By staff writer Allison Parks
April 30, 2007
As my rippling ass cheeks dragged across the floor, gathering Ding Dong wrappers while I lumbered across the room, each tree trunk cankle quaking the earth like a powerful Tyrannosaurus Rex, I thought to myself, “Surely I haven't gained as much weight as friends, family, coworkers and strangers say. They're just jealous of my wondrous beauty and are trying to make me feel bad so they can feel good about their ugliness. Well, that is not right and I simply won't have it!! The elastic on my bloomers is cutting off my circulation simply because they shrank in the wash. Along with every other garment I own, including sweat pants and my Shamu Halloween costume.”
That's when I slapped one beefy flipper on the scale. Then the other. A horrifying number appeared. A number so terrifying I leapt off the scale and into the safe confines of my bed. How could it be?! According to this vile device I weighed 160 ever lovin' pounds!! Fattiest fat fatness of all time. During dark days past I'd flirted with the big six oh, but never had that heinous digit actually appear on the scale.
I had allowed couplehood to suck me into a Rosanne and Dan-style food orgy lifestyle, and as a result I had ballooned into a fleshy seal creature. Hours of laying and feeding had taken its cruel toll. Well, now I am single and I’ve resolved to get down to my ideal weight of 130 pounds. This is very thin for me, as I am a statuesque supermodel type person and big boned. And I'm not just saying that you a-hole. The Parks' are known for their sturdy, unbreakable bones. I weighed 10 pounds at birth, 1982's heaviest female baby born at The Queen of the Valley Hospital, thank you very much (hold your applause).
“I will begin working out in 2.5 weeks to never. Somewhere in there.”
I am determined to spend this summer fannying about in little dresses from Forever 21 made by Indonesian orphans. My deadline to become a waifish beauty is June 17th, at which time I will be attending my friend Cortney's fashionable lesbian wedding clad in some sort of darling mini dress that was carefully sewn by one of Angelina's future children.
My proposed diet is as follows:
Breakfast – One Grande (occasionally Venti) sugar free cinnamon dolce latte with an additional espresso shot from Starbucks. This serves many purposes: it is very tasty, plus the excess caffeine suppresses the appetite and encourages bowel movements. New sugar free lattes are a delicious gift from brilliant Starbucks chemists.
Lunch – Delectable, fresh sushi made daily at Safeway by two Japanese rice masters. My favorite would have to be the tempura roll which resembles a large turd placed atop a bed of decorative lettuce.
Dinner – 1/2 Ambien** used to roofie myself into unconsciousness before I have the chance to eat. Eventually I will become accustomed to this brutal diet and ween myself off of the Ambien. Oprah's dieting guru, Bob Greene, wisely states that one’s body wants to slenderize itself at night. It would like to go into its fat cabinet to dispose of fats, but is unable to when you eat at night. Bob also says that a dieter should just change food intake for the first month and begin working out on the second month because doing both at once is too overwhelming. I will begin working out in 2.5 weeks to never. Somewhere in there.
Snacks – Small nibbles of stinky cheese. I have a newfound love of smelly cheese and a new job that provides me with a 60% discount on an array of the finest and stinkiest cheeses in the land.
In addition to this monk-like eating plan, I will minimize, if not abstain from the booze. Unfortunately, my new job in a winery will make it difficult to stare at those shiny enticing bottles all day.
The day of darkness (the day I weighed 160… repulsive) was April 13th. Follow my journey as I transform my Marshmallow Man carcass into a slender goddess' physique. I will update my progress next week and you can diet along with me, fatass!
**Be careful with Ambien. One time I was drunk and took two Ambien while sharing a bed with my friend Sarah. Around 5am I got up, took off my pants and underwear and peed on them—not in them, on top of them. Then I awoke half nude in her bed thinking she had raped me. Actually I still think she did, pervert.