One time, I was desperate to lose weight. So, I invented the chopstick diet. The only rule for this fantastic diet was that you were allowed to eat anything at all (ANYTHING) as long as you can pick it up with a pair of chopsticks.
Easy Peezy, right?
Surprisingly enough, I learned to pick up a slice of pepperoni pizza using chopsticks.
Days on the diet: 2
Lbs lost: zero
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query chopstick. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query chopstick. Sort by date Show all posts
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Flashback to Failed Diet- Plastic Surgery
Well of course I went there! Don'tcha know me by now?? After the disappointing failure of my chopstick diet, I knew that I needed something extreme.
Extreme.
So, I turn to my good friend and confidant, my T.V. As with the rest of America, I was mesmerized by the plastic surgery shows that suddenly monopolized our T.V's. It amazed me that within an hour, a woman could be completely transformed into the woman that she wanted to be. Boob jobs, lipo, chemical peels, spray tan, veneers, extensions. Husbands couldn't recognize wives, and mothers couldn't recognize their own daughters.
I LOVED IT.
So, I (discreetly) asked around, and got the number of a highly respected doctor. I called and made an appointment. (forgetting to mention it to Mr. Hummingbird, naturally) The doctor was located in Newport Beach Ca, which apparently is only 2nd to Beverly Hills in the sheer number of plastic surgeons per capita. I was actually excited and was looking forward to this.
When I arrived, I was surprised to find such a quiet normal looking office. I'm not sure what I was expecting....naked pics on the walls?? Strippers in the waiting room? A stripper pole in the lobby? I waited 45 mins in a non descript exam room. They had me fully clothed, which I thought was a little strange. When the Dr. came in, I was faced to face with a small, grandmother-ly, beehived woman. She sat down with me, and started discussing what procedures I was considering. (she added the "s" at the end. I was strictly looking for a one procedure. I'm guessing she took one look at me, and decided that I could use a lot of work.) I told her that I was interested in lipo.
"where?"
I wasn't prepared for this question. I was thinking, "well, everywhere."
She started asking me a lot of questions about my medical history. I was making me nervous that I wasn't (for once!) undressed, and that she wasn't examining me. She then started asking me about my breasts. (To be honest with you, I HAD considered getting them done, since they were getting flat and saggy.) We talked about my saggy breasts for a while. Then, she said, "Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I cannot do a surgery on you."
WHAAAA? I was totally not ready for this.
She continued, "I cannot do any surgery on you until you lose some weight. It's just not safe."
I was shocked.
SHOCKED.
I stood there with a dumb look on my face, and my mouth hanging open.
She then tells me that she would like to exam me now. She asks me to undress.
RIGHT. THERE.
Talk about awkward. I'm trying to undress myself, and she is sitting there, waiting for me. She comes at me with a tape measure, and starts to write down my measurements. (I close my eyes, and think about rainbows and ponies.) When she's done, she announces, "Yes, you would do well with breast implants, but you would also need a lift."
Okaaay.
"but I don't do those both at the same time. And I can't do any surgery until you lose weight."
So, now I'm getting pissed. If she knew that I wasn't a good candidate, why was I standing there in my underwear? AND we've all see the extreme make-over shows where they do a marathon surgeries all at once. Never mind these surgeries are usually on an obese person. WE ALL KNOW THIS TO BE A FACT. (right?!?) I just couldn't understand how this whole situation turned so akward and ugly.
But here was my reality:
I was too fat for lipo.
Extreme.
So, I turn to my good friend and confidant, my T.V. As with the rest of America, I was mesmerized by the plastic surgery shows that suddenly monopolized our T.V's. It amazed me that within an hour, a woman could be completely transformed into the woman that she wanted to be. Boob jobs, lipo, chemical peels, spray tan, veneers, extensions. Husbands couldn't recognize wives, and mothers couldn't recognize their own daughters.
I LOVED IT.
So, I (discreetly) asked around, and got the number of a highly respected doctor. I called and made an appointment. (forgetting to mention it to Mr. Hummingbird, naturally) The doctor was located in Newport Beach Ca, which apparently is only 2nd to Beverly Hills in the sheer number of plastic surgeons per capita. I was actually excited and was looking forward to this.
When I arrived, I was surprised to find such a quiet normal looking office. I'm not sure what I was expecting....naked pics on the walls?? Strippers in the waiting room? A stripper pole in the lobby? I waited 45 mins in a non descript exam room. They had me fully clothed, which I thought was a little strange. When the Dr. came in, I was faced to face with a small, grandmother-ly, beehived woman. She sat down with me, and started discussing what procedures I was considering. (she added the "s" at the end. I was strictly looking for a one procedure. I'm guessing she took one look at me, and decided that I could use a lot of work.) I told her that I was interested in lipo.
"where?"
I wasn't prepared for this question. I was thinking, "well, everywhere."
She started asking me a lot of questions about my medical history. I was making me nervous that I wasn't (for once!) undressed, and that she wasn't examining me. She then started asking me about my breasts. (To be honest with you, I HAD considered getting them done, since they were getting flat and saggy.) We talked about my saggy breasts for a while. Then, she said, "Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I cannot do a surgery on you."
WHAAAA? I was totally not ready for this.
She continued, "I cannot do any surgery on you until you lose some weight. It's just not safe."
I was shocked.
SHOCKED.
I stood there with a dumb look on my face, and my mouth hanging open.
She then tells me that she would like to exam me now. She asks me to undress.
RIGHT. THERE.
Talk about awkward. I'm trying to undress myself, and she is sitting there, waiting for me. She comes at me with a tape measure, and starts to write down my measurements. (I close my eyes, and think about rainbows and ponies.) When she's done, she announces, "Yes, you would do well with breast implants, but you would also need a lift."
Okaaay.
"but I don't do those both at the same time. And I can't do any surgery until you lose weight."
So, now I'm getting pissed. If she knew that I wasn't a good candidate, why was I standing there in my underwear? AND we've all see the extreme make-over shows where they do a marathon surgeries all at once. Never mind these surgeries are usually on an obese person. WE ALL KNOW THIS TO BE A FACT. (right?!?) I just couldn't understand how this whole situation turned so akward and ugly.
But here was my reality:
I was too fat for lipo.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Creative eating
Okay, lets take a break from all this sweaty exercising and talk about diets. (let’s just put the gross out warning right here. You may want to skip today’s posts if you have a weak disposition. ) Before I continue, I just want to let everyone know that I am a pretty well balanced person. There is no history of mental illness in any parts of my family. (for the most part….) I’m also some what smart. (albeit lazy) I can name all the states and their capitals. I can take public transportation without getting utterly lost. I can recite the periodic table. But, when it comes to putting food into my mouth, I turn into a complete dumb ass. Therefore, I have tried every ludicrous diet imaginable. You know that little voice inside your head that says, “No, this isn’t a good idea.”
Well, that bitch is long gone.
The Cabbage Soup diet
This was popular in the late 80’s. It was before the internet, so this diet was passed around in schools and offices on Xeroxed pieces of papers. The diet mainly consisted of making a huge stock of vegetable soup, and only consuming that……forever. I don’t remember there being any type of protein in the diet (chicken, beef, etc) just all vegetables. On the barely legible paper, it included something about this diet was the diet that was used by some famous hospital (usually The Mayo Clinic or John Hopkins) before patients entered surgery. It was the “last resort” diet for overweight patients who needed to lose weight fast, in order to survive heart surgery. Anyways, the diet was basically water, cabbage, tomatoes, onions, celery, and carrots. Just boil and eat for breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner. Yummmy. (blech!) I lasted about 2 ½ days before I snapped and ate a hamburger. (before the hamburger, I had “lost” 3 lbs) The worst part about this whole ordeal was that this was one of my early attempts at cooking. (I didn’t know all the safe cooking rules just yet.) So, I made a huge stockpot full of the soup. I mean huge. So huge was this stockpot, that it didn’t fit inside my tiny apartment fridge. So, being the dumbass that I am, I just left it out on the stovetop.
All day.
For two days.
In June.
In Southern California.
And, I was still eating the soup at the time. Let just say, I was totally surprised that on day two, the tomatoes had turned green and fuzzy. I wish I had noticed that before I ate that last bowl. (For the record, it takes me approximately 5 years before I can eat any type of vegetable soup again.)
Bulimia as a diet
Bulimia is a serious and deadly disease that should not be taken lightly. It is not an entertaining disease for those who suffer from it. Unless you are a complete dumbass who tries to convince herself that she has it. (Background: I’m not a throw up-y kind of person. Never have been, probably never will. I can count on one hand how many times, in my life, I have thrown up.) Nonetheless, I attempt to make myself vomit in order to reduce my weight. The perfect opportunity came after a BBQ at our friend’s house. Mr. Hummingbird stayed to help clean up. I had the house to myself. And the motivation. (I had eaten my weight in ribs and potatoe salad.) I waddle to the toilet, kneel before it, and wait.
Nothing.
I jam my fingers down my throat.
I gag, but nothing.
I try again.
More gagging. Some serious slobbering. But still nothing.
I grab a plastic chopstick and stick it down my throat.
Nothing but slobber and gagging.
I practically stick my head in the toilet, hoping to be so disgusting that I make myself throw up. I try and picture the most disgusting, vile images in order to make me throw up. I picture public men’s rooms at the local gas stations. I picture rotting cheese on a hot day in the garbage pail. I picture Richard Simmons, naked, coming after me.
Nothing works.
I give up and silently curse my suppressed gag reflex.
Syrup of Ipecac
Since the vomit party didn’t work out, I decided to try something new. I got this idea from either Melrose Place or 90210. (I don’t remember which one should get the credit.) Anyways, syrup of ipecac is something that you would find in a first aid kit. It’s sole purpose is to induce vomiting. It’s brown and smells weirdly woodsy. One night, after Mr. Hummingbird leaves me home to visit his parents, I break out the tiny bottle. I take one tiny spoonful of the stuff, and wait for the magic to happen. I start to feel nauseous. My stomach starts to turn and jump. (Jump violently.) I start to drool like a mad dog. I quickly regret my decision. I kneel before my toilet, and wait. I feel the worst that I’ve ever felt in my life. (and I had mono my senior year in high school!) My eyes are tearing. My body is bloated. The smell of Ipecac is stagnant in my bathroom. I wait while I feel like I’m going to die.
And nothing.
I got a tiny vomit burp, but that’s it.
I was suffering for nothing.
WAIT! It gets worst. The thing with Ipecac that no one tells you is that is also give you the runs. Serious runs. So, not only are you vomiting, but shits flying out of your ass too. (At record speed.) Your body suddenly becomes liquid. A foul Ipecac smelling liquid. Seriously the worst night of my life. (For the record, the smell of Ipecac still makes my stomach violently jump. 12 years later.)
Toilet Paper
Thanks to Donahue (google it, youngsters) I learned that models ate toilet paper in order to feel full. It was like eating your daily recommended dose of fiber, times 100. You body supposedly ignores it, and it all comes out in the pooper. So, I figure, why not? I convince myself that it just fiber. Wads and wads of petal soft quilted bleached fiber. I force myself to start snacking on TP. (at this point in my life, I really questioned my sanity) I carry around a snack of Charmin in my purse. But the best part of this little diet is that it’s readily available and I can snack in private!! Yippee! By coincidence, I happen to be doing some volunteer work at our local hospital. I was considering going into Nursing, so this was helpful. (it’ll get to be much more helpful pretty soon.) One day, we had a patient come in that had an intestinal blockage. It was really painful and traumatic for the poor woman. It was serious enough for her to go into immediate surgery. Right before going to the OR, I had to take her vitals etc. She started gagging and heaving. I helped her while she vomited into bucket after bucket. (This is where it really gets gross.) After helping her clean up and compose herself, I go to start cleaning up. I look into the buckets, and see shit. Literally. The poor woman had just endured fecal vomiting. (Poop was coming out of her mouth.) Seriously, the grossest thing I’ve ever witnessed. After the surgery, they found out what the blockage was: nail clippings, hair, and ……….wait for it……….toilet paper. Yeah, that woman had problems, but it ended my TP eating days.
Next up: My trip to the ER!, upgrading trainers, and shame
Well, that bitch is long gone.
The Cabbage Soup diet
This was popular in the late 80’s. It was before the internet, so this diet was passed around in schools and offices on Xeroxed pieces of papers. The diet mainly consisted of making a huge stock of vegetable soup, and only consuming that……forever. I don’t remember there being any type of protein in the diet (chicken, beef, etc) just all vegetables. On the barely legible paper, it included something about this diet was the diet that was used by some famous hospital (usually The Mayo Clinic or John Hopkins) before patients entered surgery. It was the “last resort” diet for overweight patients who needed to lose weight fast, in order to survive heart surgery. Anyways, the diet was basically water, cabbage, tomatoes, onions, celery, and carrots. Just boil and eat for breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner. Yummmy. (blech!) I lasted about 2 ½ days before I snapped and ate a hamburger. (before the hamburger, I had “lost” 3 lbs) The worst part about this whole ordeal was that this was one of my early attempts at cooking. (I didn’t know all the safe cooking rules just yet.) So, I made a huge stockpot full of the soup. I mean huge. So huge was this stockpot, that it didn’t fit inside my tiny apartment fridge. So, being the dumbass that I am, I just left it out on the stovetop.
All day.
For two days.
In June.
In Southern California.
And, I was still eating the soup at the time. Let just say, I was totally surprised that on day two, the tomatoes had turned green and fuzzy. I wish I had noticed that before I ate that last bowl. (For the record, it takes me approximately 5 years before I can eat any type of vegetable soup again.)
Bulimia as a diet
Bulimia is a serious and deadly disease that should not be taken lightly. It is not an entertaining disease for those who suffer from it. Unless you are a complete dumbass who tries to convince herself that she has it. (Background: I’m not a throw up-y kind of person. Never have been, probably never will. I can count on one hand how many times, in my life, I have thrown up.) Nonetheless, I attempt to make myself vomit in order to reduce my weight. The perfect opportunity came after a BBQ at our friend’s house. Mr. Hummingbird stayed to help clean up. I had the house to myself. And the motivation. (I had eaten my weight in ribs and potatoe salad.) I waddle to the toilet, kneel before it, and wait.
Nothing.
I jam my fingers down my throat.
I gag, but nothing.
I try again.
More gagging. Some serious slobbering. But still nothing.
I grab a plastic chopstick and stick it down my throat.
Nothing but slobber and gagging.
I practically stick my head in the toilet, hoping to be so disgusting that I make myself throw up. I try and picture the most disgusting, vile images in order to make me throw up. I picture public men’s rooms at the local gas stations. I picture rotting cheese on a hot day in the garbage pail. I picture Richard Simmons, naked, coming after me.
Nothing works.
I give up and silently curse my suppressed gag reflex.
Syrup of Ipecac
Since the vomit party didn’t work out, I decided to try something new. I got this idea from either Melrose Place or 90210. (I don’t remember which one should get the credit.) Anyways, syrup of ipecac is something that you would find in a first aid kit. It’s sole purpose is to induce vomiting. It’s brown and smells weirdly woodsy. One night, after Mr. Hummingbird leaves me home to visit his parents, I break out the tiny bottle. I take one tiny spoonful of the stuff, and wait for the magic to happen. I start to feel nauseous. My stomach starts to turn and jump. (Jump violently.) I start to drool like a mad dog. I quickly regret my decision. I kneel before my toilet, and wait. I feel the worst that I’ve ever felt in my life. (and I had mono my senior year in high school!) My eyes are tearing. My body is bloated. The smell of Ipecac is stagnant in my bathroom. I wait while I feel like I’m going to die.
And nothing.
I got a tiny vomit burp, but that’s it.
I was suffering for nothing.
WAIT! It gets worst. The thing with Ipecac that no one tells you is that is also give you the runs. Serious runs. So, not only are you vomiting, but shits flying out of your ass too. (At record speed.) Your body suddenly becomes liquid. A foul Ipecac smelling liquid. Seriously the worst night of my life. (For the record, the smell of Ipecac still makes my stomach violently jump. 12 years later.)
Toilet Paper
Thanks to Donahue (google it, youngsters) I learned that models ate toilet paper in order to feel full. It was like eating your daily recommended dose of fiber, times 100. You body supposedly ignores it, and it all comes out in the pooper. So, I figure, why not? I convince myself that it just fiber. Wads and wads of petal soft quilted bleached fiber. I force myself to start snacking on TP. (at this point in my life, I really questioned my sanity) I carry around a snack of Charmin in my purse. But the best part of this little diet is that it’s readily available and I can snack in private!! Yippee! By coincidence, I happen to be doing some volunteer work at our local hospital. I was considering going into Nursing, so this was helpful. (it’ll get to be much more helpful pretty soon.) One day, we had a patient come in that had an intestinal blockage. It was really painful and traumatic for the poor woman. It was serious enough for her to go into immediate surgery. Right before going to the OR, I had to take her vitals etc. She started gagging and heaving. I helped her while she vomited into bucket after bucket. (This is where it really gets gross.) After helping her clean up and compose herself, I go to start cleaning up. I look into the buckets, and see shit. Literally. The poor woman had just endured fecal vomiting. (Poop was coming out of her mouth.) Seriously, the grossest thing I’ve ever witnessed. After the surgery, they found out what the blockage was: nail clippings, hair, and ……….wait for it……….toilet paper. Yeah, that woman had problems, but it ended my TP eating days.
Next up: My trip to the ER!, upgrading trainers, and shame
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