Dieting, Humor, Life, Menopause

I Like Big Macs and I Cannot Lie

I like to eat.

Scratch that.
I love to eat.

Food tastes good.
And I get hungry. A lot.

But I’m pissed off at food currently because it is not playing fair.

When I was a teenager, I could eat whatever the hell I wanted.
Doritos by the bag, Pepsi by the gallon, an entire Reese’s Pieces Sundae at Friendly’s.

I didn’t have to exercise, count calories, allow myself “cheat days”, go to bed hungry.
All I had to do is just BE.
I had the gift of metabolism and youth on my side.
Now that I am in my late forties, I have the gift of menopause.
It’s not a gift, by the way.
More like the booby prize you win when you play a game at a birthday party and they have to give you something so you don’t feel like a failure.
So here I sit with my booby prize and look around the room and think, “this is the saddest frickin’ party I have ever been to. Pass the birthday cake”.
Only, there isn’t a cake. There is only Weight Watcher 4 point black bean brownies that will make you fart incessantly over the next 12 hours.


What. Has. Become. Of. Me.

look at that belly
That is what has become of me.
That picture up there is not of me six months pregnant with either of my girls.
It’s from August.

Of this year.

My moment of awakening came one muggy summer day when I couldn’t fit into my fat shorts.
Like, I had to heave all of my body fat upwards into my torso in order to close the zipper.
So then I said fuck it and put on a knit dress because there’s no waistband in a dress.

Then I reasoned that I would just wear yoga pants, leggings, or knit dresses for the rest of my life and even had a low moment in where I purchased a pair of maternity denim Capri’s.

I quietly started Weight Watchers a few months ago and in the beginning, I was all gung-ho and counting points and being really good.
I lost eight pounds in the beginning and got excited.
Maybe not excited, but happy that I was still able to lose weight.
It is now 2017 and I can’t stop eating.
I am my own worst enemy because I really love things like chocolate, pizza, anything with cheese, bacon, potatoes, and ground beef in it or around it.
But not mixed all together though because eww.
Eh, I’d probably eat that too.

Ooh! You know what tastes good together? Peanut butter M & M’s and coffee.

I even reasoned with myself last week that life is short and if my last day on Earth involved eating a Smart One’s Mostaccioli and no wine within a 48 hour period, it would not be a life worth living.

My best friend right now is my stretch yoga capris.

But I feel like I can tell my feelings to a Boston Creme donut better. Don’t tell my capri pants. 
I have no willpower, I have no shame, I have even convinced myself that “hey, 15 minutes on the treadmill is better than zero minutes on the treadmill!”

Send help.

But after I inhale five slices of pizza first.

14 thoughts on “I Like Big Macs and I Cannot Lie”

  1. Girl…I hear ya! I will be 50 in 10 days. Weight, well, EXTRA weight, has been a problem for me for half of my life. *sigh* I was doing pretty good last year but since October-ish, forget it. I blame stress. Personal life as a foster mom is beyond what I imagined stress wise…and the state of the USA right now…that weighs heavy on me…so I take care of these emotions with a slice of gooey cheese or delicious silky chocolate. I will look like Violet Beauregarde in full on blueberry before the next election. I need intervention too!


    1. You named it: stress. I am a big time stress eater.
      Maybe we need to start a program together to keep each other on track.
      Like slapping the pie out of our hands.


  2. My go to order at Friendly’s was a cheese quesadilla with a chocolate peanut butter milkshake (because they filled the glass and then left the silver canister with whatever didn’t fit with the glass) so I understand.
    I started this new year with a stomach virus from hell – like the worst I’ve ever had, so food and I are living in a time of discontent. I fell like I should build on that feeling to redirect my love of food towards healthier patterns, but typing that sentence above about cheese and milkshakes is rekindling an old fire that no stomach bug can match.


  3. You are AWESOME for posting that photo. I love your honesty. Be fat and happy, I say. I’ve sat on both sides of the fence. Life was better fat and happy. ? the end.


  4. Oh, Kari. I feel ya. I have been feeling for awhile like my body just doesn’t feel like me anymore. Mostly this belly thing that gets in my way when I bend over. Like to put on my shoes. And I just take up more space.

    I had a good 50 years where I really didn’t have to think about what I ate. I ate whatever the hell I wanted. I never had boobs, but I also never had a big butt. Or gut. Even after I had twins, it all went pretty much back to normal.

    I don’t say much to anyone because I’m still fine. I know this with my head. But I miss my own body. I see other people my age with bodies like the one I used to have and part of me wants it back but another part of me doesn’t want to give up eating those things I love to eat and I sure don’t want to give up minutes of my life doing exercise I hate.

    I am trying to find middle ground. Balance. (hah!) But really, balance. I don’t want to give up all that good stuff I like to eat, but I’m trying to eat a little less. I’m really trying to find some physical activity I enjoy so my body will feel good. I’m trying to learn to love my little pot belly. I’m thinking of giving it a name and regarding it as one does a pet. I’m working on not caring about what I look because I know it’s not really important. I don’t ever really think about what my favorite people in the world look like. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m working on being a person whose looks are something other people don’t even think about, too. It’s weird and a little hard; I spent much of my life getting attention and acceptance for my looks. It was an asset in a lot of ways. A little hard to let it go.

    But what I’m thinking is, I’m never going to look like that again, no matter what I do or what I deprive myself of. So I might as well let that go. I want to be healthy enough to enjoy the rest of my life, and I don’t want to miss out on it. Pie and ice cream and cookies and hamburgers and mac ‘n cheese are wonderful things. When my life is over, I think I’m going to be happier over eating joyfully than I would about still fitting into a size 6, you know? (And if you are thinking, what the eff is she talking about, I’d be happy to be in an 8–or 10, or 12, or…–well, that just proves my point. I think we all think we’d be happier if we were just one size smaller, but our perfect size is someone else’s too big. It’s all just crap thinking.)

    Here’s what I ask myself when wondering about going to the gym or eating something: What’s the best way to love myself right now? Sometimes it’s walking away from the pie or getting my butt in the car. But sometimes it’s eating a cookie or curling up with a book. I don’t know if this is the best way, but I’m working on being OK with how I look as long as I can do the things I want to do.

    Sorry for writing my own mini-post. You hit a nerve. 🙂


      As I am older, I realize that life is to be lived, to be happy.
      And sometimes that means eating chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.

      I am so glad I have you in my life. Just thought you should know.


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