So I went to the doctor yesterday because I was frustrated. I was frustrated because I have been slaving my ass off in the gym for a month or so now, as well as eating extremely well (it helped when the dogs ate the rest of the monkey bread), and the results? Non-existent. So FRUSTRATING.
Do I feel better? Sure. Sure, I feel better. But FEELING BETTER DOES NOT MAKE ME SKINNIER.
The doctor listened to my complaints, and then agreed that I was doing the right things. (Point being: DON’T GIVE UP YET, SARAH.) My blood work was fine, my EKG was good, so she was at a loss too. Then she asked if I was counting calories.
Hell, no! seemed a bit harsh, so I just shook my head.
And she gave me a great idea: cut it all in half. I know, right? So easy. DUR. Fill your plate like you normally do. Only? Eat half of what you’ve got on your plate. Physically separate the two halves, and just eat one half of everything, then wait ten minutes. Chances are, you’re full after ten minutes.
I love this idea! I can’t do math, so counting calories is not for me. I can eyeball portion control, and this helps a lot. There’s no special cooking required (those of you cooking for families can feel me on that one), and it’s all on your/my shoulders. I’ve done it so far, and you know what? Not bad at all, and I’m not feeling hungry.
(I did have a full slice of cheesecake last night. Sue me.)
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I went to have my eyebrow and lip waxed yesterday (note: being drunk does NOT help sensitivity), and when I told the lady behind the counter what I needed — eye/lip wax — she asked, “And your chin, too?”
English was not her first language, so I spoke again, but more slowly, and pointed. (I may have been drunk.) “EYE. LIP”
She nodded. “But what about your chin?”
I HAVE NEVER WAXED MY CHIN BEFORE NOR DO I BELIEVE I HAVE THE NEED TO AND OHMYGOD THE SHEER AUDACITY OF HER TO INSINUATE THAT I AM SOME MANBEAST WITH CHIN HAIR.
Instead, I said, “No thanks. I’m growing it out.” (I’m damn funny when I’m drunk.)
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I love that I’m missed when I’m not at work, but I hate coming back. 192 emails, 32 voicemails, and my desk was littered with post-its. It’s nice to be needed, but DAYUM. Could you imagine if I went on maternity leave here? And my manager is gone this week, so Sarah’s got on her big girl panties and is playing management. Again, all of these points should accrue into a monetary reward at the end of the period.
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I am NeNe. (Thanks, Ra!)
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