Not a Moment Too Soon

Well, I went to Weight Watchers tonight and let me tell you – it was not a single minute too soon!! Because, damn, I’m a disgrace. Not only have I gained back all the weight I lost, I gained an extra six and a half. Because I’m an overachiever, you know. But I went, so it’s a start. Not a great start, mind you, but a start nonetheless.

As always, I stayed fore the meeting, even though I hate it. Not since my very first group back in 1995 have I ever really benefited from the “support” of the meetings. That group and leader were awesome. Since then, the meetings have been sometimes interesting, but mostly irritating. The main thing that I get from Weight Watchers is getting my fat ass on a scale that someone else is looking at. But even though I really don’t get the “support” part of the meeting, somehow they help me. Maybe it’s like giving myself a time out: “young lady, until you lose this weight, you are going to sit through a session of fatasses anonymous every single week!” Or maybe having 30 whole minutes of doing something that doesn’t involve picking someone up, dropping someone off, cleaning, working, or wiping someone’s ass just helps me recharge a little. Or maybe I’m just waiting for the day that the know-it-all gets in a kung-fu fight with the loud talker so I can snap some photos and share them with you.

Anyway, as predicted, the meeting was full of mental rejects and jackholes. The leader is less than charismatic; devoid of any personality whatsoever. There are the women that talk during the entire meeting (not that I am really paying all that much attention anyway but it’s rude). There is the woman who is making excuses, which is annoying because we are at weight watchers for Christ’s sake – we’re fat - we have heard – and implemented - every single excuse you could come up with. I really don’t care one way or another if you lose weight. I care if I lose weight, so whether you are “pulled in so many directions” is of absolutely no consequence to me. And also? Spare me. You’re young, unmarried, working part-time and without kids. Let some of us old, tired, married mothers with full-time jobs and 2 hours of commuting talk to you about “being pulled.”

And there is always at least one “educator.” You often see educators at sporting event, where they talk loudly about their superior knowledge of the game, in order to share the wealth of their great and deep encyclopedic (and often incorrect) mind. But an educator at weight watchers is far more painful. Because at a sporting event, you can get away with saying, “shut the fuck up, douchebag.” But at Weight Watchers? Not so much. So you have to listen to them drone on and on about everything there is to know about weight loss and exercise, ever, while only dreaming about kicking their ass. And as a bonus, many times more than one educator are BFFs and come together and they love to casually mention their BFF escapades so that everyone knows that they are BFFs (in addition to being brilliant). Like we give a rat’s ass!

Then, there is the woman who Will. Not. Shut. Up. And this is coming from one of the all-time greatest talking talkers, so believe me – she is long fucking winded. And stupid. It’s a super combo that leads to fascinating conversation. Except for the “super” part. And the “fascinating” part. And the “conversation” part, since she’s just flapping and yapping about honey mustard and some fucking cake and how she only ate two pieces (????) and honey mustard and daddy and honey mustard and honey mustard and honey mustard! And it’s kind of the opposite of “conversation.” And she seems like she might just be a few card short of a deck, and you know people who are a few cards short of a deck don’t give a shit about social norms and self-awareness and don’t even fucking notice the eye-rolling and death stares being thrown their way and the just keep on talking about the god-forsaken honey mustard, and the house plant of a leader is no match for this mental giant and Oh My God, why couldn’t I just keep the damned weight off and save myself from this horror?????

Good times.

Oh – and I almost forgot the best part. I walked in and was quite happy to see a rather short line at the scales. But then I saw something that made my blood run cold. A man. There was a man working the scales! I’d rather have a man examine my cervix than weigh my fat ass in a weight watchers. And yes, I know that everyone who works there is a member, so they’ll know what it is like. Whatever. But let me tell you this – they should never let a man work the WW scales unless it’s an all-male meting. Because men are clueless? And they do not know how to act. Case in point – in the past, hen I have lapsed and gone back to weight watchers (sadly, yes, it has been more than once), the women at the scales are extremely reassuring. They see the terror in your eyes and they cheer you on and let you know that getting there is the fist step and that you shod be proud for taking that step. A man? Acts like you have informed him you will be dining on his testicle when you explain to him that you are back after a long absence. And when you try to break the tension by joking, “I’m up a few pounds since last time” (hahaha), a man will raise his eyebrows and say, (I fucking shit you not) “You have a lot of work ahead of you.” Weight Watchers apparently fails to realize that:

Man working scales + Cranky fat bitch = someone is getting punched in the face.

If you run into Florene Marks, let her know for me, mkay?

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After that barrel of monkeys, I was almost killed in a fiery death crash by a phenomenon known as “Two Assholes Having An Asshole Contest”

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But then I came home and was cheered up by a funny comment (and let’s be honest here, any comment cheers me up, given the dearth of them that I usually face, so one that makes me laugh? Gravy).

And then I got cheerier when I checked the mail and found a letter informing me that my little photographer has won an award at the regional level.

And then the little photographer came home from his karate testing night and informed me that I was looking at a newly crowned blue belt. Yay for the boy!