Oh, FattyFatFat.

Long live New Year's Resolutions! 

After a couple of years of being overweight,

Lies.

After a few years promising to lose weight,

Ahem.

After a seemingly infinite number of years pledging various goals, like to make my bed everyday, eat more fruits and veggies (strawberry shakes don't count, regrettably), and morph my fatass into a Victoria's Secret model, the time has finally come. I've had the so-called, much anticipated, health epiphany. I'm going to "get real," as Dr. Phil* likes to say. My fear of a heart attack at 30 has finally brought full circle my promises to lose weight and feel great**! This, and I truly fear that once I exit my twenties, those skinny jeans I long to take out of the back of my closet*** won't be hip and cool anymore and I'll need the slim, svelte body to pull off higher-waisted denim and culottes. Can anyone wear culottes? (Outside of an Olsen twin, obvies.) Damn you, haute couture!!

Sadly, I don't know which is the more pressing reason for my solem, 2010 vow to shed serious poundage. Just kidding. My Citizen jeans are way hotter than living with a healthy circulatory system. And I want a deadsexy boyfriend. And I want to be able to fit in an airline seat without the fat from my thunder thighs spreading out onto the seats next to me, making the movable armrests that are already squeezing my muffin top to death, slowly creep upward, as the unsuspecting passengers sadly placed next to me force their arms' pressure downward so as to keep their personal comfort level at CodeCalm. Que lastima. Can any of you fattyfatfats out there picture what I'm getting at as far as the airplane goes? Anyone? Bueller? I need a private jet, I guess. Or I could just ride in the cargo hold. Whatevs.

So...who's in for the journey with me? Anyone? Bueller? (I really crack myself up.) I promise to divulge my ups, downs, pains, gains, and plenty of along-the-way pics. My main idea is that by documenting my weight loss, I'll hold myself slightly more accountable; and hopefully, by using this as a forum through which to share my weight loss experience, I'll see an increase in motivation, and consequently a decrease in fattyfatfat-ness. I'll share inches, pounds, sweet exercise moves, my trials and tribulations with fad exercise equipment, stories from my gym (that's mostly frequented by gayer-than-gay, hot-as-all-hell, we-don't-sweat-we-glow men), healthy recipes, fast food swaps, and let's face it: I'll even let y'all know when I eff up and eat my weight in Dreyer's Slow-Churned ice cream.

Numbers to follow, but for now, I'm off to the gym. Just kidding. I'm off to bed. But I promise that I am definitely going to the gym tomorrow on Saturday.


XOXO,
FattyFatFat

* - I hate Dr. Phil. Well, this is a lie. I don't hate him, per se; he just bugs the living shit out of me most of the time...

** - I also hate Jenny Craig, even though I've never met her. I'm just a catty bitch.

*** - I have a 'skinny clothing box.' Sadly, most of the ADORABLE - and tiny - clothes inside have never seen the light of day. Hopefully soon my neck will feel the itchy label of a size 6. Or 8. Or God, it'll even take a 10. Scratch that. 8 it is!