Monday, April 28, 2008
Ya gonna eat that?
As much as I love my muffin top Polly, she doesn't fit in with my plans to not buy any new clothes until I finish grad school. It was bad enough that I had to buy all new jeans just last year, but now I don't fit in those anymore either. This means that my waist has increased by more than three inches in three years. I honestly don't think I would care so much if I just had bigger pants. But I don't, and I feel fat.
I wish I could blame it on a slowing metabolism, or American-sized portions, or the car lifestyle, but the fact is that I live in New York and I walk fucken everywhere. What I can blame it on is the incredible satisfaction I get from eating.
But no, satisfaction isn't quite the right word. When I eat, I'm never really satisfied. Basically, I have two stages: "hunger" and "ohgodifeelsick." I can't remember the last time I was really "hungry," because I eat about every two hours, and overeat about three times a day.
Like any normal girl, I spent most of high school exercising at odd hours of the day, eating reduced-calorie Snackwell's cookies, and fearing any weight gain that did not go directly to my breasts. After I left high school, though, some sort of pride in my appearance or fear of social exclusion due to fatness just completely evaporated.
It's not my fault that I have an intense oral fixation and wish I could be eating/drinking/smoking/makingout every second of the day. It is my fault, however, that I do not try to control this compulsion. It's also my fault that I allow myself to feel bad about it rather than doing something about it...
So yesterday I decided to go on a severe diet. "Severe" for me means eating only three meals a day, and having two of those meals consist of yogurt with crunchy things thrown in and, as Weight Watchers would say, "a sensible dinner." It also means that I am utterly miserable. I am one of those people that thinks about what I'm going to have for lunch as I'm making breakfast, what I'm going to have for a snack with my 11 a.m. coffee, what I'm going to make for dinner, and if there are any cookies around. And the first (and only) thing I want to do at home is eat. My happiest childhood memories are of me and my little brother coming home from horrible days at school and spending the next four hours running back and forth from the television to the microwave during commercial breaks, eating everything we could get our hands on.
I figure that if I want to lose 10 pounds I only have to do this for what, a year? Even if I exercise every day, I think it would take me forever to be able to fit into my pants comfortably. I'm so used to squeezing into tight jeans that I think I think I've rendered my uterus completely uninhabitable by any fetal matter. Maybe this explains why I've never gotten pregnant.
Speaking of feeling bad about myself, I was perusing craigslist yesterday when I came across a very hateful post where this guy was like, "what's with all the fat chicks?" etc etc and then he goes, "Why are there so many Chinese girls who want to go out with only white guys? I'm sorry, but nobody wants to go out with a stubby girl with a face like a pug." Oh god it made me so angry. You'd think that I would be over shit like this, but I guess I'm not. Every time someone says anything about Chinese people, I get pissy. It just reminds me that I'm Chinese, and that no matter what I say or do, some people will see me in whatever fucked up way they want.
Makes me so mad that I just want to bake a whole batch of chocolate cookies and eat them all.
Urm...I don't want to just post something about feeling fat and Chinese, so I will say that I had a lovely weekend, and that I hung out with a boy on Friday night who seemed to like me just the way I am, even though I tried to pick a fight with him. I don't know where all this anger is coming from lately, but I'm glad that I'm surrounded by soft boys who are willing to absorb it all.