Come darlings, chew the chicken with me...

Yes honey, the chicken. Without the skin. It's always that time of year in this house; there is never any rest for the flabby. I am pausing between sentences to take bites of my dry, tasteless, organic chicken breast. I know you can flavor them up without adding extra fat or god forbid a carbohydrate, but after a year of eating them for lunch and dinner I could truly not give a damn. It's still chicken. Some people diet to look better naked. I diet to look better dressed. It's all about the clothes. They can vanity size all they want, but I know when I'm really a 2 as opposed to an Ann Taylor 2.


Add to the chicken, fruit, lettuce, and EAS Myoplex lite and just a few trendy supplements like CLA, Green Tea extract, multivitamins, extra C, and essential fatty (low fatty) acids. You know I'm a product whore, you can sell me just about anything. Worst are the infomercials, if I don't turn them off within the first thirty seconds I am done for. Informercials were made for people like me.


Then there's the gym. Thank you Carol and Karla, plus all the trainers that have helped remove my thass at the Valdosta YMCA. What's a thass? It's a horrible condition where your ass and thigh have melded together into one big cellulite covered blob. There is no defined ass/thigh mark anymore. I really think there should be more public advocacy for the thass, fundraisers, information booths, pamphlets, something. Millions of people are walking around this country with a thass; and don't even know it. You can't even do an intervention on a person with a thass, they are just too fragile and unstable at that vulnerable moment they become aware of it.


I saw mine in February of 2008. For some reason I had the oddest urge to look at myself naked in the mirror and turn around. Then I turned sideways to get the full 360 of the thass. That's when I knew I had hit rock bottom and needed help. For at least eight years I had only been looking at myself from the front; fully arrayed, sprayed, and accessorized. Being shallow, I was perfectly happy with just the front view. And you know as sensitive as I am, I can't believe I never turned around to check the rear view. God knows I poke fun mercilessly all the time at how people look from behind.


I haven't actually stopped, but at least I am more empathetic of their dilemma and there is something to be said for that.


Not really, but that sounded so nice.


Anyway after the thass viewing, I slugged back a few vodkas and hustled my thass over to the nearest gym and signed up my entire family. Because if I'm going to sweat and suffer, by god they are too. Then I went home and googled Jessica Simpson's workout for the epic film "The Dukes of Hazzard". She had a great body in that movie and we're the same height, plus I buy her shoe line. Her first husband was a tool and so was mine. We both have fake breasts and lips, but here we deviate a little since she's still in denial. And neither of us can sing a note, but who cares when you have big tits? We have so much in common it's almost scary! It's like we could be related, and you know Mariah Carey could be our cousin. She's just like us!


Anyway, back to me. Jessica spent two hours a day, seven days a week in the gym. Piece of cake. Having given up smoking, it's not like I had anything better to do. It's too early to drink alone in the morning, so off I dragged my sagging thass to the gym! One hour was for the elliptical machine (set at 20/ at least a 12 on resistance). Then there were the weights. Arms on Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Legs on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. Abs everyday, and on Sunday the Belly dance/Zumba class after the elliptical machine.


Then came the oh so addictive Spin Class. That's a five day a weeker after the other stuff.


Bye bye thass! Hello Kim Kardass-hian booty!


And that's where the chicken comes in. You can't just workout a lot. It worked when you were eighteen and danced drunkenly all night and then went to Krystal. You knew as soon as you got home and lay down you would get bed spins and throw up those nasty calories all over the place. Sometimes you got lucky and puked before you ever got home. Nothing to clean up if you aim out the window right.

Here's my special chicken recipe just for you!


Take a big pack of chicken breasts. Turn oven to 375. Put chicken in a big pan. Leave in oven until you smell it strongly. It's probably done by that point. Wrap each breast individually and there you have it. If your diet pills have kicked in wrap the chicken decoratively just like they did on Martha Stewart last week.


I like to call it "Chicken Fuck You"


It's not exciting to eat healthy. I really prefer the no eat, Diet Coke, alcohol, diet pill diet, but that makes you look (and act) like Janice Dickenson after a while.


I did have a brief try with Alli (it was still a prescription then), but I just didn't get much out of it. You'll never sell anything to the fashion crowd that includes "anal seepage" in the warning label. I am not going to risk an outfit by having grease leaking from my ass, nor is anyone else with sense. And see I was right! They deregulated it and Wal-Mart scooped it right up for their crowd. You can go in any store and it's right up front with the enormous cart of roasted chicken.


Now one diet trend I have not tried is based on a wonderful side effect of the new condition sweeping the nation; Adult Attention Deficit Disorder. Strattera and Adderall apparently just melt the pounds off you and give you the energy to cope with car pool line aggression. I may skip this one based on what I've seen in my own acquaintances. Here's a snide aside to one desperate housewife; you don't have AADD. You still are a scatterbrained beeaych even on the meds. Plus, they don't mix well with your morning cocktail.


I may give up the chicken for a while though now that I have Posh's diet. She and I have a lot in common as well. We both love clothes and she can afford them.


Here's her diet: organic endamame, strawberries, lettuce, and an algae/seaweed shake.


That's it. For god's sake were you expecting more? Here's a tidbit I heard but have not been able to actually verify. For snacks she carries a little bag of dried shrimp and eats them when she gets

peckish.

Because I have cyberstalkerishy tendencies I went to the Asian market up near the base and bought a bag of them so that she and I might have one more thing to talk about one day. Have you ever smelled dried shrimp? I can't think of a way to put this delicately so I won't: they smell like a vagina gone terribly wrong. I don't believe for a moment Posh is carrying these around in that $120,000 crocodile Birkin handbag those nice people at Hermes gave her to flounce around. Nobody wants a handbag that smells like off pussy, not even to be thin. I'll bet she gets her assistant to carry them for her. No one cares what they smell like. That's what I would do.


Anyway, you can order the algae/seaweed shake thingy off of http://www.nutricology.com/. It's called "ProGreens". You mix it with water and slowly savor all thirty calories. I just ordered mine, it has lots of vitamins in it already, so I can ditch that twenty calorie multivitamin I was taking!



I'll let you know how it works! I'm sure it tastes like grass clippings and ass, but it sure will beat the hell out of chicken.

Love to all,

Cult Diva