I eat like crap. This morning I thought my chest was going to explode. I don’t know if it’s the mold spores spewing out of the circa 1950 air conditioner embedding themselves in my lungs last night (because it’s getting *that* warm already) or if it was the hashbrowns, sausage McMuffin without egg (they got it right this morning – I was thrilled), and large Coke I inhaled in my car at 6:30 this morning. All I know is that while I sat there waiting for the numbness to start in my extremeties, wondering who would be the first to find me passed out (dead) here at work, I had flashbacks to when I had a physical in 1998 and the doctor told me that my blood tests showed high triglycerides and high “bad” cholesterol as well as low “good” cholesterol. I don’t know which is which, but I know I need more of the good and less of the bad. Then again about two years ago, I had another physical. Same thing: high triglycerides, low good, high bad. I can’t figure out why it hasn’t changed, though. I’ve been eating plenty of ice cream, cheese, chocolate, Diet Mt. Dew and Pop Tarts, not to mention candy. I even stopped exercising (thanks for moving away, Amber) and subsequently put on 1251 lbs. So now I’m up to 3292 lbs, which is not really a healthy weight, I think.

As the morning wore on, my chest eventually got back to normal. Then Gabbi came in and I noticed that she’s lost some poundage – almost 20. Since we have nothing to do at work this time of year besides pick our noses, read, take naps, eat and have deep personal conversations about relationships and health, we started talking about her weight loss. Her doctor put her on a pretty strict diet and she looks better, not just because her hips have narrowed, but there’s a glow about her. It’s true that what they say about garbage in, garbage out. She revealed all of her secrets to me and I am going to reveal them to you. Then I’m going to tell you that I am implementing them, so you can check up on me and hold me to it. I’m just going to do it for a month. Just one month. From May 15 to June 15. Because I know if I tell myself that I’m never going to have sugar, Diet Mt. Dew, Pop Tarts, ice cream, or bacon cheeseburgers ever again, I’ll respond with a giant “F you!” and head straight to Wendy’s. I’m secretly hoping that after a month, my body will love me and I will love it back with healthiness and we’ll have this fabulous relationship with no “F you!’s” and love love love…

So, here is what May 15 through June 15 will consist of: eggs, vegetables, cottage cheese, vegetables, water, water, chicken, non-fat yogurt, granola, vegetables, brown rice, some fruit, water, and vegetables. What it will not consist of: soda (not even diet), bread, chocolate, Pop Tarts, ice cream, Twizzlers, fat, nachos (although you are invited to have them with me on June 16), Dots, cheese, crap (McDonald’s), and crap (Wendy’s). or crap (pizza). I don’t think this will be easy, so I fully invite you to pray for me and check up on me.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to my book (I wonder if Frodo will make it out of the Shire!?), and my Easy Cheese and crackers (shut up) and Diet Mt. Dew.

5:30 am. I get a text from my roommate. “YAY! I’m wearing a tutu!” I text her back “I am hitch hiking at 5:30 am!” Cause that’s what I was doing. She was getting ready to run a race two time zones away and I was cursing the expletive employee shuttle that left earlier than I thought and the fact that I couldn’t get hold of the attendant who was opening with me for a ride because she “no turn on phone ‘til get here.” Here, in this instance, being trabajo. It really sucks when my invisible jet is in the shop (or maybe it’s out and I just can’t find it). So I did what any self-respecting (or otherwise) ski bum would do in my situation: got out and thumbed it. It was dark and scary and I stood there for a loooong time. It’s surprising how few people are driving up into the mountains in the (practically) middle of the night. Finally, I see an SUV coming. I stick out my thumb and because I am Wonder Woman, it stops. It’s Jose. I don’t know him, but he shook my hand (then proceeded to wipe his nose with said hand at least half a dozen times in the next 12 minutes) and told me his name on the way up and how he works at “El Airie” and how he “no sleep porque I take my fren’ to We Ski Pete by California...I drive right to here.”

“Wow,” I say “cansado.”

“Oh, si, SI cansado! No sleep!” He has turned on the dome light for seemingly no reason other than to be able to check me out and is yelling at me. Because apparently lack of sleep causes hearing loss in Mexicans.

So we have lovely conversation on the way up in which he stereotypically uses “me” instead of “I” and shouts terribly invasive personal questions at me like “where you live?” and “where you work?” I smile and lie and keep thanking him for the ride. Then we almost hit a giant raccoon and I said “muchas muchas gracias” as I ran into the building with lightening speed to plunge my contaminated hand into a vat of hand sanitizer. Then I hooked up my IV of Diet Mt. Dew and with a new lease on life (or whatever) face the day. In my new uniform.

Oh yeah, we got new uniforms at work. They’re cute if you are a lesbian with no fashion sense. You see, they’re a long-sleeved, button-up, collared shirt, which isn’t bad in itself. But the color is, well, the color that a white shirt turns when you’ve had it too long. I think it’s called Old Sweat if you want to look it up in the catalog. I think my grandpa had some shirts this color that he wore from the early seventies until the time he died - in 2000. The fit, although, it is supposed to be a ladies’ fit, makes all of us look pretty boxy, which is hot, if you’re a lesbian, which we’re not (unless you count Joe – I’m pretty sure he likes women). Then we’re supposed to wear black or grey pants, which doesn’t make any sense because everyone knows brown goes better with Old Sweat. So instead, because my brown shoes are cuter and more comfortable than any of the black ones I have, I wear brown shoes. With black pants and my Old Sweat-colored shirt and I LIKE IT! I feel pretty.