How to lose friends and infuriate people

So, it’s Day 7 of my diet and I hauled my pudgy pork roast ass back to Weight Watchers. Lost a whopping 3.6 pounds, which would be good if I hadn’t put on 18 in the first place. *snarl*

My leader, Johnny, is awesome. If he isn’t a flaming gay man, he sure as hell plays one on Thursday nights. He asked if I’d talk for a second about my ‘first week’ on the program.

I announced my status as a “two-time loser,” as it’s my second time around. And he LOVED it and referred to me as a “two-timing loser.” Yeah, we’re gonna get along just fine! 🙂

He asked how things were different during the past week. I said that for the past year, I was VERY roughly counting points, saying things to myself like, “Oh, that’s about 2 points.” When, in reality, I do the actual math and write it down and say, “Oh, hey, fatass, it was more like 8 points.”

A hush descended upon the room at the “F” word. Johnny loved it and said, “Oh, you say that to yourself, too?” And I said yeah, I suck at the “positive self-thinking lesson” and he said, “I know!”

And I was kind of comforted, mostly because I wasn’t sure he got my reference when I was on the scale and asked, “Did you deduct 16 pounds for the shoes?” (“Romy and Michelle,” in case you’re lost.) So, I think he got it. 😉

Then we broke up into groups to talk about our challenges. I picked the “food pushers” group so I could bitch about the Over-Extended Houseguest who bakes and cooks good food with a stick of butter and then gets hurt that I spurn what little contribution she feels she can make. Which I punctuated with, “No wonder I’m fat!”

And that pissed them off even further. Whoops.

Look, you have to learn at a young age (if you’re pudgalicious at a young age) to deal with people calling you names. Fuck, there are people in their 30s who act like 5-year-olds and address you as such because they’re pissed off that their skinny asses are having a miserable life. (*points and laughs at one in particular*)

Sticks and stones, yo. Sticks and stones. I get the last laugh AND the first one.

I call myself names when I do something stupid. Like eating the whole cake when I’ve already ruined my diet with one piece. Like trying to wear my “skinny jeans” that were a little tight 15 pounds ago, if I’m being honest about it. Or like when my confidence turns to shit and I don’t grab somebody and kiss them when I know perfectly well that I CAN, because I get struck by sudden shyness that they couldn’t POSSIBLY want my pudgy butt.

Anyway, someone in the meeting today called me my nickname (a derivation of my real name, NOT fatass!), with a certain accent in his voice, that reminded me of my friend Vitamin D. And I missed her very much today. (*waves*) And she was my real champion, when I did this the first time.

So, yeah, I’m back. Hopefully this time, it’ll stick. But at least I’m trying. And maybe I’ll find another name with which to berate myself for the dumb things I do in the future: “OK, skinny ass!”

Second time’s a charm, I hope!

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