Thirty Two Days and Counting

I think I mentioned briefly in May that I was back on the diet bandwagon again. Well like most diets, it didn't work because it wasn't a lifestyle. Whatever. It didn't work because I cheated. LOTS. Have you ever tasted the ultimate nachos at Buffalo Wild Wings? They are cheat-worthy. As are their wings. And their delightful selection of beer. My God, I love beer. For nearly twenty years, I didn't have so much as a sniff of a bottle cap. I drank wine instead. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I'm Canadian.

Anyway, I managed to stick to things for a week that time and dumped a pant size, which was okay but not top ten or anything because they were my freaking fat pants. You know, the ones where you deliberately remove the inside size tag so that you don't jump in front of moving vehicles when you have to employ a hanger to get the bastards done up. Fat pants, by virtue of containing both polyester and spandex, should never leave pressure marks on one's flesh. Mine became uncomfortably snug. So I dieted. AGAIN.

But I don't think I had enough motivation because back then, the trip to Mexico was still better than ten weeks away and once you've shed 30 pounds in 43 days on the HCG diet, losing two pounds a week with a healthy lifestyle change is like swimming in a pool of molasses. Two pounds a week? Not for a gal who has the attention span of a gnat. From my point of view, I had a few more weeks before having to get serious about the diet.

Well like all good things, the days of carbohydrates had to come to an end. A week ago today, Dallas and I went back on the HCG diet. I have been deadly serious this time because the Mexican vacation with our friends and my dimpled ass is a mere thirty two days away today. I have shed 12 pounds in 8 days. I have 18 more to go.

Now before all of you out there who are shaking your head decide to shoot off that email lecturing me about the nutritional ills of yo-yo dieting and all of that stuff, please know that I know. I have researched the topic. For THIRTY YEARS! I promise that I will completely revamp my lifestyle once we are back from Mexico. I swear that I will exercise regularly and pay attention to portion control. I understand. I've read, Younger Next Year and I believe every word of it. My mother is a living testament. I get it.

But until then, I'm going to eat my cucumbers, filet and Melba toast and go to bed each night with visions of fresh guacamole, Dos Equis and a dimple free ass in my head.

¡Olé! Baby.