10 Reasons Not to Publicly Diet

1. People think it’s hilarious to make fun of others on diets. Sometimes they eat sweets in front of you while mocking an orgasmic good time.

2. You can’t eat any of the sweets on the community table left there daily to sabotage you.When your desk is directly across from said table of fatness, people who know you’re dieting still put carb-loaded goodness there and walk away smirking, shoving doughnuts greedily down their pie hole.

3. You have to exercise on a regular basis or feel like a loserslug doomed to be PHAT forever, thinking about all the ways you’ve failed in life, like the time you peed your pants in kindergarten.

4. Even beer calories count — nearly ruining the fun of drinking.

5. Other, less PHAT people, use your weight as a measure of their own bodies and feel better about themselves. To hell with them.

6. Everyone has an opinion on weight loss and they want to tell you about it. Every idea you hear contradicts the one you heard before. It is a huge time suck.

7. You must constantly weigh yourself and measure the fit of your clothes to gauge any weight loss. Weight loss, however, is the most patient of all things and does not happen quickly, or ever, in some (my) cases.

8. People measure you with their eyes and look away either disappointed or smug. Neither is the way you want people to look at you.

9. Non-dieting people do not want to know about your diet, which is miserable since it’s the only thing in your mind 24/7. Food and exercise become a much more all encompassing issue like 10,000 mosquito bites on your back.

10. When publicly dieting you can’t quit until you’ve reached the goal you publicly stated, which is why I’m going to start telling people my goal was only two pounds – until they believe me.

The view from my desk

These doughnuts are directly across from my desk at work. I can smell them. No, I did not eat either of the missing ones.

Today I will have the willpower not to eat these scrumptious, delectable, fluffy little circles of goodness.

Next time they may not be so lucky.

Feeding Multiple Personalities

The intro to Weird Al Yankovic’s video for “I’m Fat” — a parody off of Michael Jackson’s “Bad” — reminds me of the silent argument I’ve been having with myself lately.

Yo homeboy, where you been man, we’ve been lookin’ for ya.

Yeah, we ain’t seen ya around Burger World lately, so where you been, huh?

… Wanna piece of pizza? I think I got an extra piece around here somewhere?

No, that’s ok, thanks.

Yo, Ding Dong, man, Ding Dong, Yo.

No thanks, really.

Yo, eat this man, it’s good for you.

I’m not really very hungry right now.

Hey man, what it is with you? You on some kind of diet? Is that what they teach you at that little sissy school of yours?

Back off me man, back off!

The question is: Are you PHAT? Or What?

Leave me alone!

I said, are you PHAT?

Get off me man, stop it!

You ain’t down with us no moe, you ain’t PHAT. You ain’t PHAT.

You ain’t nothin’! You ain’t nothin’!

In my version, I play not only the food pushing thugs, but also skinny Al, who is trying to avoid overeating.

The skinny Al in my mind is my youthful, thin, high school-aged self, fighting against the much PHATter, (albeit smarter, prettier, funnier and more awesome) current self.

Perhaps having all of these personalities inside my head is the cause of the PHATness? I'll settle for any excuse at this point.

PHAT ol' Unfaithful

I’m a cheater from way back.
Commitment smothers me. Change scares me. I don't like conformity.

The main points of a diet are change, commitment and conformity.
I don’t want to be changed, I want to be accepted.
I want to be loved for me – albeit a skinnier version of me.

When dieting, very little is acceptable. You can’t have this, you can’t have that, you shouldn’t go there. That nagging at the back of my mind makes me nuts.

It makes me feel like I’m living with a control freak more strong willed than my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Murdock. That woman had to have everything her way.

I’m ashamed to admit my indiscretions, but I was caught up in the moment, what can be expected from a person when heaven is flaunting itself?

You know you want me, don’t worry about it, live a little, you can’t deprive yourself or you’ll just explode later, look at how good I look, you deserve it, eat me, eat me.

If I admit that I cheated, does that mean the diet is over? Did I blow it?

I feel really guilty today and wish I could take back those four chocolate-covered coconut macaroons and two pieces of cake, but I can’t. As Ernie Harwell would have said – they’re “Long Gone.”

The extra piece of cake was supposed to be my dirty little secret, but that defeats the point of this blog and I don’t need to hide any more of my self-defeating behavior than necessary.

I’m trying to make extra pieces of chocolate cake fade into my past, but I’m starting to think cake may be my one and only true love. What’s a girl to do?

I can’t, however, let my slip ruin everything, I’m too invested, I’m putting this mistake in my past and I’m moving forward.

I’ve confessed. I did it - I cheated. I hope you don’t hate me for it and I promise it won’t happen again … or, at least not until my birthday, but I swear, it means nothing.

Deep Fried Chocolate

Diets really suck and deep fried chocolate is heaven on Earth.

I’ve been on my useless diet for a while now – a least a week, right?

I’ve been working so hard for ages and ages and nothing has happened.

I haven’t lost a pound yet.

I can’t say I feel good. All I think about is what I can’t eat, but want to eat.

Before this adventure I just thought of the tastiest food I could come up with, found it and ate it.

It’s just too complicated now.

Who in their right mind wants to meticulously regulate every crumb they put in their mouth? And I mean crumbs, since “portion size” is tossed around in the diet world like salads at fat camp.

Yesterday I ate a chocolate coconut haystack. I even licked my fingers afterward.

I thought for like 1/10th of a second that I shouldn’t and then said “to hell with it” this stupid diet isn’t working anyway. The split second it took me to eat that haystack was the best second of my week.

Patience is a virtue that I do not have.

It’s no wonder so many diets fail and fads, pills and liquids and Godknowswhat other diet tactics are so popular.

The whole “eat less junk and exercise more” scam is a racket. I bet a bunch of skinny people own the diet and exercise companies and they’re reaping millions off of the phat backs of people like me.

Yeah, I’m bitter. Fat and sugar makes me sweeter, but that isn’t going to happen. Whatever. I’m forging ahead. Phatness is not my destiny. More exercise is. (Grunt, sigh, cry.)

Consumed by Consumption

I recently spent an enjoyable night at the ballpark which, despite the riotous grand time I had, included a LOT of calories and has me debating the merits of light beer.

(Disclaimer: Whatever you do – DO NOT consider the following to be in any way factual or correct.)

I didn’t know, until now, that light beers have less alcohol content than regular beer and ultra light beer has even less.
There is a paltry 50 calorie difference between ultra light and regular beers, however the alcohol content drops by an astounding 1 percent! E-gads!

So, in order to get the same buzz as your regular beer-drinking buddies the logical thing, when drinking light beer, would be to drink more.

I’ve been looking to justify my consumption for years, especially to my parents, who always act mortified at family get-togethers by my drinking ability. (I believe secretly they’re equally impressed.)

Beer is derived from the Latin verb “bibere” meaning to drink

Anyway, maybe ballgames aren’t the place to practice dieting.
Hot dogs are a given - a must-have and I did. I ate my tasty frank while imbibing over 1,100 beer calories if you don’t account for the extra 4 ounces in those stadium cups, which I don’t.

Add to that the nachos at the end of the night to absorb all of the alcohol and the cheeseburger I’m craving since said drinkfest and we’ve got a pretty hefty calorie count.

There is scientific evidence, however, proving fried and fatty foods are medically required after a night of drinking. (Not really, but everyone knows that aside from alcohol itself, a hamburger, with bacon and cheese, is the best cure for pretty much anything.)

I’ve told my mother a million times that though alcohol does not have nutritional value, it does encourage eating after the fact, which is nourishing both to body and soul. Duh.

The urge for post-bacchanal grease is probably due to a slight salt deficiency from the alcohol and the need for energy which comes from greasy yums yums.

No really, energy comes from calories, and fat alcohol causes the body to produce insulin which burns up the blood sugar, blah, blah, blah.

My point being, drinking beer, light or otherwise, results in a mega-million calories and a really fat ass.

Drinking regular beer, in the long run, however, will save money, but light beer will make it seem like you’re drinking more without getting too drunk. While my mom says it’s not a sign of maturity to be able to hold a ton of liquor – you will appear more mature than your drunken friends, which is worth it.

Question: Is light beer worth it?
Answer: Absolutely.

The Skinny Secret

I think I may have figured out why skinny girls often have a lot of fabulous clothes – they save a lot of money by not eating.

True, being skinny can make even the frumpiest rags look decent while a phat girl’s tent doesn’t flatter anyone, however, skinny girls really do have more money and I figured out why.

I’ve been eating only two marshmallows a day since Monday and I still have almost a full bag on Thursday. Also, my package of rice cakes is lasting forever (plus, I’m still pissed about how many calories they really have, so I've been avoiding them).

During my non-diet life these snacks would likely already be gone and I’d be thinking about browsing the fare in the vending machine, but now I’m still the snack master, with a full stash.

I don’t even consider stopping by McDonald’s for a quick cheeseburger in my car – those $1 burgers add up in more ways then one. Plus, now I have a lot more leftovers, which I use for lunch the next day — again saving money.

I’ve always thought that rich and skinny went hand in hand and now I know why. (See skinny, well-dressed (smug) co-worker above)

I’m on to you skinny girls. Game. Set. Match.

Oh My Deep Fry

Today while perusing the Internet I found the ultimate diet secret - are you ready? Drumroll please. (bombombombombombombombombombom)
Eat less and exercise more. Ta-da!

What? Your expectations were higher? Well perhaps your bar should be lowered as mine is every day this diet progresses.

Another thing I learned today? The average coney dog has about 400 calories and there are about 374 in the average order of breaded, deep-fried onion rings.

Deep fried. (salivating) Yum.

No, I didn’t eat them, my co-worker Jason did. He also had breakfast and said he’ll have dinner as well (I asked). He couldn’t care less about my envy.

To keep myself from snatching the dastardly hot dog out of his greasy hand I started quickly adding up the calories in his meal.

Again, he didn’t care. He doesn’t have this blog to contend with.
According to the FDA, the average “normal” diet contains between 2000 and 2500 calories a day.

If we were talking cash I’d like those numbers, but were talking calories and it turns out I spend those much faster then a 16-year-old girl buying clothes with her parents unlimited credit card.

WebMD suggests that I should learn about smart snacks and diet danger zones.

I beat them to the snack thing – I thought.
I eat plain, styrofoam-like rice cakes because I “like” them and it gives me something to do. Surprise! Those tasteless time fillers contain 40 calories each. I’ve been known to eat seven a day. 
That’s 280 calories. I could have eaten over half an order of onion rings with numbers like that!

Another tip: Understand your weight loss personality. And oh, do I. Right now my personality is angry and cheated.
I have a new meaning for the calorie danger zone. Unfortunately I'd have to x-rate this blog if I wrote it.

Marshmellow Belly

Now that I’ve gone public with this whole weight loss scheme I’ve got to watch my back when I’m sneaking food.

Ideally, I wouldn’t sneak any food, but I'm not gonna lie; I can’t help it.

I’ve been in the habit of eating toasted coconut marshmallows as a snack at my desk for a few months.

Today, not wanting my co-workers, who know about this blog, to see me imbibing them one after another, I tried to open the bag really quietly. Within seconds the calories of said marshmallows were the topic of newsroom conversation.

I admit I started it to take the heat off – deflect away from the phat girl jamming coconut marshmallows down her throat at her desk again.

The suckvalue of dieting smacked me in the face when I realized just 6 of my marshmallows are 170 calories. I’ve been eating half a bag at a sitting! No wonder I’m phat.

I decided two was a fair number for a snack.

TWO!? Who in the hell only eats two marshmallows??

Me, if I don’t want to stay the phat girl, that’s who. I'm debating about cutting them into pieces to make them last longer, which is probably a good idea considering the WARNING on the bag of tricky little treats: Eat one at a time.
How did they know?

Weighty matters

Today it occurs to me that in order to take this diet business seriously I need to, well, take it seriously.

After 8 grueling hours of lunge/squat painting in my basement yesterday I'm feeling firmer and accomplished and, like a child, I want to weight myself immediately and see if I lost any weight. A scale would come in handy right about now.

I know, how am I supposed to track my goal of a 50 pound loss if I can't even weigh myself? Well, I never thought about it until now. Losing weight, it seems, takes much more consideration than just saying it I guess.

I could weigh myself at my parents house. They have one of those weighted scales like you see at the doctor's office. Of course, if I did that I have my dad standing over my shoulder asking, "You lose 'em any? How mucha you weigh? You fat like you momma...." My dad moved to this country from Hungary over 35 years ago. He still hasn't mastered English. The funny thing is he also forgot a lot of Hungarian, so now he doesn't speak either language well. (see dad above)

I'm probably going to need to buy a scale.

On the bright side I haven't eaten any chocolate in days. My brilliant co-worker Angie suggested low-fat hot co-co to nix my cravings in the bud and it works like a cool drink of water after a month in the desert. Angie sits next to me at work, I think her fear of my "I need chocolate now or I'llkillsomebody" ranting really made her think fast. Some people work best under pressure.

Today I'm going to an all-you-can-eat pork chop luncheon at my parent's church. They always have delicious homemade Hungarian pastries. It will be a challenge not to eat a dozen and stuff my purse with more for later, but I'm going to try. Wish me luck.