New Crazy Chick Diet

Hello Readers,

Disclaimer: This diet is very effective, but try it at your own risk or at the risk of your victim. Lafemmeroar should not be blamed, sued, or held responsible in the event that such risky tactics (albeit effective) result in the idea that it’s okay to abuse food in such a cavalier way.

Enjoy this funny cartoon…

Health, Excess and Holiday Stress

Thanksgiving took a toll on my body. I ate and drank as if it were the last day on earth.When I woke up Friday I found a note on my pillow.

***

Dear Lafemme,

By Tibor Végh (Tenerife 2010 124.JPG) [CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

After months of eating healthy you finally cleansed your body of the toxins you’ve been polluting it with for most of your life. And in one day you ruined all that hard work by opening your pie hole to all that fatty food loaded with butter, eggs and who knows what else. To top it off, you imbibed so much booze that you were barely able to walk straight at the end of the night. What kind of way is that to treat your inner organs? Do you want to end up looking like a crazy chick version of this whale man on the beach?

Have you no shame?

Weight Loss Revelations

Wikimedia Commons--Circus Divas Illustrations Gallery--

I’ve had an ongoing battle with food

since I was old enough to chew. I love

to eat and portion control is Latin to

me. Before I turned 40 I could eat

anything and I continued to win the

battle. Lately, my losses“have gained,”

but I don’t want to lose the war.

My weight loss revelation came when I said this to myself ...

  

You know you need to lose weight when:

Your muffin top has become a soufflé that won’t deflate

Your fat pants have become your skinny pants

Jabba the Hutt looks like a size medium compared to you

Your undies

Double My SPANX

Unless I starve myself for a week (and that’s not going to happen), I’ll look like a sausage that’s come out of its casing in  the putrid olive bridesmaid dress I’m sentenced to wear for my girlfriend’s wedding next week. I needed help. So, I  bought myself some SPANX. For years I’ve denied the idea of using a girdle, oh excuse me body shaper as they’re called now, but I have to face facts. I can’t look svelte without any help.

I bought the SPANX Slim Cognito Shaping Mid-Thigh Bodysuit with a “Super-Duper” slimming level according to the product description. I put it on then I put on the dress. Not bad. And if I held my stomach in all day, fixed my hair a certain way that actually made my cowlick work for me, and dusted my face with make-up I would look (oh dare I say it) like a MILF as my friend the MILK  had said.

Then I wondered if the SPANX would hold up. Would my muffin top re-surface against the powerful hold of SPANX after I’ve had a half-dozen glasses of champagne, and consumed the bread, salad, the surf and turf menu with dessert and wedding cake served at the reception? Would my svelte line maintain? I had drunk a bottle of water during my musing and things were already getting a little tight. So, I went online and ordered another pair. Doubling up on the SPANX would surely support my “svelteness” even after drinking and eating my heart’s content. Wish me luck next week dear readers as I surely will need it.

SPANXfully yours,

Lafemmeroar

© 2011 Lafemmeroar

Hot Yoga, Doritos and Stinky Cutie

In my never-ending quest to maintain my, zaftig figure, I signed up for a hot yoga class. My friend said that it was the best thing she’s ever done and that I should do it because I’d love it too. I’ve exercised doing yoga before with videos, but I had never taken a class.

I went armed with my yoga mat, a towel and a humongous bottle of frozen water since I was going to be in a 100 degree room for the next hour and a half stretching, bending, balancing, detoxifying and generally finding peace and balance. Actually, screw the peace and balance part, I wanted to sweat out the pounds.

Well dear readers, my olfactory sense is super cunning and I can smell “stink” before it hits the air and believe me when I say that the toxic smell of feet unfortunately reminds me of Doritos. It was a Doritos factory in that hot yoga studio. Was the smell coming from the feet or the carpet? What’s the difference?

I wanted to get out of there, but I thought about the twenty dollars I paid to take the class so I braved it. It was a full class, but I found a  spot in the back. A few minutes later this dark-haired cutie plants himself right in front of me. Things were looking up when he smiled at me; I smiled back. Then he took off his sneakers and holy “beegeezuz” the fumes from the sour stench of feet had hit the hot air waves. My smile turned into a grimace. My new Romeo had turned into a stinky cutie. But it was feet after all. I couldn’t really fault him for that. After all I’m sure mine didn’t smell like roses either. But I, at least, had the foresight to wear flip-flops and let my feet breath.

The class began.  I had gotten used to the stale Doritos smell and as long as  stinky cutie didn’t stick his feet up in the air and in front of me I’d be okay. I wasn’t taking deep breaths like you’re supposed to though.  Twenty minutes into the class I was sweating but okay. We had started the down dog position which I was very familiar with (if you know what I mean) and transitioned that into the upward dog (something I wasn’t very familiar with).  Then the instructor got on her hands and knees for the modified cat pose, which meant sticking one foot out and balancing yourself.

And there it was before me. From heel to toes was his right foot in all its “stenchly” glory. I gasped, then something went down the wrong pipe and I began to cough one of those uncontrollable whooping coughs that happens just when everyone is quiet and concentrating. He turned around, I thought with apparent concern, but the look on his face said something else. I had disturbed him. I had distracted his search for balance and harmony. Maybe you need to take that outside stinky MILK said (yes, I had just downgraded him from cutie to Man I’d Like to Kick). Outside did he say? The nerve. Well I had no choice. I packed up my stuff, slipped on my flip flops and prepared my exit, but not before I gave a slight kick to his sneakers and said, “Odor eaters.”

Namaste,

Lafemmeroar

© 2011 Lafemmeroar