Month 1 “keep it up, baby!” present

As you may have noticed over the past couple of posts, I may, sometimes be a bit of a princess. But not often.

My lovely sister-in-law and her family have been staying with us over this past week (hence the lack of blogs). As sisters-in-law do, we have been spending a fair bit of time shopping. Yesterday we went into Myer and I steered my BH towards the watch section as I needed some inspiration for a very special birthday coming up in December. While I was asking the (very unhelpful and uninterested) sales girl to show me some of the big chunky male watches, I eyed off a beautiful gold and “diamond” Armani Exchange watch.

Before I knew it, Miss Slow and Uninterested had wrapped up my watch and we were on our way!

What? What just happened?? BH didn’t even get to try on a watch! – It turned out later that a very clever BH knew EXACTLY what I was doing… And decided to throw a spanner in the works. A pretty, shiny, Armani spanner!  Who’s a lucky girl?!

Screen Shot 2013-10-06 at 7.03.47 PM

Advertisements

Prepare for the new photos!

It is Thursday morning, and I have 2 days until my first official weigh in! I hope you are all counting down with me!

In the past, I would usually try to “trick” the scales with little schemes and plots to ensure that I weighed in as light as possible. Let me give you some examples:

 

Not drinking water the day of the weigh in – VERY bad for you! And seeing that we have to drink 2-3 liters of water a day, it makes for an afternoon running to and from the bathroom.

 

Eating “light” foods, or skipping meals – This excuse used to be a favourite technique of this serial dieter.

I would think: Well, if I can hold off on breakfast until my 5:15pm weigh in… Then I can have a delicious dinner afterwards. Because then it is, what I like to call, “limbo”. You have just weighed, and you don’t start again until tomorrow. This equals FREE CALORIES!

By the time I arrive at the community center, I am so starving that I end up yelling at the lady recording my weight, who, may I just say, always seems to be eating something! Can’t you tell there are starving fatties in the line, Beryl? I don’t care if you have hit goal weight, I will jump over this table and smack that Weight Watchers bar straight out of your skinny hand! Come on!

 

Going to the bathroom as many times as you can before hand – Ooooh, this is a great trick. Go to the bathroom before you leave home. Stop at the petrol station to go to the bathroom on the way to the clinic. Go to the bathroom when you arrive at the clinic. Have a chat with your “Weight Loss Professional” (no peeing during this part), and most importantly go to the bathroom the second before you jump on that hateful chrome weighing station of disappointment.

I don’t care if you are sitting in the bathroom for 45 minutes trying to squeeze out those last of yesterdays water – those little yellow drops seem to weigh 45kgs each! You make sure you sit there and push like you are giving birth to Andre The Giant’s first child. It will be worth it. Promise.

 

Insisting that there is something “wrong” with the scales – The floor isn’t flat, the scales are on the carpet, the battery is dying, I had a different number on my scales at home, the lady in front of me obviously terrified the scales and they retained the number from her weigh in, etc.  I have seen many a scale hurled into the rubbish bin over my many years of dieting. I just can’t seem to find an accurate one!

 

Heavy clothes – You would not believe how many ridiculously deceiving weighty cardigans and scarves I own. Seriously. You would think that a beautiful, floaty Thai silk scarf would only way a few grams – but I am telling you, I have seen them as heavy as a small child! And don’t get me started on jeans! They are at least 5kgs a leg! Worse if you are wearing a belt. Oh, and I’m happy to deduct another kilo for the energy expended walking from my car (YES, I DROVE! Stop judging me!) to the community center – that weight wouldn’t have been taken from my Fat Bank yet, but I am sure it will come off over night. So lets count that in tonight’s weigh in.

 

Rest assured, if all else fails, you can just suck your tummy in on the day 🙂

5 Reasons I Don’t Want To Be A Fat Girl

We all know the numerous positive reasons to lose weight and become healthier – but my Top 5 have nothing to do with those reasons.

Counting down from number 5.

5. Shopping at “Fat Girl” Stores.

I’m fine walking into these stores. The plump sales assistant always smiles at me, and when she looks me up and down I don’t feel like I am being judged as a fatty, I feel like she is looking at my outfit and handbag thinking “Wow, that fat girl dresses well!”. I feel like I am part of a secret society where fat women go to bond. My problem with these stores is walking out. For me, it is like walking out of the Tool Shed on Oxford St with a black plastic bag full of sex toys that would make Ron Jeremy blush. I want to pull my trench coat up around my face, don dark glasses and pretend like I don’t fit in there, that I didn’t just come from there.

4. Underwear (including stockings).

My issue with fat girl underwear is that Myer, David Jones, and even Bra’s & Things is that the bra’s go up to a 8AA – at the moment, I am barely fitting into an 18G… And that is only because I refuse to buy a bigger one. And don’t get me started on “below the belt”! Why does anyone think that a 30 year old would like to wear these cottontails?? I don’t. I plan to one day, when I can keep up the pace for more than 20 seconds, have relations of the sexy kind again. And I don’t think my better half would like the look of those monstrous nappies. Although, G-strings aren’t too flattering with my big ol’ butt either. Kinda reminds me of a chicken roulade wrapped up in string. These aren’t a few of my favourite things.

Stockings. Stockings deserve their own section. Stupid f%#king stockings. If I am not wearing jeans (elastic waist-ed) or leggings (also elastic waist-ed), then I MUST wear stockings. Without stockings, my chicken-drumstick thighs start rubbing together in the way that starts fires. And with all that heat comes moisture (or tears, as I like to think of it), creating a sore, red, bushfire-y situation that no-one except me knows about. Hopefully.

If the next time I am running* to the shop to grab a couple of Mars Bars because my blood sugar is dropping, and there is smoke trailing from my loins behind me, please do let me know.

*truffle shuffle-ing

3. Fat Jokes.

Oh, ho, ho. Now fat jokes. Fat jokes form a big part of my life. I have a relatively close male friend that I share that special brotherly-sisterly relationship with. You know, the relationship that you try to gross each other out, and pick on each other non stop? Well, I can usually give as good as I get, but there was one time where he crossed the line. Well, he didn’t so much cross the line as Usein Bolt it past me throwing cupcakes. We were discussing what we wanted to be when we grew up (ignoring, of course, we were all very much established in our careers and some of us on the darker side of 30), and I mentioned that I always had wanted to be a lawyer. This smart ass came up with “Yeah, you could be Fatty McBeal”. Or something as eloquent. Needless to say, he had one very bruised and tender arm for a week following.

2. Having a skinny best friend.

Having a slim best friend is the pits. The absolute worst. Not only do they look amazing in everything, they are your best friend for a reason. They are lovely and caring and supportive of your weight loss efforts and even eat salad with you at lunch so you don’t feel like a lepper, even though you know they are scoffing down chicko rolls and hot chips with too much chicken salt as soon as they get back to their desk.

My best friend is a particular kind of awful. For breakfast she usually enjoys a strawberry doughnut, the big kind. Lunch will be a toastie, or some huge sandwich, or something delicious from the lunch lady who always looks at you with those judging eyes when you try to buy some of her wares. Whenever I have dinner at her house, we always have pizza, so I am going to assume she eats that every night of the week. Sometimes twice on weekends. And she washes this all down with 40 can’s of coke each day. That may be an exaggeration…

Another horrible thing is that she is beautiful. She has lovely skin, an amazing figure, and was the most gorgeous pregnant woman I had ever seen. She should have been modelling for Victoria’s Secret rather than working in an office all day.

But the MOST horrible thing is that because she is very slim, this creates the illusion that I am even BIGGER than I am in real life.

I hate her.

Screen Shot 2013-09-16 at 7.54.11 PM

1. The relaxation robe at the spa.

Now this is a major pet peev of mine. I love to be treated to a delicious massage, have my feet scrubbed and the even occasional facial. However there is one issue. Those damn robes. One size fits all, my ass. One size fits like a long cardigan on me. And when you have stripped down to your cotton tails, or chicken roulade outfit, you really need more of a moo moo than a robe to stay modest. I often spent those hours lying on the massage table being rubbed and scrubbed thinking that next time I would DEFINITELY bring my own robe, or perhaps even wear their robe backwards – you know, hospital style. Not great from the back, but at least the poor girl wouldn’t have Brittany Spears staring back at her while she finishes my pedicure.

And those form the Top 5 reasons that I don’t want to be a fat girl any more.