(this post is sponsored by NO ONE. The opinions here do not reflect anything but that: my opinions. Which, as the saying goes, are like assholes. Because everybody’s got one.)
(also: thank you guys for your support about my book. I’m really pleased with what I’ve done and honestly, if nothing more comes of it, it’ll make some really well-edited blog posts)
So, yeah, the Weight Watchers thing doesn’t work if you have enough small children that your daily life involves playing Whack-a-Mole. Just when one goes down, the other pops up. I tried, but it just wasn’t working. I couldn’t count every fucking thing I put into my mouth and stay sane.
(some would correctly argue that I’ve never been sane. A charge I would not deny)
I don’t eat from stress, I don’t eat for joy, I eat when I’m hungry. Years of dieting baby weight off has taught me well. Problem with this is that I’m a terrible cook. A terrible cook for 4 picky eaters, so much of the time I rely on shitty-for-you-convenience foods, which, as any sane person knows, are bad for you.
Further evidence of my shitty cookery:
I pulled this package out of the fridge last week and NEARLY made it. ‘Til I realized that it expired in June of 2008.
I did manage to cut out Butter, Chocolate and Cupcakes as food groups and hoped that this would make a difference. It didn’t. My scale went up and down and up and down and up and down. Until I realized it was broken. And I only realized that once Ben made mention of having lost 15 pounds in 20 minutes without losing a limb.
But getting on the scale week after week to see the number go up and down and up and down got really depressing, so I stopped weighing myself. I will tell you that there is very little as frustrating as working your ass off only to see the scale stay the ever-loving same. I admit, I get a little jealous when I see other people drop the LBS like they’re hot.
Anyway, so a couple weeks ago, I went out and bought Alli, which is the half strength version of Orlistat, a prescription weight loss fat blocking drug. I’d heard about it last year, as I was fantasizing weaning Alex and I asked my father, who is a pharmacist, about the drug.
Always the straight man he responded almost entirely flatly with, “It can cause extreme flatulence with particulate matter.”
Well. Now. Doesn’t that sound appealing?
But, remembering that people often use tapeworms, surgery and drugs that can damage their heart to lose weight, a couple of wet farts sounded almost do-able. So there the box sat, unopened, while I waited for Amelia to wean Amelia off her last nursing session, figuring my trip to Cali would be the end. It was, although I was not actually out of the state (thank you Midwestern weather!)
Tuesday afternoon I nervously decided to give the whole thing a whirl. No one was home save for Alex, Amelia and I, and since two out of the three of us already shit their pants with stunning regularity, I figured I was in good company.
First I pulled this out:
I don’t mean to be crass* but this case looks like a dookie. Was that on purpose? Was I supposed to think “Wow, it’s a blue turd!” when I opened the package?
Then there was this:
Okay, so another poo shaped item in my Starter Kit. Because the best thing about poo-shaped items is having MORE of them!
This one is a cheat sheet for people who have, apparently, no idea what dieting involves. Helpful advice, I guess, if you’re like The Daver, who can single-handedly always pick out the worst possible meal as his favorite, but for me? I rarely eat egg yolks, I like lemon on my salad, and I haven’t slathered myself in butter in months.
With great trepidation, I opened up the bottle and pulled out my first pill (which was shockingly UN-poo shaped):
Little. Blue. Leakage.
I swallowed it with my lunch and began to wait for the cramping (ed. note: I have horrible cramping in my guts every day, so this wasn’t something I was afraid of. Earwigs, I’m terrified of, but crampy guts? No big deal.) and seepage.
Nothing. Zip. Zilch.
I took another pill with dinner. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.
Okay, I told myself as I went to bed that night, let’s hope you don’t shit the bed with butt butter. I awoke the following morning to…nothing. As I prepared my coffee (to which I liberally add Benefiber) and egg whites, I reminded myself that most symptoms are evident within 48 hours. Which meant I had more than 24 hours to go before I could say much about it.
Ah well, I said, Becky, you ALWAYS have churny guts in the morning. No big whoop.
And you know what happened? Absolutely nothing. I have had no cramping. No pain. No seepage. No butt-butter. My guts feel better than they have in years (ed note: for anyone who hasn’t been following along and taking notes, I have gut issues. Originally diagnosed as Crohn’s Disease, the GI’s aren’t sure anymore. They’re also major fucking assholes, but that’s neither here nor there).
Hour 48 will officially hit sometime around noon today and I feel…fine.
Since I do not have a scale, I will not be able to tell if the drugs are doing what they’re designed to do, but I’ll report back.
Until then, here’s a cute baby picture!
Amelia says: “My Mom is #1 in the #2 business!”
*that is a total lie. I always mean to be crass.