Thursday, January 15, 2009

No matter what, I weigh so freaking much every time I step on the scale that it spins me into a brief, embarrassingly Cathy-esque fit of conniptions where I vow to stop eating cheese, beef, cupcakes, and delicious, delicious oatmeal-chocolate-butterscotch cookies and hit the elliptical like a gerbil on a wheel.

Fortunately for me, these fits usually only last a few hours, max, before I convince myself it's nothing more than big bones, big boobs, ass, lots of muscle, and maybe some left-over skin from my actually chunky days, making me look at least ten pounds lighter than the scale betrays me as. I like to think as long as I'm not in the double-digits size-wise, we're all doing an okay job, oatmeal-chocolate-butterscotch cookies included.

1 comment:

Gordon Marshall said...

You could have fooled me. You look better than ever, from the hair to the more-attitude-than-thou t-shirt.