There's good news. And bad news. Which one do you want first? I'll start with the bad news. For two weeks, the scale has not budged. I mean, to the ounce...every.single.day...the same friggin' number. First thing in the morning, my empty stomach, empty bladder and I walk sleepily to the kitchen (the only non-carpeted spot in my apartment) pull the scale out from underneath the sofa and brace ourselves, half in hope, half in fear. And look down with bed head and squinted eyes to see the exact same digits. Thinking perhaps my scale was malfunctioning, or just punking me, I tested it on Willoughby. Depending on the amount of Shih Tzu I could manage to keep on the scale long enough to register, it was somewhere between 10.7 and 17.2. Obviously in working condition.
Do you want to know why the scale hasn't budged? Because your poster girl for weight loss can't seem to make it through a week without succumbing to temptation. In the form of chocolate. As most of you know, I have sworn off refined sugar (yes, chocolate, that means you). For the rest of my life. But four days into the rest of my life, you might as well tell me I'm never going to see my mom again. I start fantasizing about things I wouldn't normally fantasize about. Like Alpha Bits. And Diet Dr. Pepper...which by the way, I've only had, like once in my life. Usually, I can be exorcised with the chocoholic's version of Methadone...Jello's sugar-free chocolate mousse. But this week, it was chocolate covered pretzels. The real thing.
Now, let me tell you...I have not thought about chocolate covered pretzels since I was beltin' it out to Milli Vanilli. But Thursday night, at 1:00 am...3 hours after I'd turned out the lights to go to sleep...they were ALL I could think about (the pretzels, not the pop/dance music sensation). I finally made it to Dreamland. But woke up five hours later wanting them even more. So, at 7:00 in the morning, I got in my car, drove down to the nearest grocery store, echolocated a bag of chocolate covered pretzels, and ate the entire bag for breakfast.
I was so disgusted with myself that I decided to ride my bike to work. Most of you don't know me in person. But trust me when I say it was a sight to see. And the ONLY time I've done it in 36 years of tricycles, Pink Princess bikes, and 10-speeds. Going TO work was fun. Because it's ALL downhill. Going back home...uh..NOT so fun! Around Orange Grove and Rosemead, I almost lost part of my lower intestine. I just tucked it into my messenger bag and kept going. Up the mile of 30-45% incline leading back to my house. I see bikers, in their black neoprene biking shorts and aerodynamic helmets, trekking up that hill almost daily. God love 'em. I had it down to the lowest gear possible. My legs were going 1000 RPM. And I was barely moving. But I made it! And then took a four hour nap.
In any event, on Saturday, I started a new diet. Something radically different from anything I've EVER done before. Something REVOLUTIONARY. PS...I lost two pounds in 48 hours. That, darlings, is the good news.
Oh...but I'm not telling you what it is until I know for sure it's going to work. Which, in my head means 6.4 more pounds. Stay tuned!