There's a new show on over here called Bulging Brides. The new thing from the States. They find women who have an upcoming wedding and need to lose some weight. I watched one episode.
It's disgusting.
The woman had a body to be envious of. A size TEN for crying out loud. And they told her she needed to shape up and lose a few inches to make her dress look right. So for six weeks they put her on a diet and a training regime and she lost something like 3 inches off her waist and one off her chest and hips.
I felt like throwing my TV out the window. And I don't mean in a hardcore rocker kind of way.
The girl was just over 150lbs and 5'6 tall. That's NORMAL. That's HEALTHY. And they told her she was chunky and she lost THREE FRICKIN INCHES! I'm all for losing weight to feel or look better but seriously? And they wonder why people have eating disorders!
Showing posts with label weight. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weight. Show all posts
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
134 - Lowering The Standards
It's 4am and I can't sleep. My mind is too busy, so I thought I'd let it all out here. I'm guessing this will piss some people off but I don't mean it to. Anyone that reads this (all four of you) will hear it all sooner or later anyway, and I really need to get it off my chest now.
To cut a long story short, my boyfriend started telling me about a night out a long time ago that he referred to as "the best evening ever" because of all the "hot girls". I was fine with the part about partying with transvestites and crazy people with guns. I was even OK with the thought that a bunch of strippers - who happened to be colleagues of his friend's wife - got their tits out to show off their boob jobs.
My curiosity plummeted when his "best evening ever" ended with him getting laid with one of the sluts. I mean, strippers. Wait, what's the difference? Oh, right, one gets paid.
I know every person above the age of, say, 25 has been with a bunch of people in their lives, of course. That's not the issue. We've talked about exes before, extensively, without a hint of resentment.
Let me just add in here that the last few days my confidence and self esteem has been floating somewhere around my ankles.
Now, I know he didn't mean any harm by it and even said he wished he hadn't mentioned it at all (right before he fell asleep... lucky for some) but that doesn't make it easier on my mind. My mind has still drawn a spider diagram in a notebook, with the words "stripper", "laid", "hot girls", my boyfriend's name and the quoted "best evening ever" all circled and joined to each other, and if you turn over the page there I am, connected up with "fat", "inexperienced" and "sorry excuse for a female".
My self-esteem is now ground into the carpet.
I'm taking bets on how long it will be before I can look in the mirror and like or even accept what I see. This morning the running average was two weeks. Now, I'm not so sure.
To cut a long story short, my boyfriend started telling me about a night out a long time ago that he referred to as "the best evening ever" because of all the "hot girls". I was fine with the part about partying with transvestites and crazy people with guns. I was even OK with the thought that a bunch of strippers - who happened to be colleagues of his friend's wife - got their tits out to show off their boob jobs.
My curiosity plummeted when his "best evening ever" ended with him getting laid with one of the sluts. I mean, strippers. Wait, what's the difference? Oh, right, one gets paid.
I know every person above the age of, say, 25 has been with a bunch of people in their lives, of course. That's not the issue. We've talked about exes before, extensively, without a hint of resentment.
Let me just add in here that the last few days my confidence and self esteem has been floating somewhere around my ankles.
Now, I know he didn't mean any harm by it and even said he wished he hadn't mentioned it at all (right before he fell asleep... lucky for some) but that doesn't make it easier on my mind. My mind has still drawn a spider diagram in a notebook, with the words "stripper", "laid", "hot girls", my boyfriend's name and the quoted "best evening ever" all circled and joined to each other, and if you turn over the page there I am, connected up with "fat", "inexperienced" and "sorry excuse for a female".
My self-esteem is now ground into the carpet.
I'm taking bets on how long it will be before I can look in the mirror and like or even accept what I see. This morning the running average was two weeks. Now, I'm not so sure.
Monday, May 31, 2010
092 - Change of Pace
I removed my little weight chart thinger. Why? My head's just not in it right now. Mostly because I really don't like my Weight Watchers class leader. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and she gets her facts wrong all the time. Useless. So I'm not going to spend €10 a week just to weigh myself and listen to a woman that doesn't know what she's talking about.
I'm going to do things differently. I'm going to keep eating healthily, but I'm not going to obsess over it. I'll drink diet and zero drinks, I'll not eat chocolate or pizza or pop tarts.... sigh.... and I'll see where I am in maybe a month or so. Watch this space.
I'm going to do things differently. I'm going to keep eating healthily, but I'm not going to obsess over it. I'll drink diet and zero drinks, I'll not eat chocolate or pizza or pop tarts.... sigh.... and I'll see where I am in maybe a month or so. Watch this space.
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