I’ll Either Gain 3,000 lbs or lose 30

The last couple of months have been, well, rotund. That’s putting it nicely. My skirts have been straining at the seams. The ones that I can struggle my way into at least. My butt is developing its own gravitational pull not unlike Kim Kardashian’s but less shapely. My stomach, which has generally been a flattish (ok not really) friend to me, became a turncoat and developed a mutinous roll to accompany my omnipresent muffin top.

Something needed to be done. For a while now. Other bloggers have lost countless pounds by recording their journey for their readers, to keep them on the straight and pizza-free narrow. But this seemed like the writing equivalent of the sixteen year old girl who calls up her boyfriend every night and lists off everything she put in her mouth that day. Alarming and so many shades of irritating.

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And then I nibbled on a plain rice cake and afterwards I ate four red jelly beans but left the purple ones because like eww. Someone once told me they’re made of Smurfs which makes NO sense because I always thought Smurfs were green. (Photo Credit meangirls.wikia.com/wiki/Regina_George)

So I was in the process of accepting my slowed thirty something metabolism and my new fatness when Tex decided he would go on his high fat diet again. Earlier this year he shed twenty something pounds while following this regimen. Out of concern for his health, I told him that I would follow the diet as well, for three months. It would mean giving up buttercream icing as a food group and no longer classifying knitting as my physical activity for the day, but I had nothing to lose. Well, except for the gravitational pull around my butt, which was raking in leaves and the odd candy wrapper into its orbit.

The Basic Tenements of this Diet

  1. People are not designed to eat processed carbohydrates

It’s why I’m beginning to resemble the cast of Wall-E or at least that’s Butter Bob’s explanation.

  1. Previously people ate more fat

A lot more. A staggering amount more. Based on what Tex is eating my only conclusion is that early man survived on mammoth blubber. I wasn’t aware mammoths were that flabby.

  1. When the body gets an adequate amount of protein combined with a tremendous amount of fat, it feels sated

Tex has done the research on this, most of his research consists of reading Butter Bob’s thoughts. And as everyone knows, random people on the internet are ALWAYS right. It’s how I know that smearing axle grease on your arms cures angina and gout.

  1. People eat too often and when they’re not hungry, eat only in an 8 hour window

Agreed. Again, the roly-poly people of Wall-E, which I myself am becoming.

 

It’s only been a week or so for me, but my conclusions thus far have been

  • Life has never been more delicious. Tex loads up salads with so much fatty dressing that I feel like my arteries will clog just from the sight of them but I’m not concerned because I’ve got a can of axle grease at the ready.
  • I don’t crave sweets or breads. Strange because I’ve spent my entire life wanting to mow down entire bakeries in one sitting. For serious, Paris for me was like one giant carbohydrate trigger.
  • I’m not hungry. Like physically can’t eat because I’m that not hungry. My entire life has been a denial of hunger. I’m the fat kid in my family with my body’s end goal being that of a large pear shape, something along the lines of James and the Giant Peach. Only I’m the giant pear. So this sense of satiation is novel.
  • The amount of butter and avocados that we are consuming is frightening. But our intake of meat has not changed.
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The Lifecycle of a Diet As Told By Me, The Very Hungry and Chubby Caterpillar

Going on a diet is EXACTLY like the story “The Very Hungry Caterpillar”. Only instead of eating your way through every single food, you merely stare at the edibles and say things like “Ohhh chocolate torte, you look like my ex-boyfriend from high school, is there a reason you still have to look so damn delicious?”

Also, rather than starting as a tiny egg on a leaf, you begin your diet story as a giant blob at the kitchen table. Or at least that’s where my story begins. My son is learning his numbers. I started my diet the day he counted my chins.

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Don’t take my picture right now- that bagel made me bloated! (Photo Credit : rosenberryrooms.com)

From there you slowly unfurl from your chair and begin to move. Remember movement? Walking? The gym? God in heaven why aren’t these methods of torture illegal? You vow to change your eating habits instead.

On Monday, you eat only apples. And still get bigger.

Tuesday, you decide pears are lower in carbs but still you get bigger.

You conclude that the key is eating tinier fruits. So on Wednesday you mow down on three tiny plums and the scale laughs at you when you step on it.

Thursday you throw out the scale and eat a bag of Cheetos.

Friday morning brings regret in many forms, so you dumpster dive to rescue the scale. Your garbage adventure gives you an old pizza and sour milk smell that you can’t seem to wash out of your hair. The scent makes you gag so much that Friday becomes an all-day fast.

On Saturday you’re invited out for dinner and drinks. Thankfully the spoiled milky-pizza smell came out, so you watch as your friends eat chocolate torte, a plate of penne, a churro, shawarma and a lobster. Afterwards, you are very tired of your diet and make a cocoon of blankets to comfort yourself before bed.

Sunday morning, all of your hard work has paid off because you emerge from your bed, a thin, beautiful winged creature with well styled hair.

Only not actually, you’re still fat. Also hungry. But your partner informs you that he managed to lose 8 pounds this week.

You Are Aware Of How Rude It Is When You Stare At My Burgeoning Winter Babies, Jeremiah and Ezekiel, Right?

Jeremiah and Ezekiel are my fat babies- I made them out of chocolate brownies and Nutella. I swear that there is some sort of biological response that FORCES everyone to stock up on adipose for the cold months. Sometimes, one can avoid it, for example last winter, I spent a lot of time strapping my tiny toddler baby to my back, throwing a parka rated for -40 Celsius over the both of us and traipsing about our rough northern town. Something about regularly hauling around almost a quarter of my body weight prevented me from putting on excess weight.

This winter? Not so much. For starters, my baby is a baby no more; he’s all but outgrown his carrier and can no longer fit comfortably in the parka with me. Meaning that going out involves shoving Mini-Tex into HIS parka, a garment he loves, and by loves I mean despises with the wrath of a thousand shrieking toddlers, if my son knew what matches were, he’d play with them in an attempt to rid the world of his evil blue snowsuit. As you might imagine, getting a disgruntled two year old into a full body parka is a challenge, one that ended with me receiving a black eye after a particularly forceful headbutt earlier this winter.

Even our ever hopeful, ever perky, twelve year old babysitters won’t take on the task- and they are up for anything. Consequently, my son and I have spent a lot of time inside. Like a lot a lot. During the day, I gaze out onto the snow covered mountain top that is our view and think “someday” and then I eat some goldfish crackers and wonder when I developed a mommy butt.

Once upon a time, when I spent my evenings doing, well to be honest I can’t remember what I actually did in my late twenties but rest assured it wasn’t singing “Old MacDonald” over and over a thousand times while I cooked dinner, anyway, once upon a time, when I was young, well youngish, during the winter, I’d name the winter weight on my butt. The belly pooch was “Jeremiah” after an obscenely attractive model that I once dated. And bringing up the rear was Erasmus. It’s been a number of years and one child since then, so I’ve since accepted my new posterior which moves both side to side AND somehow back to front. There’s a lot more butt which extends beyond my hips, thus allowing the forward and backward motion. At least that’s my personal theory on my newly mobile bum.

In light of the fact that this newly shaped butt is unlikely to go away, I’ve ceased calling it names, especially one so unfortunate as Erasmus. But in the meantime, the front of me is looking so large, that Jeremiah now has a twin- Ezekiel. And I’d prefer if everyone would stop looking at them, or at least stop caressing them and asking about my “good news”.

Me And Jennifer Lawrence, We’re Practically the Same Person

The young new goddess of the silver screen and I have so much in common that I half expect her to show up on my doorstep any second now. She has hair, I have hair. She speaks English, I speak English. And if that wasn’t enough we were both subjects of “The Fappening*”. Oh sorry, that was a spelling error, I only experienced “The Fattening” this past year.

Jennifer wears clothes, I wear clothes. Honest to goodness sometimes it's like we're twins. (Photo Credit : justjared.com)

Jennifer wears clothes, I wear clothes. Honest to goodness sometimes it’s like we’re twins. (Photo Credit : justjared.com)

That was my way of saying Erasmus and Jeremiah my food babies that I made out of gummy worms and sitting on my butt, are still here. I feel a bit like the mother from the Roald Dahl novel “Matilda” whom the author describes as being encased in a layer of fat. That’s me; I’m wobbling, wibbling, and jiggling my way through life. I don’t even have winter to blame any more, even up here in the frigid, remote North, the snow has been gone for weeks. I mean admittedly it is still the North so if you hunted around a particularly shady tree, one could still build a wicked snowman, but I don’t think that counts.

At the very least I can content myself knowing that JLaw has occasionally been considered heavy by Hollywood standards. Perhaps we can bond over kale sundaes or whatever it is that movie stars eat after taking a belly busting class together. Or snack on algae and wheat germ crackers while power walking our way through a hiking trail. I can see it- this is going to happen. Perhaps I shall hang onto my extra weight a while longer just in case so Ms. Lawrence and I can get rid of it together.

*Dear Mom,

I know you have no idea what “The Fappening” is. It’s because you aren’t a teenage boy. For Pete’s sake don’t Google it though. I imagine the search would turn up pages and pages of men with their tongues and various other parts out. Suffice to say my good friend Jennifer may have lost some racy photos to the wilds of the internet.

We Need to Talk About Jeremiah

For those of you who are new to my discussions of weight gain, Jeremiah is my food baby. I make him out of butter and gummy worms. He generally appears somewhere around the end of January, after I’ve spent months sitting around on my bum, watching the world become snowier and snowier. Jeremiah, my food baby, is named after a particularly good looking man that I once went out on a date with. (We are still working out the custody terms.)

My food baby didn’t return last year. My grandmother pulled me aside last Thanksgiving and told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to gain weight that winter. So I didn’t. Let it be known that my Gran cuts a forbidding figure when she wants to.

By contrast, this year, because of all of my sitting and studying, Jeremiah is back, and bigger than ever. One might even say that I’m carrying twin food babies if my newly enormous bottom counted; if so then I shall name him Erasmus. However, I didn’t realize how large my weight problem had become until yesterday.

Meredith, my new roommate and I are the same height, have the same shoe size, and we both have knockers so large that if we turn around too quickly while standing next to a child under the age of eight, they could be knocked unconscious. This especially applies to me, as my brassieres resemble Medieval fortresses; heavily constructed battalions, able to withstand the siege of walking quickly or running. The difference in our figures, is that Meredith has a tiny waist, which has become tinier compared to mine of late.

Though Meredith is uncomfortable with showing skin around me, I’ve taken to dashing down to the laundry room in only a bra and a skirt to search for an appropriate top. Prior to yesterday, I had been covert about this, peeking out of my bedroom to see if my roommate was in the kitchen and then sprinting for the stairs. I was running late Wednesday morning, so I burst out of my room and headed for lower, more-clothed ground, without nary a glance to see if Meredith was watching.

Apparently she was because when I returned from my half-naked search for a sweater, I found a pair of pants draped over the chair in my room. “I left a pair of pants for you to try on”. Meredith called cheerily from the kitchen. “They’re too big for me. I don’t know why I thought I was that huge.”

It would seem that Jeremiah is making his presence known to the world, or at the very least to my roommate, as I make my jiggly way to the basement every morning.

Attack of the Bulge! Jeremiah Returns!

In September, the days become shorter and colder to herald the long awaited return of Jeremiah.  For those of you who are new to The Great Unwashed, Jeremiah is my food baby.

English: Chocolate Zingers

I make Jeremiah out of so many of these. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I make him out of tortilla chips, cupcakes and sitting on my butt every winter. I very carefully grow him in the dark Canadian cold and then sweat him off every spring. I look forward to eating wheels of cheese with Jeremiah, yet I never miss him when he’s gone.

In an act of poor judgment I named my winter pudge after a model that I used to date. In a fit of even poorer judgment I decided to inform said ex boyfriend that he was a (food) daddy. The original message is below.

Dear Jeremiah*,

Once upon a time I was young and lovely, and you were significantly older than me but also still lovely. And we went out on a date. I thought you were hot stuff.
Now I am married. And I have a blog. I just wanted you to know I named my food baby after you.
I always really liked the name Jeremiah.

Sincerely yours,

The Great Unwashed

A while ago, the actual Jeremiah not my chubby mid section emailed me back.

Oh my god! The Great Unwashed! How’s it going?? How are things? And what’s a food baby??

Jer*

*Names have not been changed to protect the identity of my (food) baby daddy because not only was his response tardy, but he didn’t even bother to inquire about little Jeremiah’s well being. He’s gone, extremely hot man who I went on a two hour date with exactly once- thanks for asking. I might have kept him had you offered child support.

No that’s a lie. I never intentionally hold on to my winter weight.

 

If you love chocolate and sour cream and the resulting the pleasant curve of a food baby named Jeremiah too, you can read more about him below.

https://iamthegreatunwashed.com/2013/02/25/im-not-pregnant-im-just-fat/

https://iamthegreatunwashed.com/2013/02/27/travesty-tuesdays-by-the-way-youre-a-food-daddy/

Bring On Munch!

Man am I happy to see the back end of Fatuary. For those of you who just arrived, due to the food baby I made out of doughnuts, licorice candy and too much sitting around on my butt, I rechristened February Fatuary.

I’m relieved it’s over, not only because it means that I’m one step closer to getting rid of Jeremiah, my food baby, but also for the majority of Fatuary I was in a really bad mood.

No, that’s not an adequate description. For most of Fatuary when I wasn’t consuming junk food, I was on a tear, I was the kind of grumpy that people cross to the other side of the street to avoid, I was the antichrist.

And sometimes during Fatuary I spoke French and so I became the French antichrist. Then I’d revert to English and go back to being just the antichrist.

Also, I’d like to announce that I have a new favourite word- antichrist. I find it’s a versatile word, applicable to every situation. Have a pair of socks with those little threads that cut between your toes? Simply sum up your discomfort with a succinct “These socks are the antichrist”. Hate mayo on sandwiches? Express your true feelings with by stating “This sandwich is the antichrist.” As a descriptor its uses are endless.

But back to the original purpose of this post, goodbye Fatuary, with your grey, sunless days and long snowy nights, I’m elated to see you go. Bring on March*!

 

*Names of months may be changed due to the fact that I continue to sit on the couch and consume sugar, an event which Roscoe observed and commented on, saying “If you keep eating like this March will be known as Munch”. Thank you dear husband, I love you too.

Travesty Tuesdays- By The Way You’re a (Food) Daddy

So I wasn’t planning on posting this Tuesday because I didn’t feel Travesty Tuesdays needed to be a weekly occurrence for my blog, but then I wrote “I’m Not Pregnant, I’m Just Fat”. Which led to my ponderings of -is it acceptable to message an ex-boyfriend to say that you’ve named your food baby after him?

And because Roscoe wasn’t home to stop me from doing wildly inappropriate things like messaging my ex-boyfriends about their newly created food offspring, my strange started running rampant over Twitter which led to the following message which was sent to the Jeremiah in question.

Dear Jeremiah*,

Once upon a time I was young and lovely, and you were significantly older than me but also still lovely. And we went out on a date. I thought you were hot stuff.
Now I am married. And I have a blog. I just wanted you to know I named my food baby after you.
I always really liked the name Jeremiah.

Sincerely yours,

The Great Unwashed

*Names have not been changed because not surprisingly, Jeremiah has not gotten back to me, Also he wasn’t actually an ex-boyfriend, I believe we only went out on one date. I did however think he was good looking what with him being a male model and all. That concept alone blew my nineteen year old mind, the fact that he was seven years older than me was just delicious icing on a sweet, sweet male model cake.

I’m Not Pregnant, I’m Just Fat

Not even days after posting Belly Button Watch 2013, someone asked me if I was pregnant. To which I had to answer, “No It’s Fatuary, I’m just heavier”.

What is Fatuary you might ask? Well once upon a time this month was known as February. But in recent years it’s come to my attention that this month has a lot of darkness, very little sunlight, an excess amount of cold and a plethora of snow.

All of this grey, bleak weather makes me want to sit on the couch. And eat bags of potato chips. Now the thing is, this is not my natural state. I’m a walker. I walk to the library, to the bus, to the grocery store, to the hair stylist. Anywhere possible I walk. But in Fatuary I sit. I sit until my seat spreads , until my skirts get tight and my belly looks round.  

And since no other month has this type of effect on me, I christened it Fatuary, a celebrated time for Canadians, where the only exercise we get is from shoveling the endless amounts of snow from our driveways and running quickly to and from the convenience store for more licorice and donuts.

So yes I am pregnant. With a food baby, I made him out of deep fried dough and licorice candies. I’m going to call him Jeremiah. I figure I’ll let him grow until April at which point I’ll want to be rid of him. Thus I’ll extract myself from my couch and start to run and walk and do all of the activities I love again and gradually Jeremiah will disappear, only to return next Fatuary.

Revolutionary Diet Secrets of the Great Unwashed

It’s the New Year! Oprah and Doctor Oz have decided that everyone is too fat. But before you get upset, read on, because they’re willing to help you!

 Now I would post what Doctor Oz and Oprah recommend for a “Newer, Healthier You” but that would be plagiarism. And it would also severely detract from advertising my diet plan. Now I haven’t patented it yet, or copyrighted it, or whatever you’re supposed to do to prevent people from stealing your brilliant dieting secrets but since you are all fans and avid lovers of my Unwashed wisdom, I will share my slim down strategy with you.

My diet is called the “Would Tori Spelling Eat That?” diet. For those of you who don’t spend hours perusing the 791.45 section of the library also known as the “Biographies of D-list movie stars and the cast of Jersey Shore” section, Tori Spelling is Aaron Spelling’s daughter. I can’t tell you much about Aaron mostly because he was a somewhat respectable character and I only read poorly written biographies about people who probably really shouldn’t have biographies. On that note I’ve read all four of Tori’s books and her mother’s.

Anyway, so Tori was on a big TV show in the 90’s but mostly she’s known for being very,very skinny and not having much acting ability. This doesn’t prevent me from watching the majority of her work including the very mediocre and disturbing “House of Yes”. Let’s just say the theme of incest figured prominently into the movie. Roscoe thinks that she looks like a cross between an alien and a praying mantis. Personally I think she’s pretty- potato, potahto, same thing.

Anyhow, on with the weight loss!

 

The “Would Tori Spelling Eat that?” Diet

Step 1.

Find multiple pictures of Tori Spelling. Ideally she should be pursing her lips so her cheekbones all but slice through the paper you’re going to print the picture on.

Step 2.

Print the picture. Now some people might lump this in with step one however I enjoy checking off steps and our printer also HATES me. Almost as much as the photocopiers at my work. It waits until I need to print something vital and then abruptly stops working, or prints it backwards and upside down or on polka dotted paper. Now admittedly the last one might be partially my fault for loading the printer with polka dotted paper however it works so infrequently for me that I’m going to shift the blame onto the obviously faulty technology. You may want to have a bit of Printer Crack on hand to complete this step.

 Step 3.

Post pictures of Tori Spelling’s head all around your living space, wherever you eat. You could even put her picture in the bathroom because even toothpaste has calories and everyone loves being watched while they pee. Note I may be making the toothpaste calorie thing up.

Step 4.

Cut out large speech bubbles then take a thick Sharpie marker and write the following messages in block letters “Would I eat that?”,  “That doesn’t look like thin air”,  “I exist entirely on lettuce and my love for the children that I’m constantly having.”  Then put the speech bubbles next to the disembodied Tori heads that you’ve posted around your apartment.

 

 

Allright you caught me, this isn’t actually a diet plan but a ruse to make people cover their houses with pictures of Tori Spelling’s head with odd quotes next to them. If truth be told you’re better off with the Oprah magazine. Unless you have a thing for reality TV décor, in which case, I think you’ll really like my blog.