Righteous Indigestion

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.