Day One of My 100 Pound Count Down. Here's what this is. It's my journey to lose myself. Well, half of myself - the fat half. The half that says, "You can't wear that. People will think you're fat!" or the "No one will ever love you, let alone send you a valentine card," half. I want to save the, "Hey! It's the weekend! Let's hit the beach in a polka dot bikini and damn the excess skin flapping around looking like a squid crawled in my binki bottom" me.

So, I'm not going to wallow in negativity about it because who wants to read that crap? Not me! Hopefully I will maintain my sense of humor throughout this whole process. But I'm not making any promises. I get mean without soda. So, here's the deal. I have two cats — well, kittens actually. One is named "Baby," and the other is named "Sugar." They're three months old, maybe four. They're sisters. And, they're going on this journey with me.  

P.S. I didn't name them those things because I'm southern, but because those are their personalities. I only had Barbie dolls for one year of my life and they lost their heads to an armed invasion of green plastic Army dolls (remember those?). My brother and I melted them on a bare light bulb in his bedroom just because we could, and I was never entrusted with another doll for the rest of my life. It's probably better that way.

Anyway, "Sugar" loves to eat, just like me. She was the runt and I worried about her at first since Baby outweighed her for the first two months. Now Sugar is the "chunky monkey" and together, we're going to have to learn "portion control." Baby eats until she's full and then walks away, leaving perfectly good salmon pate in her bowl. Sugar, trying to be helpful I'm sure, will eat it just because it's there. I'm sensing a theme here.

I too hate to leave food on a plate. The alternative is to scrape it into cheap, crappy looking plastic storage bins and put it in the fridge until it grows legs and is big enough to take over the vegetable drawer. Who wants to kill a living thing? Even if it is a fungus, it's heartbreaking. So, portion control it is. Okay. I'm bored and tired already. So this is short.

More tomorrow. Then I'll bore you with goals and all that. I'm actually considering naming every one of my 100 pounds after some skanky, nasty, moronic jerk in my life that I'm trying to get rid of. Then I can accomplish two things at once - lose the weight and lose, metaphorically speaking, the person. I'll need to sleep on that. So, till tomorrow!