You know, that overused Mark Twain quote

Slightly Disappointing Says...

I'm not dead, but I was probably closer to dead than most of you realized.

I went on vacation back in late March.  This won't surprise any normal readers but because I went on vacation, Blogging Blobs came to an absolute halt.

It didn't get any better when I got back.

Actually, "back" was the problem.  I got a staph infection on my back, and well, two surgeries later I'm still not completely recovered.  IT'S BEEN ALMOST 3 MONTHS.

I won't bore you with the details, mostly because I have a gigantoloctocus post going up over on my other site, but I will tell you how this pertains to dieting.

It was kinda hard to diet.

First of all, I couldn't exercise.  My sum total of actions that I was able to do over this amount of time was as follows:

1.Sit in chair
2.Eat food
3.Hand off bed pan

Even as I got better and was able to stumble around it was hard for me to lift my arms up to what I like to call "cooking food on stove" height.  It was miraculously easy, however, to receive food through windows.  Thank God I was born in these times.

I ate fast food non stop.  There were multiple times when I fell asleep eating fast food. I once saw a poll that 50% of men would take 10 years off of their life if they were woken up every morning with a blow job.  Well, let me tell you, those men never even thought of the pleasure of waking up with a half eaten double cheeseburger resting on their bulging stomach.  That's what Heaven is like.

My weight went up, and up, and up.  I know this because I had doctors appointments every few days, and they would weigh me, and even though they frequently cut things OUT of me, I was still able to put more INTO me.  This was until I got up to 281, and decided enough was enough.

That was about 3 weeks ago, when I started eating healthier because I felt like crap, and about 2 1/2 weeks ago I started exercising.  Exercising like a mofo.  And you know mofo's are committed champions of healthy living.

The result?  I'm now at 265.  And 265 means another picture.

I know the other blobs are out there.  So far as I can tell Lily continues to make commitments she can't keep, Lorraine continues to be some sort of raging Blogspot whore writing in about 95 different blogs because she thinks that Internet friends are real friends, or something like that.  The Bears continue to be depressed at their infertility by eating loads of chicken wings.  At least, this is how I imagine all of them to be.

Thus, I won't e-mail this to them, but they are free to edit/write in the comments.  They won't.  They are all failures.  If you have been reading from the beginning, you already knew this to be the case.

Anyway, 265...

Still trying to wear the same shirt.  Still don't think I ever actually look different.  This is depressing.  I'm going to go eat pizza.

I'll see you again.  I promise.

Oh!  I forgot!  I'm on a new site called http://www.myfitnesspal.com/  I realize those of you with smart phones probably have a better stuff, however this one is pretty good for tracking food/exercise.  There is also a bit of social networking.  If you are on this site, friend me.  I am "Bretsyboo."  You'll get daily updates like "Bretsyboo tried to run today"  and "Bretsyboo lost 75 calories masturbating for 2 minutes."  So it's a lot of fun, and also, 75 calories can add up.  If you know what I mean...

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.

The Cleanse

Lily Says: Last week, I was on spring break and decided it would be an awesome time to do a full body cleanse.

I went over to GNC and bought the least intensive looking box. I bought this on a Thursday... I started it on Friday.

Almost immediately after taking the first little packet of pills and some "probiotic" dust, I had to go empty out everything extra I've been carrying around. Perfect. At least I was at home. Came out feeling 5 pounds lighter.

The problem was that you had to do this routine twice a day. And Friday nights are Cardio nights. And problems ensued. I didn't really feel any urgency in leading up to cardio. I just kept burping alot, I do this all the time anyway so I didn't really think much of it. But as we kept going, I started feeling like I needed to go AT THAT MOMENT. I couldn't just get up and leave. I'm like a teenage boy, and have no sense of priority when I have to chose what to do first: sex, or everything else. Obviously, I chose sex.

As much as I wanted to just go to the bathroom, I couldn't. And it just kept going...

This was super hard, I was trying to enjoy the sex that was going on, but I couldn't because I started getting a horrible pain in my stomach and what I believe to be every other organ in my body. So it came down to the decision of whether I should fake an orgasm or not just to go to the bathroom.

I weighed the pros and cons of this... I had like a million cons, and only one pro.

I couldn't take the pain anymore, because for some reason, my boyfriend decided to lay directly on top of me when he was finishing... which I thought was strange. Because of that, I decided to fake it. I haven't faked it since ... a long time ago. And because I always go pee after we're done, it didn't seem suspicious.

Well, it was a waste of a fake orgasm. Because I didn't even have to empty my bowels when I went to the bathroom. I peed and farted. And not even a loud, cool smelly one. A stupid little girly one.

What. The. Fuck?!

Well, that was the same story for the rest of the seven days of the cleanse. Was it worth it? Fuck yes! Six pounds lighter. Would I sacrifice another orgasm for a fart? Yeah, probably.

Lorraine Says: Lily this disturbs all of my female sensibilities. Or something.

Mostly, it's about the grossest story that's ever been told on Blogging Blobs. This even takes into account back when Bret and Bear used to be super fond of telling us "hide the sausage" stories.

No, wait. That was grosser.

At least you know you still have the skill to fake an orgasm? I mean, no woman wants to think she's lost that touch, in case of emergency.

Six pounds though? Six pounds o' poo?
I am both intrigued and scared.

Lily Says: Well, it wasn't just poo. It was also a liver, heart, kidney etc cleanse. So there was lots of pee too.

I like to think that faking an orgasm is a good trait to have.

The good thing is this story wasnt a "sex poo" story.

Bear Says: Faking orgasms so you can fart? That's got to be one of the greatest most disgusting stories I've ever heard.

Where can I get this cleansing thing again? for a 6 pound drop I think I can do without Cardio for a few days.

Lily Says: Answer is: GNC

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.





St. Patrick's Day Let Down

Lily Says: So it's Tuesday again.

And let me tell you about the last two pounds I lost. But I was sad about losing them.

I really wanted to go out drinking on Thursday. Because everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick's Day. My friends and I decided that we were all going to play hookey from school and work and go to this place called the Emerald Loop.

So, I was all ready to get piss drunk.

I went to my first class because it's at some ungodly hour. Then I got a call from my friend saying she couldn't get out of work.

And then another call saying my other friend had a test in one of her law school classes.

And my other friend saying she felt like crap.

Fine whatever. But then I started feeling like crap too. Friend number 3 and I had gone out for ice cream the night before. I think we both got sick from this ice cream place *cough*baskin*robins*cough*.

Instead of drinking booze and eating corn beef hash, I was puking. I wouldn't have minded gaining 2 lbs, but apparently the Weight Loss Gods don't want me to have fun

Bret Says: Jesus Christ Lily, With how much you puke I would be almost certain that you are officially bulimic, except that bulimic people are supposed to be skinny.

I'm not saying this is a bad thing.  Puke your way to better cardio.  Especially when your teeth fall out.  It's not much for the looks department, but in other areas?  Mmmmmhmmmm.

Bret’s Addendum: oh, and as an aside:

BEAAAAAR BEAAAAAAAR, DO YOU STILL LIVE BEAR?????

Lor Says: No, seriously Lily, you puke a lot. Suddenly, that pink stain on your white shirt, way back from one of the first posts, makes so much sense. Apparently you have a hard time keeping things down or in your mouth. 

Lor’s Addendum: And my aside: BEAR WHERE ARE YOU? Also, I love that Wife comes around but never mentions Bear. She's all, "Oh I'm alive, la la la, nothing to see here."

I think Wife killed Bear. And then maybe ate him. EW. 

Wife says: Poor toothless Lily.  Not sure how you'll be able to eat empanadas now. :(

And, Bear's totally still alive...yeah, alive.  And not stuffed and mounted in the basement.  Nope not at all. *whistles and looks at ceiling*

Bret Says: I thought he was supposed to stuff and mount you?  You are totally doing it wrong.

Lily says:  Re: pic = not puke. (it’s kool-aid or red margarita mix… don’t remember it was like four years ago).

I suspect food poisoning from ice cream. Like really. And it was lots of puke. I spent most of thursday and Friday hanging out with the porcelain throne. 

PS I also have all of my teeth. 

Lazarus Bear Says: Much to the dismay of the group I am indeed still alive. Work's been really kicking my ass these last couple weeks and we've got a major release coming up next month which means work work and more work. 

PS - The stuffing and mounting in our house is totally my job.

There are some sick people out there

Witless Exposition says:

See! I'm alive, I promise!

The last couple of weeks have been surprisingly good. I've only put on a pound, and I count that as success. We've been playing tour guide this week for some friends from college. So that means we haven't made it to the gym and have eaten out for EVERY meal.

But, we've also walked all across the city, visiting what feels like every historical landmark for miles. I'm not overstating it to say we probably walked 5 miles each day.

Did I mention we ate every horrible for you but oh so yummy Mexican pastry known to man (sweet potato empanadas...mmmm)?

So even though I'm up a pound, I'm really glad that's all it is. And the crazy thing is, I'm actually kinda looking forward to going back to the gym!

Lily says:
Camote!  I love those little empanadas. Crap. Now I want like 1,000,000 of them. Fuck. I'm going to gain 1,000,001 pounds. Thanks, wife.

Just for you empanada ignorant people

Fishy Guy says:
What sick individual steals a dead girl's ID and blogs about dieting as though they are her?  This world is wrong.

 

Witless Exposition says:

Apparently it's the sick type of person that then forgets to post until three days later. 

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.