So, because today is my 30th birthday (ok more like the 17th anniversary of my 30th birthday) My husband asked me what I wanted for dinner. Being on this diet adventure, pizza is not on the menu, as you can easily imagine. Pizza happens to be my favorite food outside of chocolate and lobster.
Pizza is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy, It's not beer. It's pizza.
Is is because I said so.
Benjamin Franklin was wrong.
Have you ever seen that meme with the little kid coloring...and it says: "I fucking love coloring!!!!"
Gimme a sec, I'll post it:
Funny, huh?
Anyway, this is precisely how I feel...only about pizza, not coloring.
I like to color too, but the level of passion isn't quite the same.
I will choose pizza over sharpies any day, just sayin.
Pizza is like the best thing ever.
So, when I requested pizza, and was granted this wish, we chose Monicals Pizza. It's local, ridiculously expensive, and stupid yummy.
Anyway, we asked some friends to join us in the merriment of bread, sauce and cheesy goodness and chatted and had a great time.
Then...the bill came.
Ladies and gentlemen...please focus your attention on the fourth column of the receipt....
YES. That does say senior discount.
Both couples had it.
Wait...um...what just happened? When did I qualify for the early bird diner and depends undergarments set? (I do pee a little when I sneeze...but that doesn't count.)
We all laughed at this heartily and made the comment going out the door, "it's time for us old folks to head on home, but we need to swing by the apothecary for some sticking cream for our wooden dentures, first.
Later we'll chase a hoop down the dirt road with a stick and milk the cows by hand!" 🙄
I dunno...It could have very well been the conversation we were having over dinner. You know, grunting when we stand from sitting position, dieting, old lady arm flab, vacationing in Florida. Or maybe the small line of burgeoning gray hair on my temples, or the salt-peppering my husband's hair. Or maybe the coffee my husband ordered with his pizza (only because he was saving calories and a drink comes with the deal...) Or maybe is was because our waiter was 12.
They have no frame of reference on what's old, those damn kids. For the record, I say this about anyone in their 20's. Sweeping generalizations are fun-just ask my 12 year old waiter.
Come to think of it, I DO actually yell at kids to stay out of my damn yard.
So to add to the list of concerns...now not only am I fat, but apparently now...I'm old too.
I'm
I mean, people are living longer, so technically...I am not even middle aged yet. For all intents and purposes, I am still young. I still check the 35-50 box on surveys! (old people do surveys, fuck.)Whatever.
I have 3 more years. Let's not rush me into the retirement community just yet, please.
On a good note...I weighed for the first time today since stringently starting this diet and exercise routine two weeks ago. My husband bought me a scale for my birthday.
Relax, it is what I asked for.
So, It's all fancified. Digital. It measures BMI, weight, calories, etc...
and today, I stepped upon its shiny metal foot- pads for the first time.
11 pounds.
Yes, really.
11 pounds in two weeks.
I am walking over 2 miles a day, and staying well below my 2010 calorie goal a day.
I have all but cut out Pepsi.
And snacks are extremely limited, and when I do snack...it's twigs and leaves.
Kidding.
It's NUTS, twigs and leaves.
So progress is being made. And I feel great.
Some mild stomach stuff...probably due to the drastic change in diet. Who knows. I'm dealing with it. But otherwise I feel fabulous.
More energy, more stamina, and ambition. I don't sit around as much. I get my steps in daily...no matter what.
And that's really cool.
I'm excited and happy...I'm still a smart ass-but I am a smart ass much more at peace.
I want to lose 50 total by October. Here's to doing that.
Now- where in tarnation have I left my walker??? I need to take my night meds.
12 year olds, sheesh.
Happy Birthday to me-
XOXO,
Fat (geriatric) girl.
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