Hitting the Wall

I missed last month's posting. I can't write and lose weight at the same time apparently.

Defatification is hard work, I keep it under 1600 calories and I work off 600 on the torture machine of choice - the treadmill  - and I still can only manage to lose 1/2 to 1 lb a week for a total of less than 50 in a year and a half, while my sister, Ms. Fatty Fatterstein has dropped 85 since January. Maybe I left my metabolism in heaven and she picked it up on the way here when she was born.  Being related, you would think she would give it back once she hit her goal.  But noooooooo. She looks great, I still have a tire around my middle, albeit I'm down from a truck tire to a mid-size car now. I'm aiming for one of those smart car tires by the end of summer.

Did you know that sugar free jello has 10 calories and only equals 100 calories when you eat ten of them? Those great Skinny Cow Ice Cream bars have 100 calories each.  The whole box equals 600 calories and that's equal to about how much I should eat at dinner, which with the utmost shame, but with a satisfied sweet tooth, I have done on more than one occasion.

I think I see where I'm going wrong.

My youngest son is getting engaged at the end of the year to a women whose mama is about a size 2.  I have no intention of wearing one of those mother of the groom dresses when they get married in 2016.  You know the ones - heavily beaded, brocade, jacket with matronly matching dress, the kind one buys when nothing else fits. I want a slinky one-shoulder jobbie that shows off my ink on top and my booty  -which needs to be about two sizes smaller by then -  on the bottom.

So if I kinda go away for a while again, it could mean I'm in the middle of booty-pops to a hot Adam Lambert song. I know he's gay, but once you look in those amazing eyes God blessed him with, you want to get a spatula and turn him.  Oh, sorry, that's not very PC, is it?  Apologies if I offended.

For a while anyway, at least until I get down to a size somewhere between Miss Piggy and one of those airburshed models in magazines, if I am not at the computer frantically trying to get Book 2 in my 3-book series ready for the editor, I'll be either on my Instrument of Torture walking 5 miles uphill to some exotic location that only exists in my head or in the basement rocking out to Lambert.  Feel free to join me.  Misery loves company and I have ice cream.