Ahhh, if only I took my own advice…

Published! On real Dub-ya Dub-ya site! Look!

http://www.weightwatchers.com.au/util/art/index_art.aspx?tabnum=1&art_id=43071

In other news, I nearly made out with my gym instructor today. He told me I was looking slimmer and that dancing was really working for me. After I gloated to my BF, JT, he replied, “Dancing?! What, do you mean you watching So You Think You Can Dance?!” No daaaaarling. True, haven’t quite been on the dancing bandwagon this year, been too busy getting my ass kicked at boxing. Oh well, exercise is exercise!

Yay. Compliments are fun.

Dear Body

Dear Body,

Hello.

There’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about for a long time and – put down the KFC drumstick! No, both of them! Wait, is that a snack box in your pocket?

Oh for F*CK’S SAKE!

Oh, you’re clearly not ready to talk to me yet.

I’ll try again soon.

Love, Booti.

Oh, Fat Fighters, let me count the ways I’ve betrayed you this week …

1. “I have a pimple on my face. It is a big, red and ugly. It is unattractive to others. I musn’t show my face in public. Therefore, I must avoid human contact at all costs. I must attend work otherwise will have no money, but recreational activities such as going to the gym will expose this fugly mountainous creation to the public. Hence, no gym this week.”

2. “I am busy at work, therefore don’t have much time to cook. Could potentially bing a potato in the microwave to accompany vegies and kanga, but has the potential of being too blah. Solution: KFC chips. Large. While walking home so it doesn’t seem like I’ve really had them.”

3. “Have been told I have exceptionally clean, white teeth (despite their many cosmetic flaws). Even praised on my wonderful flossing skills. Dentist taught me a fancy-pancy NEW way to floss. Have decided not to do it… scared I might start flossing out KFC Wicked Wings and Magnum pieces out from between my gums. I know they’re in there. They can stay there.”

4. “Had a block of chocolate today. By myself.”

5. “Sigh.”

6. “I am truly a human garbage disposal.”

Torture: the hour-long wait before burying myself in a bowl of chocolate dipped strawberries

That is all.

My sex (and kitchen) is on fire

Ahhh, the lengths you go to for a meal, eh?

I could have gotten takeaway Thai, or hoed into some Dirty Bird chippies, or even hoovered a beef noodle pho, but no – I channelled my new favourite kitchen-ites The Cook and the Chef and dragged out the saucepans and fry pan for a bit of a spin on the classic meat and veg.

Kanga for dinner (sorry Skippy fans), steamed vegies (nice and crunchy) and homemade chippies (addicted). Everything was going swimmingly. The vegies were steaming, Skippy was getting to know the fry pan and the chippies were baked … I was five seconds away from a perfect meal.

And then the oven bake paper under the chippies caught on fire.

And then I tossed the oven tray onto the counter and FREAKED.

Then I spat at it and finally blew it out.

And then it lit up the other side.

And then black charred paper blew lightly all over the chips, adding to my seasoning of chilli powder and chicken salt.

And then I remembered why I didn’t like cooking for other people.

And why I play with words for a living, not hot ovens that could have potentially burnt down my teeny tiny apartment.

PS: As for my sex being on fire, I was cooking in a bikini top and daggy denim skirt (laundry night!), so if the place did go down in flames … I’d definitely be a sight for sore eyes for some OMFG-gorgeous firey.

(Oops) I (Over)did It Again

Pizza does things to me. It can turn me on faster than an URST-filled scene between Twilight’s Bella Swan and Edward Cullen (yes, I went there). I just want to buy pizza a hotel room, nestle in for the night and really show it a good time.

 

Yew!

 

So, you can only imagine my delight when the lovely Melissa from Fooderati (fooderati.blogsopt.com) told me I had won an Uppercrust pizza from Crust. I dragged JT there on Saturday night, salivating at the thought of melted cheese, delicious meats and seafood and melted cheese. Oh. Wait. Covered that.

 

Ordered the Sausage Duo (hello, freebie!), then indulged in a Seafood Pizza – hey, a girl’s gotta eat, right? Well, oh my freakin’ lordy loo – it was summin’ else. I scoffed those bad boys faster than Chris Brown sprints from a crime scene (mo fo).

 

In true Fat Fighter Slowly Falling Off The Wagon style, I went a little bit crazy. I ended up with my tight skirt unzipped around my thighs, rubbing my tummy in pain, comatose on the couch. Brilliant!

 

Crust, I blame you. If your pizzas weren’t so effing delicious, I wouldn’t have gone so OTT on them. Oh, who am I kidding? Eating pizza is like catching up with an old friend – you go way too hard, way too quickly from all the excitement, then end up passed out somewhere half-naked in pain. No? Just me?

 

Thanks for the pizza Mel and Crust – loved it, and can’t wait to hit it up again and try the heart-approved pizzas.

 

PS: Pizza Hut all-you-can-eat buffet, anyone? Oh no … I’m unravelling …

Ch-ch-ch-changes …

Fat Fighters Chronicles is currently going through a fabulous makeover (half her luck!), so please bear with me!

Adrieeeeeeeenne!

Have you ever walked around with boxing gloves in your handbag? No, just me?

 

It’s brilliant. 

 

Every chump who barges past you, their BO wafting up your nostrils, is a potential “victim”. You imagine right-hooking them, jabbing them, like you’re a freakin’ Fight Club star. In your mind, you nail every single move like you’re Hilary Swank – you even have the braided mane to boot.

 

But then you arrive at boxing class.

 

Plank.

 

Crunches.

 

Hooks.

 

Jabs.

 

And repeat – about eleventy trillion times.

 

All of a sudden, kicking someone’s ass on George Street seems like the most impossible thing in the world …

 

After all, I don’t think they’d wait for me to slip on a pair of inners and count to three before clockin’ ’em one, do you?

 

Rocky: The Booti Years will have to wait.

Sweet’n’salty

“Hello friends,” I coo, gazing at the newly stocked vending machine.

‘Cadbury’ and ‘Red Rock’ labels make eye contact with me, luring me with their shiny packety goodness.

 

Another day of playing hide’n’seek with the over-priced treats has begun.

 

They do their best to hide … but I’m a damn good seeker.

You’ve Got (Hate) Mail

Ahhh, it’s been at least a year since my last hate mail … but the time has come again – brilliant! I love these whackadoo people who love to scoot around the www leaving a trail of steaming poo-tastic comments behind them. They’re like the same freakazoids who ask questions in Yahoo Answers like “What’s Zac Efron’s email address? Please tell me – I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

 

If that’s not bad enough, I can’t seem to log onto a damn website these days without seeing my boofy head spouting ridiculous out-of-content words either. Sigh.

 

Oh well … my free Fat Fighters cereal from the meeting today made it all worthwhile. I lost 100 grams, probably didn’t pee as hard as last week.