Fatty McDuff and the Pig Suckers

No, not the name of my new band.

Listen up. I'm about to share some knowledge with you. So turn your thinking caps on and grab a pen.

Oh, who are we kidding here? Knowledge? From me? I don't think so. But I will tell you a story. And maybe you will learn something.

Or maybe not.

In any case, read on, reader.

I woke up Monday morning, got naked, and jumped on the scale. As is customary for a Monday morning. When the digital readout appeared I blacked out, stumbled off the scale and dove headfirst into the bathroom sink, slashing my forehead on the counter and splitting my lip in two. I lay there for a good 30 minutes or so while my body regained consciousness. Finally, when I was able to stand, I gingerly stepped back on the scale because surely I had read the numbers wrong in the Monday morning fog that pervades my brain each week. Right? Right?!

Wrong. The numbers were the same. Luckily, I was holding onto the counter for support the second time around so I didn't take another tumble, but I did let out a four letter word that sounded something like 'suck' but started with an 'f.' Got it?

Okay. So none of that really happened. Well, at least the part about falling over and injuring myself. You believed it though, didn't you? Of course you did because if you know me, you know it isn't too much of a stretch. I did, however, check the scales twice just to make sure it was true. Because we all know, SCALES DON'T LIE!

After my communion with the scales, I stared at my face with revulsion in the bathroom mirror for a good 15 minutes.

Then, I had the following conversation with my reflection:

"Pig sucker with an f! You disgust me! What are you doing with your life? What? Tell me, please, because I really don't know. Is this some kind of a sick joke, Fatty McDuff? Why don't you just jump in your car and ride on over to McDonald's and pick up one of those sausage mcmuffins you like so much. Better yet, get two... one for the ride home and the other one after you've mounted the three steps into the house and worn yourself out from the exertion. You know, so your body can refuel. You make me sick! I can't even look at you!"

After my pep talk, I draped the mirror with a black cloth, then went in search of clothing that might fit over my newly acquired curves. I debated staying in my pj's all day because surely none of my clothes were going to fit now. In the end, I opted for a loose t-shirt and drawstring pants (which basically looked a lot like my pj's minus the hearts). I didn't bother with the whole make-up and hair thing, just threw a head band around my bed head and called it a day. I debated on whether or not to even brush my teeth, what with me now being a fat slob and all.

Sexy, no? I know you can hardly control yourself from drooling at the mental image I have prepared for you. You're welcome.

I sat on my bed for a few minutes while I gathered my thoughts. What to do. What to do. That was the question.

That is the question I know you are all dying to get answered.

Well, this is what I did.

I grabbed a cup of coffee because there are just some things in life I simply will not give up and you can't make me. I opened the fridge to see what delites (de-lites, get it?) awaited me there. In the brilliant glare of the refrigerator's dome light sat a dozen oval goodies just begging to be tossed into a pot of boiling water for 20 minutes, give or take.

Eggs, people! Eggs! Perfection in a shell. (Don't start with me about cholesterol and how egg whites are better than egg yolks and yada, yada, yada. I am on a budget, people, and can't afford the fancy egg-white containers they sell at the market. And I know all about how you can separate the yolk from the egg white in the privacy of your own kitchen if you are scrambling said eggs but, frankly, I don't know how to do that and besides, I am lazy. But we're not talking about scrambled eggs here, we're talking about boiled, and what good is the sucking egg without the yolk anyway?) After the little dead chicks finished their death boil, I peeled one back, added just a dash of salt, and by dash I mean a lot, and dug in. De-li-cious.

After my hearty breakfast of one boiled egg and 37 cups of coffee, I filled up my water bottle from the tap (33.8 fluid ounces, thank you very much) and set about to do what it is I do every day. Which, to be quite honest, is a whole lot of nothing except stalk internet job boards in the hopes that someday soon I will be gainfully employed. Oh, and I take Elijah outside a bunch because really the weather is almost perfect and it seems sinful and slothful to stay inside all day long in front of a computer (which I guess is the same thing since slothfulness is a sin, right? I don't know. I fell asleep during the first chapter of Genesis).

Three hours later, I feasted on a salad consisting of romaine lettuce, garbanzo beans and pecans with a dab, which means a lot, of lite Italian dressing. Now, here are two things you should know. It's very important.

1) Nuts are your friend. NOT the human variety. Get your mind out of the gutter! Of course, it's true that not all nuts are created equal and some are better for you than others. Again, NOT the human variety. Geez, people. Work with me here. But it's also true that nuts are sucking with an f expensive! Who can afford nuts? I mean, good god, nuts break the bank. Lucky for me, I have at my disposal a freezer full of pecans that will probably outlast my tenure here. So pecans it is for me. You, however, should feel free to take your pick with the nuts. Just be careful and don't overdo it. It's hard, I know. Nuts are so damn good. (I'm not going there again.)

Enough about nuts. The other important thing you should know is:

2) Salad dressing is tricky. You think you've done a great thing for yourself buying that bottle of fat free, don't you? Think again. Fat free salad dressing is often loaded with sugar to make up for the fact that it tastes like cardboard. And we all know that sugar translates into carbohydrates and that is almost never a good thing if you are sedentary like yours truly. Lite salad dressing is a little better with the carb/protein ratio, depending on which kind you purchase. And some regular salad dressing is even better. Sure, it's a little higher in fat but, honestly, you need a little fat in your diet, right? Just read the label is all I'm saying here. And be wary of that black hole which is the fat-free mind-suck of all sucks. Of course, you could always opt for lemon juice and olive oil but, really, that tastes like horseshit and we all know it.

A study in science, that's what I have you given you, friends. For free. You can thank me later.

Another three hours later and I had finally finished my 33.8 fluid ounces of tap water so I rewarded myself with a diet coke and two slices of extra-sharp cheddar cheese. Yummy. You're salivating, right? I filled my water bottle up again and stuck it in the fridge to chill for later.

The whole water thing was seriously starting to get on my nerves anyway. I couldn't make progress on my job hunt because I was running to the bathroom every 10 minutes or so to pee. Which totally distracted my focus since after the blessed urination took place (it does feel so good to pee, doesn't it?), I would inevitably give myself the finger in the blacked-out bathroom mirror and then remember the book I had started reading yesterday. There, through the open door of my bedroom, it lay. On my crumpled bed sheets all splayed out and face down like a whore just waiting for me to dive in. How could I resist? I couldn't. No harm in going in there and picking up where I left off, just for a few minutes at least. And I may as well get more comfortable by making myself horizontal, and so what if I just happen to doze off? Bite me, potential employers.

So, anyway, you see my trouble here? With the water and the bladder and the cursed book? It's hard to be productive when such are the enticements of life.

Shit. Where were we? Hell if I know. Moving on.

Later that afternoon, I laced up my sneakers, put a leash on Elijah, and decided to hit the trail. There's a park not far from the house that really isn't much of anything but it does boast a mile long 'nature' trail through some pine trees. Stunning. Elijah was beside himself with joy at the prospect of finally getting out of the house. It's true. I'm a bad mother and don't walk my dog like I should. Caesar Milan would be appalled at my ineptitude. But, lucky for me, Elijah is perfection in a 115-pound, black coat of beauty. No, he isn't fat. He is big. BIG, I tell you. He's part great dane, part lab, and 100% perfection. Did I say that already? Well, it's true. The discussion of Elijah deserves its own separate entry so I will refrain from regaling you with tales of his awesomeness for now.

Off to the races for us because I had decided I was going to pick up running again. I used to be a runner, or at least what I considered to be a runner, which was probably more like a jogger or one of those retarded looking power-walking people. At the height of my running career, I ran 4 miles a day. Please, for the sake of order, try to contain your amazement at my athletic prowess. Then, for reasons we won't delve into here, I quit. Just like that. I wasn't sure I would ever pick it up again even though I wanted to.

Lucky for me, the scales changed all that. In a way, I guess I owe a bit of gratitude to them, huh? Nah. Suck it, scales.

Our first run together was really a bit of a joke. I could barely breathe and my legs were on fire. Eli, for his part, was more interested in pulling my arm out of socket on his quest for squirrels, birds, and insects than he was for physical exercise.

But, we persevered. And we've been back every day this week. I even think I've made some progress, although I'm pretty sure I have shin splints.

Once we made it back from our marathon, I grudgingly grabbed my chilled bottle of water and chug-a-lugged. It was about time for Eli to eat and me too. Now, here is the tricky part. Dinner is hard. Hard for many reasons but the main one being I always feel like I deserve some kind of goodness for dinner. Why? I don't know. Maybe on account of all the hard work I do in a day? Just suffice it to say, I want 'comfort food' for dinner nine times out of ten. And that clearly wasn't going to happen.

I settled for a salad prepared the same way as earlier and Elijah settled for the scoops of dog food he has been eating every day of his life for the past five years. Man. Dogs have it easy, don't they?

I finished my water, all 735 ounces of it and called it a night. (Truth be told, I didn't really sleep all that much what with the water and 37 cups of coffee making a beeline to get the hell out.)

That's it, kids. That's how I lost four pounds in four days. Are you impressed? More importantly, did you learn anything? Or did you find it somewhat difficult to keep up?

If so, let me recap:

Water, water, and more water. And after that? More sucking water.
Exercise. If I can do it, what's your excuse?
4-6 small meals a day, every 3 hours or so and go easy on the carbs.

And the most important tip of all: Motivation. How do you find your motivation, you ask? I can't tell you that. Only you know the answer to that. But for me, the scales were a pretty good place to start.

Those pig suckers.

P.S. I forgot to tell you. I'm on the last day of my period which means the shedding of the four pounds can most likely be attributed to the end of my cycle. We all know you pack on a few extra pounds during the dot and then lose it shortly thereafter. But I made you read all that anyway because that's what I do. I am a pig sucker like that.

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