Loving myself sick, doll.

Have you ever had a strange, clear moment when you realise something about yourself?

It finally clicked to me how obsessed I have become with my weight. It’s all I can think about, care about, want to talk about. How effing boring it that? But the hard thing is, it’s addictive. My obsession with healthiness has become unhealthy. Sooo… I have decided to take my fine ass OFF the Fat Fighters Points program as of Tuesday night, and swap to Fat Fighters’ non-tracking, wholesome eating program, Core. Quick summary: eat fresh, lean, low-GI CORE foods until you’re ‘full’. Stressing over points is reduced – focus is swapped to getting in touch with hunger signals and eating yummy, healthy foods. Sounds like a plan, Stan.

I have become one of those fat-fighting girls I loathe with their constant food yapperings – Core, rescue me before it’s too late!

PS: I DO realise the irony with running a blog which details every mundane fat-fighting detail, but I am an Internet geek and, hell, it keeps me on track. A girl needs an outlet once tubs of choc-hazelnut ice-creams are removed from her life, yeah? Yeah.

The Fat Fighters Chronicles Part 18

What. An. Effing. Crazy. Month.
Awesome August? My ass, Fat Fighters!

But tomorrow is a new day and I am feeling good. I forced myself – with the support of a few lovely sponsors – to go the meeting tonight to discover the damage since that fateful day when I popped on the plane to Japan.

My guess? 5kg gain. I am all squishy again, my boobs seem well… actually THERE a little, and clothes are showing some lumps and bumps.

The result? 1.5kg gain. I kid you not. The beer, chocolate bars, ice-creams etc x gazillion have clearly lept onto my now pudgy belly, but chosen to spare the scales the distress. So, after all the crying and whinging, this brings me 4.4kg from my goal weight of 60kg. I could be disappointed in myself; about a month ago I was a mere 1.6kg from goal. But I’m not. I’m ready to kick some Fat Fighting ass once again and get myself a killer bod for summer. Trust me. You’ll want to perve on this shit.

Ze Confessional

After five months of Fat Fighters, I’m back at square 1. After five months of meticulous planning, organising, cooking and fat fighting, I lost it about a month ago. After five months of stepping onto my fat fighting soapbox with my head held high with weight loss success, I fell off the wagon so hard I am still hurting. One tiny binge was enough to (almost) undo everything I had worked hard for. Six fucking jelly beans. Tipped me. Rocked me. Stress binging led to happy binging led to anxious binging led to addicted binging led to more anxious binging led to punishment binging. So the vicious cycle continues.

I’ve bawled, I’ve punished, I’ve cried again.

Almost daily. For a month.

Enough.

I have had two healthy days – just. Today was tough. I had to literally ‘phone a friend’ to get me past a convenience store after a particularly sad afternoon. Seriously, what the fuck? You may as well slap my mug on an Oprah or Dr. Phil episode with the tagline – The Secret Lives of Women Who Binge. For once, I’m not kidding. I can’t believe I am writing this. That this is what has happened. The mind is a crazy thing. But I am done.

Come Tuesday, I am back on the fat fighting wagon. I know I have gained a hefty amount of weight in a short period of time due to the sick way I was eating, but that’s just something I need to face, admit and put down to life and its fuck-ups.

I’m getting to goal. I’m going to maintain my goal. Because I am a Fat Fighter for fuck’s sake, and that’s what we do!

Watch this space.

Japan: No Fat Fighting Allowed

baseball.
karaoke.
gay pride parade.
whore for chocolate.
horse, eating it, that is.
sweat boxes.
temples. x 10,000
binging.
asahi beer
kitchy shopping
vending machines.
cousins.
randoms.
cold showers.
photo slut.
rice, rice, rice.
senfuckingsational food.
family.
facebook.
krumping.
krunky.
toppo.
mos burger.
mister donut.
hugging deers.
geisha.
harajuku posse found.
pootastic flight.
new pals.
lawson love-ins.
one.table.only.
giant buddhas.
dancehall japanese chicks.
ginormous mozzie bites.
ugly, fatty, jappy.
hot french girls.
birru and pizza
beyonce very sexsheeeeee
sexy talk
drink highpace

effing fantastic.

Japanese women don’t get fat…

But HOW THE HELL NOT?!

With rice for brekkie, lunch and dinner, the most delicious (and cheapest, I may add) sweet treats and beer available in vending machines lining every street you turn down, HOW, I ask you? Don’t even get me started on Japanese BBQs. Sensational doesn’t even begin to describe it. To put it as delicately as possibly… biggest hot meat injection of my life. The food just kept coming. Beef. Beef. Beef. Kranks. Kranks. Chips. Pizza. Sashimi. More beef. Pork. Noodles. More chips. MORE beef. SO. MUCH. BEER. The host of the BBQ kept on my tail about drinking and eating all night… I have never felt so full. It was insane. He poked my belly at one point and used the Japanese word for ‘squishy’. Good times.

Speaking of a squishy belly, I have put back on about 5 kilos. I feel fat and fugly… but maybe that’s because I haven’t had a decent (ie: hot water, luxurious towels… etc) shower in two weeks. Or it could be the two icecreams, copious beer, chippies and glorious japanese chocolates I am hoovering every day. I want to get back into Fat Fighting, in fact, I have to, but I’m going to need some help! Major Life Overhaul Part II shall have to commence. I don’t know if I can face the Fat Fighting crew yet. I feel so ashamed.

Oh, and did I mention I ate raw horse yesterday at lunch? While nursing an Asahi-based hangover? RIP Black Beauty.

Boots, out xx

Crunkin’ it up

If you don’t recognise me when I return from Hello Kitty Land, it’s because I now look like a big, fat Japanese chocolate bar. A Crunky, if you will. The most sensational sweet that has ever passed thy lips. Either that, or a Asahi beer. Damn, these people know how to whip up a fine brew for a parched Aussie sister.

Beer gut in the making and LOVING it!

The wagon’s fading into the distance…

I’m off the wagon. Yes, again. How boring is that? Eff me. Fat Fighters has been using all these PR-savvy slang for this time of the year : Awesome August, Winter Challenge etc. I plan on writing them a letter to see if they’d consider changing it to Asshole August, or Wankers In Winter… even Britney Bingefest to team with the theme… what a c*bomb of a month.

All I can say is. I’m over it. I don’t know how to stop myself binging. And I’m on holidays for 16 days where I am going to be cutting loose. God, help me.

You all have permission to give me a swift kick up the rump upon arrival in Sydney airport on August 24 where I will no doubt be 10 kilos heavier.

I have never felt so Marjorie Dawes.

Oooooh, I love a bit of cake. Oooooh, cake. Oooooh, cake. Cake. Cake. Cake. Cake. I’m just one of these people. I come home and I need a piece of cake.  (Not to mention Hazelnut Magnums, Smarties, Doritoes… sorry, just listing my current post-dinner snacks… gah!)

PS: Marjorie Dawes: Now crisps are high in fat, but they’re also low in protein and low in fibre. See, it’s not all bad!

Love always, Marjorie No. 2. xx

Hello Kitty Miffy Adventure Eve

My tummy doesn’t know what it’s in for.

Once I make it through the 9-hours of in-flight food (although, did you know you can take fruit and vegies on the plane?!), the lucky little devil is going to be experiencing a 16-day banquet of Japanese treats. I’m determined to come back a sushi-snob, a Jap cuisine know-it-all and a raw fish devourer. Bring on the eel, me thinks. Unagi’s a definite goer.

They say the Japanese have the lowest obesity rate on the planet… hopefully the skinny minnies over there can share their wisdom, yes? Apparently the traditional Japanese diet is a way of eating based largely on fresh vegetables and fruit, rice, soy and fish, all served in modest portions. Sounds good to me… although, so does the tempura, gyoza and sake. Bring it ALL on.

I’m salivating! Only one sleep to go until I’m dressed up as a giant chicken singing karaoke in some seedy Japanese nightclub with a yakitori skewer in one hand and a cold beer in the other… not to mention my newly-formed band of Harajuku girls in tow. Oh, joyous holiday, just begin for the love of god.

PS: I’ve chowed down sushi the past two days. Excited, much?

The Fat Fighters Chronicles Part 17

OK, so the last five days have been a mess, Fat-Fighting-wise. I’ve gorged myself to the point of feeling sick 3-5 times a day, and boy, have I paid for it. I’ve gained 1.4kg in less than a week. I’m not going to bother with anecdotes or attempts at being funny this week. It’s happened. I can’t change that. The only thing I can change is what I do now, so here I go…

Current weight: 62.9kg
Total lost: 8kg

For those who don’t know, I am off to Japan for two weeks as of Wednesday… yes, the food is healthier, yes, they have smaller servings etc etc. I’m not going to make any promises to myself, I’m just going to enjoy my holiday and lap up the delicious Hello Kitty cuisine.

PS: You may notice the Chronicles is a day earlier than usual… after my five-day binge, I needed to get back ON the wagon ASAP. So, I did. And I even nabbed a silver star for recognising that by my temporary Team Leader. Oh yeah. Every binge has a silver (star) lining.

Struck down by the Britney curse

My name is missbooti and it’s been two hours since my last binge.

After months of feeling fabulous and preaching to every poor sod who would listen about my new, healthy habits, this week I fell off the wagon. I’m not talking ‘oohhh, I had a chocolate bar, oh me, oh my!’. I’ve been having treats during this whole process. I mean ‘I just ate the entire confectionary aisle at Coles, Leichardt’s gelato stash, not to mention Circular Quay’s collection of chips’. Every day. For the last five days. To the point of feeling sick, falling asleep on the couch at ridiculously nanna-type hours, feeling regret but not being able to stop. I don’t know why. But eff me, I feel sick.

Like any addict-in-rehab, I’m going to fight my demons the one way I know how: through my Fat Fighters meeting. The only problem? My usual haunt is only on Tuesday nights and that’s too late. I need to be stopped now. I need to get my ass on the scales, some fruit and vegies into my gob, and my paws outta the pantry (not that there’s anything naughty left in there… my Britney behaviour saw to that). I don’t care how much I’ve gained. I just want to stop eating the crap again because I feel revolting. What goes up, must come down, and believe me, after the amount of shiza I’m scoffed in the past week for no reason at all, I’m surprised I’m not living beneath Sydney’s sewer system, Ninja-Turtles-style after my sugar high. So I’m going to hit up a midday Fat Fighters meeting (which will be prob be brimming with young mums and middle-agers, but bring it on, I say). I feel like a bit of a Fat Fighters whore, slutting myself between meetings like this, but this is a OOO situation. I even ended up on the website today, poring through the message boards after searching the word ‘binge’. It was weird to read that a bunch of other women started gorging themselves silly when they were so close to goal, too. I’m going to kick this binge session’s ass.

God, I really don’t feel well. The saying ‘I’m bulemic, I just forget to throw up’ has never felt so true.

Damn you, Britters, rid me of your food-guzzling curse!