What’s making them stink is too much sugar (responsible for the yeasty or sour rancid bready smell), vegetable, especially soy oil (dead fishy smell), vanillin, and whatever awful chemical vomit they use to make artificial grape and orange flavoring.  What’s worse is that they put some of this horrible stuff in perfumes that really make matters worse.

Summer is coming.  Please stop eating garbage.

The weather is getting warmer, so people’s smell is really starting to matter.  Since about last year, I’ve been very aware of people’s smell, and perhaps a little retroactively embarassed.  Did I used to smell like that?  How could people stand to be around me then?

Of course I wonder what it must have been like for my exes who ate more traditionally home made food most of the time.  No wonder they didn’t think much of me.  I probably smelled like a raw fish stuffed with Skittles.

April 2, 2011 Swimming in my clothes

The gloom seems to have been a phase.  Since that day, I seem to be well sorted and strangely more attractive.  Perhaps not sexually so, but sentimentally, which is fine.  Even my dance has shifted a bit.  I was using mostly Arab music, but now I’m getting more into goth and soukous.

I’m also more at peace with my defects.  I still don’t buy the “empowered” denial.  It’s just reached a point when I look around at other women my age and am just happy to be alive and to have had women in my family who taught me how to take care of myself.  I am also grateful to Chef Kathleen Daelemans and the late, great Weston A. Price and a whole lot of other folks who helped me recover from industrial phood.  I’m even thankful to Roissy for giving me many good social reasons to never look back or be remotely tempted to re-enter the calorie counting and yo-yo dieting hell that has uglified far too many American women.

So now, I look in the mirror and smile, and look at other people and smile not giving a flying fart about how they’ll react to it…just spreading some joy.  I don’t feel the need to protect them from me anymore.

It has given me the “balls” to talk to male persons I was attracted to, but would previously avoid or pretend to be some sort of foliage in the background around.   I’ve lost a kind of irrational fear of rejection.

Now that was a weird part of my behavior that needed killing because it made absolutely no sense.  I’ve long been okay with the idea that I could be attracted to or have a crush on someone, and they might hate my gutts.  Most reasonable women reach that stage around puberty or so.  I did.  Thing is, for some reason, if I was attracted to someone, it became important for me to be cool about it and save face.  I think that reason was feminist, but it might be a Black thing too.

In the vast majority of cases, I wasn’t really looking to get with these guys.  I wanted to befriend them because I liked them as people, and their attractiveness was a kind of an aside.  The way I behaved around them could probably be summed up in the words, “No homo.”  I don’t quite understand why, but I didn’t want them to even think there was a remote chance of me obsessing or getting ideas.  In some cases, I knew I didn’t have a chance, or at least a chance of being more than a shag, and it was important to me that they knew that I knew that I’m either not in their league or that my interest in them was purely platonic regardless of any attraction.

Any time I said something nice to them, there was an either implied or reworded, “No homo,” after it.  I couldn’t just say, “You look sexy today,” or, “Wow, that was amazing (about something they did that just freakin’ rocked),” without some behavior that made it clear that I was NOT fawning.

Now though, I fawn freely.  Once I broke through and actually started complimenting guys without a, “No homo,” and they didn’t run away screaming or insult me or something, I realized just how irrational that fear was.  I was such a doofus.  Ah well.

There’s just one thing in my changes over the past couple of years that I’m finding just wrong.  I gave up lifting heavy objects, but now I’m getting back into it.  I’m sorry, it just can’t be helped.  Though i’m okay with myself when I look in the mirror, I will admit to getting some kind of bizarre, perhaps narcissistic thrill at the sensation of firm muscles under my skin.  Since there is less fat under my skin, I notice my musculature more not just visually but tactilely.

I….am a warpig.  I am graceful and sweet natured for a warpig, but this is physically who I am.  I like being strong.  I accept and understand that the vast majority of men do not find pleasure in it.  At my age though, what men like is about 10 years past what ought to be my priority in fitness or aesthetics.

By now, sexually, there will probably not be another man in my life since I require more than a sperm depositor.  I understand that my desires are totally unrealistic and unreasonable in this, so I have put them aside like many people’s dream of being a rockstar has to go when they were not gifted with talent and a high powered agent.  It can happen.  It’s just unlikely.

So the rest of my years are about what makes me okay with me.  It was a nice excursion into gameville.  I’ve learned a lot about the mistakes I’ve made in time to help my daughter and other young women navigate the chaos that has become dating in the western world.  As for me though, my time is past, and it’s about making money and enjoying myself, and hopefully steering more young women away from the cock carousel, and more men away from the mangina hive.

The Enforcer quest is back online.  So here I go.

…and just so you know I don’t mean just “haverah” which could mean girlfriend or girl friend, he clarified, whenever asked, that we are lovers.  So they all think he’s hitting this, except those who know me well enough to ask me, and got the full story.

So whatever attraction sparked for this bald barman, has died.  In fact, he died to me today.  After this post, he goes into the pile with the rest of the cretins who will rue the day.  In fact, he might be rueing soon, for reasons other than my impending MILF body.

…but we won’t talk about such things here.

As for my own part, regardless of what others say or do, he will never see me again, if I can help it.  I understand that he was using me as a status donkey: someone who is befriended or associated with in order to boost their status or social credibility.  Now, everyone thinks he’s a cool guy with balls of steel, dating someone who lots of guys would like to shag, and can’t.

I don’t overestimate my position though.  So long as I’m fat, I’m considered attractive but flawed.  Not so fatally as it would seem in the States, but folks here, though a bit more fat friendly, do consider it a flaw.  I can take this on the chin, same as other incidents, as one of those things that is bound to happen until I look like myself again.  For the moment, unless I’m actually in the process of kicking someone’s ass or playing basketball, nobody could tell my level of fitness in the way sheeple have been programmed to view it.

No matter…most of them are getting fatter while I’m getting thinner.  It’s kind of funny looking around at girls’s muffin tops becoming increasingly grotesque over jeans I saw them barely fitting into months ago.  They’re fattening up for the slaughter, and hating themselves more and more, while I’m becoming more of a lean, mean, predator, and loving myself more.

It’s all good.

…and before any of my ex boyfriends out there start getting butt hurt and calling me a racist, ask yourself: did you do better?

Shai took me to the Bear, and we ate well.  I felt a little better after eating their awesome American chicken salad, and having a frozen strawberry margarita.  Good stuff.

Earlier tonight, well last night, while I was walking, he called.  He didn’t say anything important, but asked me to call him when I was done with the walk.  I did, and he didn’t answer.  So since the pub was near the end, I stopped in to leave his gift there.

The barmen were baffled, but tucked the box into where one of them keeps his stuff.  He really liked the necklace when I showed it to him, and he’s a biker.  So if Warren doesn’t get it, he will.  He’s really cool, and I’d be proud for him to wear some of my work.

So now begins the next chapter…the last step in regaining my full identity.  Warren had the chance to be there to cheer me, dear me, but he’s chosen to be one of those guys I’m going to laugh about when I’m really a former fatty.  If I wasn’t doing it for my physical and mental health, that laughter might be worth it alone.  I’m beginning to understand why some ignorant women starve and worry.  Since they don’t know how to do it properly, they’re not doing it for their health really, but for their egos.

I never was that jealous of the beautiful people.  They get a lot of perks but also catch a lot of hell.  However, that hell is worth it in a way, especially if someone is as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside, which is kinda rare.  If they are unicorns, then people who screwed with them when they were vulnerable are themselves screwed.

I see myself as someone who was vulnerable for awhile, and got shit on mercilessly…almost reflexively by people who hate beauty.  When they see one little flaw, the pounce on it like rabid dogs and try to destroy or diminish the beautiful person’s gift because they are jealous or maybe because “when the cat can’t get to the milk, it says the milk is sour”.  Hypatia told me that one.

It’s going to be interesting.  I wonder what flaw the rabid dogs, or rather sheeple, will pounce on when the fat is gone…probably my age.

To that my answer will be as Yoda’s, “Look you as good as me when my age you are.”

My luck though, I’ll have some horribly disfiguring accident or something.  Then they’ll pick on me for having one leg or burn scars.  Cretins.

It’s just so embarassing.  I actually believed him when he said I was pretty.  So a couple of days after the last time we saw each other, I told him I missed him.  He replied that this was scary.  I don’t think he realized he was saying that to the woman who wrote the non sociopathic Slut Rules.  If a guy thinks you’re obsessive just for showing an interest, he thinks you’re fugly.  The reason it scares him is the fear that you might do or say something in public and people will know he’s seeing a dog.

So on that note, I waited to see if that’s what he really thought or if he was joking.  Almost 48 hours of no contact, and I have my answer.  Problem is that I already made his birthday present:

It’s a kind of yin and yang but wave design, with a star ruby on the dark side, and a star sapphire on the light side.

He’s always telling me how unique I am, and that he’s never met anyone like me, so I pulled out the old stone collection for this one since I figured I should make him a gift that was unique.

I have no regrets, but this whole thing just kinda drives home the point I was trying to make about there being a discrepancy between who I am and how I look at this point.  Until I look like me, I don’t feel right taking my clothes off in front of anyone in a sexual situation.

At the same time though, I can’t help but take it a little personally.  I mean, this is a guy who knew me when I was much fatter, so it’s not like he doesn’t know I’m making progress.  You’d think maybe he would string me along with a bit tighter string until I reached my goal.  Whatever.  What’s done is done.  I’m backing off, and no longer initiating any contact ever unless someone is dead or at least bleeding.

Even if he does pull his head out of his ass, he’s taught me how to treat him, and that’s with caution.  I hate it when guys make a girl have to save face.  It’s like I’m his male friend with a vaginal, which is something I’m really tired of being.

Anyway, I was thinking I’d leave his gift at a pub we both sometimes go to, and if he doesn’t retrieve it, let whoever wants it have it.  On further thought though, I might just give it to Kahuna.  It’s the type of thing I know he’d like, since he’s a surfer.

There’s a side of me that wants to give Warren a chance to redeem himself, or at least get his birthday present, but on the other hand, I’ve lived in Israel long enough to know that’s probably not going to happen.  He seemed different, but he is still under 40.

I’ll give it until his birthday (this Friday) to see what happens.  After that, I’m not even thinking about anything romantic or sexual until I’ve got only 7 kg. to go.  I am going to be hot for my age then, and guys will stop treating me like my feelings don’t matter because they’ll be able to see that I have options on sight.  I have options now, but they just don’t know that because each of them thinks they invented Shamu shagging.

:: sigh ::

Some of you out there will remember me when I was younger.  It was okay, but very very square…a back with a crack basically.  Now, when one is older, one is supposed to have less estrogen, not more, right?  Apparently, being on a natural diet is feminizing my once barrel-on-sticks figure.  I still have a tummy roll, but my waist is asserting itself.  I think I’m beginning to understand why clothes used to be shaped differently, not just smaller in the 50′s.

Well, here we go.  Those with sensitive eyes, please look away.  If you don’t, I am not responsible for your “astigmata”.  Remember, I don’t dress like this normally.  I’m wearing skin tight clothes for the sake of the progress report.

…and the new back view:

I’ll be posting these more often as I edge closer to my goal.  Thanks to all of you who are supporting me as the journey continues.

In the studies, people on it reduced their calorie intake by about 2000 calories…but what if someone only eats about 1000 calories a day?  I’m at the point now of having to sneak extra calories into my body with tea with 2 tsp. honey per liter.  I don’t want to forget how to eat, so as I did with the capsules, I’m going to halve the dosage.

In other news, last night I met the girl Kahuna has unrequited one-itis for.  She is pretty, but you can see the wall on the horizon.  He’ll probably be over her in a couple of years, if not less.  I’m done trying to snap him out of it.  I’ll just try to be encouraging whenever he makes some progress.

I’ve decided that intermittent fasting, or “Eat Stop Eat” is the way to go for me.  I’m mixed African and Native American, and if I’m not overthinking it, this is how I eat normally.  The three meals a day thing means that I have to actually stop working and eat at scheduled times when I am technically hungry, but wouldn’t stop everything to eat if I didn’t have to feed other people.  Six snacks a day would mean eating when I’m not hungry.  Either way, I’m not doing what I really feel like doing, and I decided that had to stop.

Since it’s summer, and preparing food for others is very simple, I felt this would be a good time to get started doing things my way.  I can easily make a salad or omelettes or whatever else quick and easy for others, and then get back to work, without feeling the need to eat anything myself until I am really hungry for real.

To help me along, I’ve begun to take hoodia gordonii.  I take a 400 mg. capsule with my evening meal, which is enough for me because I’m a once a day eater if left to my own devices anyway.  The recommended dosage is 800-1600 mg. but I think this is way too much.  I’d never eat if I took that much.  On 800 mg. I found it too difficult to eat on days when I actually do need more food.  I’d get hungry, and couldn’t stomach more than a cracker.

The capsules, I got from Swanson Vitamins.  I use their brand because they use the real thing, and when they say there’s 400 mg. (800 per two capsule serving) of hoodia in it, that’s what there is.  They also don’t add anything else to it.  I hear that Desert Burn is also real.  It’s more hard core though, and is for multiple meal people who need severe appetite suppression. For natural intermittent fasters, it would be overkill.

When I run out of the capsules, I’ll be taking the straight powder.  Swanson and most other stateside companies can’t ship hoodia overseas anymore, because of CITES regulations, so I had to buy direct from Medico Herbs, a business in South Africa with their own export certificate.

About my vanity though, I’ve come to a point where I feel like I don’t look like myself.  When I dream, I look quite different…not skinny, but more buff and well defined.  It’s a sign that at least psychologically, I’m back to my senses, but then when I wake up, there’s this person who still looks too much like depressed, hypothyroid me.  Don’t get me wrong.  I like me.  I work my jelly very well.  It’s just that I guess I’m a little impatient to look scary with my clothes off again…bridge the gap between my mentality and my appearance.  It’s kind of hard to have a female Napoleon complex when you’re actually big.  Heheheh…

I’m now at the phase where just about everything, including my boobs and butt, are smaller.  So I still look rolly polly, just a few kilos less blobby…not that blobby is morally wrong or anything.  It’s just not me.

Also, please excuse my facial expressions, as the sun was in my eyes.

Well, enjoy it, laugh, be disgusted, whatever.  At this point, I feel better than I have in 20 years.  This will probably be my last Truly fat year though.  My knee is almost better, and the gap between my ability and my energy level is closing.

Here’s is today’s 3/4 view compared to the two years past.  It’s hard to gauge the size, but the changes in shape are pretty obvious.

More photos of me will be posted next year as usual.  Well, maybe sooner.

Earlier, we went to Achim Marcel (Marcel Brothers) to stock up on things that might be difficult to get during the Pesach holiday.  My favorite soup mix, Mivina chicken and vegetable stock was on sale 4 packets for 10 shekels, so I got some of that.  It’s like crack in a bowl for me…not the most natural thing, but it’s light, hot, and extremely tasty.

“Condiment” powder is also, as I found out, the Russian diaspora diet secret.  It’s not that big a surprise since there is the “soup diet”.  It’s just that this particular soup isn’t exactly marketed as a soup, but as a seasoning.  It’s made of a special mix of dried vegetable concentrates and extracts, salt, and spices.  A whole packet of 100 grams has maybe 100 calories in it, but you only use about a teaspoon per cup of hot water.  It’s also great for what it’s marketed for, as a seasoning for meat, beans, rice, or whatever else you’d use soup mix to flavor.

I’m not a calorie counter in principle, but I can see how it would be a lesser evil for someone who isn’t disordered but needs to lose a few pounds.  It’d be poison for a disordered eater or lifestyle anorexic though, because it would make it too easy.  I mean, the stuff is tasty.  That with a handfull of baked oyster crackers is a hundred calorie meal.  Because the stuff is like powdered vitamins, you don’t feel like you’re missing anything.

A person needs a balanced diet though.  You can’t just have soup and crackers and be okay.  There needs to be some real fruits and vegetables, and some meat or at least eggs and dairy from time to time.  Otherwise, you’ll become anemic and B-12 deficient, and that will kill your energy, which will make you prone to gaining weight.  So, all things in moderation.  It’s a good tool, but it shouldn’t be the only one.

I like to have it at those times when I’m hungry, but don’t feel like eating a big meal.  Summers here are hell, so heavy food can be very unpleasant.  Some soup, a salad, and maybe a piece of chicken, and that’s dinner.