|Look at me, all well-read. I know. No Atkins love at all.|
The hits keep on coming. No wonder I’m not hungry. I’m sick. I’m loving this delicious, intestinal irony.
Everything that can possibly go wrong this first week of induction has, in fact, been coming at me like Rosie O’Donnell in roller blades on a buttered floor.
First were the cravings and withdrawals from fresh hell; I was waiting for Jeff Van Vonderen to jump out at me and put me on a plane. Next, the Super Bowl wanted to prance me around like its batter-dipped show pony.
Now I’m feeling like Barfy McBarfo in my Barfomatic leiderbarfens.
Still, the cool thing is I get to do my first official weigh in Thursday after my Birthday, and in my Birthday Suit. And boy am I jazzed! And…no there won’t be pictures kthxbai. Only one of us needs to be sick to our stomachs– and on my special day that princess is me, damn it.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to ready my Barfday recipe surprise I want to share with you tomorrow, for it will be a sight to barfold. (No, it won’t be barf.) Stay tuned, Judy Bloom!