Eating, Praying and Loving…oy vay
Written on August 26, 2010 at 1:31 pm, by Mary Hogan
All I have to say is this: Leaving Billy Crudup, James Franco and (almost) Javier Bardem for some floating, unspecific dissatisfaction with your life? Get over yourself, girl. Glad to see you finally have, Liz.
Today
Written on August 6, 2010 at 7:22 am, by Mary Hogan
Today is my first official day as an anti-blogger. My palms are a bit sweaty, but here I go. Here’s what I want to know: Why is a puppy’s squeaky toy made with an inedible, plastic squeaker? The first thing a puppy does is dig it out of the fabric and eat it. Is this a secret ploy to get us to watch our pets more closely? Thoughts?
Meet Mr. Bill, my pup Lucy's favorite squeaky toy. Oh no!
I eat…therefore I ham????
Written on August 2, 2010 at 3:28 pm, by Mary Hogan
Me, Mary, the reluctant blogger.
My name is Mary and I have a fat HEAD. There, I’ve said it out loud. I’ve taken the first step in my fat head recovery. I am powerless over the fact that I THINK I’m fatter than I am. Which means I will never feel thin until I literally change my mind.
Ugh. I’ve struggled with my body and its propensity to break out in fat all my life, now I have to tackle my fat head, too? Yes. I’m sure this is the ANSWER, the WAY, the KEY. Isn’t it? And yes, I often talk to myself in questions. You do? Yes, I do.
So, here’s the thing: About a year ago, I started an experiment: I began to slim down my fat HEAD. Diets are dead. Everyone knows that. But, what’s a well-rounded girl to do? Let it all hang out? Not me. Ever the optimist, I was determined to find a way to maintain my shape while others around me–in the world at extra large–were losing theirs. This time, I vowed to start at the top. My HEAD.
For one year, the plan was to change the way I THINK, to explore what it takes to rewire my brain and transform my fat head into a thin body.
Piece of cake.
Check back to hear how the year really went. HINT: My head feels slightly slimmer, but I still have back fat rolls above and below my bra. Must I now live a year of lipo? Hmmmm.
Day 48: The Costco Disconnection
Written on July 8, 2010 at 8:51 am, by Mary Hogan
I rarely touch doorknobs, go berserk when someone coughs without covering their mouth, refuse to palm a subway strap, yet I’ll eat ANYTHING in a Costco! What’s up with that? It’s as if all those bright lights blind me. Thin thinking is out the window even though there are no windows in a Costco. (Is that their master plan? Like a casino?)
My final frontier (okay, one of my final frontiers) is to pass one of those Costco microwaves without shoving my way into the crowd. Particularly a crowd waiting for sausage. Frightening.
Any tips?
Day 45: Glutenous Maximus
Written on July 6, 2010 at 8:33 am, by Mary Hogan
I’m alergic to wheat. I’m convinced of it. The reason I think so is because I had dinner with my friend, Dana, and she told me she was “off gluten.”
“Why?” I asked, alarmed. “Isn’t gluten a critical ingredient in everything delicious and, and…round?”
“Yes,” she said. “it is.”
“Then why have you forsaken it?”
Dana explained that eating wheat gave her a stomach ache, made her skin flush and zapped all her energy. “And wheat makes me bloated.”
My ears perked up. “I’m bloated,” I said. “I’m bloated all the time. I’m bloated right now beneath my Spanx.”
“There you go.”
I stopped eating gluten that night. Perhaps wheat was the culprit all these years! Was it really gas in there, not fat? Does gluten cause thigh and ass bloating, too?
Today, I go to Whole Foods and stock up on gluten-free English muffins, tortillas, rice bread and Teriyaki-style sauces. (Soy sauce has gluten? Are you kidding me?) This weekend, I plan to make gluten-free pancakes and top them with sugar-free maple syrup. My Year of Thinking Thinly is looking up.
Day 40: Thin Commandment Number Two
Written on June 17, 2010 at 2:09 pm, by Mary Hogan
2. THOU SHALT PAY FOR CALORIC SINS WITHIN 24 HOURS
Years ago, my mother explained to me how she put on a lifetime of extra pounds. Besides the fact that she had five kids in quick succession—the nausea crackers alone would add twenty pounds—she described it thusly:
“You go a little astray one night at dinner and nervously weigh yourself in the morning. Amazingly, the damage isn’t bad. So you think, ‘Whew, I dodged that bullet’ and let your guard down the rest of the day. Time gets away from you and you slip-up all week. You tell yourself you’ll do better over the weekend. But you forgot about the birthday party on Saturday. How can you not eat cake? You hope the scale won’t notice. Plus, you’re dead-tired after the party so you pick up McDonald’s for dinner. Then, on Sunday, you figure, ‘What the heck, I’ll start fresh on Monday.’
Of course, by Monday, the scale has caught up to you. You can’t believe your eyes. It must be a mistake. Depressed, you give yourself a lift by going out to dinner. Heck, your diet is in the toilet anyway, might as well have bread and dessert. Before you know it, it’s Tuesday, then Wednesday, and who starts a new diet in the middle of the week??”
I grew up feeling like fat was around every corner, waiting to sneak up on me. As if fat were following me through the streets of Venice. I could escape down a dark alley, hop on a gondola, dart under a bridge, but eventually fat and I were going to run into each other. Probably while I was eating pasta with a cannoli chaser.
Day 35: Sylvie’s Morning After
Written on May 29, 2010 at 10:50 am, by Mary Hogan
The following email from Sylvie arrives the next day:
“MARY!!! Last night we ate with some friends on the West Side and I had….MEAT. AGAIN. Steak au Poivre. Today I feel stuffed, fat, thick, dense, slow, slovenly and fat-bellied. Ewwww. That’s what so much sat fat in a day (on top of a bagel) will do. “
Well, what do you know? Thinnies pay the piper, too. They, too, wake up in the morning with an unfamiliar lump in their bed—abdominal bulge—regretting their behavior the day before. I feel elated. Not for Sylvie’s dietary misfortune, but for the confirmation that DNA is not my destiny. Sylvie’s morning after leads me to believe that “naturally” thin is a crock. A full week of steakhouses and Sylvie would be well on her way to being me.
I call Sylvie to commiserate, but she’s already back on the wagon. Apparently, feeling “dense, slow and slovenly” didn’t appeal to her. Which leads me to Thin Commandment Number Two. Whether “naturally” thin or “unnaturally” calorie-controlled, skinny women pay as they go.
Day 34: My tffs
Written on May 28, 2010 at 12:31 pm, by Mary Hogan
Unbelievably, I have several Thin Female Friends. My tffs.
I say “unbelievably” because I just read an article about how fatties hang with fatties and thinnies hang with thinnies and your peer group plays a huge part in determining whether you’ll ever allow yourself to be seen in a bathing suit. I’m stunned that my tffs have lovingly welcomed me into their exclusive bikini-clad club.
The last time I was seen in a bathing suit….well, remember that scene in Jaws? The girl’s head bobbing in the ocean at midnight? That’s how I’ll let myself be “seen” in a swim suit. Just my head and a large, circling fin.
Today, to further my study on skinniness, I’m taking my slender friend Sylvie to lunch so she can walk me through her menu-reading process. This is New York City, after all. If I’m going to think thinly, I’d better figure out how to do it in a restaurant.
Sylvie is a long, lean, gorgeous drink of water. The kind of woman most men know instantly they could never have. And her thinness is my favorite kind. It truly looks effortless. Like she was born in a Ralph Lauren ad, not raised in a gym.
We meet at a great NYC steakhouse. They serve homemade popovers in the bread basket. It’s easy to think thinly in a sushi bar, I figure. But a steakhouse? With homemade popovers? And top sirloin with herb and marrow butter? And Kobe beef with fois gras? Well.
“Bring it on,” Sylive says. Not nearly enough? Read on...
Day 32: Under Pressure
Written on May 26, 2010 at 7:23 am, by Mary Hogan
Something has happened. I woke up…swollen. My whole body is, uh, puffy. Especially my stomach, thighs and butt. I think it must be the humidity. Can barometric pressure make you fat? My husband, Bob, gently suggests that my current state of billowiness may be from “all those dinners out.” There has been wine involved. And dessert.
Can popularity make you fat?
I’ve invited my tff (thin female friend) Sylvie out to lunch…with wine and dessert…to find out how she stays thin even though she’s wildly popular. Stay tuned. A full (billowy?) report to come.
Day 30: Vanity Fare
Written on May 16, 2010 at 11:10 am, by Mary Hogan
My afternoon watching thinnies on Madison Avenue taught me the first major lesson of thinking thinly. Vanity. Thin women are more vain than fatties. In a good way. They put effort into their appearance. Even if the goal is to make their appearance look effortless. And they notice when other women don’t.
A few years ago, after spending an obscene amount of money to have my eyebrows waxed and plucked by the best brow stylist in New York City, one of my tffs (thin female friends) noticed the improvement instantly and said, “It’s time you spent money on your haircut, too.”
It’s not that I had a bad haircut, or a unibrow for that matter, it’s just that I always thought I looked good enough. I preferred to spend my money on other things, like a road trip to Meers, Oklahoma to eat the perfect burger. (Definitely worth the trip!)
Thin women, I’m beginning to understand, constantly strive to look their best. Even when no one is looking. It’s a vanity thing. And thin and fat vanities, I discover, are two very different species.
Thin Vanity: Looking my best is an everyday thing.
Fat Vanity: I’ll pull myself together for the wedding.
Thin Vanity: My mirror is my friend.
Fat Vanity: If I never look in a mirror, I can imagine anything.
Thin Vanity: Quality and fit are everything.
Fat Vanity: Comfort is everything.
Thin Vanity: Looking great is worth the effort.
Fat Vanity: Polyester is worth not ironing.
Thin Vanity: I’d rather look good than eat that.
Fat Vanity: I look okay from the front, at an angle. I can repair the damage tomorrow.
Fatties, and fat-heads, like myself tend to kick the calorie can down the road. And we rarely look at our cans at all. I have not truly examined my rear end in years. Even in a dressing room’s three-way mirror, I focus on the front. I become two-dimensional. It’s not like I’m ever going to back into a room, I figure. Most people see me from the front and every room—except the Oval Office—has a flattering corner.
If the President should ever invite me over, I’ll pull myself together for the meeting.
Crap Happens
Written on May 11, 2010 at 12:40 pm, by Mary Hogan
Hi All: Sorry I’ve been incommunicado. A few crappy things, lifewise, have happened. But, I’m back in blogdom. How is everyone???
Oscar Fright
Written on March 8, 2010 at 4:48 pm, by Mary Hogan
A frightfully thin Suzy Cameron on Oscar Night
Suzy Cameron may have gone green in her recycled gown on last night’s Red Carpet, but I wish she’d gone for a burger, instead. Who else noticed those painfully thin arms and VSBs (Visible Sternum Bones)? I’m all for a little clavicle ridge, but James, please, get your wife some dinner and some help. She needs to EAT!!
Day 25: The Thin Commandments
Written on March 11, 2010 at 1:37 pm, by Mary Hogan
Three and a half weeks into my Year of Living Thinly and I realize I’m a bit at sea. And not on a cruise ship with an unlimited buffet, either. More like a Gilligan’s Island-type of raft made from coconut shells. I have no idea what I’m doing and I’ll probably be sinking soon.
I need a list. Thin guidelines to live by. Maybe a tattoo on my snacking hand?
My list begins. I call it my Thin Commandments.
1. Thou shalt never get too hungry.
Admittedly, this isn’t fresh turf. All experienced dieters know that hunger is the enemy of intellect and resolve. In the same way asphyxia produces a “high” just before a person lapses into unconsciousness, hunger messes with your head. Intelligent decisions are impossible on an empty stomach. Just ask Renee Zellweger the day she married Kenny Chesney.
Until I began living thinly, however, I never understood how much advance planning is required. You can’t leave a single meal, snack or grocery run up to chance. Certainly not a trip to Costco. This, I discover, is the first major emotional hurdle in my Year of Living Thinly. Darn it, I don’t want to plan ahead. It’s hard enough remembering to program my DVR. I crave spontaneity. I want to be free. I want to live with the wind in my hair and interesting food on my plate. Not nearly enough? Read on...
DAY 23: The Anaconda
Written on March 8, 2010 at 12:10 pm, by Mary Hogan
My hunger is an anaconda. It wraps itself around my middle and squeezes the life out of me. I fall asleep with it at night, wake up with it in the morning. By noon, the anaconda is disrupting the blood flow to my brain.
Diane, my skinny sister, insists I’m doing something wrong. “You shouldn’t be hungry,” she says. “It’s all about choices. Choose more filling food.” I want to choose to fill her with cruciferous vegetables and withhold the Beano. I now get why those girls on America’s Next Top Model are always up in each other’s faces. It’s hunger. How can you be pleasant when you’re being crushed by a giant snake?
DAY 22: Leg Work
Written on March 1, 2010 at 11:56 am, by Mary Hogan
Today, I’m undercover. I’m sitting on a bench, on Madison Avenue, outside a restaurant appropriately called, “E.A.T.”
The name says it all. Yummy.
The fat me would have been sitting here with one of their flax seed muffins, eating it from the bag the way a bum drinks whiskey. The thin me chose fruit salad. I picked fruit salad because the skinny woman ahead of me in line asked for it.
“No grapes, please,” she said.
Worried that I’d get all her discarded grapes, I quickly said, “How weird is that? I don’t like grapes, either!”
She gave me a look. So did the guy behind the counter. I ignored them both and made a mental note that thin women have no problem asking for food exactly the way they want it. In fact, my thin friend, Claudia, is notorious for annoying waiters—and everyone at her table—by reconfiguring all the items listed on a menu.
“I’ll have the lemon chicken. Only, could you ask the chef to make it with lime? And tofu?”
Before I began living thinly, I would have hoped that my fruit salad at E.A.T. was primarily honeydew melon and strawberries. Now, I requested it that way and stared down the counter guy with my newly-thinned attitude. Was I already becoming a skinny bitch? Cool. Like smoking in the Catholic School bathroom.
The View…From Here
Written on February 25, 2010 at 2:04 pm, by Mary Hogan
Who saw Giuliana Rancic and her hubby, Bill, on The View this morning? 
While I applaud G’s honesty, I could not believe my ears. Struggling with infertility, the E! fashion reporter was told by her doc to gain “5 to 10 pounds” so her too-thin body would begin to ovulate normally again. Bill wisely cut his wife off when she blamed her calorie restriction on her stylist who insists on bringing her only sample sizes to wear!
How far have we sunk when a woman has to forgo OVULATION to look good on TV????
Peanut Butter and Me…A Love Story
Written on February 20, 2010 at 5:26 pm, by Mary Hogan
There are very few foods that I cannot share an apartment with. One is (sadly) chips. I have tried, honestly I have. I’ve lived with Latin lovers, inviting tortilla chips into my home. I’ve gone baked, kettled, salt-free. My latest attempt at a normal relationship was puffed. Puffed rice chips, puffed corn chips, puffed potato chips. I thought, foolishly, that air might slow the oil derrick motion of my arm around a bag of chips. Yet, the only puffiness left in my house was me.
Now, five months into my Year of Living Thinly, I have finally made peace with the irreconcilable differences I have with chips. It’s no one’s fault. We’re just toxic with one another. It’s time for me to move on with my life.
I have.
I’m in love.
The object of my affection is a little chunky, but I don’t care. Peanut Butter and I are inseparable.
They said it wouldn’t last, but we’re going strong. I buy my chunky love in bulk, even have backups in the freezer. What can I say? True love is beyond anyone’s control. At times, it’s hard to swallow. It sticks to the roof of your mouth and gets painfully stuck in the middle of your chest, but you don’t care. Love hurts sometimes. That’s the way it is.
DAY 15: Bob’s Butt Crack (Optical Delusions)
Written on February 18, 2010 at 5:23 pm, by Mary Hogan
For the first time in…forever, my husband Bob said something negative about my weight.
“So, how’s your Year of Living Thinly going?” he asked.
An innocuous question, much like, “Have you heard from your mother lately?” or “Did you finish updating your website?” Had I not been standing there naked, I would have tossed it off as the daily banter between husband and wife. The fact that Bob suddenly dropped to the floor to do sit-ups should have clued me in.
“Great,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” Six, seven, eight.
“Is it my…butt?” I asked, gingerly. Not nearly enough? Read on...
Lucy’s First (and Second) Snow
Written on March 8, 2010 at 1:13 pm, by Mary Hogan
Three-month-old Lucy...our Jackson Pollack puppy
Yes…I know it’s hopelessly lame posting puppy photos.
What can I say? Love makes you act foolishly.
Five months old. My Black and White pup with her Black and White soccer ball. Already stylish.
Our Arkansas rescue pup LOVES snow.
Who would have figured?
Six months old and GROWING!!!
Lest you think Lucy is banned from all indoor shelter, here she is in my office.
Note the plywood cover over the trash can on the left. Lucy loves snow and Kleenex. All fluffy white stuff. She’s such a girl.
Yo Ralph, Is This a Joke?
Written on February 16, 2010 at 5:51 pm, by Mary Hogan
You have GOT to be kidding me. Anybody know the skinny on this infamous Ralph Lauren ad? Obviously digitally thinned. But, who’s responsible? RL or a hoax?