Bread….Warm Buttery Bread


bread

Growing up, I was never allowed to touch the bread at restaurants. You know the delicious hot bread that comes with butter at the beginning of most meals? It’s the bread that comes to the table, when you’re at your hungriest. As a child…well from eight years old, until today, I was always taught that bread was the enemy, and even looking at it would make me gain weight. I would watch with envy, and with drool coming out of my mouth , while my petite brother (sorry D) would chomp away at the tasty bread…with butter. Even before it hit the table, Ronnie Ginger would give me the eyes, making me aware that she was watching me, and that bread was MY enemy. When I became older and started going to restaurants with friends, I began to eat the free bread because no one was watching or judging. Little did I know that with each bite, I’d be blowing up a little more each time. On Donald’s first encounter with Ronnie Ginger, when he was just an innocent little boyfriend, taking his new girlfriend on dates, she nicely warned him that when he takes me out to restaurants, that I was not permitted, under any circumstances to eat the bread. She said this because I loved it so much…so she thought! Just to be clear, I don’t even like bread, I find bread to be dry, and boring and really just a waste of space. If I’m going to eat bread, I’m going to make it worth it- like a grilled cheese or French toast, but just plain bread doesn’t do it for me. The reason I became so aggressive as a child when I was refused the free bread at the table, was only because I was never allowed to have it. People always want what they can’t have, right? (I wasn’t allowed a lot of things apparently).

The thing with me and bread though, is that, bread is free, and it comes with most meals in America, and some parts of Canada. If it’s free, I like it, because I like good value. On the other hand, the whole reason why we’re going to a restaurant is because we’re hungry. If the polite waiter asks if I would like some free hot bread, and I’m hungry, and he places it right in front of me-then I’ll have a bite. I’m not going to eat an entire freaking basket of bread… this is because

1) I’m not an animal

and

2) I physically can’t keep in an entire load of bread

The moral of the story is, don’t deprive yourself. If you deprive yourself for your entire life, then one day you’ll eat an entire basket of bread, and wake up 50 pounds heavier.

Go ahead, have a bite, just a little bite.

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First Dates: How I Developed My Pet Name


First dates are both interesting and intimidating. You really need to make a good impression the first time you’re out with a complete stranger. First dates are extremely frightening, especially if you’re going for dinner to a fancy restaurant with a stranger you hardly know. Luckily, I haven’t had to worry about any first dates in a long time, but the last time I went on one, it was quite special.

Let’s just say, Donald has been calling me “Miss I’ll Just Have A Salad Please” since our first date together, which was just over three and a half years ago. Now, there are many reasons why he gave me this nickname. Firstly, on our first date, he took me to a super nice restaurant, one that I would normally only be able to afford while on a Groupon. Let’s just start off by saying, I loved bread and butter. This warm, delicious, smoking bread came to the table with soft butter, and all I wanted to do was shove my face in it and devour it all. I know that first dates really are the first impression, so I didn’t want to come off as a ravenous animal who has never seen bread before. I watched Donald eat the bread, and the while salivating watching him with each bite he took. When it came time to ordering the meal, I undoubtedly did just have a salad. A warm spinach salad to be exact… BARF! What the hell was I thinking? Obviously I didn’t want to go on a date with this guy and be like “Oh hey, I’ll have a AAA Angus Steak with mashed potatoes, and extra melted cheese on top, Oh, and of course a shrimp cocktail to start”. Although, it really was what I wanted, I couldn’t afford an $80 meal, and didn’t want him to think that I was a fat cow. I ate only half of my warm spinach salad, while getting more and more squeamish with each bite. I watched him eat his sausage pasta and was jealous that I made the wrong choice. (Is it normal that I remember what he ate? I must have been starving myself) As soon as I got home, I made myself a nice box of Kraft Dinner, because I was starving… (please keep in mind this was pre-surgery). Thinking back, I wasn’t the skinniest of girls, why would a fat girl go to a nice restaurant and order a warm spinach salad? Obviously he knew the kind of food I was into.. I mean after all, he isn’t stupid! I guess I also ordered the warm leaves because what if he didn’t like me, and walked out, and made up some story like he had to go take his blood sugar and left me with the bill? I had to order the cheapest thing on the menu; especially after he ordered BOTTLED WATER! Who orders bottled water? Not that I’m cheap or anything, actually I am- but tap water is just fine with me and I don’t feel poor asking for it! I know it’s not nice to assume that he was paying for the meal, I guess I’m just old fashioned like that.

Anyway, two months later, or some time after that, he finally asked me if I wanted to be his official girlfriend. I said yes, and then decided it was alright to eat normally. Once he saw me scarf down my first steak, I adopted the name “Miss I’ll Just Have A Salad Please” I told you he was smart!

Now, it’s okay to eat normal in front of each other. With three and a half years of dating, comes comfort. We still haven’t gotten comfortable with going to the bathroom with the door open, but we’re taking baby steps!

Fat People Don’t Love All Food


Most ordinary people who don’t know much about anything would think that all fat people like all foods, and that when it comes to overweight people and dietary restrictions, there are none. Well I’m here to tell you, that as an average overweight person, I do not like all foods. My list of foods that I like is long, but I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.

Cheese:

Cheese is probably the most amazing gift from the cow gods. I’m pretty sure from what I’ve been told, that cheese is just rotten milk, but it tastes delicious. Now, while cheese may be yummy, I’m very particular about them. I know, how weird!… A fat person is particular about a type of food they like? I like all hard cheeses, as long as they’re not stinky. Really old cheddar and smoked gouda are my favorite. My mom used to buy smoked gouda when we were kids. It was a reward to get it, and I’d really have to work hard to get a piece; just one. That was until, I learned where the cheese drawer was and started eating an entire pack of cheese like a bag of chips. After Ronnie Ginger, my loving mother found out that I knew where the cheese stash was, it was over. The good expensive cheese stopped entering the house from that day. I was stuck with that “light” Kraft “cheese”… or should I say, Kraft plastic? Also, melted cheeses are so good. Like in a lasagna, when the mozzarella becomes ooey gooey… that’s pretty good. On to what I don’t like in the cheese category- I’m not one for stinky soft cheeses, or soft cheese in general. If I ever smelled a donkeys butt hole, I’d assume it smells like Blue Cheese, that stuff smells gross and why anybody would want to eat food the color of the rainbow really boggles my mind. I know it’s really in right now to like Brie and that Camembert stuff, but I just can’t. The smell reminds me of my locker in high school and it just brings back terrible memories for me.

Meat:

I love meat. Red meat. I like my meat rare. Obviously I’m not into eating my meatballs rare, but I totally adore some nice fancy meat once in a while. (When I say I like it, I like it, but I can only have about four bites until my stomach can’t take it anymore) Anyway, being Jewish, at most of our family holiday events, there’s always CHOPPED LIVER. I hate it! I can’t stand the sight of it, the smell of it, anything about it. To me it just looks like a bowl of mushed up poop and smells like it too. Sometimes Donald thinks it’s funny to breathe on me after he eats it. It’s an instant appetite decreaser for me! Also, ham and I don’t get along that great. I’m not sure if this fits in to the meat category, but whatever. I always loved Charlottes Web, and the thought of eating a sweet little pig really haunts my dreams… I do like bacon though. I swear I’m not a hypocrite.

Breads & Carbs:

Ever since I had my gallbladder surgery, for some reason, I can’t eat certain bread anymore. It’s like the surgeon gave me the gift of not being able to tolerate the things that are bad for me! Baguette is buttery goodness, but I have since had to say goodbye to it, along with the healthy flax seed bread, and any type of sandwich bread. For some reason though, croissants go down just fine; which for me I find unfortunate. Buuuut fortunately for me, I can only have 1/4 of it until I’m full. Those buttery delights are also murderous tasty treats. I’m not really one for chips. I find that they’re messy, and since I stain a lot of my clothes, I don’t find it worth it to eat chips unless I have a Tide-To-Go handy! Pasta and me no longer get along. Which, to be honest, doesn’t really bother me all that much, because it’s just a space waster in my stomach and I only made pasta when I was lazy.

Candies:

I LOVE CANDIES! I LOVE HALLOWEEN. I LOVE THE DAY AFTER HALLOWEEN WHEN EVERYTHING IS HALF PRICE. Candy doesn’t like me though. The second I eat a piece of candy, it goes straight to my triple chin and I’m just a sweaty hot mess. I made a promise to myself that I would not have a single candy before my birthday. So far, I’ve broken that promise twice. However, on a more positive note, I’m starting again tonight. I usually only like orange flavored candy, and mostly anything citrusy, or chocolatey. I hate black licorice, and cherry flavored snacks. But that’s about it!

Until then, I’ll keep working on the list of foods I don’t like!

Shopping With Ronnie


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This weekend, I did what every girl hates doing. Bathing suit shopping. However, to make it worse, I went bathing suit shopping with none other than my very opinionated, very honest, very Jewish Mother; Ronnie Ginger. Shopping is never fun, especially when the scale has been stalled for three weeks, and I’m feeling especially fatter and unmotivated than ever. My wise mom says that “no one likes to go bathing suit shopping”. In fact, she tried to prove this point! When she noticed a skinny slimmer girl looking through the section, she goes up to this innocent young lady and says “Hey, you’re skinny, you must hate shopping for bathing suits, don’t you? See Hilly, even skinny girls hate shopping for this stuff“. Seriously, what the eff did I get myself into, she talks to strangers, and embarrasses me, and why am I going shopping with her? I turned bright red, and made my oh-so-honest mother walk away from this poor girl.

While we were rummaging the aisles this time, we didn’t pick up any fantaSIZER or moomoo swimwear, and I also didn’t head to the plus size section. Go me! Before I go any further, please keep in mind, that just the sound of Ronnie breathing, makes me want to go on a wild rampage and rip things and smash holes into walls (I have anger problems, shut up). So, while I’m in the dressing room, huffing and puffing, breaking a sweat, Ronnie comes in all giddy and happy and asks me to come out so I can show her how it looks. Is she serious? Like I’m going to come out looking like an overstuffed walrus? Anyway, I get the nerve to come out and strut my stuff, Ronnie is standing there with this look on her face, and I’m expecting something like “NO, change now” to come out of her mouth,  but, I was surprised when she just started smiling and tells me how great I look- seriously Ronnie, what pills did you take before we went shopping?

My non scale victory of the week was that all the bathing suits fit me. I even had to take one in a size smaller because one we picked out was too big. Old me would have NEVER had to change something for the smaller size. Having this type of great feeling, makes me want to get back on track and start to get past this plateau that I am at. The fact that Ronnie and I went shopping and it didn’t result in even ONE fight, was nothing short of a miracle. Seriously, years ago, one of us would have ended up with a black eye and it wouldn’t have been me, just saying.

Helga, Helga, Go Away!


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It’s time for Helga to go away and to never come back. Her funeral will be held tomorrow morning at 9:00 am. RIP big girl.

Helga is driving me up the wall and all she wants to do is to sabotage my life. I swear, if she bugs me one more time to walk to the kitchen, I’m going to slap the fat out of her. People look at me in public because I’m always yelling at her; maybe I shouldn’t have stopped my crazy pills. But that’s a discussion for another day.

It’s not that I’m hungry, or that I’m bored. I really don’t know what it is. Helga tells me to eat, so I do. I still sometimes forget that I was surgified, and Doctor removed my stomach. Sometimes I wish I would just have more control. It’s so hard to just wake up one morning and just give up your love for food. That just doesn’t happen in the real world. I am so envious of all these healthy fit people who post their Instagram and Pinterest pictures about how healthy they are, and look at their abs. Good for you, but b!@#, I’m jealous. I know I’ve lost over 40 pounds, but I’ve been at the same place for almost three weeks, and can’t seem to get out of that evil number that haunts my dreams. I want to stand up to Helga and tell her to eff off because she does nothing for me, but keep me in the same sad fat place I’ve been for a long time.

I just wish I could break that evil number and just get on with my life. Helga, you are not wanted. Let me do this on my own.

I Got A Divorce


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I love chocolate. I love chocolate plain, on bread, on pizza, on popcorn, on chips, on everything. I will eat any kind of chocolate, anywhere, any time. Chocolate is my addiction. Chocolate is the silent killer. Chocolate is the enemy; Helga’s enemy. Wait, chocolate, is not the enemy. Chocolate is the lover that never lets you down, listens to all your problems, but comes back to bite you in the fat ass when you step on to the scale.

Yesterday, while doing my oh-so healthy grocery shopping, I noticed that the unholiest of chocolates were on sale. You know those chocolates? The ones that are shaped like perfect little eggs, with perfect little candy coating, in that perfectly packaged purple wrapping? The ones that only come out around Easter, and then go half price the day after. MINI EGGS. Mini Eggs. MINI EFFING EGGS. I love mini eggs. Mini eggs are killer. If I could, I would probably marry mini eggs, but that would just be weird, because then I’d eat my lover and be single again. Weh. Anyway, so while I’m doing my grocery shopping, I notice this sinful cart of literally 300 bags of mini eggs staring at me in the face. The worst part about this cart, was the fact that there was a ginormous 50% off sale sticker on the front of it. How could I resist? My favorite chocolate, at 50% off. It was like meant to be. (shut up, Helga). Anyway, there was a small bag, and then the bigger bag with 5x the chocolate in it for 50 cents more. I put the bigger bag in my cart and didn’t think twice. As I approach the cash, I look in my cart, I put the eggs away and say goodbye. Two seconds later, the eggs magically appeared in my cart again. This happened a total of four times, until the hideous Bulky Bernard tapped on my shoulder and says to me in his animalistic voice:” either take them or put them back lady”. I was mortified, and put those bad boys down. The mini eggs and I, we’re through. I just signed the divorce papers.

Celeste and Simone are standing around me now, and we are describing the perfectness of a Cadbury Mini Egg. It’s the crunch, the amount of chocolate, the right amount of candy to chocolate ratio. OK, seriously, shut Helga up, she’s getting in the way of my healthy thoughts.

Anyway, I’m strong, and I can walk away from mini eggs. Be strong people! Eat a normal egg!

Finally Fitting In


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OK, don’t hate me, but I’m going to get all mushy for a second. I was out last night with Donald and his coworkers; Carla, Mr. La Hyman, Willow, Adamo and Sasha. For the first time since I was able to like speak, I finally felt “normal”. I know, I know, there is no such thing as normal, and everyone is special in their own special way. No, whoever made that up (Oprah, probably you), you must have been on crack because weird people are weird, and enjoy hanging out with other weird people and don’t feel cool. Popular kids hang out with the popular people, and like to feel like they’re better than everyone else around them. Society made that up, not me. Don’t hate me because I speak the truth. KK, thanks! Ok so anyway, last night,  I totally just felt like I fit in, and I was making jokes and totally felt cool for like that night. I think I’m getting more comfortable with myself.

I hope Donald doesn’t get mad, but I totally saw this dude checking me out when we walked into the bar and he kept giving me googly eyes, and I was all like “yeah, I’m hot, I know it”. I won’t lie, but I totally had “I’m Sexy and I Know it” playing at the time this creeper was checking my hot bod out. Anyway, it boosted up my confidence level a bit, and now I’m totally excited to go out again and be the life of the party.

So when I was fat(ter), I was always super loud, and obnoxious and strange and made really odd sounds, and my mom thought that there was a kind of like, chemical imbalance in my brain. I went to doctors, and they all said the same thing. (I don’t remember, probably that I had ADHHHHHD or something). Dr. Me, has come to the conclusion that I was just masking the pain of being a fat girl. I would do so, by being a loud obnoxious “oaf”. So to try to get the attention off of my body, I would just try to be strange. Anyway, not sure where I’m going with this, but I’m totally able to be loud and obnoxious now, and do it just because I want to, and not because I’m fat and trying to cover being the Michelin Man.

Ps. Hey Skinny Girls,

I love you. We’re BFFAEAE.

xo

Soon-to-be Skinny Girl