I’m In a Pickle: A Bad Way To Diet!

Girlie Post Warning...

I just ripped through the pantry looking for “my” peanut butter. Damn, I’m out and I didn’t even know it. I ALWAYS have a back up which means someone’s been in it! I guess these Honey Graham Oh!s will do.

Unfortunately for my junk loving family, I haven’t been to the grocery store in forever because I’m buying too much crap AND ice cream. I can’t have that stuff in our house or the tasmanian devil that resides inside me will tear through everything leaving this house in total destruction and completely ravage.

How are we surviving, you ask? I’m only going to the corner market where crap isn’t sold. If mama has to eat healthy (and not be entirely happy about it), so do all of you! "Because, I say!"

It’s seems as if I’ve been chain-smoking cupcakes…not good. Here’s a tip: Cupcakes don’t hurt when you use them to beat yourself up over dumb stuff. There are other less caloric techniques but they don't work as well on moi!

In any case, why am I in a pickle? I’m in a pickle because I need to figuratively (literally would be so much faster/easier) wire my jaw shut starting immediately.

**Have you read/seen this, brides use feeding tubes to rapidly shed pounds, Now THAT sounds like a rational solution, doesn’t it? DON’T DO THIS, EVER! It’s pure and utter insanity!**

I'm attending a very important wedding in L.A. ten-ish days from now. Of course, I felt a significant event such as this warranted an equally significant dress. Come on! I haven’t bought a really cool dress in a long time. So I did, based on the recommendation of my best friend Susie, and my fingers are crossed that the VISA bill arrives post trip.  

Sue is the one you want by your side at such times. She’ll flat out tell you what she thinks because (1.) She wants us both to look good being twin-like and all, (2.) She doesn’t want to hear me bitch that I should have picked the other one.

She always says, “That size is too big. Try on the smaller size.” Of course I do as my baby sister, from another mister, tells me and she's usually spot on. Playing Roger Ebert, she gave my gold dress a resounding two very enthusiastic thumbs up. “Now that looks hot! That’s the one!” And I say, "But it's a little snug.", as I struggle to pull it off my body. "Oh, you can do it. You have 2 1/2 weeks." Okaaaaaay!!!!!

Then, what’s a girl to do but be lead right to the shoe department to find the perfect pair?

That was last week and because I’m always afraid I'll peak too early, drop a few fast pounds and think, “Well it’s okay to have this cupcake ‘cause I’ve already slimmed down some.” I put it off. Now, I'm in that "pickle"! The place I didn't want to be.

It’s T-minus 10 days. I’m not panicked, but I am starting to give the matter some serious contemplation as I calculate exactly how this is going to happen.

And that’s the thing about shoes. They always fit. You don’t have to starve to fit into them. AND they’re beautiful.

The invitation recommended wedges for an outdoor ceremony and reception. I don't listen very well, now do I? I'm a sucker for heels!

I will do my utmost to prevent my diet-induced crabbiness from affecting all of you through my writing this next week but I guess you should be expecting it. I don’t do well when I’m hungry, let alone, starving and the only way to pull this off is that or “the wires”.

Just wait ‘til after the wedding when I drag all of you into my desperate attempt to train for my second ever triathlon. It’s not pretty.

*Pictures (except shoes) courtesy of Google Images and someone.