I was roped into participating in an office juice cleanse. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and it kind of feels like the first day of school. Minus the fact that you get to eat solid foods that day. I’m pretty sure we’re all going to hate each other by EOD.
Whoever said that nothing tastes as good as thin feels has never had a Porto’s cheese roll, obvi. But I didn’t go to the gym at an unholy hour on a Saturday just to offset my workout by inhaling one of these delicious treats… that my aunt brought me from LA… that I probably won’t have again till Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. Or 2012.
It’s hard to complain about exercising with a view like this…
Yesterday, I hiked at Torrey Pines with Shi, and I was DYING. I haven’t worked out in… what month is it now? My exercise ball has been sitting in the backseat of my car as a constant reminder that I haven’t worked out since Arlene moved to Monterey. I weighed myself yesterday to assess the damage, and I’ve only gained 6 pounds, surprisingly. I was expecting upwards of 15 or 20, but I guess it’s hard to tell if my clothes are fitting tighter when I’ve been getting all this mileage out of my leggings! Ha. I’m finally back on the grind, though. Arlene pretty much threatened my life before she left town, and I don’t doubt she would cut me if I gained back all that weight she helped me lose.
My goal is to look better at 30 than I did at 21. Considering I wore brown chola lip liner when I was 21, I’d say this goal may have already been reached. Ha.
Yesterday, I brought my lunch and gym clothes to work.
My untouched ground turkey is still sitting in the fridge because Mary and I had 25¢ wings at JT’s instead, and my unused gym clothes are still neatly folded in the trunk of my car because Christian wanted to go to happy hour.
My work’s proximity to the bar is clearly foiling my plans to eat better and work out.
8 weeks, 1200 calories/day, 2 workouts/day, 42 pounds lost and $407 gained, bitches!
Ladies, you’re doing yourself a serious disservice if you think that a man can ever beat you in anything. Who cares whether or not they lose weight faster than you? Work harder, and show them that there’s nothing a man can do that a woman can’t do better, backwards and in high heels. TWICE!
Going to Chez Nous and not getting a spicy chicken melt is like going to Outback and not getting steak. Today, I did both.
My coworker’s husband brought me a fruit salad for lunch instead of my usual spicy chicken melt, and for a delicious second, I thought that the nectarine strips were fries. After work, I went to Outback for Alicia’s birthday dinner and ate grilled fish while everyone (including the 7-year-old sitting next to me) ate steak.
I was sitting here after my workout, watching Unwrapped: Sandwiches on the Food Network (torture, I know). They featured the Grilled Cheese Invitational in LA, and I decided that this event would be well deserved after the @MindzAlike#BLC was over. I googled it, and of course it’s happening the weekend before this BLC ends! Boo whore. That would have been the ultimate celebratory meal.
Five weeks left, and I’m on top with over 20 pounds lost. Those delicious grilled cheese sandwiches will just have to wait till next year…
Anthony: crab hut tomorrow? Me: i can’t :( i have a weigh-in this weekend. Anthony: let me know when this contest that appears to be ruining your life is over and we can go to crab hut. i mean, i can only go there in the company of celebs, such as those who have their pic on the wall.
The fact that I’m willing to risk my Crab Hut mayorship and dukedom alone should strike fear in the eyes of my fellow @MindzAlike#BLC participants.
Oh, Starbucks… you and your complimentary mini cupcakes can’t break me. I’ll stick to my zero calorie iced green tea with two splendas, thank you very much.
Between going to the gym at an ungodly hour, working 9-5, and circuit training with Arlene after work, I barely have enough time and energy to take a shower and do some light internet stalking before I cry myself to sleep at night out of hunger.
This pretty much sums up the next seven weeks of my life. FML.
Two trips to the fair last week left me with fierce tan lines and an even fiercer waistline. I’m sure my special relationship with bacon last month didn’t help, either. Today’s a new day, though. I don’t have a particular goal in mind… No upcoming wedding to lose three dress sizes for. No birthday party for another ex-boyfriend… A belated attempt to wear a bathing suit in public, perhaps? (I wear my chones around anyone who will let me—is that not the same thing?) I suppose I have to do it for myself this time. Here goes nothing…
It’s officially summer, and for the 28th year in a row, I’m not ready for all this sunlight. Thankfully, I’ve moved out of my non air-conditioned apartment that I nearly melted in last year, so I won’t have any sudden urges to punch a baby in this heat. Being healthy isn’t enough motivation to lose weight for me. I entered a biggest loser competition at work last year, lost 20 pounds and won by less than 1% (suck it, Calvin!). And I did it all for just bragging rights and a celebratory croissant. I used to play Bejeweled Blitz religiously on Facebook just because whenever I’d beat someone’s score, it sent them a notification saying, “Booyah! Mayan fucking beat you, bitch.” Okay maybe it didn’t say fucking. Or bitch. Or booyah… but it still notified them, okay? Get off me. I would really like to get fit, so I need someone to compete with. And not someone like Jay who works out once a week while I’m pulling two-a-days… It can’t be that easy. But I want to start after I go to the fair this Sunday. And next Friday. And possibly next Saturday… Let’s just be safe and start this thing when the fair ends after the 4th of July.
I’m all about good food and good drinks with good friends, and this diet is just ruining my life. I don’t even know who I am right now. Did I really say no to Cinco de Drinko at D&B’s with Jay and his coworkers AND margaritas at Ortega’s with Shi and her coworkers this week? I think the bigger question is what’s the deal with me hanging out with my friends and their coworkers??? As a general rule, I don’t go out with the people I work with. At least not since my manager’s drunken birthday disaster of 2008. Yikes. Anyway, with only six weeks left till Chel’s wedding, I’ve been eating bird portions and hitting the gym every night in a late attempt to fit into the bridesmaid dress I purposely (and over ambitiously) ordered three sizes too small. Apparently, losing 25 pounds wasn’t enough. It would’ve been, had I lost it all in my chest. As I always say, these ladies are a blessing and a curse. This sudden spike in turbo kickboxing classes has also left me with some seriously sore stems. I have to admit, walking around like I’ve just been butt-raped has been very humbling.
I came home from the gym this morning to this chocolate covered strawberry bouquet sent from my sister and her fiancé. I smell sabotage… sweet, sweet sabotage. I didn’t work out every day this week and pull three two-a-days to indulge in dessert—I did it so I could drink my sorrows away tonight with my single friends. My sister is so thoughtful, though :) She knows how much I hate this godforsaken holiday.
I’ve been on this crazy diet and exercise regimen for the past few weeks in preparation for Chel’s wedding. I just don’t want to be scrambling to lose three dress sizes in May to fit into my bridesmaid dress. Its pleated waistline promises to hide any indiscretions (like that wing-eating contest you entered the night before or that Mexican you didn’t know was hiding in your uterus), but I thought I’d be on the safe side and pull some two-a-days at the gym. I took kickboxing and salsa dancing today. My kickboxing instructor kept yelling, “Throw those punches! Squeeze those glutes! You gotta look good for your man on Valentine’s Day!” And I’m thinking, the only man who’s gonna see me naked on Valentine’s Day is my masseur at Chiropractique! Boo whore. At least someone’s hands will be on me that day…
I have six months to find a date fit into my bridesmaid dress for Chel and Flex’s wedding. A dress that I purposely ordered three sizes too small. It’s only day one of my diet and I’m miserable. Probably from all the food I didn’t eat. And all the Coke I didn’t drink. And the migraine I’ve had since I got home from work. I’ll have to keep reminding myself that “nothing tastes as good as thin feels” whenever I get the sudden urge to sit around and eat sticks of butter from different lands. It’s gonna be a long six months.
You don’t alter Vera Wang to fit you. You alter yourself to fit Vera.