How did it end?

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Well, I worked my butt off…. Ok well not completely because there is still much work to do there…. But I did manage to work diligently all month on eating healthier and working out all in an effort to look good in a dress. Really sort of vain but the writing was on the wall.

Here is the part that you don’t know. Remember back when I wrote about the return of the bush and I had asked my gynecologist about how many women had given up on the landscaping? Well, let me just tell you, my doctor has said what my husband refers to as the most ridiculous and inappropriate things to me and I fire back comments that make my husband blush and run for cover. Aside our crazy verbal sparring, lies the heart of a very dedicated doctor who takes care of me like I was his own daughter. Anyway, back to that last appointment he notes that I have gained a few pounds since my last visit. And yes, Virginia, he calls me on every single one of them. He asks me what I have been doing for exercise and I tell him I have been doing nothing. He tells me to at least walk. I say that I will get back in the swing of things and then he is quiet for a bit and says, “I know you will when you are ready because you are too vain to let yourself go.”
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Agh! That doesn’t sound so nice. Not very nice at all… So now I am shamed for the weight gain and vain? I say thanks sarcastically and he replies that he means it in a good way.

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Hmmmmm…. It sticks with me and strikes me that he is right. They say women dress for other women. Not me. I dress for my husband, for that single minute when I come downstairs to leave for an event or meet him for a bite of lunch and he looks at me like I am the only thing he can see and will never get tired of looking at. Even after 20 years together and three growing children with a just a little bit of effort I can still capture his attention. It makes me feel powerful, feminine and desirable. Ironically, I don’t want a single other man to make a comment or send an appraising look my way. It makes me a bit unsettled and not in a good way. So it is for one man alone that I remain vain and for that one addicting reason, I will always try not to let myself go.

Faced with the gala, I don’t want to squeeze myself into an uncomfortable dress so I workout at least 5 times a week and I watch what I eat and for the first time, I stay off the scale. This is what happened…..

I notice that my favorite jeans button just a bit easier. I sleep better than I had in quite some time. My migraines virtually disappear. I do a whole lot less emotional eating. I feel stronger than I have in a long time.

And then I am climbing in the tub and my husband walks in the bathroom and said, “Your butt looks SOOOOOOO much better!” For a split second I am so appreciative of the compliment and then I think for a minute and yeah… Not so much. It is back-handed but not meant with malice, the poor guy just sucks with his delivery.

The day of the gala I primp and put my act together. I love my dress, and in just a week there was even a bit of extra room that I could have even had taken in. I don’t know what the scale says and I don’t care because what it has taken me most of my 40 years to figure out is that what makes a woman most attractive is her confidence. So it doesn’t matter the size of the dress or the numbers on a scale, I own it from my sexy 6inch stilettos to the finger waves in my hair. I am not nor will I ever be the most beautiful woman in the room, but as my husband walks into our room he actually gives a little gasp, stops in his tracks and says, “You are stunning!”, and then every single minute of torture in every class and passing up pizza for a salad was so worth it. He stands up a bit straighter, takes my arm with a smile and off we go.
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Christian Grey definitely does not live here

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I trudge up the stairs still sore from Mondays P90x and Tuesdays Barre class. Up another 2 flights to a dark room with this contraption that looks like a huge trestle with straps and handles hanging from the top. I stare at it in fascination.

“You will be suspended from there.”

Who me? Oh. My. God! This is it. The famous Red Room of Pain. Christian Grey is going to walk through those doors any second with a flogger in hand. This is great! Why haven’t I signed up for this before?

*Martha, my dear friend and sometimes workout partner, says that it will be a great workout. I am so excited and now I find out it’s just her and me and the instructor, Sasha.

Martha has not read 50 Shades of Anything so she simply cannot appreciate our good luck. Luckily for us, I have read the trilogy…. Twice. Don’t get all judgey…. How else would I get the playlist down pat?

Anyway, Katy Perry starts singing about a dark horse and I am getting in the groove. Naked Me sarcastically suggest that I skip TRX and try pole dancing class. Really, do I have to put up with this from her? Back to class…We start by using the straps while we squat and do sumo kicks…. This was definitely not in the book….

Moving onto some very complicated rows, I begin to realize that this hurts, a lot, and an hour is a really long time. Somewhere in the middle of the set my body just says no and it refuses to do one more rep. Sasha says, “You are not going to quit on me now are you?” Ummm I don’t have a choice. I told my arms 3 times to bend and they told me to go f*** off. Hmmmm, that’s a first.

Sasha allows me get a quick break and moves onto chest presses while hanging from the damn straps. WTF? If I had known that this whole class was about me using my body weight as measure of resistance, I would have fasted…. for a month! Naked Me hangs out in the corner eating a cheesecake lollipop and drinking a French Martini with one eyebrow raised at the prospect of me actually fasting. She suggests that I start off slow and go for more than 2 waking hours between meals. I don’t need her attitude. Mind over matter, I decide to ignore her and I try to do the damn presses… Really I do but…

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This is going to be a hard limit for me.

Let’s move on to another sequence she says….. Ya, wanna know what this is code for? It means, “I will just sneak another exercise in that does the same thing and when her muscles are shaking and she looks like Michael J Fox she won’t be any wiser!”

Wrongo sister girl! This is the exact shit my hairdresser says when she says, “Just a half inch.” And then makes 4 sweeps over the same area like I can’t add or notice there is 2 inches of hair on the floor.

“Will you text me and tell me how you feel tomorrow?” What? I will save myself the data… I am already crying and ready to safe word.

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Onward we go… I am convinced that Sasha isn’t even a real human. In fact, I am fairly certain that she is a Terminator. She may even be a direct descendant of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

I have sworn so many times this class that I have lost count. I beg her to shut the door so that the Pilates women are not offended…. Nope, she won’t. I am just going to show up to next month’s grievance committee hearing and save them the stamp.

Martha has found a great stalling technique. Ask detailed questions about your form to save yourself the million reps. Of course she utilizes that when I am working my triceps and now Sasha loses track of time and of my pain. Nice try but the next time I tell her I will help with her form. Martha tells me that it’s ok and Sasha can help her. I whisper furiously with her to just go with it for crying out loud and that she owes me for leaving me hanging during arms. Martha laughs… We laugh a lot… And try not to pee. It’s a good pattern for us…

Class ends and I ask for a piece of cardboard so I can slide down the stairs. Sasha tries to tell me we are fresh out.

I have 3 days to the event and P90x in the morning. I don’t care what the Non Disclosure Agreement says. I don’t care what it looks like. I am telling you right now…..

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Christian Grey does not live here!

My Fairy Godmother came to the door!

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We are 5 days from go time!

Both dresses arrive and I open the second one which was my first choice and……I HATE it! The fabric is too white and the wrong blend, the gold chain looks cheap and too big and if that wasn’t enough it has nude boob pads sewn over the center of the chest that not only show through the material but are too small to be anything but oversized pasties. I look back to my alternate and try to find the good in it…. Frankly it doesn’t fit anything like it shows. It is beaded in a geometric pattern which is always a nightmare to alter and it needs a TON of altering. Did I say ton? I meant that it needs to be remade. I can make an overnight bag from the amount of material that needs to be removed from the waist. image

Argh!!!!! I scream. I swear. I throw them on the bed. I throw them on the floor. I hang them up. I scream again. I fold them back up in the box.

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I call *Carol, my best friend but I can tell from the beep that she is on the other line. I leave her a message telling her about the dress debacle and ask her to call me back and talk me off the ledge. I text her pics of the alternate dress so she is prepared to make me feel better. image

Ding-dong goes the doorbell…. Actually it’s a fancy doorbell and it makes this music when it’s rung, but I don’t know how to write music so ding-dong it is. I open the door to find Carol! With a black dress! Now to appreciate this you have to see the big picture. Carol is 5ft tall and tiny all over. She says, “Got your message. I don’t know when I bought this but I am never going to wear it. Never had it altered so here you go, you can have it.” I race into the bathroom to try it… What’s the chance that it will fit? I am 5’5, size 2-4 on the bottom half with a 34F bra size- nothing ever fits properly and what Carol with her 34A would ever be doing with something that could accommodate these cannons is less likely than winning powerball. But yet….. Zipppppppp! Holy Mother Mary of all things good in this world, thank you for seeing me in my time of need! The only alterations needed is for me to take the boob pads out. This dress is smoking. I am smoking. Life is good. I have the perfect Jimmy Choos to wear with it and the perfect Edidi bag. I am sooooo happy right now.

So now we have discussed the dress and the fact that it fits, whatever I do now for exercise and diet only gets me more breathing room. I am no quitter so there is another p90x class that is fabulous and has me crying for mercy and whimpering every time I go up the stairs. Yes! I love the pain!

The next day I decide to get up early and try a body blast class. I don’t know what it is but it’s only an hour. I can so do this….. Except that I am a few minutes late and class has begun on time for once…. And it’s crowded….. And they are doing a lot of choreography….and I don’t speak the language that the instructor uses as she calls out the next sequence… “Grapevine left for 3, then March it up for 4, quarter turn and then an X step”.

What???

Here is where I take out everyone on my side of the room. They are not amused. I try to catch up and there she goes again speaking that strange language. I don’t know what a Mogul is…. I know WHO a mogul is… Just not what… “Pony left for 4″….. Ok clearly this is not the spot for me. I have to get out of here…. Now! But I am stuck in the middle of the room right behind the instructor. I look up at her with an expression of sheer terror on my face. She sees it and replies, “it’s the same sequence in a different direction.” That tells me nothing! I couldn’t do it going forward and I sure as hell can’t do it going to the left. This is hell. This is karma. I have done something very wrong as a child or in the past several lives. Everyone around me wants to kill me and just when I can take it no longer I look back to the instructor and….. She is laughing hysterically at me. She can barely stand up and do her little chain dance because she is doubled over. This is exactly why I belong in the corner where I bother no one.

I don’t understand this! I have great rhythm. I can dance my ass off… Really well. Why can’t I do this? It is a divine mystery to me. Whatever! I believe when the class signed in, they also signed a petition barring me from class next week. I may have caught the words “Temporary Restraining Order” flying around.

Back to yoga on Saturday because I am so sore I can barely sit on the potty and I figure it will be a good stretch. I decide to embrace the annoying breathing and do it louder than everyone else so I only hear myself.

5 days before show time! Tomorrow is Barre and Wednesday is TRX…. Don’t leave me hanging here! We are making book here. 3 to 1, I knock off someone in Barre class. Any takers?

T-minus 10 days

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10 days to Gala! First dress arrives today and it’s a possibility. It will need some significant alterations but it will work. I wait for my first choice which is due to arrive on Friday. A snap decision will need to be made because my seamstress will need the week to finish the dress. So that leaves me 2 days to get to the point where my dress will be taken into and anything else that I can lose or tighten will be breathing room. So let’s get on with what I have been doing…..

I went out of town over the weekend and for the most part I was good, until lunch at Beef O’Bradys…. It wasn’t my idea, it was Naked Me and you know that she is always trying to foil my hard work and then she taunts me from the mirror when I climb into my bath. It was a poor choice I will admit, made worse by Naked Me’s order for our table of Pub Chips which are like thick homemade potato chips, smothered in cheese and bacon with sour cream and ranch on the side. I got the bacon on the side because my eldest daughter and I don’t eat bacon so somehow that translated to a healthier choice. Naked Me forces 6 or maybe 12 or 15 of them into my mouth before I realized that I hadn’t eaten fried foods in a while and…. Wait! What is that feeling in my mouth??? Omg, it’s like I ate engine oil. I drink and drink and drink my iced tea…. OMG, I have the equivalent of the BP oil spill on my tongue. I scrape my tongue against my teeth to try to rid myself of the horrid taste…. ITS NOT WORKING!!! I have the most undeniable urge to scrape my tongue against the pavement. Clearly, I have been eating clean for 3 too many days. My husband offers me an ice cream cone to get rid of the taste. He is in cahoots with Naked Me.

Feeling guilty I leave the table and offer to peddle on the paddle boats, so all 5 of us climb aboard and my son is my co-peddler. Wow! This is work… There is about 500 pounds of people on board of this boat and there are distinct times where it gets very difficult to peddle. Ironically, those time coincide with my son taking a break and resting his feet on the peddles. I don’t like him so much at those points but I remind myself that it’s temporary pain and I really do love him deep down… Until he wants to explore a short cul-de-sac that leads nowhere and he begins to peddle backwards in a grudge match to get there. In that moment with my quads burning and shaking I want to throw him off the boat into the 3 ft deep, unnaturally dyed, blue-green water that has turned the koi swimming by our boat a teal blue and orange. I catch Naked Me reclining in her gondola with a chocolate martini while Antonio effortlessly glides them through the canal. Why the hell did she have to come on this trip? I can’t get away from her for 5 minutes. I hope she falls overboard. Back to my boat where my son and I begin to disagree strongly about our course and I consider just jumping overboard and possibly swimming under the boat. I threaten to spank him if he doesn’t take his feet from the peddles, which he finds amusing because he is nearly 13 and I have never once spanked him or his siblings. So I come clean and tell him the truth, “if you don’t take your feet off the peddles I am going to throw you overboard.” Wish granted and I peddle us back in content in the fact that I have worked off the pub chips.

Saturday night, I try my very first chocolate martini, which has been on my mind since I saw Naked Me on her gondola. OMG, she knows her stuff! This thing is AWESOME! I am sure as I get to the bottom of my glass that there isn’t much I won’t do to have another one very soon.

So back home we go and Monday comes. It’s P90x time. I get to class and who’s this? Where’s Molly, the instructor from last week? Molly was subbing for Phoebe? Who is Phoebe? Oh hi, Phoebe. Nice to meet you too. This is the point where Phoebe kicks my ass and literally drains the blood from my veins. It doesn’t even take 2 hours after the class is over to feel sore. Phoebe knows me though, like on the inside. She knows that I have exercise ADD, she knows that given any amount of complicated choreography I will be a distraction to the rest of her students and probably a 911 call. This class is where I belong. As class ends and the life seeps out from my body that is lying in an unnatural angle on the mat, I ask Phoebe what else she teaches. She tells me just P90x on Mondays and Thursdays and she trains clients one on one during the rest of the week. I realize that Phoebe is the chick to take me to that place where my old perky butt lives and no muffin tops are allowed. I ask her to take me on as a client, she agrees to bring her book to Thursdays class, which is tomorrow…. If I actually survive it. But there is more on the menu and a few other things I need to try…. I heard there is something going on upstairs from P90x and it’s life changing…. It’s called TRX and I am going to try it! I am pretty sure that Christian Grey lives up there… Stay tuned!

So it continues…..

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I give it a good run before we leave so that I can have a headstart on the disaster that will become my vacation meals.

First, my friend Ana Steele (well one of those names is her true name but to protect the innocent we always give my friends the option of an alias) and I attend a Barre class. Not overly cardio active but I am aching so much from the P90x the day before I can barely get out of my own way, so it is appropriate. My poor gluteus and quads are so sore from the 10,000 squats and lunges they tried to kill me with the day before that when it comes time to work that area with a bender ball, I find myself with a hip/ass cramp and before I can stop it, “SHIT!” (It’s caps because maybe I wasn’t using my inside voice) flies right out of my mouth. See this is exactly why I need private instruction! Ana is used to my nonsense so she just laughs and mouths “potty mouth”…. This is what I get for going to my club for convenience. (I live in a hoity-toity neighborhood and I know they have been dying to kick me out and scratch my barcode from my car since we moved in.) Anyway, I rein it in for the rest of my class.

Ana and I sit on a bench and wait for valet to bring her car around while we look for other class offerings on the schedule. “What about spin?”, she offers. I slowly shake my head and quietly say, “Noooooooo.”
“It burns so many calories”, she says.
“Ana, I would rather take a crab mallet to my vag. No!” To be fair I have taken 1, yes just 1-one-uno-singular spin class. I walked as though I had been violated for days and yes, I used the stupid gel seat. I have many friends who do spin everyday. They promise that it gets better but I don’t see how it could without something changing. I have had 3 children, each labor hurt as much the next, with the exception where I break my tailbone with the first baby and my doctor figures out that if left to cook a baby too long, they get too big for me to deliver and we induce me early for the next two.

Back to spin…. Something must change to avoid this pain if I continue to try spin. What is it? Will I incur so much nerve damage from the impact that it becomes numb? Like permanently? Cue Linkin Park singing “Numb”….. Or worse yet, does it callous? I can’t even expound on that because it’s so distasteful. All I can say is that none of my friends can tell me how spin becomes less traumatic to the girly zone. Spin just isn’t going to be for me. I can pretty much bet the farm on that one.

So the next morning I take a Yoga class. I position myself in the corner with the equipment so no one flicks one drop of sweat on me. I will lose my shit. I would rather see someone vomit than a stranger getting their sweat on me. I have issues, I am completely aware and I am so good with that! Anyway, yoga is lovely but what is that noise? There it goes again! I open my eyes and peer around the room. “Whoooosh”, there it goes again to my left. I peek through my Sun Salutation. “Whoooosh”…. It’s the guy on the next mat. Is he seriously going to breathe like that the whole class? I look up at the clock 55 more minutes of this??? Maybe yoga is not for me…..

My favorite class and activity of all time is Krav Maga. It’s Israeli Hand to Hand combat fighting. Some interesting bruises and it brings out my alter ego. Unfortunately, last year I discovered that when a second away from a head-on impact at nearly 50mph, it’s a really bad idea to use your arm in a locked position to brace yourself from the steering wheel. There were bones sticking up in all different directions. The surgeon did a great job putting it back together even if it is crooked and weak from ligament damage. That was the end of Krav for me…. Sadly enough, if I could do it over I would have just went with a broken nose and I could have had a Megan Fox nose today instead of a jacked-up wrist. I highly advise you to take inventory of your body and keep the weakest link in mind when in a sacrificial position or you too may find yourself investing in bangles and men’s watches!

So I continue searching for my exercise class… Meanwhile I will go back to P90x tomorrow and will have a bar installed next to my potty so I can get up off the toilet after class. 13 days and counting….

18 days left…. The Countdown and Naked Me- Part II

Yes I actually wore it. Yes it actually fit.

Yes, I actually wore it. Yes, it actually fit even if it was almost 20 years ago.

I am in crunch time! 18 days to go. I have been a good girl, mostly. Sometimes behaving all day means that I should be allowed one, just one, French truffle. And maybe a bite or 2 of ice cream… Well, mostly anyway.

Sunday, I go to the green market and found some delicious veggies and a gentleman who made smoothies from fresh veggies and fruits. So I trot up and say, “Make me whatever you like but I am on a diet and this is lunch.” He starts with a handful of spinach and then throws in some romaine and that’s where I get a little concerned. Liquid salad?… In goes some carrots and a golf ball sized chunk of ginger…. This is exactly what I get when I say make what you like…. “Umm maybe not soooo many vegetables and some fruits would be nice.” There goes my vision of healthy liquid lunch with everything but the umbrella. Naked Me pops up in my head and offers me a Chicken Philly Sub from the next tent as she reclines in my favorite chair with a Sexy Peach martini. Is it so much to ask for a little support from her? I shush her up and focus on the 6’5 250lb beast of a man whipping up my lunch. He replies that vegetables are good for me and throws in a big beet. What the hell color is that!? ….. He finally has some pity on me and tosses in a few shards of citrus. It’s a very frothy khaki colored thick beverage. Bottoms up! I feel full (or slightly ill) from the concoction for about 45 mins and then I am ravenous.

Off we go to try the new Fit Body Bistro that everyone is raving about. You can check out their menu…. Www.fitbodybistro.com I order the Bikini Bod and I am a bit shocked when I see how big 3oz (or small I should say) of tilapia is… I have stepped on Legos bigger than this…. But there is a pile of broccoli and some strawberries and it really is delicious. I would definitely reorder except maybe swap the broccoli for something else because as much as I love broccoli, 6oz of the stuff has it own super powers and that’s a little more than my colon can handle.

Today, my oldest daughter and I decide to try out the P90x class at our club. I haven’t taken a class or had a workout since my accident 16 months ago. So when I am breathing heavier than a prank caller before caller ID, the instructor says, “What do we do when we need to rest?” This is a trick question, right? You know the type where I look like a quitter no matter what I say so I try for a bit of honesty because it’s the best policy or so I have been told. “We pass out?” I offer. She smiles gently and replies,”No, we rest”. Same thing really. Resting is just a little more voluntary. Anyway, it turns out that P90x is just code for the cemetery plot marker where they dump your body when you are done “resting”.

At Costco, I pick up some Prime steak for the boys and a heaping load of fruits and veggies and a new Vitamix blender. I am now so ready to be skinny… In fact why hasn’t it happened yet?.. I have been trying for days! Except for Naked Me shoving a few Truffles down my throat, I have given this all my attention.

My darling husband announces he would like us to go away this weekend. I go through my bathing suit drawer searching for any suitable options when I come across a shocker in the farthest reaches! I have a vague recollection of him buying this tiny red bikini for me before a trip to the islands about a million years ago in my early twenties and it fit! I stare at it in wonder.

Cat's cradle anyone?

Cat’s cradle anyone?


He comes in from the office and I hang the bikini off my finger and sassily say, “You are one lucky man! I was a catch!” I mean really…. wit, intelligence and I could fit in this bikini, he should totally sacrifice something to the Gods of Marriage. He gives me a crooked smile and says, “why don’t you go put it on now?” Good feeling gone! Naked Me pops up in my head snickering with that insipid look on her face and suggests, “Yes, Stephanie, why DON’T you TRY to put it on now?” I give her a nasty narrowed eye stare. God, I hate that bitch! I hope she chokes on a hot fudge sundae.

Stay tuned for more dieting fun. If I don’t repost that only means that tomorrow’s Barre class has caused A-Fib and my ultimate demise. Wish me luck and if I croak make sure my husband buries me in my favorite Gucci pumps! Xo

Naked Me and The Countdown- Part I

Classic Hollywood icons.It starts out so nicely. I love the Gala’s theme, Classic Hollywood. It is a Curvy-Girl Ball made for chicks like me. Black tie optional there is no option for my husband, he will don said tux. Period, end of story. But it is never that easy, at least not in my world. So let’s rewind…

Every night I take a lovely hot bath before bed. Doesn’t matter if I showered hours before for dinner…. I shower in the morning and I bathe in the evening. It’s my thing. I love my tub. It’s big and very deep and it has a heater to keep it warm and this lovely light that changes color. I have a TV over my tub and a big window that overlooks the water. It’s heavenly. It also has a big mirror on the opposite wall where my vanity is and that folks is where the problem began!

I spend 2 hours a few evenings ago in said tub searching for another dress after the first choice wasn’t slated for release until days before the event. Finally after 64 pages of 90 gowns per page I have my front-runner and 2 alternates! Success! I am excited to see that they will arrive with plenty of time to alter for the Gala in 3 weeks. Now I can go from the tub to my bed and do some fluffy reading content as my troubles have been solved. I reach for my towel as my tub begins to drain and as I glance up I catch a glimpse of Naked Me in the mirror.

I pause for a few seconds and slowly turn taking in the view. I say, “Well hello there. Who might you be?” Naked Me’s Butt replies, “I am Badonkadonk and I am from Chipandsalsa, Tx.” I would say nice to meet you but that would be a lie. My eyes travel upward and feast on that area where I carried my babies on my hips. “And who are you?” I ask. Naked Me’s waist replies, “I am the muffin man and you know where I came from.” I think he works for Keebler in the Oreo division but I can’t be certain. This is exactly why I can’t stand Naked Me! That tramp will pick up anyone with empty calories and blame it on PMS.

Houston, we have a problem. Naked Me is insisting on taking her “friends” with her to the ball. I can’t have that so I begin brainstorming for solutions.

1. Remember this chick? Surviving on sunlight and air.
She is a Russian model who is a breatharian. She believes you can survive on sunlight and air. Well it’s not a long-term solution but I wait until I am starving to try it. Breathing deeply doesn’t cut it so I decide that maybe I need to swallow big gulps of air. I get 5 good ones down and I do feel fuller, who knew? Thirty seconds later I let out a huge belch! OMG! I suck at this! My very first attempt at breatharianism and I binge and purge. Clearly, this isn’t going to work for me.

2. I call around to see if anyone I know has the stomach bug and will lend me a dirty cup or toothbrush. Everyone I know is well….

3. I consider licking the raw chicken breast before it goes in the oven. Both times I have had salmonella, it was good for 10lbs in the first week. I just can’t pull the trigger.

4. Tapeworm! Jockeys used that trick years ago. They would swallow tapeworm eggs and then have the full-grown parasite removed. I didn’t know where to get them though. It’s not as though you could pull up to a drive thru window and order.
“Hello, would you like to try our Spicy Tapeworm Wrap?”
“Umm no thank you but I will take a #3 Tapeworm Club with a side of Listeriosis?”
“Would you like to Supersize that order and get a side of Rotavirus for $.99?”
“Sure”
“Your total is $6.47, please drive up.”
Yeah, not going to happen although Taco Bell gave it a good try.

5. Aha! I will wrap myself in Saran Wrap and shrink my way down. I have the commercial box from Costco. This can work! Suddenly my husbands face pops in my head and if he comes home and catches me in the wrap, he is going to have a much different idea in his head. I don’t have time to mess around right now.

I run out of ideas. I eat grass for lunch and go to the gym. I sweat and I smell. I step on the scale in the spa and hit a few buttons thinking I need to reset it so it works properly before realizing that it’s not some strange code but actually my weight in pounds. Sweet Mother Mary of all the Babies in the world, help me in my time of trouble. I eat roasted cauliflower, steamed spinach and chicken breast -the cooked sort- for dinner.

I got in the tub tonight and there was Naked Me mocking my attempts to be the “Good” kind of curvy that my dress deserves. I hate that snarky bitch. Screw her! I flip her the bird, get in the tub and order myself a new pair of Brian Atwood stilettos. This is going to be a long 3 weeks.

Stayed tuned with me to find out how I battle Naked Me over spring break vacation. Or better yet, help me! What options do I have? Leave your tips or encouragement in the form of a reply.