Keto AF or That Time I Went on a Sadness Diet

I never realized how much I loved potatoes until I made a decision to just not eat carbs until I depressed myself into being thin. That's what Keto is about, right? You know what's super fun about this diet? Everyone is all YAAAASSSS, GIRL! ALMOOOONDS!!! And I'm just over here trying not to die because I'm allergic to almonds. And I love them. They just don't love me back. Kind of like that one guy. Dick bag. Still, giving up potatoes and toast is more painful than trying to overcome an unrequited love. I feel like there's a Taylor Swift song in here somewhere. Bitches can't even effectively eat their feelings now because all of my feelings live in carbohydrates.

I slowly eased myself off of those happy little endorphin producing shits and now I'm eating somewhere between 15-30 grams a day and I'm fucking over it. I almost had a nervous breakdown in a dollar store the other day reading the nutritional values on candy bars. Someone sneezed and I yelled "BLEEEESSS YOOOOUUU!"

I received no answer because people are rude and didn't understand how stabby I was feeling over the lack of chocolate in my life. So being the petty ass that I am I then yell "THANK ME AND YOU ARE NOT WELCOME!" Did I mention that I was actually in the middle of checking out while this occurred?

Fuck shit all of my paragraphs start with 'I'. This seems egotistical even for a blog that's about only me. Whatever.

An elliptical has also been involved and I am no more enamored of that piece of shit than I am eating Sadness Burgers with no bun. I've dropped some pounds though, so there's that. The night that I was the heaviest I've ever been was at a Cards game at Busch Stadium and there are pictures. Except in these pictures I don't look like I weigh what I weighed. I even sent the pictures to a friend and made her guess. She was 25 pounds short and now I'm upset, for the ONLY time in my life, that I didn't look fat enough in pictures. These Before/After shots are not going to be remotely dramatic. Like, what the shit, Body? Not only was I drunk off of multiple over-priced margaritas and looking goofy as shit, I was having an okay body day. What. The. Shit.

Look. Look at this shit. Guess my weight. GUESS IT! You won't hurt my feelings. That bitch ass scale did that the next day. I'll reveal the answer later.

I've set goals for myself with this whole weight loss journey. Obviously the big goal is to get down to my "fighting"/"one of the best bodies my whore of an ex had ever seen" weight, but I made mini goals along the way and I'm working on a reward system. Today I was basically like "Five more pounds and we can face rape a sheet cake" because I got very sexually frustrated about birthday cakes earlier and I'm not proud of how desperate I was for it.

I think once I hit 25 down (I'm waffling around 20 now) I'll go get my horrible tramp stamp covered because I'll be more comfortable lifting my shirt for a stranger while sober. (Judging you, Early 20's Miss Drunken Nipple Piercing WITH PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE BECAUSE YOU WERE A DUMB SHIT. Won't let your friends take pictures of your face to have memories of your fun times for forever, nooooo, but you'll sure as shit let some visiting piercer from Florida take a picture of your tits for posterity.)

I want to reach 30/35 down by my friend's wedding in October because she's always disgustingly fit and I'd like to dress like a white girl in knee boots and a cute dress. Maybe one of those romper dress things. But October + mountains = possibly frozen. Not a cute look. Guess I'll have to throw in an infinity scarf and pick some fucking apples while I'm at it.

As I head towards 40 I want to dress impeccably, like a woman in her 30's probably should be able to because she doesn't actually wear Batman pajama pants to work on a regular basis (they're comfortable as shit, y'all), have this face beat (makeup artist, not Ike and Tina), have my hair done and attend an honest to God ballet, orchestral performance (I feel like I got classier just saying orchestral), and an opera. And look like someone who has her shit straight.

If and when I manage to drop the 60ish pounds I want I'll honestly probably strip down naked and run through a densely populated area. Because dat ass.

Pssst. 185 pounds. 60 of it in my fucking cheeks.


Brett Minor said…
I have a weight loss plan for you. Move to Beijing. The weight will just fall off.

I moved here a year ago and lost 40 pounds in the first six months I was here. They don't use sugar in their food. They have no idea what bread even is and you have to walk everywhere. It happens without even trying.

Of course, you have to say goodbye to everyone you know and give up every comfort in life and wander lost around the city because no one speaks English, but you can visit a year later and listen to people "ooh" and "aah" over your new look.

It's almost worth it.

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