Lap Dog
Hahahaha. I suck.
Whew, it’s been a while, and I wish I was explaining how I can finally fit into tiny-people clothing and that I have all this muscle and I look dashing, just in time for my friend’s wedding next month.
But I don’t. I’m back up over 200 pounds. In fact, as of this morning, I’m 212. That’s depressing. I cannot stay below the forbidden deuce. Every time I work real hard and get down there, I just go back to eating for crap. Because I like to. Because that food tastes good, and I don’t care. And then I make pretty speeches about how I need to get a regimen, how I need to work hard, how I need to start blah blah bloop.
Maybe I’ll always just be a fatass. Fatassery runs rampantly in my family. My maternal grandparents were both large folks. A lot of my family consists of short fat people with really skinny athletic kids. Go figure.
I’m back on South Beach, heartily pushing through Phase 1 (Day 10), and I know tonight I’m going to end up probably breaking the diet, because we’re going to visit my cousin and his wife and baby. That baby learned me but good.
I had to hold the baby on my lap, and I was scared, because this little guy was like barely a week old. I’ve never held something so small. And it made me realize that one day I want to have kids. I want to be around to enjoy them. So how delicious is that pizza now, tubbo? The saddest part was I sort of had to rest the baby on my manboobs, because my gut is so fat, I don’t even have a lap to set the baby on. I just have a big old buddha. And that embarassed me. The poor baby had to be all jammed up in my face because I’m so fat, I don’t have a lap to hold him in. I almost cried.
So I’m going to push myself over the next month to make sure I get below 200 before my friend’s wedding. I’m going to stay on Phase 1 of South Beach until I make it below that goddamn deuce. Around the 190’s is when I look my shiniest. Wish me luck. I’ve already lost 10 pounds.
