Little Gray Cells vs. Blubber Cells-UPDATE

UPDATE: Well, unbeknownst to me, PETA (People for Exceedingly Tacky Ads) put out a Save the Whales ad to fight blubber...just trying to help me along in my quest to be svelte and slim just like them PETA people. In their quest to save fat women everywhere, they have so graciously given us their best advice...GO VEGETARIAN. I think they have taken their advice to an extreme and stuffed their heads full of straw because you know brains are like, meat, you know and meat, you know, is BAD. So all you beached whales at the beach, put down the burger and grab some tofu...then it can be your turn to make fun of someone. Of course, don't whales eat meat? Oh man, wait until PETA finds out.



I have started a new diet...and it's not even New Year's. I am only 5 feet 3 inches tall and look good at 120 pounds but let's just say I'm a few bowling balls over that weight. I have been watching what I eat. I still eat it, but now I watch it as I do. Nah. Just kidding. I have actually been good for a while. I even went out with the girls at P. F. Chang's in La Jolla and did not have a drink *gasp* and only ordered lettuce wraps. But I know this is all a mind f**k my fat cells are conspiring on.

I used to think it was my brain in charge. You know, just make the right choices, don't buy the wrong foods, blah, blah, blah. Now I know why that has never worked. My brain is not in charge of fat. There is a whole fat union thing going on and the union thugs are totally in control. They are so clever. They let me think I'm so slick for a few days and then, wham, they send out the blubber cells in charge of salty yummy chips. It was an all out offensive. Normandy Beach took place in my cellulite stricken thighs. But the little gray cells won that skirmish. I resisted. I gave name, rank, and serial number. (There was no frickin' way I was telling them my weight.)

The next offensive was tasty nummy oh-so-little-they-can't-possibly-count-as-calorie desserts at P.F. Chang's. Fortunately, none of the other traitors, I mean, friends ordered dessert, so by default I won. Blubber union headquarters was not amused. Picket lines were organized. Busloads of fatty cells were sent in as shock troops. I capitulated. The white flag went up. I ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich when I was out with my brother yesterday. This is not just a sandwich. It is a DEEP FRIED sandwich. Served with fries. But you know what? After days and days of being good, it just tasted greasy. I even gave my fries to my sister-in-law and only ate 3. Okay, 6, but they were little ones. I didn't even finish it. I have been practicing on the super slow eating thing. I read an article once that said French women stay skinny because it takes them forever to eat, so they don't eat a lot. That is how they get away with eating fattening foods. Well, that was their theory anyway. I think it has more to do with being a mistress and having to duck and cover a lot.

I think it really helped going to see Body Worlds in San Diego a few Sundays ago. Such a strange exhibit. I was totally not freaked out until looking at one body, I saw a tattoo on the wrist. It was like getting hit upside the head. One exhibit had a thin cross-section of an obese body. You could see the layers of fat on the back, in the stomach, just everywhere. You know it's bad enough to get a quick glimpse of your own fat on your back much less see it on exhibit.

I am even re-reading a book I have had for ages by Joyce Vedral on getting a fit body. I love that book. Now, if only I could look like her just by turning the pages.