Peanut Butter and Dairy Queen

It was a rough morning for me at the gym today. It started with a verbal beating from all-business Brenda. I turned in my daily food journal. (It's the journal where I write down every single morsel of food that enters my mouth then I turn it in before every workout for all-business Brenda to analyze.) Yesterday, I had an ultimate meal shake for breakfast, an apple with 2 Tbsp of fresh ground peanut butter, tuna with 3 crackers, a few celery sticks with some peanut butter for my afternoon snack and another ultimate meal shake for dinner.
Just so you know, the ultimate meal is a meal replacement shake -- not a juicy, melt in your mouth cheeseburger with french fries on the side. Oh, how I love french fries. I love me some french fries. French fries are my friend. French fries make my world a better place. But I had to break up with my friend about 9 weeks ago. I'm hoping one day we will get to be friends again. But I can't think about that now.

Back to my point...so for the day I was around 1050 calories. Even with my 4 Tbsp of all natural peanut butter. So, I didn't think I was doing too bad. Ehhhn. Wrong. Think again. When all-business Brenda read that in my journal, I thought her head was going to spin off. She was ticked. Irate. A verbal lashing ensued. "You're not following my program. You just consumed 400 calories and 28 grams of fat with that peanut butter. I've told you - you can't duplicate your morning snack and your afternoon snack. Do me a favor and don't ever eat peanut butter again. You are a complete moron. You are the scum of the earth." Ok. Just kidding - she didn't say I was a complete moron or the scum of the earth but I bet she was thinking it. If looks could kill, I wouldn't be writing this blog from my cushy chair in my home office, I would be sprawled out, face down on the treadmill.

I tried to defend myself with my rationalization that even with the peanut butter calories, I still didn't consume my allotted calories for the day. She didn't want to hear it. Honestly, I shouldn't even try to explain myself. I should have just said, "Yes, ma'am - may I have another beating, please." From now on, that is exactly what I will say -- "yes, ma'am. Um, yes, ma'am. Whatever you say, ma'am."

Then, later on in my workout she told me she was glad that I was wearing my tight t-shirt because she could see now that...(are you ready for this zinger?) Get this...
I look like a Dairy Queen ice cream cone. She said, "you used to just be one big round ball of fat in the front but now it's starting to come off and now you have just a couple of humps of fat, you know, like a dairy queen ice cream cone. What? That's a compliment." She said.

Really? That is a compliment? Now, I know I said that I like it when all-business Brenda throws me a bone.  Compliments keep me motivated. But this kind of compliment makes me want to go curl up in the corner in the fetal position and suck my thumb.  So, apparently, this is what I look like - in case any of you were curious. 

I have to go do 4000 crunches now so I can maybe, lose another hump in my mid-section.  I'm going to sing the Black Eyed Peas, "My Humps" while I do these crunches...  What'cha gonna do with all that junk - all that junk inside that trunk --- My humps, my lovely lady lumps...check 'em out."  

The moral of this story...Don't get fat.  Fighting the fat - sucks.