Archive for May, 2010

Day 47: The magic of flying, Photoshop and birthday BBQ’s

Posted in Uncategorized on May 21, 2010 by MuffinTops

Weight: Clueless, but I’m guessing still in the 140 range

Body Fat %: too much of it, still

Mood: Hungover, on my period  and… possibly still drunk (my head feels like mush)

Breakfast: Oatmeal, berries, almonds, flax seeds and toast with fake butter

Muffin Top has made it safely to her home town of Toronto for the celebration of Muffer’s 26th Birthday. It took a lot of courage for someone who fears flying as badly as I do. In the past, I’ve relied heavily on over-the-counter sleeping pills in China that you’d need a prescription for everywhere else in the world (except maybe Mexico). The pills are called Zopiclone — or as Gobes prefers to call it: Dopiclone. As my travel companion for the past 2 years, Gobes has witnessed me doped out the most. He hates it when I take those pills cause he says it’ll put my life in danger should there be an emergency evacuation. I’d be too drugged out like the bride in Sixteen Candles and wouldn’t be able to distinguish my ass from my elbow. But the way I see it, if a plane is in the air and there’s trouble, there ain’t no other direction it’s going but down, and I doubt that Captain Sully would be in the cockpit to safely land all our doomed asses on a river. So I pop hard core sleeping pills. I overdose on them so that I don’t feel anxious, and can just pass out and kill time.

Flying fascinates me and scares the shit out of me. How can something so big defy gravity? I never use to be so scared of flying until I had the worst turbulence experience on an Air Transat flight when I was 15 going to Vegas with my mom. People were literally screaming and praying. You know it’s bad when people scream. That’s why every time I feel that dreaded turbulence, I look around me like a schizo to gauge the reactions of the other passengers. The ones sleeping and snoring piss me off, mainly because I’m jealous that they are not conscious for what feels like absolute torture for me.

Luckily on my flight to Toronto, I sat in row 12C, right behind two business class seats. I had a good view of the woman diagonally across from me and boy did she have a yummy looking meal. I felt like a food pervert. I was a super elite  economy class Peeping Tom, living vicariously through the chubby business class passenger who was swallowing every last morsel of lasagna and berry cheesecake on her tray. Say it with me now, “Ohhh, Precious Venus!!!” That’s the real magic of flying, getting carried away by the food…not Zopiclone.

You know what else is fucking brilliantly magical? Adobe Photoshop CS5. I have been OCD’ing on airbrushing and slimming my dreadful wedding photos. Chubby bride no more! I’ve become my own digital plastic surgeon and the Filter>Liquify tool is my scalpel. Ladies, if you’re not looking your damn best for something as important as wedding photos, there’s hope.

Muffers’ good friend threw her a birthday bash on his rooftop patio yesterday. The weather  was perfect for BBQ’ing and all her friends came out to celebrate. It was a great reunion, some people I haven’t seen for more than 5 years came out. It was magical that in the span of 30 minutes, I got pretty shit faced and continued doing so till I puked out a quart of vodka in a parking lot, alley, and on several different streets from the passenger seat of the cab that took my drunk Tim-Riggins-ass home.

I have an important meeting on June 2nd that can potentially lead to a job I want and I really need to get Muffin Top to the gym. My last semi-workout was on Sunday when Gobes and I went biking around St. Pete . Gobes was right, Toronto is not an easy place for me to stay on track. I have been eating like shit. It’s the YMCA tomorrow for me, even if I have to pay the $14 dollar per visit guest fee.


Day 37: Desperate Housewife

Posted in Uncategorized on May 12, 2010 by MuffinTops

I’m stuck in my own skin,
I can’t even begin,
to tell you what lies within

This desperate housewife.

Who is wishing for a life,
that is free of pain and strife

for even with control,
she feels poison in her soul

A big fat cancerous mole

that keeps growing everyday
don’t matter how much she pray
or how much she willing to pay

it never goes away…

How did she end up with such routines
so boring and mundane?

How long must she go on pretending
that she is not insane?

Roll out of bed at the crack of dawn
to eat the same old shit

Contain herself every 28 days then
throws a bloody fit.

Where did all the flowers go?
The world was once exciting

Now it’s nothing but allergies that the
desperate housewife is fighting

Live in the past, you unfortunate bitch,
’cause moments you simply don’t treasure

Vanity and how you look to the world are the
only things worth measure

So if you die alone, without a friend
try not to be so shocked

That’s the price you’re willing to pay
for keeping your heart so locked…

Day 36: Childhood Obesity and the Unhappy Purchase

Posted in Uncategorized on May 11, 2010 by MuffinTops

Weight: Scared to step on the scale

Body fat %: Climbing, I’m sure.

I wish I had good news to report. This must be getting tedious and depressing, even to whoever reads this I presume. I wish a few days passed and my next entry showed signs of progress, but no… Say it with me now, “Life gets in the way!”

I’ll explain. From Monday to Friday last week, I was doing pretty well. Ate decently, exercised everyday. Then comes TGI Fucking Friday. We didn’t go there to eat, but I refer to all Fridays as TGI because like the food at the restaurant, every Friday out with friends seems to bring a shit storm of calories. It starts with irresistible bread, followed by wine and a not so-healthy appetizer of beets and fried goat cheese balls.  When the entrees do arrive, I’m redder than a bloody lobster thanks to the Asian flush and ready to devour everything in sight. I might look like Red Lobster but I’m acting like a Plecko, sucking in every last morsel of food on my plate as if it were the bottom of a fish tank and stealing some fries from the generous dinner guests sitting to both my left and right. Why do I lose control like this on Friday’s?

As Jaimie Foxx would say, “Blame it on the Ah -ah-ah-ah-ah-Alcohol, blame it on the Ah-ah-ah-a-ah-a-ah-aaaa!!!”

Take it away my man. You are right on with that line.

So both Friday and Saturday night  ended up with bottle service on the roof of the only night club in St. Pete: PUSH. Gobo’s good friend came to visit us on Saturday and was full of boundless energy. That meant another visit to PUSH. Only this time, we polished off one and half bottles of Absolut Vodka. Keep in mind, we had 2 bottle of wine prior – one at home while we were stuffing our faces with 10 pounds of cheese and crackers, and another during dinner while we were sharing 6 plates of Tapas that were really the size of entrees.

Sunday took things down to a level 3. The only physical activity I got was when Gobo was teaching me how to ride a road bike outside in our condo complex driveway/courtyard.  Despite our little spending moratorium, Gobes decides that we should drop $1500 and get me a real road bike with cleats and all. So we go to Revolution Bicycles and pick one out: A white and purple Specialized Dolce bike for women. We pick out shoes, a pace monitor, medicare USB bracelets, the whole she-bang. Then come the biking shorts. These aren’t just regular Nike running shorts. They are expensive as hell and the entire butt and crouch region are padded.

I go try a pair on and am shocked, if not disgusted by what I see in the reflection. This time is wasn’t Muffin Top that had me almost gagging. The shorts made me look like I had a “Hulk” vagina. Yeah, you heard me. It was looked like I was wearing half a Batman costume that emphasized a vagina on steroids.

I walk out of the change room. Gobo and the two sales people ask me how the shorts were. I forget that I’m no longer in Beijing and that people (other than Gobes) can understand English, so I blurt out nonchalantly, “They make my vagina look wierd.” The entire store hears me. The dude helping me with my bike can’t contain his shock and laughter. Gobo shakes his head embarrassed. I look around confused, and then protest, “It’s true, they make me look like I have a gigantic twat!”

Thank god the sales girl confirms that bike shorts do, in fact, make your Poon Tang look that way. We buy the shorts.

Finally, Monday. Gobes and I drove an hour or so to Orlando to meet his good friends who have a time share at this huge water park resort. The place is great for families. We did 18 holes of mini-golf with them and their 2 boys, went down a 3-story inflatable Hippo water slide, and cruised along the lazy river on a double donut tire.

As we baked on our beach chairs during lunch, I couldn’t help but notice all the fat so’s around us. But it wasn’t only the adults, it was sadly, most of the kids. But before I get to that I must say there was a woman beside us, pretty face, pretty obese, and she had the biggest set of fun bags I have ever seen in my life! No joke, they looked enormous, like the size of ridiculous implants, only hers were real. One boob must have weighed 65 pounds, easily.

Anyway, it was bizarre. It was like a bad car crash, I could not stop staring. Moving on to the fat kids. There were tons of them. Some as young as 3 or 4 had the bodies of old fat people with the protruding bellies. love handles, man-boobs.

It was really disturbing and sad to see that so many kids, one after another were on the road to becoming obese. I told Gobes I thought it was child abuse in a way. Pure neglect on behalf of the parents. I blame my dad for feeding me nothing but 2-for-1 pizza when I was 12 and moved in with him. Now look at me. When you’re a kid, that’s when your fat cells are most susceptible to growing.

After Orlando, we made a pit stop at the glorious Premium Outlets. They have a new Lulu Lemon store there. Heaven! Before going there, we went into Barney’s. It is not fun shopping when you think you wear a six or have a 28” waist, only to discover in the change room that all 6 items you chose are a size too small. Man that sucks big time.

I was on a mission to find jeans that don’t pinch my Muffin. I could squeeze into the 28’s, but that would be like all the other jeans in my drawers right now that I have stopped wearing. So I surrendered to the 29’s…A dark Paper Denim brand that looked like they might belong to Gobo and not me. I didn’t want to buy them. They looked huge, but they fit me. Another slap in the face to confirm how fat I am getting. I felt helpless. A wave of self-pity drowned me as I pulled out the Amex, unhappily, and handed it over to the cashier.

Ladies, this is called an unhappy purchase.

Day 33: Singing and Spinning in No Man’s Land…

Posted in Uncategorized on May 7, 2010 by MuffinTops

Weight: 146 lbs — according to the scale at the doctor’s office. Mind you, I was wearing all my clothes and shoes, so let’s subtract a
pound or two, shall we?

Body Fat: The scale at the doctor’s doesn’t measure this yet.

I haven’t weighed myself at home lately, but when I went to my endocrinologist the day after my Gyno appointment, I did the routine “step on the scale”. This has got to be almost as bad as the dreaded-sit-down position for me at the pool. Not only do you get to see what you really weigh, but another person who has been tracking your stats over the last 5 months gets to bear witness to your hefty incline.

I always hesitate when Carol (the most helpful nurse/secretary I’ve ever encountered) tells me to step on the scale. A stress signal goes off in my head as I try to peel off any item of clothing that might contribute to the verdict of that 15th century-looking torture device. The most I’ve ever abandoned before stepping on is my jacket and my purse…oh,  and my 6 oz Burberry sunglasses. Ha. Wow, you know you’re really desperate to see a lower number  when sunglasses become the crucial thing you must get rid of. I’m surprised I didn’t remove my hair clip when I had the chance.

So there you have it. I am 146 whopping pounds. I can’t help but wonder how much my shoes, clothes, breakfast and 3 days worth of shit weighs. That could easily be 4-5 pounds, no? Who the fuck am I kidding. Truth is, the last time I stepped on that scale, the numbers hovered around 140-143, thus confirming a positive increase in poundage. I hang my head in shame as Carol records the awful numbers onto my chart.

According to Dr. B, my last blood test on April 7th shows that my Thyroid levels are within normal range. However, I still have some kind of thyroid antibodies in my system, whatever that means. I told him I thought I might be hypothyroid now (which is the worst thing that can happen to your metabolism). He tapped my knee and said that I seemed sluggish. Yeah. Sluggish and fat. We did another blood test.

I had my first vocal lesson this Wednesday at the Bringe Music School. I felt like Adam Sandler in that Billy Madison movie as I walked through the mini hallway of the cement bungalow that looks more like a kindergarten than a music studio. I asked my voice teacher Jay (an overly enthusiastic college-looking boy who reminds me of a perky Lee DeWyze) if I am the eldest student he has ever had for voice. I am. Everyone else is between 5 and 12 years old I assume. Jay assessed my voice range and breath control by playing various notes on the piano. I stood beside him the entire time feeling like a chubby choir boy at church performing for a perverted priest. It didn’t help that Jay’s jumbo Dunkin’ Donuts iced cappuccino drink was perspiring in front of me on the ledge of the piano, taunting my dehydrated Muffin Top.

Dunkin’ Donuts Drink: Sing for me baby, maybe I’ll let you suck on me after a few notes!

Muffin Top: Oh Dunkin’ D, you’re makin’ me hot…

Me: Ahh, precious venus…I wonder if Jay would kick me out if I just grabbed his drink and took a sip right now…Maybe if I just ask him for a sip of his drink? Dammit, damn you Dunkin’ Donuts!

Before I get any more crazy ass ideas, Jay does us all a favour and moves Dunkin’ D to the floor after realizing his cold drink was wetting all the music school flyers it was sitting on.

Did you know that only a very small percentage of people are actually tone-deaf? Yep. Jay verified that when people sound like they are off pitch and sound like they can’t sing, they are not actually tone-deaf. People who are truly tone-deaf are basically borderline “retarded”. His word, not mine. It’s like being color-blind, except that people who are color blind are usually not retards. I think I’d rather be color blind.

What else is new in the world of Muffin Top? Well I have been trying to fill up my days with distractions for her. She needs another friend besides Mr. Fridge, so I figure that if I drag her ass outta the house, it’ll break the attachment to him.  Singing only covers 30 minutes of the day, so I have been spending more time at the gym lately. Whether it’s 45 minutes of watching the latest trashiest episodes of 90210 or Kell on Earth while running, doing weights, Zumba or spinning…

I tried the spinning for the second time in my life yesterday. It was Gobe’s idea. Lemme just say that shit is tough. Literally no stopping. After almost an hour of pretending to be pedaling up an imaginary hill to music ranging from house, hip hop, and bad oldies dance remakes, I was sweating like a whore in church. Thank god we get to stand up quite a bit on our bikes, or my ass would be done-zo. Poor Gobes. Can’t imagine what his nut sack must be like after a class like that, besides sweaty — can’t be good for the balls.

Yesterday was also a good food day. I didn’t go crazy in the afternoon and mindlessly snack out of boredom, anxiety, and feeling overall worthless since I am still without a job and in the land of geriatrics.

I think I just need to keep track of everything I put in my mouth. yes, I know I have said this before. There’s actually a pretty good online tool for this at You have to register and all, but it’s surprisingly easy and efficient at tracking food and calories.

Until next time!

Day 29: Visit to the Gyno in one hour…

Posted in Uncategorized on May 3, 2010 by MuffinTops

Weight: I don’t know, but let’s just say it can’t be less than what it was the last time I jumped on the scale

Body Fat: A hundred fucking per cent at this rate

Mood: Hot and bothered, but happy that I made it out for a run around the scenic neighborhood of good ol’ St. Pete this morning. Still sweating after the shower!

I think I am definitely in a state of denial about something. I am really keeping myself fat. I am not being truthful when I say “I want to lose weight”. Either that, or I just want the pounds to melt off with zero effort. But Gobes refuses to let me get liposuction.

Here’s the thing. I know what  need to do to lose weight. For the past week or so, I’ve been going to the gym, taking Zumba classes, hitting tennis balls, and eating rather reasonably in the early half of the day. At night, it’s like no-limits Texas Hold’em. We had movie popcorn and gelato last night, for example.

But I do cheat. And by cheating I don’t mean downing a bucket of ice cream (even though Muffin Top won’t stop whining for it). I don’t eat chips, or chocolate bars, or even fast food. But I do snack a lot. Almost unnecessarily — on grapes, Cheerios/Fiber One, Pink Lady apples or random shit like damn Almond butter.

God forbid if we have any kind of cheese or yogurt in the fridge: that’s like putting a lamb in front of a lion. I take nibbles of whole wheat low-carb wraps and Gobo’s toats. I indulge in Starbucks’ tall skinny cinnamon dolce latte, which apparently only has 90 calories. If you measured the amount of diet Coke/Sprite/Crystal Light I’ve consumed over the years, it would be 10 times the amount of oil that’s floating around the Gulf of Mexico right now.

All these little sneak-ins are the reasons why after almost a month since pledging that I’d get serious about losing weight, I have done jack shit. I’ve  probably taken 2 steps forward and 4 steps back. That’s been the story of my life for a few years now. It really sucks — this time — chocolate sweaty office balls. Yuck.

You know what’s even more sad? I’ve  been wearing the same GAP cut-off jean shorts almost everyday because they’re about the only pair of bottoms that fit me without choking the Muffin Top. It’s either that or the drawstring Nike running shorts I own in both blue and black. I have 3 drawers full of various bottoms that I have avoided wearing for fear that I cannot squeeze into them. And you wonder why I have no interest in sex anymore.

Sorry for sounding all self-pitying and frumpy. I think I had another false-hope epiphany last night. I was reading a testimonial from my new diet book, that Clean Eating one by Tosca Reno. In it, a woman with a similar weight profile as me (she was heaviest at 146 but has been 135 ish her whole life) talked about her success on the program, and how after 3 months she went down to 125 pounds. Then she wrote something like: At 30 years-old, I am noe my lightest at 118 pounds. Thanks Tosca!

Skinny ass bitch, I thought. What a f*cking showoff. Just kidding! But for a moment after reading that, it really dawned on me: FUCK ME, I AM ALMOST 30. I WILL LOOK BACK ON MY 20’s AND REALIZE I WASTED THESE YEARS AWAY AS A MUFFIN-TOPPING WHALE.

I gotta do this, be happy with myself. And if losing weight and looking great is my key to self contentment, then what the hell is stopping me? I gotta do this for me, and not anybody else. Not for Gobes (as much as I love him), not so I can get a job (although in my industry it’s absolutely crucial), and not for that good conscience, wise-ass Morgan Freeman voice that comes on every time I don’t do things right.

All right. Enough self insight. Now I gotta prep for a PAP so that some doctor can literally get some insight on “What a gwannin’ down dere?!”

Tune in for the TMI results!