the definition of "loose," as in, your asshole.)" - Lorraine

"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!!" - TBM

"My one pound may be lonely... but it's gone and pretty sure it has found it's way to Bret. " - Lily

"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.)." - Wife

"'Seperate but equal' is what I call your multiple servings at dinner." - Lor

"In the words of all my ghetto friends... "DAMN BRET, YOU JUST GOT TREATED". - Lily

"Holy Shit...5 pounds?  Did you get a breast amputated?  Did you simply turn down 1 bottle of Vodka?  Hopefully not the first...  Who am I trying to kid?  Hopefully not the second either." - TBM

"Let's get shit straight.... I drink vodka as if it were water. Tequila is reserved for special occasions." - Lily


"I think everyone is in a deep dark pit of shame right now. Or hungover." - The Wife

In conclusion, we need to do better. In further conclusion, this week was a bad week for me.

Ahem.


Bret Says: If you were really going to put only the funniest quotes out there, it would have been like reading my blog.

Lorraine Says: And by "your blog" I think you mean a blog about you and not by you. Seriously, the funniest stuff was making fun of you. I mean, "poor Bret can only tickle?" Genius.

Bret Says:You're fat.

The Wife Says: Uh oh, sounds like someone's girlfriend deflated.

TBM Says: LOL

Lorraine Says: That LOL is exactly why it was hard to find TBM highlights.

TBM Says: I can't help that I'm simply not as witty and cruel as you other craven emotional voltures...

Bret Says: You're a big man to admit that Bear.  A big, fat, grotesque, impotent man.

Sometimes, life just shits on your face and then smears it in...

TBM Says: I've had a pretty healthy week. I've been eating like I should and I've gone to the gym everyday since Thursday (the first day of my membership). but I haven't really seen any real results.

My blood sugar is about the same and I think I've actually gained a pound. I'm not going to bother with the whole "muscle is heavier then fat" argument. It feels like bullshit and likely is. It's like my body doesn't understand what's going on...I workout and it's like "What the fuck are you doing? I was holding on to that fat for winter and shit man..." Well fuck you body...time to be a little lesser.

Anyway...next week we'll be visiting family and I really need to come up with a game plan to keep up the workouts and try not to gorge myself at some of my favorite dives.

I'm thinking that I can probably do some beach jogs to keep the workouts rolling...I'm thinking the dogs might like that as well. I might get a little extra workout just trying to get them to go near the water. And as far as gorging myself...well I promise I'll only have 1 Baked Salmon roll at Sakura and I swear I'll share the Mardi Gras Nachos at Brownstone. Difficult as it may be.

Lily Says: By any chance, was the pound you gained the pound I lost last week?

If so, it was supposed to go to Bret.

The Wife Says: I think both of our bodies are rebelling.  It's starting to get cold outside, natural hibernation time for Bears, and what do we do?

Make them move.

It's no wonder they hate us. (And yes, I noticed I've gained a pound or two since this whole work out things started).

The Mighty Tickler (Bret) Says: My God, and you guys got on me for blaming my family.

Bear, sorry to say, you aren't ACTUALLY a bear.  A nickname does not make it so.  You are a human, as a human, you do not hibernate.

You gained a pound because you are a failure at life, and this "diet" is part of your life.  There is good news though, as a big fat slob you will likely die at a relatively young age, and therefore your constant shortcomings will no longer be a "heavy" load.

Oh, and so far this week I have lost weight.  I just finished a healthy bowl of cream of mushroom soup for lunch, along with my glass of water, and tonight I will be playing softball.

So eat it.  Oh why even say that?  I know you will. 

Failure.  Nom nom nom. Depression. Nom nom nom.  Impotence. Nom nom nom.

PS...Sorry for the late post.  Also, WTF Lorraine?  I'm not good enough to get a response today?

You're doing what to my what???

Witless Exposition says:
I feel I'm in good company with Lil. I lost one pound as well (we can talk about celebratory drinks later). I really haven't done much beside run out of Halloween candy and caught up on housework.

I do feel bad about making fun of Bret now, though, (OK, not really, but I sort of feel bad for not feeling bad...maybe?) because I'm about to do what he's been doing: blame my family.

But at least I'm blaming all of them and not singling them out. I'm blaming genetics. Tomorrow I'm going to an endocrinologist to see if I have PCOS, poly cystic ovarian syndrome.  So I read up on it and guess what the number one symptom is?

Fatassitis.

Yup, I might actually have a gland problem making me fat!!

But where it gets fuzzy is that one of the main things you can do to treat it is to "loose" weight.

Vicious bitch of a cycle.

So while looking at the treatments, I was thinking, "OK, this doesn't sound so bad." But then I got to the last couple of treatments, one of which is OVARIAN DRILLING!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, for the record, I don't want anyone drilling my ovaries, except for Jason Statham...and TBM, or course.

So with that in mind, I joined the fatass gym (aka Planet Fitness) and am going to try and get on the ball. The last thing I want is to not do my part to get better and then have to resort to Ovarian Drilling...

Unless Jason calls that is.

Lorraine says:
Wife, I know all too well what you're going through. I also suspect that I have PCOS, and it's where all my effed-up body problems stem from. And yep, fatassitis certainly is on that list.

I, however, hate doctors. HATE. As much as I love chocolate? That's how much I hate doctors.
Or... let's see... you know how much I hate Bret? I hate doctors just a little less than that.

After a round of the vag doctor sending me to an endocrinologist who sent me back to a vag doctor who decided I needed a super special vag doctor, I took a little break from trying to figure out what was wrong with me. And from all the rape.

I, however, didn't know about ovarian drilling which makes the medical rape seem less daunting. I'll call my doctor tomorrow.

She'll be happy to know, I'm sure, that I'm working on the fattassy part of it already! Complete with a non-support group.

"I have this whole group of people doctor, who mention Zebra Cakes at every turn, who rhyme my name with whore, who are racist against my colors and who wish me no luck at all. It's amazing."

Yup.

Lily says:
Yay! ONE POUND CLUB!

I suspect there some ovary issue in me too... but, much like Lor, I dislike doctors. And why go to a doctor when I can go to a witch doctor and get the evil spirits slapped out of my body with palms?! Right?

Bret says:
Wow, I'm thinking I need to get my vag checked out to see if it's making me fat.

Oh, and if ovarian drilling worked, Lor would be 75 pounds. Ever read one of her blog posts? "So back when I was sleeping with this guy..."

Lorraine says:
I've met you Bret, and the first thing I thought was, "this guy has a vagina."

In fact, soon after returning home from visiting Bret, one of my friends who won't be named asked me if perhaps you played for the all-sausage team and didn't quite know it yet.

Lor: He has a girlfriend. They've been dating for a few years.
Friend: YEAH, that's the not knowing it part...

I know you aren't gay Bret. Maybe only for Bear.

Plus, you totally tried to sleep with me. Have you guys ever noticed how concerned Bret is about who I sleep with? It's because I totally turned his advances down. I knew, even then, that sleeping with Bret wouldn't help my cause as that would've been something akin to ovarian tickling.

Lily says:
In the words of all my ghetto friends... "DAMN BRET, YOU JUST GOT TREATED". But yeah, we should all take a Blogging Blobs field trip to the OB/GYN office place death bed. Lor, W, Bret and me. And then TBM can pick us up and tell us we're all going to be okay.

TBM says:
I am supportive like that.