Making points

Going back to Weight Watchers always makes me feel a little bit like I'm in the witness protection program. I start fresh in a new city, or even just a new part of an old city, and even I feel new. For all anyone knows, I could have been rescued by Richard Simmons on one of his home invasions and have dropped dozens more pounds than I've actually been able to. There's an element of excitement to each new beginning.

And then, circa meeting four, the novelty wears off. You realize that Weight Watchers meetings are much like TGI Fridays: although the framed baseball jerseys amazingly bear the names of local HS teams, the Milwaukee artichoke dip tastes surprisingly just like it did in Gainesville.

For example, no matter where you weigh in, there is always one woman who thinks everyone has gathered to hear her share her personal stories. The ever-effervescent Dub Dub leader poses the benign question, "what challenges did you face this week?" For those new to the adventure that is WW, this is similar to someone seeing you in the work hallway and asking you how your day is going. They want five words or less. More than that, and they talk about you on IM when they get back to their cubes.

Although the leader does her best to ignore Miss DiPesto, she is the only one with a raised hand. Old timers groan upon seeing this. Said woman then launches into a full-blown diatribe on how difficult it was to avoid the Gouda at her nephew's bris, and wouldn't you think she'd be able to stop eating altogether that day - you know, given that penis surgery was happening right there? But she ate it anyhow! Next week should be better, though, because then she'll be over her period.

A member shuffles her small child from the room and I'm convinced that this visual will help at least three others cease eating altogether until the next meeting.

There is also the one Weight Watcher who comes to a meeting fully clad, weighed down by multiple wool sweaters and bling and lead boots. She then proceeds to hold up the line of those waiting to weigh, carefully removing hairpieces, hearing aids, press-on nails, and teeth in an effort to lose that .6 of a pound. We've ALL been there, sweetheart. It's just that most of us think twice before resorting to stepping on a public scale wearing only a n*de bodysuit.

Finally, there is always a little envy in the newbie group when a new mom joins. Is it because of the glow she wears proudly, her precious newborn barely visible under his blankies? No. It's because when you read the week 1 manual, you see that nursing moms get to eat like 4,000 MORE CALORIES THAN YOU DO. And suddenly having babies doesn't seem so bad.

Commence Blog Pimping

In unrelated news, I'm a finalist!



Winning this award would:

1) enable me to stop the 5 am ice dancing practices my mother has had me going to since the 4th grade, because I would FINALLY BE GOOD AT SOMETHING, and MAYBE WOULD GET MYSELF A MAN (as if ice dancing was ever my stud ticket),

2) avenge my being the bottom of Troop 12’s Samoa sellers in the Spring of ‘83,

3) prompt the beau to reconsider our breakup decision, as a good, honest woman with a blog award is hard to find in these parts, and

4, and perhaps most importantly) enable me to be known for something other than that one, silly little episode of Elimidate.

Cheers.