This Curvy Chick Hisses at Donuts like a Vampire with Holy Water

I’ve lost about 10 pounds in a week. No, it was not completely in a healthy way, frack you very much.

Sorry, that’s hunger talking. I’m straight Hangry here.

If you’ve never been around the military, there’s one thing that you know: we’re not allowed to get fat. I know you’re probably saying “I’ve seen PLENTY of tubby troops, looking like they’re about to try out for the Biggest Loser.” Well, all I can say is many slip through the cracks, mostly because their leadership is not putting a boot up their hey-nanny-nanny to get fit. Also, a lot of us are just broken from deployments.

And that’s what’s had me depressed and frustrated. I’ve been on a no upper body workout for the past couple of months and loads of pain killers. Certain painkillers cannot be taken on an empty stomach. Which means I was barely working out from pain, and eating a lot of food. Especially a lot of unhealthy food. I guess you can’t help but to get fat if you are having a slice of pound cake as a “quick breakfast”.

And then, you go to the doc, get a height and weight done, and find out you’re about the same size you were when you were pregnant with the Monster Teen. It makes you get on that pity train faster than the hounds of hell after you.

But I’ve been in the military for years, and understood what I needed to do. Cut out all deserts. Cut out pastas and bread. Fruits and veggies meals with only a small portion of protein for one meal a day. Cardio for at least 45 minutes a day with a trip to the sauna for at least 15 minutes afterward. And the unhealthy stuff: double dose of green coffee pills and raspberry K each day. And fiber pills each day, along with a water pill. On top of that, loads and loads of water to keep me hydrated.

It makes for a grouchy DT5th. I growled at people who had cupcakes the other day. I seriously blanked out and had a honey bun in my hand from my pantry the other day. I was getting ready to leave for work, and the stupid thing was there. I gasped and threw it back on the shelf, running before the fat girl personality inside me took over again and grabbed the honey bun. I think I really may have a split personality right now!

I dream of donuts, and cake loaded with icing. Milkshakes. Fully loaded potatoes with sour cream and butter and salt. Oh my. The office had donuts the other day. The smell of them had tears pricking my eyes. My coworkers saw as I whimpered and tried not to breathe, moved the donuts from my sight, and then waved folders to try to get the smell out the area.

I’m gritting my teeth with hunger, even when I just had a huge bowl of spinach. Fatgirl DT5th says it’s not enough food. It wants some pasta!

Pray for me readers of these interwebs. I feel like I’m a step away from the Stephen King short story where the man stranded starts eating himself. Fatgirl DT5th wants to gnaw on my arm.
I may need an exorcism and some pound cake after this next weigh-in. Before I turn full on crazy and gnaw on someone like I’m on Bath Salts.


My Thighs Need Their Own Zip Codes – Winter Hibernation Fat Blues

This post is brought to you by the letters P, M, and S.

While being on a “You did something reeeetarded to your back and are not allowed to do any upper body” work out plan, and having my new terminator back on backorder (hey Billy-bob, how about you hop to it, and jump to the future and steal one)… I’ve begun to expand. Like a balloon. Filled with donuts. And bacon.

In other words… There’s a lot of pants I can suddenly no longer fit. I’ve gone from curvy, to “oh my God what are you hiding in your pants?! 2 watermelons?!” (Soft watermelons? Mushy watermelon booty?) My buttocks need backup lights. My thighs are like small toddlers hanging onto my bones. I’m not positive I could pass my military weight test right now. And that’s the first time in over 10 years. Muthafrack me with a pickup truck.

I don’t trust my back anymore. My knees are somewhat shady also. They are plotting to have me fall in front of people looking like a bloated floppy manatee. Stupid back. You suck. At life.

Forget going on a date right now, I’m ashamed of myself. And it takes a lot for that to happen. I mean, I can out weird myself, out gross myself, but hardly ever is self shame. Seriously, my brainwaves are usually more fun than a bucket of monkeys (robot ninja monkeys that I plan to amass for an army, and one day take over the world).

The hibernation fat is just making me doubt myself all the time. It’s like my mental control board got stuck somehow on “PMS Mode Activate”. For anyone that says severe PMS doesn’t exist, go choke yourself with a science book. I’m insane-er during super PMS time, but FGS (Fat Girl Syndrome) has taken this to an alternate reality. I’m unhappy with how tight my pants fit, which makes me want chocolate to cure my fat heartache, and then I’m sad all over again because I just inhaled a chunky slice of chocolate cake and can feel myself expanding! Vicious cycle. On top of that, if I want to take the pain medicine, I can’t take it on an empty stomach. Well, I CAN… But one day I’m sure all the Motrin 800 I pop will catch up with me.

A work friend says cut out bread. But bread is so nummy. Especially toasted with lots of margarine, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Someone else said cut out dairy. But, but, ice cream! And cheese. And milk for my Lucky Charms!

Awww, SHITtake mushrooms. I’m screwed 6 ways til Sunday aren’t I?