"Oh, Gyoza, I Think I’ll Miss YOU Most of All"

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I have finally gotten disgusted enough with myself that I decided to go back to Weight Watchers. It has worked for me in the past and I know it will work again. Losing it has never been the biggest problem – it’s maintaining that gets me every time. I know – lifestyle changes – what the fuck ever. It’s a diet. And it’s all psychological for me. Last time, I lost 35 pounds and then hit a plateau. For months I couldn’t lose any more. But I was happy, since I was still 35 pounds less than when I started. Then I took two trips in a row and gained seven pounds. And that seven pounds got inside my head and killed me. So here I am right back where I started (or even worse off, probably) and I could kick myself for being such an asshole. I can deal with being a little overweight and still looking attractive. But I have once again reached that point where not only my body disgusts me, but my face does, too. I have gone from being a “such a pretty face” girl (you know – she has such a pretty face for a fat girl), to being an old, haggard, puffy, scaly, droopy, pig-faced beast. So weight watchers it is.

I’m going tonight and hoping that it’s a small, empty meeting. That’s one of the things that got me last time – the meeting I went to (the only one I could make) started getting so crowded. And it was full of know-it-alls and loud talkers and morons and snobs and fucking idiots. So not heading back after my seven pound gain was pretty easy. Of course, ever since I decided lat last week that I would join the Wednesday meeting, I have made the very wise and mature decision to eat like a fucking asshole. I have been shoving everything not nailed down into my piehole for days now. Bagels? Check. Easter chocolate? Check. Gyros and chips and wings and chitos and gyoza? Check, check, check, check, check. Way to stretch out the stomach just in time to start a new diet. But I refuse to head into my forties looking like Jabba the Hut. Wish me luck.

Oh, gyoza, I think I’ll miss YOU most of all.

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About sugarmag

Forty-sdjhfkjsdhfkjsdh year old mom of 2 - a 18 year old boy and a 11 year old girl. I love them very much, but they drive me crazy. I'm married and work full-time. I'm not sure which of these is the most exhausting, but probably the husband. I'm opinionated. I'm outspoken. I'm loud. I'm an over-sharer. I think Tom Cruise is a jackass. I like to say jackass. I like to swear, period. Fuckers. I love to read. I struggle with my weight. I love my job. I dress my pets up and ridicule them regularly. I am not afraid to cut my hair and I don't understand people who are. I hate getting old. I love to laugh. Make me laugh, OK?

2 responses »

  1. I feel your pain! I have headed back to WW as well, or as I like to refer to them as “the devil.”I dread sitting through the meetings with all the happy fat people….every time I go I want to scream “We’re all FAT! Shouldn’t we all be bitter?!” I know, I probably need therapy, but I refuse to be all happy, happy over losing one fucking ounce after starving myself for a week and drinking 40 gallons of water.Good luck! You can do it!

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