July 17 06

it’s very rare for me to pick up a book, start reading it, and just not be able to finish it. The English Patient. couldn’t get through. i’d find myself reading and rereading and rereading the same pages. The Alphabet Sisters. HATED it. i kept reading and thought it was going to get better…and then it just didn’t.
conversely, it’s rare for me to pick up and book and just not be able to put it down.
usually, for me, books fall somewhere in the middle of these two extremes. the first few pages go pretty slowly and then at some point in the first few chapters, the book hooks me, and a few days, weeks, months (usually not months) later…i’m finished.
so, on Saturday morning, when i picked up “The Time Traveler’s Wife” i was shocked at how this book sucked me in. I was already reading “Reading Lolita in Tehran” and was mildly into it, but it was upstairs and i was lazy. so i picked up the book and started reading. and i couldn’t put it down. All day on Saturday i was dying to get back to it. and by Saturday night, I was a woman possessed. at every half hour mark, i promised myself, only half an hour more. 11:30, 12, 12:30, 1, 1:30, 2:00…i kept thinking, “Ali, this is a huge mistake…your kids are going to be up in a few hours” but i couldn’t stop. it was ridiculous. i read that whole stinkin’ book. all 518 pages of it.
and i LOVED it. i wanted more. i didn’t want it to end.

* * * * * * * * * *

I usually only weigh myself twice a week. (this is good for me. i’m down from doing it every day…) friday afternoons -when i weigh the least and monday mornings – when i weigh the most.
it’s usually pretty consistent. i’m 104 on friday afternoon and 108-109 on monday mornings (now don’t go start saying…”oh, poor Ali, she weighs all of the same as my right leg”…remember that i’m a little girl and i’m 5’2 on a good day when i’m wearing shoes. i’m supposed to NOT weigh a lot) it makes sense to me, i guess. i watch what i eat during the week – religiously – because it’s easy. and on the weekends? i totally let myself go. i eat whatever i want. an entire tray of brownies? sure! half a tub of half-baked ice cream? why not? an entire bag of twizzlers? bring it on!

so, imagine my surprise when i got on the scale this past friday – - – the VERY week that i had decided to give up baked goods…cookies, cake, etc. – - – and the scale said 109. 109! i almost died. my first thought was that the scale was wrong. broken. had to be. but, then i went into my closet, and like a crazy woman i tried on all my clothing. and NOTHING was fitting me. nothing.
so, i put on an elastic-waisted skirt and got drunk on vanilla vodka and diet pepsi. drown my sorrows in alcohol. nice one, Ali.

sunday morning didn’t prove to be any better. the scale was tipping at 111. 111. i can’t even remember the last time i weighed that much. i can’t freakin’ remember. that’s how long ago it was. this morning was slightly better. i’m down to 110. down. can you just die. down.

so, i freaked out a little bit this morning. i was crying. throwing clothing. mumbling to myself. the works. note to all you husbands out there: when your wife is freaking out because she’s spontaneously fat, the correct answer is not “Well, have you been going to the gym three times a week??” not. the. right. answer. not even close, bud. to be fair to my husband, there probably was no right answer here. tell me i’m skinny? i’ll call you a liar. tell me i’m looking bigger? i’ll cry some more.

well…i’ve stuffed my bloated body into something that doesn’t zip up the entire way, and i’ve come to terms with this. it’s monday morning. i’m starting fresh. i’ve got the entire week to lose this weight, and my god, i’m SOO losing this weight.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Entourage was so good last night.
Eric has his first threesome.
Ari has several awesome breakdowns.
Lloyd kicks ass…but only gets paid in yen.
The boys are fucked.

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