So I can't find them, and I say to the bored, surly looking teenager who is "working" there, "Excuse me? Can you help me find-"
and before I even finish my sentence, he says, "You want Alli, right? We're all sold out. Sorry."
Have you heard of this product? Apparently it's very similar to Orlistat. The website that I found regarding it says that the potential side effects are:
- gas with oily spotting
- loose stools
- more frequent stools that may be hard to control
So I got pissed, which I seem to be doing a lot of lately and said, "Thanks so much for not helping me at all! I'll find what I need myself."
And I stalked off. Like he cared or something.
I mentioned in my other blog recently, I’m pissed about my weight loss struggle, and hell, my life in general these days.
Because, I? Am fat. And I? Am trying to lose weight. And I? Am going mental.
My body hates me. It freaking hates me. If I’m not having a period, I’m gearing up to have one. I’m bloated. I take a water pill and don’t pee for fourteen hours. I’m constipated. I eat my normal ridiculous amount of daily fiber and swallow four fiber capsules a day. Does anything happen, other than me getting really ticked off and irritated and cranky and wanting to scream? No.
But I persevere! I continue on my stupid quest for weight loss and good health. I say “no” to chocolate covered marshmallows. I say “no” to cakes and cookies and all manner of deliciousness. I say “yes indeed” to a crap ton of broccoli and things with skim milk and various soy products and so much water I could personally stop the drought with my stream of injustice.
I stay true to Weight Watchers. I follow my eight healthy guidelines. I use only my allotted Points value each day. I don’t exercise enough, but I do some. I don’t even count the amount of walking I have to do daily at work just to get to my office, but I think it should count for SOMETHING.
I have two solid weeks of being absolutely perfect with my eating. I don’t eat any crap. I drink all my water, and then some. I weigh and measure and record each and every bite that goes in my mouth.
And I get on the scale, expecting good things.
And do you know what the scale said?
I had lost .2 pounds.
Not 2 pounds.
I looked at the scale in horror and disbelief, called it a lying bastard, and then cried.
I was thinking in my head, “If I had known that bastard was going to show me THAT I would have just eaten the cake.”
Because, seriously. How fair is that?
I used to go to this one gym that I really loved and there was a lady there who started going at the same time as me. She and I were close in age, close in weight, close in height. We became treadmill buddies. By the time I had lost 10 pounds, she had lost 20. By the time I had lost 20 pounds, she had lost 50. Fifty pounds.
She ate Taco Bell, EVERY FREAKING DAY. She laughed about it. She would bring it into the gym and eat it before she got on the treadmill.
Maybe all the beans in that Mexican food had a laxative effect. I don’t know. What I do know is it made me really freaking irritated that I worked so hard and didn’t lose fifty pounds.
I know, I know. Everyone is different. Some people are slow losers. I have a hormone imbalance. Maybe I’ll have a great week next week. Twenty-two pounds overall isn’t so bad,
Blahdy freaking blah.
I just want to be healthy. I just want to not be obese. I don’t want to be on the cover of Shape magazine with flat abs. I just want to be…normal. I want to feel okay in shorts. I want to not feel like everyone is looking at me because I have fantastic hair, not because they think my husband has no business being with someone as overweight and unattractive as I am. I want to be able to run. I want to get old. I want to meet my grandkids someday. I want to dance at my son’s wedding and cheer the loudest of anyone at my daughter’s Presidential Swearing-In Ceremony.
I know I can’t live and die by the scale. I know that. I just wish it would cut me a freaking break every now and then.
And I don't need some 18 year old asshat trying to peddle diet drugs at me.