Day 15: Revenge of the Muffin

Weight: 137.6

BF %: 27.4 %

Mood: Pissed off and so not motivated

Plan of action: Go to the gym, jump on a treadmill and escape by watching episode 4 of The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

It’s week 3 of the magazine diet. Let me just say I fucking hate chopping up bell peppers. Especially when the Shun knives that I use to chop them do a crappy ass job.

Gobo and I went to a new local restaurant yesterday. Atmosphere was probably better than the food, but overall a great experience. I had a scoop of Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream for dessert. Yeah, I know. A big No-No. Hence, should I be that surprised when I jump on the scale to see the numbers escalate? I think not.

Quite frankly, I am so over this 3 week BS diet that has me eating more veggies than an obese rabbit. Why must I eat 2 cups of mixed bell peppers with my egg/egg whites? I am cutting down the volume this week. My afternoon snack/meal calls for 2 oz of tuna and more goddamn bell peppers. I fuckin’ hate tuna. Especially canned tuna. Reminds me of opening up a can of Whiska’s for my cat (May Christie R.I.P). The stench is naaa–sty!

So I think I just gotta get over my hypothyroid lethargic state and up the ante in the exercise department, which is boring as shit but I just love food too damn much. Spoken like a true fat ass.

Peace!

Day 14: A One On One With Muffin Top

Today’s Weigh In: 137 lbs

Body Fat %: 28.1

Muffin Top: What’s got you down, frumpy one?

Me: You, Muffin. I feel like I cannot succeed at anything with you dragging me down all the time.

Muffin Top: But you need me.

Me: No, I really don’t think so. You’ve made me nothing but ashamed of myself.

Muffin Top: Come on. I’m only here because you keep me here. If you really didn’t want me in your life you wouldn’t try saving me each time you decided to kill me. It’s like lowering me down a cliff for the gators only to pull me back up to safety again. Make up your damn mind!

Me: I know. It’s just so hard. I guess I have grown attached to you, Muffin. You’ve seen me through it all. You know me best. Killing you would be like killing the only witness to my life. But you’re no good for me. You’ve held me back way too long.

Muffin Top: Look sugar, I ain’t that hard to get rid of. I just don’t think you’ve really decided that you want me gone. Cause once I’m gone, who will you have left? Who’s gonna comfort you, a mean six pack that won’t let you wash down that sorrow with Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches? Damn girl. You are lonely.

Me: Yeah. Maybe I keep you around so that I can always have a mission, you know. Like you’re always my project so that I am never without purpose. I’ve killed you before, but I always bring you back to life when my life gets tough and feels out of control.

Muffin Top: True Dat.

Me: What should I do? This stupid diet ain’t doing shit. I don’t even feel like working out. I am so tired.

Muffin Top: You are asking the wrong person, girl. If it was up to me, I’d have your face buried in that left over blue wedding cake up sitting up in your freezer.

Me: No truce then, still enemies?

Muffin Top: Who you kiddin’ fool? We on the same damn team. Always have been, always will be.

Me: Then why am I always fighting you?

Muffin Top: Because you hate yourself, and until that changes, I’m not going anywhere…

Hungry and Burned: Charred Muffin Top, anyone?

Weight: I don’t even want to know!

Hours in the sun: 6

I look like a raccoon. Every crevice of my face is burned red except for where I had my sunnies on. Despite my attempts to protect my sensitive Retin-A skin with a sun hat from Target and Cetaphil SPF 50 cream, I am on my way to looking like Magda. I’ve smothered lidocaine aloe vera gel on my face and yet it’s still giving off heat like a radiator during winter time.

The day at the beach was fun. We went to a motel-ish/beachy resort place called Post Card Inn. The place has a very cool retro feel to it, with old surfboards decorating the wallls, and a chandelier entangled with a fisherman’s net hanging over the ceiling.

I was the first one to get there, and since there were gonna be six of us in total, I was asked to secure 6 beach chairs by the pool. Problem was, the only 6 chairs in a row available that I saw were available had hotel towels on them. They weren’t spread nicely over the chairs or anything. The chairs looked abandoned, so I sat my ass down and waited to see if anyone would come and shoo me off.

Ten minutes later and still no sign of anybody.  I decided that the chairs would be ours. I sprawled all my shit over the chairs and guarded them like a hawk until everyone showed. The girls were thrilled that we got such a great spot. We did notice a pink scarf on the farthest chair to the right, and  didn’t dare touch that, but some of us (including me, who did not bring a towel because my ass is spoiled from towel service at the Vinoy pool) did use the towels that were on the chairs.

Thirty minutes later a woman comes over and says with the utmost restraint of bitchiness in her voice:  “Um, we were sitting here before, it’s no big deal, but we need to get our towels back.” Whoops! I felt so embarrassed as I pulled the blue and white towel from under my ass and handed it to her (I think two or three of the other girls did so too, but at least they weren’t left towel-less like me).

As the women peeled off their clothes to reveal their perfect 10 % body fat figures, I remained shielded in my white fishnet moo moo. I know I was going to make it my goal to parade around like Gisele without it, but I just couldn’t. We were all in what I call the dreaded sit down position during snack time (The birthday girl is an amazing chef and prepared some snacks for all of us to feed on. My favorite: the pulled chicken curry. Absolutely to die for on slices of cucumber).

While everyone looked so comfortable sitting in all kinds of positions, they had no rolls. But if I ridded myself of the moo moo, Muffin Top would surely crash the party big time. So the moo moo remained my armor for the entire day and I now have  messed up tan lines on my body as well as my face.

My diet went to shit for lunch, but I did try to make it healthy. I had a blackened snapper sandwich with sweet potato fries. Yum. I only at the fish, took a little nibble of the bun, and had 12-15 fries. I also had a vodka diet coke.

When I got home, Gobo was disappointed when I told him that I never took off the moo moo. So was I, but I guess I am just not ready.

Day 13: Bloated and Deflated, You Only Cheat Yourself!

Weight: 136.8 lbs

Body Fat %: 28.5

So the weight loss this week has been a total joke. I started out at 137.2 on Monday, then went to 136 on Tuesday and now, Saturday morning, I am up .8 pounds.

Several factors can account for this I think.

1. Up until 2 days ago, I had been eye-balling the amount of chicken and fish that I am supposed to be eating with each meal, namely, 4 oz of chicken at lunch and 6 oz of fish at dinner. I started second-guessing my portion estimates and bought a food scale at Publix for the great price of $9.99. When I saw how little 4 oz of chicken was on the scale it was a bit of a shock. All this time, I have been chowing down on at least 7, if not 8 oz of chicken each meal!
2. I have been grazing like a cow in a pasture. But instead of grass, I’m snacking a bit too much on fruit and almond butter.
3. I used a tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil to cook spinach on two occasions.
4. I overate and fell off the diet on Tuesday during the office luncheon.
5. We ate out last night and I had a delicious curry-like salmon dish with wee bit bites of sticky rice, and a few bites of dessert.
6. I have not taken a poop in at least 2 or 3 days.

So in about 2 and half hours, I am going to this beach hotel called Post Card Inn to celebrate the belated birthday’s of two friends, along with a group of other women I was recently introduced to. They are all gorgeous moms who are at least 6-7 years my senior. But if we were to all stand in a bikini lineup at the police station with paper bags over our heads, and someone was asked to pick out which of us has had a few kids, you can bet your sweet ass that it would be me who gets picked.

A day of sun, bikini’s and cocktails. If I wasn’t such a fat-tard, I might be a little more excited to go. Thank god for the moo moo! I hate feeling like I need to hide my body. It’s such a dirty feeling. Like I have some kind of dirty little secret that I must protect. dammit! Damn you Muffin! I almost feel as if they’d be embarrassed to sit next to me should I remove the moo moo and flaunt my junk around like I’ve just won a boxing match, only instead of a prized belt, I have a muffin around my waist.

Day 10 Recap:

Today’s Weigh In: 136.4 lbs

Body Fat %: 28.1

Another strange dream last night. It made no sense whatsoever. By some insane logic, me getting my period early in my dream meant that I was pregnant. Like for some reason, in my dream narrative, a sure-fire sign of pregnancy is when a girl gets an irregular early menstruation. Well Gobo enlightened me as to how contradictory and impossible that is.

I think I dreamt of such a thing because now that I’m married, everyone (meaning mom and maybe dad), thinks that popping out babies is the next milestone I should aim for. I don’t have a job and I can now totally appreciate why the show Desperate Housewives resonates with so many women – women who stay at home all day long and do nothing but either garden, clean up shit, or spy on their neighbours.

Because I live in geriatric central, the only excitement in store for me should I indulge in spying on a neighbour,  are the mumblings of  a crazy old lady two houses down who reminds me of  that over-tanned sock-boob Magda character from There’s Something About Mary.

Sock Boobs

Gobo had warned me about this Magda on several prior occasions, such as the first time I ever golfed from the ninth hole across our backyard.

Gobo: (points to yellowish house) This old woman who is absolutely nuts lives there. She sits outside in that chair and screws up everyone’s drive on the ninth by talking to herself.  You watch, you’ll see her one day.

A few weeks later,  we’re back on the ninth. Before I even start teeing up on the black box, I can hear her. Then I saw her. She was wearing her white PJ gown, white-ish hair done up quite nicely in curls, she might have even been smoking cigarette – or, a stick of weed. It was bizarre. She was clearly talking, but to no one. And she didn’t even look at us despite our pathetic efforts to hint that we need a bit of quiet for concentration. I went about my drive and hit it down the right straight into the bushes. Gobo flubbed 2 or 3 shots I think. Thanks a lot Magda.

I feel tired. Didn’t lose any weight from yesterday and I think I know why. I basically stayed indoors the entire day trying to finish up some work that I had already sent my agent, but needed to fix up and send again because I am an idiot who cannot follow instructions. I felt angry, frustrated and a little hopeless after speaking to him.

I need to find better ways to cope. I think I ate more almond butter than I was supposed to. I also had milk with my coffee at some point. Maybe Gobo is right, I am a pussy. Had I had the balls to call my agent earlier and talk through what exactly he wanted from me, I would’ve saved myself $10 bucks from UPS and both of us both a lot of time. Instead, I ostrich-ed that shit.  I buried my head in the sand and hoped for a good outcome. Also, listening to how assertive and upset my agent sounded only made me feel more like a ball-less pushover . So much for my Starbucks breakthrough, huh?

I feel a little setback, but I am gonna try and have a better day.

Keep y’all posted:)

Day 9 Recap: Office Luncheon and David Gray

Today’s Weigh In: 136.4 lbs

Body Fat %: 27.9

I’m more than willing to admit that I fell off the diet wagon yesterday, and for that, I am set back .4 pounds. You see, Gobo’s office was nice enough to plan a post-wedding lunch party at the office for us. I got to meet almost all his co-workers, some of whom I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting a few times.

The table in the conference room was decked out with two, three-tiered dessert racks. On the top level was the most delicious chocolate-covered strawberries that had Congrats and our initials written over them. Second level was filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookies and scrumptious-looking brownie-like tidbits, and finally on the bottom was a bunch of scone-like pastry things covered in pumpkin icing of some sort.  I only tried the chocolate-covered strawberries.

I knew going in to the lunch that I would have to eat something, even if the food wasn’t on my diet. I mean how rude would it be if I just sat there and sipped my Evian while everyone was digging in? Ruuu—uude. So you can imagine my relief when the buffet trays were unveiled before my eyes and I saw a precious family of plump rotisserie  chicken breasts, steamed vegetables, and wedges of baked potatoes! Bam! Already two out of the three things I am supposed to eat for lunch on my diet. There was also a flower bed of garden greens.

After the office Top 10 List and some newlywed games, dessert was presented in the form of the fluffiest chocolate and vanilla cupcakes dressed with pastel-colored incing and a mountainous heap of whipped cream.

Muffin Top in Homer Simpson voice again: Ohhhh…Precious Venus!

Here’s the thing about me. At public shindigs, I rarely pig out. Especially at a shindig where I am one of the guests of honor and everyone’s eyes are glued to me. Luckily, I was wearing a pretty decent muffin-concealing outfit. Thank you Anne Taylor and Club Monaco! I did not feel like I ate too much of my meal, but Jean Claude Van Damn those lil potato wedges were good!

After the fun and games, we had a toast of champagne. That’s also when I took a generous bite from Gobo’s cupcake – a quarter of it to be exact. The moment the icing melted on my tongue, I knew that my fat cells were already emerging from their caves like vampire bats ready for a good sucking.

I brought home 3 leftover plates filled with more chicken, veggies, potatoes and cornbread. That’s right, good ‘ol CORNBREAD. Contrary to what you might think, I resisted it. Boy was it tough but I did not even sneak in a bite of that yummy-looking yellow mound of CORNBREAD. I did, however, feel anxious.

I was waiting around at home to receive our much-delayed wedding Thank You Cards from our stationary designer. Cards that should have gone out weeks ago but have been held hostage because the person responsible for them got drafted to Iraq. Just kidding, but that’s what it felt like. No means of contacting her via email, phone, nada.

So the Muffin Top got fidgety. And when Muffin gets hot and bothered, she turns to her beloved confidant, Mr. Fridge.

Mr. Fridge: Don’t you fret Muffin, open me up! I got plenty of goodies for you today.

Muffin Top: Ok!

Me: Damnit. But I already ate! And I had desert so now i have to rethink the afternoon snacks.

Muffin Top: But you didn’t eat enough! All those people watching you, remember?

Mr. Fridge: She does have a point, you know.

Me: F*ck you Mr. Fridge, you weren’t even there!

But I give in. My hand grabs Mr. Fridge’s brushed steel arm and pulls his ride side open. I dig out the leftover plate and attack the remaining veggies and potatoes. I also took 4 bites of the chicken. I ate all this after downing 2.5 small Bartlett Pears an hour earlier.

I couldn’t wait around anymore for the thank you cards, so I hit the gym. Burned off 300 calories according to the elliptical, but I never trust those numbers.

So Gobo and I went to a David Gray concert last night. Very significant for us since David Gray’s “This Year’s Love” was basically our wedding theme song – it was featured on our wedding website and also played during one part of our ceremony. More importantly, this song was playing when Gobo told me he loved me for the first time 2 years ago.

I had a Starbuck’s latte on the way to the concert. I did not need or should have had those 90 calories of Cinnamon Dolce bliss. The scale creeps up to 136.3 pounds.

The concert was amazing. Way more amazing than what Gobo and I were expecting. Having only listened to This Year’s Love, I thought I was in for a dude singing melancholy songs with his piano all night. I couldn’t be more wrong. There was a full on band, and all of Mr. Gray’s songs kept me awake. The  lighting was absolutely spectacular too.

David Gray in Concert at Ruth Eckherd Hall

Gray is immensely talented. He can play the guitar, piano, harmonica and he has a serious set of pipes. He also has some serious performance idiosyncrasies. Oh my lord, it was like watching a cracked out Jude Law look-alike in a shiny gray Michael Bubble thin lapel suit strumming his guitar at 120 mph and moving his head from side to side and his leg up and down at an even faster click. I loved it, what a show.

Part of the show was also watching the audience around us. Many of the women in the theatre were on the brink of reliving some kind of Woodstock fantasy, getting up from their chairs and dancing with their arms flailing all over the place in a dreamland trance, irrespective of what song he was playing.

Getting people excited at the piano!

The woman to the left of me looked like a long-haired Tilda Swinton. Clearly, she dragged her much older husband along, who was sitting next to me. At first I thought he brought his daughter to the concert. He looked as amused as a snail the entire time and was only there to help Tilda take videos and pictures so that her arms could be free to Maestro the entire concert. She was very into it all right, her ass on the edge of the seat, completely oblivious to her poor husband’s sporadic efforts at trying to be affectionate and cuddly. Sorry dude, your wife is in love with David. You’re just the poor sucker who brought her here. Meh, who am I to judge? They probably went home and banged like banshees afterward.

All in all, it was a magical night. I am a fan now, Mr. Gray. Thanks to Gobo for taking me to my second concert ever and getting us perfect seats!

Day 9: Pet Peeves – Peeing at night and Lee DeWyze

Today’s Weigh In: 136.o lbs

Body Fat %: 29.1

I woke up this morning feeling almost as fresh as a daisy. Lately, I’ve been waking up at random hours during the night. Probably because I drink too much Diet Sprite before bedtime and my bladder is on the verge of bursting by the time I’m in a peaceful slumber.

Have you ever had to pee so bad while sleeping, but were just too tired to get up and go pee that in your dream, you find a toilet and use it? I’ve had that dream. Problem is, it keeps reoccurring until I realize that unless I want to piss myself, I need to “Wake Up Indie! Wake Up!” (says the Chinese boy to Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones, Temple of Doom).

I also hate looking at the clock and realizing that it’s only 2:28 am and I still have at least 4-5 hours to go before my next meal. But most of all, I’m scared of the dark, and Gobo cannot sleep with the lights on. My imagination plays tricks on me as I creep out of bed, disoriented and scared.

Gobo’s snoring indicates that he’s REM’ing so I think it safe to turn on the lights. As I approach the unlit closet and bathroom area, I start imagining that the freaky ass Excorcist chick is squatting on the toilet like a gargoyle with her PJ’s hiked up already taking a piss. “This toilet’s mine, bitch!”

Yikes! I regret watching all those horror movies as a kid. When I finally finish my business, I tip toe back to the bedroom and jump into bed. Tired as I am, I am scared to just fall back asleep, thinking the Excorcist girl will crawl under the sheets, or that Gobo might suddenly turn into her. So on goes the TV and the latest episode of Gossip Girl. I vow to never drink Diet Sprite before bedtime again.

Moving on to heavier matters…I am pretty happy with the scale today. A little confused about the spike in body fat, but I’m nonetheless content that my efforts do seem to be paying off. I have now lost 7.2  pounds so far.  Gobo and I are neck and neck in the amount of weight we must lose to get to our goal weight for this challenge: 11 pounds. We have until June 7th, so that is still a while away, but we still need to set some standards for how our body measurements will play into it.

If you’ve been following American Idol, you might be as confused as I am as to why the judges seem to love Lee DeWyze.  I have no more musical credential than Ellen Degeneres, but I do have ears, and unless I’m going Beethoven here, I think he sounds pretty mediocre at best. He is not special or original in any way. He’s a poor man’s David Cook. He’s the Wing House to the Hooters. And I don’t think I’m the only one who feels this way.

"Ok, I admit it, I have a love child."

For the longest time, I was like, who does this guy look like? It was bugging me and bugging me. First I thought, Mmm, a less symmetrical Elijah Wood? But then it clicked yesterday! Lee DeWyze looks like the late, great Rodney Dangerfield –minus the super bulgy hyperthyroidism eye-balls. They definitely have comedy in common. Where Dangerfield tells his jokes, DeWyze makes a joke of himself with each performance.

Ok, maybe that’s a bit harsh. But he pales in comparison to the other contenders, with the exception of Zac Efron wannabe, Tim Urban.

Tim Urban: Just smile all the time. Even when the judges tell you you're shit. Like taking candy from a baby...

At least I know why Urban is still lingering on that show. All the female teens in America love him and vote him in week after week. But DeWyze? If you’re a teenaged girl would you rather fantasize about Ephron or Dangerfield? I rest my case. DeWyze is there because for some f*ckockta reason, the judges have their noses so far up his ass, thereby creating this Emperor Has No Clothes On phenomenon. Everyone jumps on their bandwagon of poor judgement.

Day 8: Week 2 Begins, and so does DDJ…

Weigh In: 137.2 lbs

I am feeling a little bummed out this morning. I had a crazy dream last night. My mind is all cloudy and I am now psychoanalyzing why I had the dream. If you dream of something bad,  does that make you a f*cked up bad person?

And because dreams are in the realm of your subconscious, does that mean they reveal the true essence of who/what you are? I realize this is too much heavy existential bullshit to go with your morning coffee, but this is what always happens when Muffin Top gets weak. Her voice quiets down and is replaced by the part of my mind I call Dooms Day Judge, or DDJ.

In the past, I have much rather listened to Muffin Top over DDJ. DDJ speaks in that booming Wizard of Oz voice, and the things he says are not very comforting:

What are you doing with your life?

You have regrets, don’t you. Well it’s too late to change.

You’re never going to find your passion and be successful.

You’re not good enough.

Time is running out, you’re failing!

Over all these years, I have been focusing on Muffin Top and making her cry so that I can tune out DDJ. Therein lies my fixation with food. If food and weight are my problems, I can put off addressing the naysaying DDJ, who, might I add, carries the true brunt of my burden. Muffin Top is easy. Ultimately, I can control her. But DDJ? Whoa, that’s a whole new can of worms, and I HATE HATE HATE worms. More importantly, I am terrified of them.  By making Muffin the enemy, it has allowed to me hide from what’s really bugging me: DDJ.

But now that I have quieted Muffin, the issues that I’ve kept at bay by stuffing my fat face with food, are resurfacing, and it don’t feel good. My ass is below sea level and the levies protecting me are now breaking. I can feel it already, the flood of truth. Without my fixation of food to hold on to, I am left stark naked in the middle of a desert highway hitchhiking for a ride to shelter.

Screw it. I am going to be happy. No one’s going to stat holding my hand now. I’m sick of being this loathing “sit-in-a-dark-coffee-house-alone-and-feel-sorry-for myself-loser”. We might not be able to control life, change our past, change our natural ways to deal with shit, but we do have CHOICES, especially how we CHOOSE to think.

Back to the diet. 14 Days to go.

The only thing that changes about this week’s diet is that Meal 2 is more celery and almond butter and Meal 3 is now chicken, half a baked potato and two cups of steamed spinach. Also, no berries for dessert.

I have to stop grazing. I have caught myself popping grapes and strawberries in my mouth out of habit of just eating. I did not eat the field greens last night too, which might even butterfly-effect my hunger levels today. So no skimping and being careless with snacking portions.

Here is the Muffin today. Perhaps I should put some makeup on her to make her feel prettier. She’s looking a little frumpy and grumpy, no?

Muffin Profile, Day 8

The Dreadful Sit Down

Muffin on Day 8, Morning

Rolls Galore

Day 7: Week One Complete

Today’s Weigh In: 137.2 lbs

Body Fat %: 28.1

Total weight lost so far: 6 lbs

My body is aching and I am so tired. Despite feeling physically exhausted, my mind is somewhat rested and calm. In following this boring and restrictive yet healthy diet, I am feeling free of food for the first time in a long time. Perhaps it’s the diet, perhaps it’s m thyroid working its way back up to normal, or perhaps it’s because of this blog… writing everyday makes me fell like I have a new friend. One that is patient and willing to listen and remember all my crap.

I feel as though I have no friends. At least not ones I speak with on a day to day basis. I have a tendency to push people away when they get too close. I am not socially inept, nor do I consider myself unpleasant. At some point in my life, I think I just got lazy, or lost my trust in people. I have my husband as a friend, isn’t that enough? Of course not. Making him my BFF is not healthy. I mean, how often do you shag your BFF?

I think I subconsciously create problems for myself in order to avoid people. I purposely destroy myself so that I can use whatever self-inflicted ailment I have as an excuse not to meet potential friends or go out. When you feel shitty about yourself, it’s easy to make that a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I lost 6 pounds this week, most of which is probably water weight. I still look the same, but I feel pretty good. More so about how well I’ve been able to quiet the Muffin this week. Tomorrow is a whole new day. Starting tomorrow, I am going to take a picture of Muffin Top everyday. Her days are numbered. What better ways to remember her departure?

Day 6: The Moo Moo and The Muffin

Okay, I’ve always used the term moo moo to describe the type of clothes I wear that are intended to cover up Muffin Top and Muffin Stumps (my jiggly arms). But I had no idea it was an actual term!

Urban Dictionary defines moo moo as: A rectangular cloth with crude stitching worn by morbidly obese persons.

Gobo and I had a productive day of working out, sunbathing, and playing some tennis this afternoon.

Ah, sunbathing. You’d be my favorite past time if I didn’t feel so uncomfortable in my own skin. During our honeymoon in South Beach, I decided I need some new bikinis. So we dropped into Bikini Village one morning after breakfast and I picked out a few. When doing so, I am always so damn considerate of Muffin Top. I only wear the bottoms that can be tied up and adjusted on each side so that it doesn’t emphasize my fatness even more by squishing it out front, side and back. I wanted a one-piece but Gobo refused. He said that getting a one-piece would really mean that I am an old fat fart beyond the point of return.

During our excursion to Bikini Village, I was also on the  desperate lookout for a poolside moo moo. The one we got got $60 bucks and looks like something a 5 year-old might have cut the pattern out of from a giant pair of white fish net stockings. It does the job of covering up the Muffin Top, all the while keeping me beachy and breezy looking.

It wasn’t until this afternoon when we went upstairs to the pool area that I was reminded of how ashamed and self-conscious I am about Muffin Top. In Miami, I was less so for some reason. Well, probably because I honestly thought nobody would ever remember me again. But here, at our own hotel club, a place where I frequent daily, I might very well be known eventually as the Margaret Cho doppelgänger of St. Pete.

Even though it’s hotter than a fresh shit outside, I cannot just remove the moo moo and attempt to make myself comfortable on the chair. If I did so, everyone would think I was having a bake sale.  If I sat down moo moo-less, what happens to the Muffin is like a tsunami wave of endless rollage.

So I have this technique of how to remove the moo moo while reclined on the beach chair. I’m almost a master at this. I always do it while I’m almost in a horizontal position, maximizing the potential for Muffin to look like I took a rolling-pin over it. I sit back, lift my butt a bit, and slowly, but very nonchalantly lift the hem of my moo moo over my body. I am especially careful when going over the Muffin.

The Vinoy poolside was like a Barbie convention today. Everywhere I turned, I saw statuesque women with giraffe-like legs, flat abs, and big fake tits. I searched long and hard for a fellow Muffin Top that was as exposed as mine, but the only potential Muffin Toppers were baking under shirts of middle-aged/old women or cascading over bald men. This made me feel even more embarrassed. All these voices started popping up in my head: Who are you to show off your Michelin Man midsection? Gross, she needs to cover that shit up!

This was all made worse by my next observation. All the women who were big were wearing white, fish-net like moo moo’s over their bathing gear. Oh my God! Stella! Stella! I am one of them!

I learned that we who are ashamed of our bodies share one thing in common: the face-saving moo moo. Which really isn’t face-saving if I think about it. Because we are all fat and wearing these white cover-up’s anyone with half a brain can put two and two together. If you wear a moo moo over your bikini when it’s 90 degrees farenheit outside, you’re fat and definitely not proud of it. In that instant, us big girls collectively become the KKK of summer time in our white moo moo’s, only we’re the MMK (Moo Moo Klan) – forever branded by our shame.

My goal the next time I go to the pool is to ditch the damn moo moo. Better yet, I will even ask someone to take a picture of me and I will pose for the camera as if I’m goddamn Giselle Bundchen.