Monday, April 7, 2008

It Don't Come Easy

I have now been back on Weight Watchers for two months and have lost exactly nothing. Yes, yes, I also haven't been trying that hard, but I figure if I am paying a company $16.95 a month to make me feel bad about myself and everything I put in my mouth I should get something for it -- like a tote bag.

In the midst of thinking about how I now have only two months to get into swimsuit shape, and roughly need to lose almost a half pound a day in order to do it (that's possible, right?) I started thinking about other things that at first glance appear to be easy, but then turn out to be much harder than anticipated. And so, without further ado, I give you this week's five things.

Five Things That Shouldn't Be So Damn Hard

1. Losing Weight You eat less, you move more, weight comes off, right? Wrong. Because if you aren't eating the less of the right things, and exercising in the right way, the weight will come off so slowly that you will give up and eat an entire pan of brownies just to stop from shaking. And how is it that food that doesn't even look appetizing normally suddenly becomes irresistible on a diet. Nachos with five day old fake cheese? All of a sudden they look like Godiva chocolate studded with caviar. Even Sally's dog food starts looking tasty. Kibbles AND Bits? That lucky bitch. And diets always include advice about how eating fruits and vegetables can help, because they have negligible calorie counts. Yeah, they also taste like fruits and vegetables. When I am hungry, or stress eating, a big bowl of kale just isn't going to cut it. I mean, unless it's chopped into tiny, tiny pieces, made into pasta and topped with lots of butter and cheese. Then I could eat it.

2. Finding Pants That Fit This is a universal complaint from every woman I have ever met, no matter how tall, short, fat, or thin. it is almost impossible to consistently find pants that fit, are comfortable, and don't cost three million dollars. Everyone has to have them altered, or live with legs that are just a tad too short or long, a waist or butt that is slightly too big or small, or take out a second home loan to afford them. Men's pants come in every waist size and length imaginable, yet women usually have seven size choices, and three length choices. What it you aren't "short, regular, or long." Think about that, you Old Navy bastards.

3. Blogging Really, what should be easier than writing down what's in my head at any given moment? Oh, wait, that's right, if I did that I would be arrested. Instead I have to process it through the small filter in brain (yes, I have one, it was installed last month), argue with myself as to whether or not what I am writing is funny or/and important to anyone but me, spell and grammar check it (not easy considering I have the attention span of a toddler) and then sit on my hands waiting to see if anyone reads it. Oh, and if anyone is going to be annoyed/offended by it. No wonder I always drink while blogging.

4. Hanging Out With Tara This isn't just because Tara is difficult to get along with. I mean, she is, but that's part of her charm. No, this has more to do that she moved to California for a boy and now sitting around eating pizza and drinking wine while watching pointless television involves one of us taking a plane. And then we feel like we're "visiting" and have to do "important things." I have tried to get Sally to fill in for Tara, but she doesn't like wine and isn't all that bitchy about what celebrities are wearing. It's just not the same.

5. Writing Lists Who is really good at lists? I mean, even grocery lists are filled with peril. I cannot count the number of times I have written out that we need three kinds of mushrooms, and forgotten to put down we need milk. And then I assume that everything must be on the list, so I don't think independently. This has resulted to several return trips to Smith's wearing pajamas. And pro/con lists? Those just send me into a manic depressive, OCD rant. On minute I'm deciding if I should buy capri pants (and I shouldn't -- see #2) and then I'm wondering if I was somehow responsible for the Holocaust. You think I'm kidding. I'm not.

Okay, I'm exhausted. I have just made a list, on a blog. Tara is come to visit tomorrow. Now I have to go work out so I can fit into my pants tomorrow... Damn, life sucks.


Sarah Bellum said...

Losing half a pound a day is simple if you're smoking crack. Though I think the sores all over your body may prevent you from wanting to be seen in a swimsuit, so I guess probably not worth it. Oh well.