Tag Archives: diets

The 21 Pound Affect

3 Sep

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Today, 75 days after first affixing the Fitbit to my chubby wrist, I finally crossed the threshold I’ve been waiting for.

…Months (plural) of busting ass to melt fat, only to find the gained muscle would thumb it’s nose at me with every weigh-in, I at last saw the digits pass below a certain marker. It isn’t “The Goal,” but it had turned into the backbreaking illusive number I just COULD NOT pound into the ground.

This morning: I did.

….With a “spare,” even.

21 pounds.

Magically, this has seemed to take a little of my, “Oh-my-God-I-am-so-fucking-tired-of-all-this-healthy-shit” thoughts, and reinvigorate a little bit of mojo.

….Because this morning I didn’t just have the same cuppa black coffee and thing of oatmeal. This morning, I had, “21-pounds-down black coffee, and thing of 21-pounds-down oatmeal”

….Sure, it all tastes like burnt-oat-cardboard! Which I have been surviving off of, for 11 shitty weeks. But suddenly, it was the kinda burnt-oat-cardboard that helped me lose 21 effing pounds! So now, it’s part of a magic award-winning combo! Staid and true!

….Like putting Streep in a drama!

…Or Pixar, slapping their name on a cartoon!

…Suddenly, all the green foods, are less boring again. And it’s actually worth it, that I haven’t had a Coke in 75 days. (And 4 hours)

…With the 21 Pound Affect, the sodium-freeness is a little bit okay, I miss the potatoes sorely, but multi-grain pasta maybe isn’t totally the worst thing.

…Which doesn’t make it all hearts and flowers…and Christmas and New Years, by any means. It still sucks.

…(and whoever the hell thought up a “serving size” of cereal as 3/4 of a cup, is a delusional, unrealistic, asshole)…

…But, at least now…FINALLY…the numbers and mirror are starting to add up a little.

…Or rather, add down.

…Either way: declaring an At-Freakin-Last goal, makes it a little bit easier. And maybe a lot-bit cooler.

…Like a Fitness Superhero.

And now, I’m off to go chug some more 21-pounds-down water.

Like an effing Rock Star!

Boooyuh!

~D

Fit My Bits

23 Jun

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Post-show bad-eating, booze-swilling, and couch-reading, has added another requirement to the Super-Awesome-Life-Plan-Reboot.

…In the end, it was cheaper to not buy an entire wardrobe in a fatter size, than to invest in a thing which can actually shrink me.

Up til now, I’ve always relied on free fitness apps to get my ass in gear,  my body watered, my eating reigned in, and my booze intake under the “daily alcoholic ” label. But with no theatre at night, no line-learning pacing by day, no show-specific in-shape requirement, and stacks and stacks of plays to read and break down for monologues, I’ve become such a sedentary blob, my body is literally oozing up and out of my clothing like I’m the Michelin Man.

Currently at the heavest weight-mass in my life…it’s really a lot not good.

…Obviously, I needed a new plan for that too.

…And so: welcome The Fitbit.

…A thing I must wear in punishment, to remind me constantly…like a voluntary self-branding. Because when thin people wear a Fitbit, it’s cuz they’re conscientious and, well… “fit.” When a chunky person wears it, it’s like a final plea for help. It means we know we cannot be trusted to moderate and motivate and follow thru on the other eight million free ways to keep in shape. We have to drop a chunk of change on a thing that sits on our person and lights up and buzzes and links to our phones and computers, so no matter where we go: it’s there. Watching us.

…Like that 80’s stalker song…

…Every move I make, every breath I take, he’ll be watching me…

…Which is exactly WHY he was necessary.

A wearing, staring object that cost money. I cannot afford to ignore it. I must live up to it’s requirements, or like a child, it will shit all over me…with terrible stats, bad sleep, an an embarrassing tan line if I take it off and pretend it never existed…just to escape the wearing-shame.

…Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, don’t think I haven’t planned. I understand the responsibility now before me, I get the motivational heft…I have already turned down sodas, Costco muffins, Hawaiian chips, and fast food of every archetype, and that is only at work…since Monday.

(…Im pretty sure it’s Tuesday now. So…that might explain a major source of how I got so goddamn fat to begin with…but anyway, I digress…)

Point is: I smell/see/hear the taunting foods, I look down at m’damn wrist, I whisper, “oh shut up,” or “effe you,” and take another swig of water.

It may be only day two, but it’s better than ground zero.

…15,847 steps…and counting…

~D

(* In all seriousness, this gadget is pretty freakin sweet. Glad I joined the fad on this one…accountability is tops!)

Bipolar Weather & Causes For Affect

2 Apr

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Our spring here can’t seem to make up it’s mind what the hell is going on. 

…It’s confusing the hell out of the blooming plant life that I’ve been taking walks past, while either in bluster winds on a sunny day or in pissing down rain.  One doesn’t let rain stop you from doing things here, else you’d never get anything done…but the point is: it’s sunny for five seconds today and was yesterday too, and both are cock teases.

Yesterday was down for the count thanks to a particularly suicidal Joan Crawford visit beginning at 4 a.m., with alllllll her bag of upset tummy-curling-into-a-ball-while-crying awesomeness.  The only up side was doing month-end from my laptop in bed…at 5:30 in the morning…only cuz it meant that when I finally DID fall back asleep, I could tell the alarm to go fuck itself, take another fist full of pain meds, roll over, and drift back to sleep again. Fitfully.

…Today’s repercussion of paperwork, and the forest of trees waiting to slaughter, has kept me too busy to even look out the window until about five minutes ago.  Roughly about the time I realized I hadn’t so much as gone pee yet, I’d been so busy today.

…Anyway…a bank of clouds is ominously starting this way, blowing north-bound, and bringing shadows in it’s wake since my first look out the window for the day.  This means that by 4, It’ll be dark clouds and cold with zero vitamin D’s left for me to soak up.  And rain, rain, rain projected for days now to follow.

Of course.

In Other News: I did survive the detox-from-hell…celebrating at midnight on the 21st day, with some 16 year-old Redbreast whiskey…which was the most decedent thing from my bar.  A fitting “fuck you” to the odds and celebration of WINNING!

…So now onto the six days on, one day off, trend until the rest of the weight is dumped. And may I never so over-indulge as to have to go through that whole nonsense ever, ever again.

I’d ONLY wish it on my worst enemy.  Really.  Not even a Nagging Irritant deserves to go through something like that, on purpose.

Meanwhile…

…We are three days to tech week, in a show which the jury will prob’ly still be out on till the second we open, or possibly even after.

…The Gnome has reached 13 weeks, and 20 lbs of weight gain…so she no longer looks like a starving waif-child who could blow away in a stiff wind…she looks like a waif child who swallowed a softball, and might bounce along instead.

…WHS Pimp has fucked up his back so badly, the MRI techs are talking a fusing…which he’s taken fairly well considering he won’t be able to tie his own shoes anymore and he’s only 33…but apparently that’s what kids are for, anyway…he says.

…And…after a couple weeks of deliberation, I decided to join my first organized group since brownies and the theatre. Mama be kickin’ it now with the HRC…only not just passively. I’m actually volunteering to do things and stuff. Which’ll be weird. Cuz I’m socially awkward as fuck and super shy. But, this comes from reflections, via lots of sources, telling me if I want the world to be a better place for a lot of my favorite humans, (and the rest of us), I gotta put my actions where my mouth is. So I’m gonna. By and large, politics piss me the hell off, but equality ain’t a policy it’s a right, and that I can get behind. So, P.S. prob’ly expect to hear about those shenanigans here, too.

…And so goes life.

Hope you find your second of sun and play and joy on this spring day. Go chase it down if you have to. Cuz I’m gonna. Just as soon as I can hit the freeway 🙂

~D

Huh.

26 Mar

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So this happened…

Got on the scale this morning after another not-great-sleep and had a double take at the face plate.  Understandable as my eyes were blurry from being shrieked awake by the news of how high the body count is now in the mudslide here…cuz  apparently I must have bumped the station setter on my clock radio and switched it to talk radio.

…I hate talk radio. It’s almost always angry, picking fights and depressing.  I hate it even more when it wakes me up out of the three hours sleep I finally managed to get.

…So anyway…where was I?

…Oh yeah, I was rubbing my eyes again to focus on the digital read-out on my scale, while behind me the shower water blasted on full, waiting to warm up.

Scale: Blinky, blinky, solid number.

Me: Wait. What?

(I get off and try again.)

Scale: Blinky, blinky, same solid number.

Me: Huh.

(I get off, jiggle the back plate, check the batteries…and try it a third time)

Scale: Yeah, I already told you…”BLINKY, BLINKY, SAME NUMBER.” What are you not understanding here?

Me: Because …how??

Scale: How the hell would I know? I have one job, lady…I’m doing it. That’s all I’ve got.

Me: But…wha…I don’t…understand

Scale: Listen, it is what it is. Deal with it.

Me: But…but…

Scale: –LOOK!! I’ve gotten a lot of fucking abuse from you lately, you know?! Every damn time you’ve used me in like the past month, you’ve told me to go to hell, go fuck myself, or kiss your ass! Every. Single. Morning! All I do is report your weight. It ain’t my fault what the outcome is! Did I shove the booze and shit-food down your throat till you puffed up like a Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon??? NO! I didn’t! I report the results! That’s all! It’s like getting pissed at the weather man when he says its gonna rain today, and it does!!

Me: –BUT I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW THIS CAN BE RIGHT?!

Scale: WELL, TRY! DEAL WITH IT! I’M DONE NOW! GO TAKE YOUR DAMN SHOWER AND LEAVE ME ALONE, ALREADY!!

Me: BUT, HOW DO YOU LOSE SEVEN POUNDS IN ONE DAY?!?!?

Scale: PEE A LOT?! I DON’T KNOW!!! NOW GET THE HELL OFF OF ME!!!

Me: So I’ve just passed the 10 pound mark???

Scale: I GUESS SO!

Me: Just like “that?” Just from out of NOWHERE?!

Scale: APPARENTLY, YES!

Me: AFTER ALL THIS TIME?! OUT OF NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING…DAY AFTER DAY AFTER DAY?!!?

Scale: ARE YOU INSINUATING THAT I’M LYING?!?

Me: IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!!

Scale: WELL, I DON’T CARE!

Me: HOLY SHIT!!

Scale: WHATEVER, YOU’RE BEYOND ASTONISHED, YA-DE-YA-DA…NOW WILL YOU GET YOUR FAT ASS OFF MY FACE AND GET IN THE DAMN SHOWER?!

Me: IT’S LESS FAT THAN IT WAS!

Scale: WELL, “BULLY” FOR YOU!

Me: YOU’RE A SHITTY MOTIVATIONAL COACH, YOU KNOW THAT?!

Scale: IN FACT, I DO! AND I DON’T CARE.

Me: CAN’T YOU EVEN CONGRATULATE ME IN MY MOMENT OF GLORY?!

Scale: NO! LEST YOU FORGET, YOU’VE STILL TEN POUNDS TO GO!

Me: –BUT IT AIN’T TWENTY ANYMORE!

Scale: WELL, IT AIN’T FIVE, EITHER!

Me: BUT IT WILL BE SOMEDAY!! AND NOW I KNOW IT FOR REAL!

(I get off scale as it’s screen goes to black.)

Me: FOR REAL!!!

(Momentary joy fills the land, just as I step into the shower…and scald myself raw.)

Me: SUNOFAFUCKINGBITCH!!!!

Shower Head: WELL DON’T SCREAM AT ME?!!? I’VE BEEN WAITING LIKE FIVE MINUTES ON FULL HEAT TEMP! I’M ONLY DOING MY DAMN JOB!! EVERY FREAKIN’ MORNING, IT’S THE SAME THING WITH YOU…!

(end scene.)

~D

You Dirty Cheat

24 Mar

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The longer I give up a vice, the worse it gets.  Giving up all but one of ’em magnifies the whole thing beyond ridiculous.  In my final stretch of this nonsense (ending Sunday), I’ve been reduced to pretending I’m getting away with something bad, when I’m really not.

I’m not the noble type.  I’d rather feel like I’m breaking the rules any day, over martyring over it.  Unless I can spin it to make you laugh, in which case, I’m a whore for an audience so I’ll take whatever I can get away with.

…It is because of this that I entered the weirdest part of detox, sometime late last week: Pretending I’m cheating when I’m really not…just to psych myself into accepting the loss and shutting up about it.

“What the hell does that even mean?” you might ask yourself?

…It means dressing things up naughty, in order to fake out your brain that they are naughty, so you can reasonably consider yourself not really missing anything at all.

I am lying to myself on purpose and pretending I haven’t caught on yet.

How fucking lame is that?

…It started with fizzy water.

…I’ve been drowning in it.  It has long been my lack-of-soda fake-out, giving me bubbles that I miss, with zero nutritional cost on the diet end.  Other than the totally unsatisfying side affect of a water burp versus a Coke one, it seems to do the job most of the time. But it stopped filling the void in week two this time. So one night, for kicks, I filled up a champagne flute with it, and popped in few frozen berries set afloat.

…Turns out, the glass is 9/10th of my brain craving.

…I tested this heavily across all last week. Non-fat milk in a tumbler doubles as a White Russian if you sip not gulp.

…Apple and cranberry juice in a wine glass taste 75% naughtier than when not in one.

…Hot black tea with enough straight lemon juice to drown in, and a shot of cyan pepper makes a serviceable hot toddy on a rainy day…only for the love of god don’t try it an hour before bed.

There is, however, no pretence on EARTH that can fix the lack of whiskey.

…But, peppered and grilled garbanzo and kidney beans can give you the same general texture as chicken in a bowl of rice.

…Diced up colored bell peppers make even the most boring brown and pasty of foods look 300 times more appetizing.

…Steaming veggies in garlic to al dente makes shoving pound bags of em down your gullet a hell of a lot more interesting than raw salad number 456.

…After this, I frankly never want to see a piece of naked fruit again…but dried or in a roughly blended juice with some veg can get it down…if it is a sugar substitute must…and keep you from wanting to hit over a convenience store for a Milky Way bar.

There is no cure for pizza.

…But you can in lieu of a burger with a warm turkey sandwich…hot meat (pardon the expression) is hot meat…you can wig your brain to believe it’s almost anything.

…Especially when you’re desperate.

Desperation also can replace brown gluten-free protein powder in water as chocolate milk.

…Make you think the 12 supplement and vitamin pills you pop every morning, full of various weeds and homeopathic hoo-de-haws, will expand and fill your tummy for hours.

…That burping up broccoli means you’re totally in shape.

…That NOT cheating for real, at all, even a little bit, naturally means you will finally drop that sixth fucking pound because: SCIENCE!

…That all the clay masks and lotions and steam showers will de-age you by 10 years, instantly.

…That it’s totally normal for your stomach to growl sonatas during quiet scenes in rehearsal.

…That the pregnant gnome eating 300 times a day to the point that she smells like pizza sauce and baked goods permanently, means that (eventually) her tummy will out-protrude yours.

…These are the lies I have been forcing upon myself.

…They are getting more outrageous as time passes.

…If I were doing this for 30 days instead of 20, I’d be wandering around in my fat pants again, pretending that they fitted like a glove only two days ago, and hula hoop the waist band to everyone I see…just to show how much weight I’d lost in only 48 hours.

…I’d dye tofu red and pretend it’s sweet and sour pork on rice.

…I’d throw lemon juice in water and call it a dirty martini.

…In short: the ending could not come any sooner or last-second than it is.

And I am glad.

Because, even for an actor, I’m running out of lies to pretend for myself.

…And also, I’m not so sure I’m buying the ones I’ve already been telling, to begin with.

~D

Hangry

20 Mar

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We have crossed the halfway point of my detox.

It’s for-shit.

…After cutting salt, sugar, booze, fast food, and preservatives, plus adding a vitamin regime, and tons of raw fruit and veg, I am only 5 pounds down from the day I fucking started.

Five.

…None of this has been worth five pounds.  Ten would even be stretching it, but acceptable.  Five is what you gain after a day of pizza, ice cream and beer…with maybe a burger on top.  If you take that same shit away, reason states you should lose the same amount.

…It’s only fucking fair.

…If you take that stuff away across 11 days of time…you should be dumping weight faster than (enter analogy here…I’m too hungry and tired to think of one.)

…And that’s another thing: isn’t eating well supposed to make you feel awesome?!  Aren’t you supposed to sleep better and go around like the happy chicks in Tampon commercials with all their running, biking, hiking, swimming, excess energy joy?

Cuz I don’t.

…If anything, I’m moodier and have to force myself just to take a flipping walk at saunter pace in the sunshine.

…It’s like a horrible perimenopause over here. 

…Reason is telling me to just bunk it and go back to life as I know it.  None of this is making me look, feel, or act like a better person.  Back in the happy days of whiskey and hamburger patties…I was at least fun to be around.  I’m even pissing myself off lately. 

…But I will stick with it to the full run-out date, anyway.  Because I’m not the giving up type. I will win this fucker by completing it, and then screw the lack of results as I will in theory have won anyway just by seeing it to the end.

…And then…

…I will have the most butter-filled, meat-coma-inducing, cream-sauce-covered meal you have ever seen, to celebrate.  And I will drink whatever the hell I want to.

…And I will prob’ly have the best sleep and happiest following day in the past month, because of it.

Detox can suck it.

~D

She Withdrawls A Little….

16 Mar

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It’s like a social warzone out there today. 

…After going back and forth with cloudy/sunny days across two weeks, it decided to rain today, and apparently piss everyone off in the meantime.

I’m not in a great mood either, but that’s beside the point.

Mine is based purely on being mid-day-seven without sugar, salt, fried food and liquor.  I feel this is a LEGITIMATE excuse to be cantankerous…definitely more than just “it’s raining.” Especially in this state.

…Everywhere I’ve gone today, people have been dicks.  Cutting you off in traffic…not once, but four or five times.  Kids throwing fits at the pet store and screaming at the top of their lungs while you’re stuck in a line that stretches past the adopted pets and amphibians all the way to the freaking bird food section, as the parents continue to ignore it completely like they’re deaf. A lady who wants to debate every single charge amount on her receipt at Bed, Bath & Beyond…they didn’t have any purses I wanted even a little bit at Marshalls or Ross…and then the topper: waiting in TWO Starbucks lines, with cutters.

…I fucking hate cutters. It just outrages me!

…I hate it even MORE when they are standing between me and the LAST CRUTCH ON EARTH allowed to me: a cup of black coffee.

The first time, the drive thru line was coming from so many directions, I let it slide and moved onto the next drive thru, further down the freeway…but by the SECOND time, I was ready to jump out of my car, rip open their door, and shove a bottle of Beta water conditioner up where the sun don’t shine.  Fucking Audi assholes and their goddamn cookie Frappuccinos!

…Now FINALLY I am home. Where I apparently should have just stayed to begin with.

I knew the pjs were using an old seduction line, but what works, works…and I should have just listened to the damn know-it-alls, and not even gone out today.

…Instead, I’m ticked off, with a half a thing of coffee left (as the Barista didn’t put the lid on right, yeah…you can guess how that turned out)…and now I’m off to make something green, that I don’t wanna eat, but don’t have a choice about, as it is all that exists in my house now, which is not yogurt…!!

…And “fruit on the bottom” can just kiss my ass!

(Rips shirt with giant coffee stain off, throws it on the floor, slams a chug of what’s left in the cup, and marches to the kitchen, indignantly.)

FUCKING DIETS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

~D

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