The diet's going okay. Weekends mess me up because I stay in bed til 3 then eat until bedtime. Not ideal. I gave up on CORE because I ate a bag of Popchips (7 points!) and I don't know what "satisfied" means. If I knew when to stop eating, I wouldn't be so extra large. That was a silly idea, Weight Watchers! Oh well, I'll just count the points. 44 is a lot of points when you're eating fat-free low-fat low-carb sugar-free shit. I could knock out that 44 in one meal at Popeye's, but then I'd want ice cream and there is my life, in a nutshell. (what kind of shell...has a nut...like this?)
My cat is an asshole.
I'm so tired of him. Sometimes I leave the door open just in the hope that maybe he'll run away but he knows he's got it too good to ever leave and he never even attempts to go anywhere near the door. I dunno why Jeff is so attached to him. Maybe because they're both jerks who overeat then throw up. Life is all about the common bonds.
This cat is like, a fiend for cat treats. Look, I'm a fattie. I understand the simple joy of having a snack. But this cat is taking it too far! Here is the scenario:
I go grocery shopping. I buy the stupid treats because he will meow all night if he doesn't get his nightly fix. I bring in half the groceries, set them down on the counter...then go out to the car to get the rest. The cat takes this as his cue to ramble through the bags and find the treats. It's like a sixth sense. I don't know how he knows. Aren't cats colorblind? I buy different color bags to throw him off but it never works. SO...I'm putting away the groceries...
Then I get out the "treat tin" and like, where are the goddamn treats? Come to think of it, where is the cat? Rest assured, they are together. Making hot teethy sweaty love somewhere beyond my reach. I sigh and roll my eyes and swear to the heavens I HATE THIS GODDAMN CAT!
It's probably my own fault. I should put them up as soon as I get in. But it's like a million degrees outside and the last thing on my mind is saving this fatass cat from himself.
HOURS later, he'll emerge. The package? Chewed open. It's so sad looking. Withered and full of teeth marks. Raped of its Tarter Fighting nuggets and left there to die alone. So sad. $1.89 down the drain. His fat ass just laying in a corner half dead from overindulgence. All I can do is shake my head. Lord knows I've been there. He just doesn't seem to understand that if I'M on a diet, then we're ALL on a diet. Even Jeff gets this simple concept. I don't know why this cat can't follow suit.
I wake up the next morning to usually 3 random piles of technicolor cat puke. God, I hate him so.
Not to mention this GIANT scratch on my arm because every time the air conditioner kicks on, he FREAKS OUT and jets the fuck off, catapulting himself from whatever he's on...namely, my arm. I love the air conditioner more than I could ever love any animal, especially this cat, so he better just get used to it. 'Cause Tricia...sweats for NOBODY, you hear me?
In other news, I went to Costco yesterday and it was 3500 steps! That's a lot.........for me. :)