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Diet Journal, Day 3.
Friday, September 27th
It’s been a few days since I last checked in. I’m not going to lie to you, things aren’t going great. And by not going great, I mean that this diet is kicking my ass. My fat ass, that is, because I have yet to even step foot inside the gym. Seriously, why is not eating so hard? It’s not doing something. I’m usually so good at not doing stuff. Like, I am the laziest person I know and I’m literally failing at something that requires no effort. Quite honestly, that’s a little disheartening. I mean, you know what requires work? Going to McDonalds. You know what doesn’t require work? Not going to McDonalds. Christ, I hate myself so much right now.
I last wrote in here on Wednesday after my cataclysmic, the-world-is-laughing-at-me, failure of a first day. I’m no dietician, but I’m pretty positive that on the first day of my diet, I consumed no fewer than 4,700 calories. You know how many a normal, non-dieting human is supposed to consume in a day? 2,000. You know what I was aiming for? Like…300. My goal was literally to consume a carrot stick and a glass of wine (FOR THE HEALTH BENEFITS). Instead, I ended up eating the yearly caloric intake for one of those Sally Struther’s kids. Seriously, it was bad.
I could sit here and tell you that day two went off without a hitch, but my mom taught me that Jesus doesn’t like liars, so I’m not going to do that. Gotta keep tight with The Lord, y’all. Anyway, because I’m not a heathen, I will be honest and tell you that as you probably have guessed, I’ve fallen off the diet wagon. Actually, a better way to put it is that I never really got on the diet wagon. Like, it left Wednesday at 7am for a land of skinny people who don’t have to worry about their hearts collapsing, and I was too busy being hungover in bed to catch my ride. As Si from Duck Dynasty would say, “she gone.”
I went to bed Wednesday night, feeling like Little Orphan Annie under the dictatorship that was Miss Hannigan’s orphanage, because I was So. Freaking. Hungry. Who decided that Lean Cuisines counted as an entire meal? I want the FDA to check that shit out again. One of their average “meals” consists of about 200 calories. 200 calories? That’s like eating one chicken nugget from McDonald and calling it quits. IT IS NOT ENOUGH. Anyway, I woke up Thursday morning and was starving. So, I did what any logical dieting person would do, I ate an apple and some black coffee. It was healthy, it was in-keeping with my diet, and it somehow only made me even hungrier. I’m pretty sure we feed the terrorists at Gitmo better than that.
After arriving at work only thirteen minutes late, (a new record, I might add), I set out for a productive day of…actually, I couldn’t even tell you what it is that I do. I’m like Chandler from Friends, only this time, it’s not only my friends who don’t know what my job entails, it’s me who doesn’t know what my job entails. Seriously, I sit and play tetris all day because I literally don’t know what else I should be doing. Sometimes I think that I’m actually a paperwork error and they really weren’t supposed to hire me, but when I showed up all eager and smiley and crying because I was so happy that I finally found a job, the HR lady, Pamela didn’t have the heart to tell me I was a glitch…so she put me in an unused corner and left me to my own devices. No one knows my name, no one acknowledges me, and no one bothers me. On Wednesday, my “boss” walked by my desk the unused card table that I’ve set up shop on and told me to “Keep up the good work.” I was so taken aback that I nodded my head so enthusiastically that my eyes crossed. I think he thinks I’m from some sort of program. I bet he goes home and tells his wife all about that “special girl” in his office. Once, he complimented me for the ability to tie my own shoes at our company kickball game. I nodded agreeably and told him that “the bunny goes around the tree and into the burrow.” Then he got tears in his eyes and hugged me.
Anyway, after arriving at work and playing Tetris for an hour, I started to get really hungry. Instead of ignoring my stomach growling like any good Lindsay Lohan wannabe would do, I waited all of thirty seconds before deciding that my breakfast of coffee and an apple would more appropriately fall under the “snack” category and that I really did deserve a breakfast burrito from the deli next door. One order of a breakfast burrito with everything on it, hashbrowns, and an extra large Diet Coke (zero calories, whattttttttttt?) and I was back to feeling full and hating myself. Because of my monstrosity of a breakfast, I was good for lunch and only ate some lettuce and chicken. With some bread. And mayonnaise. . And a side of fries. OKAY. I ate a Number 1 combo from Chick-fil-A. Sue me. I got through the rest of the day with just a few handfuls of skittles from Pamela in HR’s desk. She leaves them out for me, so it would be rude not to stop by and grab a few handfuls at least once…or seven…times a day.
I decided against going to the gym after work because I was too heartbroken over no one wanting to do Happy Hour. How could I be expected to workout during a time of mourning? So, I went home, grabbed a box of wine and proceeded to sit on my couch for five hours. Somewhere between the third and eighth glass of wine, I called the one man I shouldn’t have called. The one man I swore off forever. The one man who had once given me such great pleasure but I knew would only hurt me in the long run. I called…Gary the pizza delivery guy.
“Garyyyyyyyyyy!!!!! It’s Catie. I want the usual.”
“Miss Catie. You told me not to let you do this. No matter how much you begged, girl. You told me to stand strong.”
“PLEASE, Gary. Please, I need it. Just this once. Don’t do this to me, Gary. Don’t hurt me like this.”
“Don’t cry, Miss Catie. It’s okay. I’ll put the pizza order in now.”
“I love you, Gary.”
“Girl, you a mess.”
I woke up this morning, cradling the wine box like a baby and using the empty pizza box as a blanket. I was on my kitchen floor. I’m hopeful that today goes better because this is just getting ridiculous. Since starting this “diet,” I’ve gained four pounds.
Respond
Catie Warren
Catie struggles with adulthood and has been celebrating her 21st birthday for the past three years. She attended college in the nation’s capital and to this day is angry that Pit Bull lied to her, as you cannot, in fact, party on The White House lawn. Prior to her success with PGP, Catie was most famous for being featured in her hometown newspaper regarding her 5th grade Science Fair Project for which she did not place. In her spare time, she enjoys attributing famous historical quotes to Marilyn Monroe and getting in fights with thirteen year olds on twitter. Email: catie@grandex.co
@catie__warren
@catie__warren
If it makes you feel any better last night I got hammered on heavy beer and ate a chili burger and some buffalo wings.
I just saw a billboard for 45 cent wings after 9pm at applebees… what an evil trap.
just do the slow carb diet (you get a cheat day ) and excersize for 5 times a week. You can eat as much as you want (to a limit).
I sit at at desk 10+ hours a day 5-7 days a week and it’s working wonders
I’m taking a page out of the slow-carb diet book and preparing my meals a few days at a time. This is makes is way easier to stick to your diet.
that’s how you have to do it. it’s impossible to motivate yourself to cook every single night so just cook like 3 meals night 1 and go from there
I can’t read this. Grab a V8 (low sodium, duh) and throw a healthy shot or two of vodka in there, cut up some turkey and low-fat swiss to put on whole grain crackers, THEN GET YOUR ASS TO A SPIN CLASS. Or just run stairs, do pushups, situps, and stop eating 3720984702398 calories. It’s not hard. Coffee helps. So does bud light.
Feel compelled to comment but can’t find the right words…good luck?
Stay strong, girl! We’ve all been there.
Also, thank you for quoting Si. Your columns are always enjoyable and entertaining.
PLOT TWIST! Your boss is actually your biological dad. It explains why he is so proud of your basic accomplishments, he still thinks you are a toddler, which is when he had to give you up for adoption to pursue his dreams of being a big-time opera singer. He came back to the states and secretly hired you to help you relive your childhood and be your REAL dad.
This is the only logical scenario I can imagine.
*insert Scanners gif*
Thank you for the laugh. I’m eating a salad poolside at the Club. Even skipped the ranch, went for the balsamic. Stay strong, Kiddo.
Great article. Really gives me incentive to get my ass moving.