This is an old Myspace blog, and it will be the first in a series of three over the course of this week dealing with weight.  I now weigh significantly less than 155, but people found this entertaining when I posted it before.  I don’t have a lot of time for writing new blogs due to the novel which is being very slowly churned out.  (Thanks for the supportive e-cards, Fran!)

It all started innocently enough. I was due for another checkup at the horrible public hospital, and my boyfriend, concerned about his cyber-reputation after my last blog, volunteered to go with me.

Of course this time, there were almost no problems.  I was told that my 12:30 appointment time was incorrect, however, and I had to explain that the nurse had specifically called me to move it to that time.  “Oh, Andy called you?,” she said.  “Um…yeah.”  “Okay, well they’re on their lunch break, so you can just wait.”

So at 1:15, my original appointment time prior to Andy’s call, I was ushered into the office by none other than Andy himself.  In Andy’s office was a scale, and Andy requested that I get on that scale.   “Do we have to?,” I begged, as usual.  “I mean I was just here three months ago.”

You see, I don’t like to know my weight.  I would really rather not.  I am more concerned with my overall health, how my clothes fit, what size I’m wearing, how I’m progressing in Pilates and yoga, etc.  Knowing my weight just makes me crazy.  But Andy held firm.  I faced away from the scale and informed Andy that I couldn’t give a flying fig about my weight, so please don’t tell me.

Which he didn’t.  Unfortunately, it was an electronic scale, which left my weight displayed, and I was shocked to discover that I weigh 155 pounds.

I came out of Andy’s office a changed woman.  My boyfriend asked me what was wrong.  In an unprecedented moment of vulnerability and truth (in regards to this question anyway), I told him I weighed 155 pounds.

“Baby,” he said, to cheer me up.  “That’s what I weigh.”

I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.  So as I blubbered like a baby in the ghetto gynie’s hallway, the boy tried to backpedal.  “I mean, I haven’t weighed myself in ages.  It’s probably closer to 160.  I mean I have a gut now [note to reader: he has no gut.], so it’s probably closer to 170– 180, in fact.”

But I had already come to the frighteningly obvious conclusion that I needed to lose weight.  Some serious weight.  But how? I can honestly say that I don’t eat badly.  Home-made fruit smoothies or yogurt and toast for breakfast.  Soup for lunch, nine times out of ten, sometimes tuna salad.  Dinner can be a little bit all over the place depending on my schedule.  And I have a weakness for popcorn and I drink too much.  I work out honestly as much as my schedule will allow.

Which leads me to the Detox Diet. Yes, the lemonade diet that Beyonce made famous.  However, it had been made famous to me some months before by my hard-drinking, crazy lifestyle friend Isaac, who had done it and had nothing but great things to say about it.  So did everyone I spoke to, as a matter of fact.  Only my close friends and my sister raised their eyebrows when they heard it would involve giving up caffeine.  But I decided it was the time.  I needed something drastic.

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