the life and musings of a kinky slut

The Fat Note

I got my first fat note the other day.  For those of you who don’t know what a fat note is, pull up a chair and learn.

A fat note is when someone, either anonymously or not, sends you a letter in the mail telling you about a new diet craze or a way another person was able to shed lots of pounds.  Yes, people actually do this.  I once witnessed my mother receive an anonymous fat note, with a newspaper article attached. 

I received my first fat note from, of all people, my father, about a week ago.  At the time, I just ignored it.  Okay, that’s a lie.  I let the emotions seethed inside me until I finally let out some of my frustration to my SO (though thankfully not at him).  And my SO, at times the more practical and level headed in our relationship, told me to tell my father everything I was laying before him.

So what did I do….?  You guessed it, I ignored the fat note.  That is, until my father just called me.  Like just now.  His fat note concerned the latest craze in weight loss cure-all, the acacia berry diet. 

I have never been one to subscribe to diet trends.  I know why I’m the weight I am: 1) I do not live an active lifestyle (translation: I’m a lazy bitch who rarely exercises.) & 2) I do not practice portion control (translation: I often don’t give a shit about what, or how much, I eat.). 

I know what I have to do to loose weight.  1) Live a more active lifestyle (translation: Get my ass of the couch and go for a walk, or do the yoga DVD that sits on top of my DVD player but gets ignored, or dance around the apartment til I’m a sweaty mess.) & 2) Maintain portion control (translation: Stop eating Burger King & Taco Bell & Mama Lucia for dinner (al)most every night.  Just because they are less than five minutes away and practically on your way home does NOT mean you should take them up on their offers.  You buy food; eat it more often.)

Of course, everything comes down to execution.  With my, at times, erratic schedule, I stop caring about what I eat if it gives me an hour extra sleep.  If I’m going on a gig that will last all day, sometimes I rely on the food places around the venue rather than pack my own meal.  And, unfortunately, my SO is not a good influence.  There have been times when I’ve eaten dinner, he’s come home late, and on the way back calls me and asks what I want from BK or Taco Hell.  And I (al)most always cave in, asking for a small fry & small drink, or a small sandwich & drink, thinking the smaller portion is better.  What would really be better is if I just said no.  But self control is not my greatest strength.

I recently heard a scientific study proved junk/fast food is as addictive as any narcotic (heroine, cocaine, etc.).  I believe them.  Just the thought of fast food can linger in mind for days.  I’ve actually said to myself on a Monday, “You can have so&so fast food if you wait until Friday.”  I did this, thinking I would forget about my craving.  But that didn’t happen.  My ass remembered my thought and then indulged my craving.

This is most definitely not how I want to live my life.  I don’t like how I look, don’t like how I feel.  Shopping for clothes just doesn’t happen, unless I need something for work, because I know the sizes won’t fit.  Trying to find an outfit for my friends’ wedding was an ordeal, a sad & frustrating ordeal.  And don’t get me started about swim suits.

I want to make a change, but my father’s good intentions do not help.  He wants me to come by and pick up the acacia berry juice he bought for me, tomorrow.  And I will go because I love him.  But there needs to be some recognition that there is no magical pill, or magical drink, that’s going to help me loose 60 to 100 pounds.  Only I can do it.  It’s just hard to do.

Categorised as: Family | Overweight | Rant

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