Did you ever notice how the moment you get yourself on a new plan to get healthier (i.e. lose gelatinous goo surrounding the "boom! boom! fire power!" muscles) that all these voices start creeping up? I have two sets, and neither one is really making me happy.
The first set guilts you into pushing harder, going longer, and avoiding donuts, hamburgers, pizza, coke...and did I mention donuts? One of these voices sounds like Jillian Michaels - a bit butch, a bit bitchy, but has your best interests at heart. I don't care much for this one, because it's the one that makes the sugary, oh so yummy fried donut sting in my pudgy hand. Then there's another one that is a dead ringer for Kerri Strug - helium voice, happy kittens and puppies and shiny rainbows telling me that I am superfantastic and that I can achieve anything I want. This voice encourages me to go longer when all I really want to do is go home and watch SATC reruns. Kind of makes me want to remove her voice box or dislodge the grape from her nasal passages.
There's also the voices that get loud, obnoxious and somewhat condescending about this new plan to get happy. They incessantly shout how much you've missed cheese and bread...since yesterday. And they're really good at making you see all the benefits of drowning your popcorn in melty butter and washing it down with a slushy coke. Ahhh! My people! I love these voices. Imagine Rosie O'Donnell and Gabriel Iglesias playing havoc on your willpower. If I listen to them, though, I'll enter one of the five stages of fatness, and I refuse to achieve "DAMN!" status.
I think one voice in my head is that of a Yiddish grandmother. Bubbie says that I don't need any buttah on my popcown otherwise I'll be forced to wear a schmatta for the rest of my life. She's not very nice, actually. Nudnik.
This makes me very ferklempt. How can I get on the path to detesting all things covered in mayonnaise and butter (sorry, Bubbie - buttah) and cream when I have visions of dancing cupcakes floating about in my mind? Should I give in to these urges every once in awhile to prevent those cupcakes from turning into dancing schmattas? I think I'm fercockt.
I really want to push harder but the food porn is winning out. And this is only week 2, people. We're in for a long haul. On the bright side, I'll be here to retell all the mishegoss.