Then I'll Slash Your Tires With Bacon

While I was posting pictures of the cruise, Beau’s BFF simultaneously posted some lost photos from college. If my chocolate cheesecake and gouda flavored burps weren’t enough to remind me that I’ve, er, let myself go a bit, comparing those images side by side certainly were. I give you:

Exhibit A: Circa fall 2005. Note chin definition.

Exhibit B: June 10, 2008. Note general roundness.

So, for the first time in my entire life, I have put myself on a diet. A real adult diet. In the past, I’ve tried the unrealistically restrictive Atkins/South Beach type regime (which lasted about a month before I saw a loaf of bread, blacked out from excitement and woke to find myself covered in crumbs. Now I’m not allowed back in Stop & Shop). Then there was the frightening Xenadrine/iceberg lettuce/vodka diet which lasted approximately 2 weeks before the dining hall ran out of vinegar one day and I started uncontrollably sobbing at the salad bar.

In a new venture that I like to call “When the Fuck Did I Gain 1/3 of a Person?” I’ll be doing things the right way. Since Monday, this has included making healthier food choices, starting a food journal, and buying a scale for last night’s big reveal which was such a shocker for Beau, he’s joined the band wagon. Tonight we’re getting gym memberships so that I don’t have to sheepishly write in the exercise portion of my little log, “Walked to train station; did lap around office; held door for old lady.”

You are welcome to place your wagers on how long I’ll last on this one, but to be fair you should know that I once quit a serious drug-habit overnight and that doubters tend to motivate me to work harder in order to prove them wrong. It also motivates me to find out where they live and egg their house. With low-fat liquid egg-substitute.