To Eat Or Not To Eat; That Is The Question

So we're all well aware by now that I'll be packing my suitcase full of itty bitty bikinis and sunglasses over the next couple days because I'm going on a cruise next week to the Caribbean. If you weren't aware of that, well then where the heck have you been? I've only been bragging about it obnoxiously for the past month now because I'm so excited. I wish I could even remotely say that I'm sorry about it.

But with all that excitement also comes the dread of having to fit into all of those itty bitty bikinis. Because besides the cocktail dresses I'll be throwing on for the best dinners ever, bikinis are about the only outfits I'll be wearing on the ship. And attempting to not feel like a sack of potatoes was shoved into each one of my extremities is a hard feat to accomplish when we just made our way out of the fattest month of the year. Thanksgiving to Christmas: the happiest days out of all 365 but also the ones where I tend to pack away more food than an entire state park full of chipmunks. 

Not a good look for my bright coral Victoria's Secret booty hugging bikini bottoms…

And that's why I've been (attempting) to work that booty off at the gym for the past couple months as well as trying to get some Tone It Up work outs in whenever I can. But this shit is HARD. Like real hard. The gym part isn't really the tough part for me. I can bang out 45 minutes of cardio on some machines and then get to work doing strength training/toning circuits afterwards. Yeah there are plenty of days I choose to go home and sit on the couch instead, but when I'm actually at the gym I don't want to kill myself.

The tough part for me is the eating. Up until about maybe a year or two ago I ate whatever I damn pleased without ever having to worry about it. Sure I wasn't the healthiest ever but I didn't put on weight. And when you're 21, you kind of only really care about the weight portion of the equation not going to shit and not so much whether your arteries are free of clogs or not. But then your metabolism starts going down the toilet as fast as the puke did on your 21st birthday and you suddenly go, uh oh. And then you actually have to start thinking about what you put in your body for reasons other than keeping your cholesterol down and your heart healthy. What in the actual fuq?

And now here I am at 24 and a half plus five days (my half birthday was January 3rd and NOBODY bought me a present) (I'm still mad about it) and I have to tell myself not to eat crap or I'm going to look like crap on this cruise.

I've been doing pretty damn good over the past week. And thankfully enough for me, my weight fluctuates more than a chick's mood during her period, so I can easily just decrease my caloric intake by A LOT and actually drop pounds quickly. For instance, I weighed myself about a week or two ago and was sitting pretty (or not for my body frame) at 118 pounds. Fast forward to yesterday and I'm hovering around 113. I lost five pounds just from not ordering Chipotle four days a week/Chinese take out the other three and substituting meals for much smaller portions of non-processed or packaged "clean eats". P.S. I despise that term just about as much as #soblessed.

But then last night I got to thinking, why am I doing this to myself? I don't really enjoy eating like a bunny trapped in an organic garden. "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" is a load of crap because what tastes good to me are Dorito tacos from T-Bell, and calorie ridden margaritas, and chicken wings with a side of blue cheese and then another side of blue cheese. That's the shit that makes me happy. Probably way more happy than a bangin' body for a week on a cruise ship. Right?

So then I got my ass up and made myself Peanut Butter Snickers Apple Slices.

Four apple slices. One tablespoon of peanut butter. Two mini Snickers. Spread the PB and slice the Snickers and you have yourself one little heavenly dish of a snack. 

But now it's morning and I'm once again trying not to pick up the fridge and pour the contents of it straight into my mouth. Which brings me to my current back and forth struggle of "I really just love eating, who the hell cares if I'm pushing 120lbs" and "I really just want a bangin' body and my petite frame needs to hover closer to 110, so let's stay on track girlfriend." Blah blah blah, basically.

Do any of you fluctuate in weight as quickly and easily as I do? How do you keep yourself at the lower end of the up and down roller coaster the scale continuously shows you? 

P.S. the moral of the story here is apparently that I need to just go back to my philosophy of never even stepping on the scale. It makes life way easier. Numbers cause my brain to go all bat shit crazy and I certainly don't need any more of that in this lifetime of mine. So here's to just getting a tan on the first day and automatically looking five pounds skinnier without even having to do anything. Insert "thumbs up" iPhone emoji here. Plus quite a few sunshines and cocktails afterwards.