Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Cheese Is My Kryptonite

202 lbs. Oh, fuck that noise!

Frustration is one emotion that ran through my mind as I saw that hideous 202 on the scale this morning. Disappointment, anger, betrayal and several other shades of the negative emotion rainbow also surfaced at once. “Wow, she’s really pissed.” No, Buckwheat: I am articulate and educated, therefore I have a greater vocabulary than Sarah Palin (and by the way, “refudiate” was not somebody making up a word. “Refudiate” was a swing and a miss for a charismatic ignoramus groping for “repudiate”, coming up short and doing a lame-ass verbal tap dance to cover. Sort of “I meant to do that.” Yeah, right: I’m calling moose shit, Sarah). Pissed off is the emotion equivalent of irritated, annoyed and vexed with a possibility of turning into cranky (whereas irritation and annoyance are fleeting emotions, crankiness is long-term). Nay, good people, we’re going to kick it up a notch to full-on grief and rage, emphasis on the rage.
I have been faithful to the rules for the HCG protocol. I got all oil/cream based cosmetics out of my life. I switched to crystal deodorant (Having no faith in it but ultimately being surprised at its efficacy) and Jason Co Q-10 toothpaste (no artificial sweeteners). I have not had makeup on my face since January. I gorged myself for two days when I started the drops. I had my two meals per day with 100 grams of protein, 1 small approved fruit, 6 bloody Blue Diamond Nut Thins and 2 cups of an approved vegetable. I drank enough water every day to grow oranges in Death Valley (still do). For the past 3 weeks, since I’ve stopped the drops, I have faithfully, FAITHFULLY avoided all sugar in every variety and any and all starch. I gave away 2 bottles of Glenmorangie single malt Scotch because it wasn’t allowed.  I carefully came up with a plan to make the transition from the very strict parameters which I had obeyed to healthy NORMAL calorie intake and exercise. I have resisted every single fucking opportunity to go off the rails by telling myself there was a reward to be seen. I have seen the overnight gain and gotten rid of it with a Steak Day. I know I’d have to have eaten like a sumo about to run a marathon for that gain to be more than fluid retention.
Where am I going wrong? It’s not my period because, Gang, the baby factory is, in fact, shutting down. I got a preliminary “your ass is ours now” email from AARP. I was below maximum levels for fat and sodium, which I thought were the culprits. I have been exercising (walking). And yet, after getting back below the 200 mark the other day, we’re back above.
I had a salad at Red Robin yesterday that was extremely grilled chicken, no croutons, no side piece of bread, small amout of olive oil and balsamic vinegar (maybe the sugar in the balsamic did it?) and had some shredded cheese.  That’s got to be it: cheese really is my kryptonite. It has to be the cheese.
“It’s overnight, it’ll go as quickly as it came, you’ve been down this road before, you’ve still lost 25 lbs. Relax.”
You don’t get it. The 200 lb. mark is a key milestone. Women are not supposed to weigh that much. No, it’s not something anyone’s ever said to me, but women (and I am one) are not supposed to weigh 200 lbs. They’re just not (and that’s in MY head). Getting below that mark and STAYING below that mark confirm that I’m on the right track.
When I first went sub 200 on March 16, I was ecstatic. It was like I had awoken with the winning lottery ticket in my hand. I could not have been happier. I was on track and it was going swimmingly.
Then the upward bounces started. And would come down, but not back to that 199.2. When I hit it again on Saturday, I felt such relief. A life sentence to being unacceptable had been overturned. And I was even more careful with what I ate that day. I walked for nearly an hour. And yet, it bounced up to 200.4 and then 202 this morning.
The excess weight has been a shell. While encasing me in loneliness, it kept potential heartache from others away. For twenty years, I’ve felt like I was watching normal social life go on behind a glass. There are undoubtedly other reasons, but my body shape has been my main focus and reason, largely because I have experienced instances of rejection based on my weight.  It seemed like I had gotten a foot in the door and I was going to be able to join the party (I don’t go many of those. I’d like to go to more). And the upturn shattered my confidence. Something telling me that I would never pass for one of the cool kids; it just wasn’t allowed.
How did I react? Another Steak Day. And Trader Joe’s:  I love you, but your Black Angus Ribeye isn’t the greatest (The George Foreman grill had some issues with the thickness. Next time, trim the fat and butterfly it).
I could hear “What does it matter?” playing over and over in my head today. Today is the last day of the 3 week recovery. I was ready to hunt down something with starch or get a sugary drink. But, I refrained and held to Steak Day.
I did, however, spend too much time on Ebay. I have a plan: drop down to a single digit dress size. Get a professional makeup and hair artist, get a photographer and arrange with a high end jewelry store to take pictures of me in a cocktail dress posing with gems (like you see on the red carpet). Talk to me, Harry Winston, tell me all about it.  I got this idea from a photo spread that Michelle Pfeiffer did with some of the stars of the Smithsonian’s Gem collection. Only, at that time, I figured I was going to be a famous actress/writer/something or other and somebody would make this all happen for me so it would turn up in People. At this point, I have the hair and makeup artist lined up. I thought I was on the road to Morocco and by the end of the year, I’d be ready, looking incredible and this would happen. Well, I may have to have a few things set, but the fabulous gems will be from my own collection.
Quite a few of them. Know a jewelry designer?
So, we’ll see what tomorrow morning holds for the weigh-in. I will say, if it’s not down by at least 1 lb., the Almighty will be getting an earful for all eternity.

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