Revelations…

And not of biblical proportion. So…as discussed I have been on the evil bean diet. Thus why it has taken me 4 weeks to blog. You try getting off the toilet to blog after baggin 20lbs of beans. It aint pretty. The good news is that I lost 10 lbs in 3 weeks. The bad news is I almost bit the big one. Apparently in addition to shitting out no fat and carbs, I also released the oil that keeps the engine running. Not ideal for life. However comma, ideal when stepping on the scale. So things were a bit blurry and 3Dish. I can be dizzy for a size that doesn’t end in X. Visual. Fat chick hooked to electrodes sipping on cab. It screams dying to drink. What can I say? Apparently my heart rate wasn’t syncing with my blood pressure. And? Nothing about me is in sync. So they hooked me to a bunch of shit only to determine I’m fat minus some crucial potassium. Instead of losing inches I lost the very gas I was ingesting. I’m no Toyota. Story of my life.

I was all about the evil beans until they tried to kill me. This is why I’m convinced I need to stick with the fatties. As a SIF I never complained of palpitations or dizziness. That’s a 1/4 pounders disease. Life on the other side aint so grand. Since my impending doom I’ve gone back to my old ways. If it aint broke…leave it the fuck alone. So I’m at the McDonald’s drive thru this morning with my husband. Why? I can’t be sure. I prefer to binge alone. All I wanted was a decaf coffee black. Well…All I really wanted a biscuit but he was in the car so I went skinny on his ass. Black coffee no sugar no cream. Not only a song (thanks Heavy D) but my skinny girl anthem. Some dumb ass in front of me decided to order 2 parfaits and hold up the line. If you want yogurt…carry your ass to the grocery! I don’t go to subway for french fries….don’t be holdin me up at Mickey D’s for some damn yogurt! My husband hears the voice behind the drive thru and decides she’s of Asian decent. That’s where I broke bad on his ass. Racial profiling in the drive through aint cool. Especially when I know the woman to be of Latino decent. So I went there. I told him not only was she not Asian, she was a middle aged Hispanic woman, possibly from Jalisco, who wears her hair in a pony tail, she’s about 4′ 8″ and does not like fried rice. To that I added, the woman who would be handing us our food would be one over friendly Caucasian  woman who never puts the lid on the Coke tight enough. 1 outa 2 aint bad. Apparently my food lady was off for the day. He was visibly frightened. Yet, no divorce. There’s always tomorrow… and Burger King.

So I’m working on a theory. Hole closing. You know how if you get your ears pierced and you don’t wear earrings your hole closes? What if you don’t get enough sex? What’s up with that hole? I’m just sayin is all. It’s a legit concern. I don’t want to pierce it. I would prefer it be pierced. However comma, that doesn’t seem to be in my control. My doctor says there is no threat of hole closure. He’s the same one who hooked me up to electrodes and let me run and drink red wine. I fear he can’t be trusted. I have my own theories. El Conejo is very reassuring at times like this. He’s like a “clip on earring.” Classless but sometimes necessary. So 10 lbs less isn’t that impressive. It’s like switching from Diet Coke to water. You feel somewhat better but no one cares. No one is running up to me to declare me skinny. Yet I see bones in my face that haven’t surfaced in years. My muffin top has transformed into Sponakopeta. Figure that one out. If I wasn’t running a half marathon this weekend I might take my chances with death and go back to the beans. Dead and skinny beats fat and alive. Scratch that. Fat and alive would be fine if it were acceptable. Although I must admit dents and dings would make me want a new model. I fear no amount of fat loss, Botox and bullshit can fix this problem.

When you don’t have the answer, switch jobs. That’s what I did. I start a new one tomorrow. In my world I’m writing screen plays, doing stand up and making fun of SIF everywhere. In the real world I’ll be happy to open your checking account. Bankers are chubby. That’s why I’m the perfect candidate. Open an account and I’ll give you a toaster or a blender. Not a shake or a salad. That’s how I roles. I come complete with candy on my desk and chocolate on my lips. If you can’t trust a fat banker with toasters, candy and chocolate lips who can you trust?