My Diet

I know dieting is so not me, but ever since I had some sort of heart attack scare several days ago, I got to thinking more about it and now, I could name a million and one reasons why I really should go on a diet.

Off the top of my head, I should go on a diet because I think, somewhere down the cruel road of depression, panic attacks and agoraphobia I took, I developed hypochondria and I am perpetually thinking about how I could just drop dead any second. Another reason, and I think this is the reason most obese 26 year-olds have for even thinking of going on a diet, is that aside from my girlfriend, I feel like no member of the opposite sex ever finds me attractive anymore.

Don’t get me wrong here, I don’t want to lose weight so I could effectively cheat on my girlfriend but rather because I want to be seen by members of the opposite sex with the same amount of lust I feel when I look at women from Fashion TV. Also, it would be great if I could convince my girlfriend to make sweet love to me again. I mean, really, I only have vague, splintery memories of how sex feels like and from what I remember, it is rather pleasant and it’s something I wouldn’t mind having again. Please.

I’ve given this a lot of thought lately and I kinda figured out how I came to be the beach whale that I am. First of all, my family, especially on the father side, have a tendency to either be hypertensive, or really fucking fat. For the benefit of my readers who failed to graduate high school, this is what us learned people call “genetics.”

Second, and most important of all, there’s the fact that I just love to eat. For instance, there are numerous instances where I’d be standing in front of a Sbarro counter, musing on whether or not I should get a large order of stromboli with my thick slice of pizza and full order of ziti. I mean, after all, If I am not able to finish my food in one sitting, I could always have it wrapped and eat it at home. However, what usually happens is that 30 minutes after I engage myself with this contemplation and after a lot of grunting, wiping of sweat and a tears, all that remain are the plates my stromboli, pizza and ziti originally came in and shredded pieces of table napkin (yes, I know, don’t tell me. I know table napkin is not edible, but have you ever heard of that thing called “getting lost in the moment?” Also, what the fuck are you? An NBI agent? Asshole.)

Of course there’s my perennial problem of alcoholism. Because I am ignorant and uncultured, I never drink any other alcoholic drink aside from beer. And really, I fucking love beer; seriously, there were many a time when I had nothing but beer to point to/blame for making out with ugly women, saying inappropriate stuff to women and watching male-male-animal porn clips on my mobile phone while yelling at people and forcing them to listen to me talk about my untarnished record of heterosexuality. In other words, beer always had my back.

But what I found out, and this is probably common knowledge to the rest of you people, but then again you’re not too busy being famous and successful to wikipedia the shit out of such trivial things as beer like I am, that beer packs solid calories.

Actually, calories and a bunch of other crazy stuff that when taken in excess will make you say stuff like “What do you mean I can’t fly using a blanket and a coat hanger? Of course I can! All I have to do is call my good friend Ninoy Aquino and jump off that balcony over there.”

Alternatively, I can just go to the gym and sweat off all the shit I’ve been eating but come on; do you think I can afford gym membership considering I’m paying 30,000 pesos a month for a house that hasn’t even been built yet? Let’s not forget the 100,000+ pesos I owe HSBC too.

So I dunno, at this juncture, dieting is the only logical thing to do for me. The thing is I know shit about dieting but this, my good friends, is where you come in. I’m pretty sure some of you are like health buffs or something, why don’t you do me a solid here and tell me how I can go about this entire dieting thing.

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