On my drive to Taco Bell at 11pm tonight, I thought, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to blog about this?"
By "this" I'm talking about my lo-carb lifestyle. Now, I see you: you just squinted your eyes, and thought, "But wait. Taco Bell has loads of carby shit on their menu [emphasis on shit], so why in the .....?"
It's because I slipped, kids. I'd been lo-carbbing it for 6 days and I tip-toed back over to the dark side, just for a minute. And it wasn't even a very *good* minute. Believe me, I'm back on the lo-carb train tomorrow morning.
This isn't my first trip around the carousel, either. I did lo-carb about 7 years ago, and lost -- as we say here in Texas -- a shit-pot full of weight. 11o pounds, to be precise. And then, in 2005, I moved to a big city and thought I had my metabolism whipped into shape. Thought I had straightened myself right up -- that I had been magically transformed into the chick who could now responsibly eat carbs. Well, someone forgot to give my ass the memo, because I gained a substantial amount of my weight back over a period of years.
Which brings me to today. Enter grumpy, bloated, fat (but still cute) me. When I started my first round of Atkins back in 2002, it was still a novelty. Believe me, starting Round 2 is much, much harder. Because the first two weeks? I pretty much feel like gnawing someone's face off, either because I'm pissy or hungry. Or both.
Well, I really shouldn't say that. I'm rarely hungry when lo-carbbing it (henceforth known as LC, and no, I am not talking about Lauren Conrad.) It's hard to be hungry after 2 eggs, 4 pieces of bacon and cheese. Of course, it also helps that I had LapBand surgery a few years ago -- which, as an aside, was the most useless thing I have ever done, but that's a story for another day -- so it doesn't take AS MUCH to fill me up as it once did. Still. I don't like chocolate chip cookies because they fill me up. I like chocolate chip cookies because I just really fucking like chocolate chip cookies. They're yummy.
But for me, chocolate chip anything pretty much came fresh out of Satan's oven, because nothing puts weight on me like carbs. Hell, even fruit. Can. Not. Have. It.
Now, believe me, I've heard everyone's opinions. And as we Southerners like to say: opinions are like assholes -- everyone got 'em, and they all stink.
Some people do miraculously well on Weight Watchers, or by calorie counting or just exercising or whatever. You can always find someone who will tell you what you need to be doing. I, however, will not be that person. I'm just telling you what works for me.
It's not without its ups and downs, though, which is why this blog is being started -- Mama needs an outlet. I'm a saucy little shit -- prone to cursing and dark bits of humor (don't let the layout fool you -- I am feminine and genteel and yet I also find myself saying the word "fuck" a lot, so take it all in.)
I just thought blogging about it might a) help me hold myself responsible and b) give a helping hand to others who find themselves in my position. I've always wanted an honest voice about body image and weight and diets, but I wanted it to be real, and on-going. Not a success story, not some "I shed the old horrible me!" story. There are plenty of those. Go to Barnes and Nobles -- the shelves runneth over.
The only thing runnething (yes, that's a word now) over on me are the cups of my bra and the top of my Spanx, so. I hope you enjoy this journey a helluva lot more than I enjoy waving goodbye to anything in my pantry that's white. Except for heavy cream. I can have the hell out of that.
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