Being on a diet sucks. Of course I wouldn't be on a diet if I hadn't gotten fat...again. I wasn't allowed to eat as a child; my mom was afraid I'd get fat. Her fears were well founded because apparently I have the fat gene swimming around somewhere in my gene pool. So consequently when I got pregnant, and was allowed to eat whatever the hell I wanted, my brain suddenly bridged a synapse connection I'd not made in my youth, and I gained 55 pounds during my first pregnancy. Within a year I had lost it, and so, not being completely repulsed by my appearance any longer, my husband knocked me up shortly after my daughter's first birthday. I gained 75 pounds the second go 'round, and kept it on for three long years. Post-partum depression fueled my appetite for processed, partially hydrogenated food. I was like a wild animal entering the grocery store, drooling, snarling, and gnashing teeth as I made my way to the Hostess aisle. I was the female version of Fat Bastard...get in my belly...I want my baby back, baby back, baby back...ribs. I'm not kidding...
Kicking carbohydrates was like detoxing from heroin. I had headaches, shakes and nausea, which I think would have made for a great episode of Intervention...My name is Traci...T-r-a-c-i, and I'm addicted to Twinkies. Cameras could have followed me to my dealer...the Kroger, sometimes Publix, and filmed me getting my fix: Cherry Garcia, Edwards pie, powdered donuts, chips and dip, pizza, cookies, cinnamon rolls, Twinkies of course...and that was just for breakfast! They could have captured my frenzied feeding ritual, the euphoric high during the dopamine dump, and then my inevitable crash as my pancreas, liver and digestive system struggled to process massive amounts of artery clogging "food." I'd be filmed all strung out on the couch in my mu mu yelling...get that f**king camera outta my face asshole! After the crash, I'd need another hit. Producers would beg me not to drive in my condition, and offer to drive me to my next destination. I need fries...I could say weakly as they helped me to the waiting SUV with tinted windows. Fast food joints knew me on a first name basis. Okay, so not really but I was convinced they did. I would hit the Mickey D's up for two cheeseburgers, extra large fries, two apple pies and a gallon of coke. Some days I'd do that twice. I'm not kidding...
So, eventually I did lose 110 pounds on a low carb, or no carb diet as I like to call it. I kept it off for over a year. I looked gooood, too honey! I know what you're thinking...then why and the hell did you gain all of it back and then some you big dumb ass. I'm an idiot, that's why. I foolishly thought I had conquered my addiction, but clearly it is a much bigger problem than I realized. I knew it was time to get back on the wagon when I had to start buying deodorant for my coochie...yes coochie. Let me tell you, when you are so fat that you sweat down there, it's time to make a change ladies. Then to add insult to injury, the coochie spray gave me a rash in my ass crack...okay maybe it was the sweat in my ass crack that gave me a rash, but addicts are often in denial about their predicaments. I got really excited when I could stop buying FDS. If you are like me, I shop at the same grocery store every time I buy groceries. I was tired of avoiding checkout lines with male cashiers. I'm not kidding...
Happily, I have about forty more pounds to lose before I'm back down to my goal weight. Once I'm there the only problem I'll have is stretch marks and saggy skin. It was kinda gross the first time around. My belly looked like raw veal scallopini dangling there especially when I bent over, which is why I'm convinced that I'll need a surgical procedure to pull and tuck me back into shape. If I don't, I'll look like albino elephant knees in ten years, or worse, Donatella Versace...minus the wax lips. I'm not kidding...
So, eventually I did lose 110 pounds on a low carb, or no carb diet as I like to call it. I kept it off for over a year. I looked gooood, too honey! I know what you're thinking...then why and the hell did you gain all of it back and then some you big dumb ass. I'm an idiot, that's why. I foolishly thought I had conquered my addiction, but clearly it is a much bigger problem than I realized. I knew it was time to get back on the wagon when I had to start buying deodorant for my coochie...yes coochie. Let me tell you, when you are so fat that you sweat down there, it's time to make a change ladies. Then to add insult to injury, the coochie spray gave me a rash in my ass crack...okay maybe it was the sweat in my ass crack that gave me a rash, but addicts are often in denial about their predicaments. I got really excited when I could stop buying FDS. If you are like me, I shop at the same grocery store every time I buy groceries. I was tired of avoiding checkout lines with male cashiers. I'm not kidding...
Happily, I have about forty more pounds to lose before I'm back down to my goal weight. Once I'm there the only problem I'll have is stretch marks and saggy skin. It was kinda gross the first time around. My belly looked like raw veal scallopini dangling there especially when I bent over, which is why I'm convinced that I'll need a surgical procedure to pull and tuck me back into shape. If I don't, I'll look like albino elephant knees in ten years, or worse, Donatella Versace...minus the wax lips. I'm not kidding...
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