Juicing.

After stepping on my scale and realizing that I am officially a human-sized double whopper with extra cheese, I have decided that it's time to diet. The holidays are over, I'm no longer in Europe (very, very sadly), my birthday has come and gone and now I'm just a fat old frump and the beach days are quickly approaching. It's time for me to shed my deep fried morzilla sandwich weight and get back to looking at least semi-decent.

In what will end up being another poor attempt at dieting, I busted out the juicer and stocked up on produce. Now, I know that juicing takes away some of the most nutrient rich parts of the fruit and it also removes most of the fiber but I don't give a damn. The point is that I am way too lazy to chew all that damn fruit so I'd rather juice a couple extra than sit there and chew on a boring fruit. The reality is that I don't know how to make fruit exciting that does not involve mass amounts of sugar, fat or alcohol, so my culinary skills stop there. I guess I am no longer the "master-chef" as so many call me. I am revoking my own title for being a fraud because a real master chef would healthily make fruits exciting and I simply can't. Without the aid of sugar or butter or some combination of the two I become completely uninterested and am mentally flaccid.

I guess I just don't enjoy the whole "healthy lifestyle" bullshit. Sometimes I think I should develop a meth addiction so then I can have a life like the Crackie of Camden and be a wild ass bitch and just never sleep and never eat but somehow still manage to exist... Then I will say "no, no, no," to rehab and see where that gets me. If I were as lucky as that skinny bitch with the big dirty hair I'd end up in St. Lucia for a few months and then get kicked out by the government for being a drunk ass bitch and causing a whole country to be in an uproar.

The bottom line is that working out isn't fun. Dieting isn't fun. Going to the market and avoiding the pleasures of looking at the perfect cut of red meat, the best French cheese, beautiful loaves of fresh sour dough bread and completely stabbing the idea of sour cream out of my head just isn't what I want in life but I don't want to be a tub of lard either. I keep saying that one day I will invent an at home liposuction kit and I guess I will need to work really hard now on developing said billion-dollar idea because you know every woman on earth would have one at home. I'm sure I could pitch the idea to Sarah-Lee and they'll invest in it because it'll just give women an excuse to have just onnneee moooreee slice (or whole) pie, meaning billions of dollars in revenue for them. See, I am a genius.

Anyway, the point of this post is that I am on a diet and I am no longer going to be a chubbo. So, any takers on how long before I'm happily swimming in a pool of jamon de pata negra or foie gras?