Inventing the brie and bacon diet.

How could I GAIN a frickin' pound yesterday. I swear, I weighed less than 117.8 when I went to bed last night. (And why does my weight always end in .8? I'm starting to get suspicious of the New Digital. Have we no .3s?) Dam you delicious tots! Maybe I'm sleep eating? Oh wait, maybe it's muscle? Mwa-ha-ha! I crack myself up. Hold on, while the chuckling subsides and I wipe my eyes so I can type.

I'm having a little bit of trouble dieting, because healthy food tastes like crap. I'm not buying the Kashi Go Lean sales pitch -- they're so full of their own granola, their eyes are crunchy beige. "Mmmm, did you try the razor-sharp little rock-nuggets? They're the best!" "Make sure you try 'em with the powder-dry throat-clogging grains."

And while I really do appreciate the spinach recipes and whatnot, I don't care how you cook it or dress it up -- it ain't bacon, girlfriend, it just ain't bacon. I love bacon. And cheese. And bread with cheese. And waterchestnuts with bacon (now THAT's some healthfood). And, well, pretty much anything with cheese and/or bacon. Frickin' yum, Kashi. Put some cheese and bacon into that granola, and THEN we'll talk. Kashi Go Bite Me.

So far my diet includes cookies and tater tots. And I just horked down a few healthy Terra chips (I think as long as you're eating carrots and weird vegetables like kabosh (WTF?), it doesn't matter whether they're deep fried or not, you should still get the points.) But looking back on what I ate the week before my diet (two Blue Boxes of cheesey deliciousness and a whole package of bacon, which I'm SURE went with something else I was eating), I think I've made some improvements. Baby steps.

Today I have the opportunity to change everything. Well, at least my diet for the next week or two. I'm out of dog food, so it's officially time to visit Safeway. And, as we all know, the cupboards are bare. So I will be restocking the shelves with healthy crap. Not Kashi Go Lean crap, but something not-bacon and something not-packed-in-an-adorable-little-blue-cardboard-box. I'm not convinced I need to give up cheese (it's dairy, and that's fair game, right?), but I will try to do better. More veggies, more fruit, more beans, whatever -- I feel like starving to death just thinking about it.

Oh, hold the phone -- maybe it's time to break out the Skinny Bitch cookbook (Thank You Nell). They have all kinds of bad, bad foods in there and claim that you can stay skinny eating this stuff. I'll just go pull it down.

Okay, I've got "French Women Don't Get Fat: the secret of eating for pleasure." Newsflash -- not such a big secret, and I think I've got that one down. Strike one book.

Then we have "Skinny Bitch in the Kitch." This one is described as "Kick-ass recipes for hungry girls who want to stop cooking crap (and start looking HOT)." Uh-oh. It says "girls" AND "hot" in the description -- I'm guessing it won't help a girlfriend who's almost 50. Sigh. EVERYTHING SUCKS. Well, I'm gonna stop blogging and read through these books and find at least ONE recipe to try, and I'll let you know how my bean, spinach, soy cheese whatever comes out.

Update:

That's IT, GAME ON. Here's what happened. I didn't even make it to the grocery story yet and I've already had a fat-fight related trauma. As you know, I was UP one pound this morning, despite a 20-minute walk AND a 50 minute cardio workout with the sis yesterday. We won't go into how that could possibly happen to such a nice person, but I decided I would get right back on that horse and go for a walk, again, this morning. So I pop in a DVD-R so that I don't miss Tommy Lee Jones hunting down a lovable, but slightly wacky Benecio del Toro (I like to think of him as a Latin Brad Pitt -- yes?) in the woods of Oregon, and I head out. I'm jammin to a J-streak of M. Jackson, T. Jones and B. Joel punctuated by the Love of my Teen Life, David Cassidy (Looking through the Eyes of Love, yeah, she's lookin' through the eyes of love...), and I'm trying to stay in the shade. Because, while it's apparently snowing in Minn. (ha, ha, you guys), it is still like 150 here in Phoenix. So I'm bopping along singing out loud under a mesquite tree when something heavy lands in my hair. EEEEEEEWWWWW. I shit you not, a bird SHAT on my head! Evil, F-ing bird!

It is a measure of how TOTALLY PISSED OFF I AM AT MY BELLY FAT, that I shook out the large CHUNK of bird poop and soldiered on and finished my walk. I admit that there was a little bit of an OMG-I-can't-believe-there's-birdshit-in-my-hair-get-it-out-now dance on the sidewalk, but I did eventually finish my walk. I sit here now with wet hair that will have to be repaired before I can go get groceries, because when I came back, there was indeed, a nice white streak where the evil bird poop slid down the left side of my head through my hair. And when I tried to get it out, the bird poop mixed with the hair spray and became a sticky, bird-poopy mess. Sigh, again. I've gotta go fix my hair and get dog food. F'n diet.