The truth of the matter.

I have a few common sayings that I throw around in my daily conversation a lot. Maybe a little too much. One of them is “to be honest” as if it needs to be clarified when I am being honest or when I am stretching the truth a little. Another favourite is “at the end of the day”. This one is on the verge of over-use and should be retired. But the one that gets thrown around most often is “the truth of the matter is…” I figured that seeing as I say it so damn often, I should actually own the saying for once and tell you once and for all….

At the end of the day, to be honest, the truth of the matter is………this 12wbt means a little bit more to me than I may have led you all to believe. Even more so than the first round that I did ( round 3 2012). It is confession time people. In the spirit of Michelle’s ” say it out loud” mindset task I am going to write about why this next 12 weeks means so much to me. At this stage there is a high likelihood that I will chicken out and relegate this post to the draft folder, never to see the light of your computer screens.

I am 31 and as a side effect of entering my thirties I am experiencing a rather bothersome symptom. It is the very loud and very ominous sound of my biological clock ticking. Now I know that a lot of you might think me crazy to be concerned about this is my very early thirties. Two of my best friends were in their late thirties to early forties when they had their children and even my mother was in her late thirties when she had my younger siblings. That is all fine and well for some but I seem to be reproductively challenged.

If you are familiar with my blogs you will know that I am part of a very special group of people with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. Apart from the joyous symptoms including enough facial hair to participate in Mo-vember, weight gain and thinning of head hair, early miscarriage is another common problem. One that I have become familiar with.

I have a daughter. She is 3. She is my life and I love her desperately. It took me about 7 years to conceive her and after about 8 threatened miscarriages, quite a few hospital visits and a thoroughly entertaining c-section she was born. From the moment she entered the world, my brain went into overload. I had no idea that we as human beings could be capable of loving someone so much. I literally felt that my heart would burst. I remember calling my mother 3 days or so after her birth. I was in quite a state because at that moment it dawned on me that at some point in her life, something or someone was going to hurt her. She might fall, she might get sick, she might have her heart-broken and I was not going to be able to stop it. I was beside myself at the thought and I had to ask my mother the question that all new mothers inevitably ask….

How the hell am I going to be able to protect her from the world? And then the second most common question…When do we stop worrying so much? I needed to know, I felt my brain would spontaneously combust at the thoughts of all the bad things that could happen. If there are any expectant mothers reading this, spoiler alert……The answers were in no way comforting. You cant and You never stop worrying.

As I settled in to those first few months of motherhood in a zombie-esque fashion, I doubted that I would be capable of managing another child. I felt that the love for my daughter was so strong and all-consuming that it may not be possible for me to love a second child as much. Now three and a half years have passed and my daughter is going off to kinder next year. I can finally sit back and recall with strong mental clarity, all of the experiences we had during those first few months. Now that I have finally emerged from that fog of first time motherhood I am able to actually laugh at the things we did.

Like the time that my child had a nappy leakage event with a clean-up operation that rivaled that of the Chernobyl disaster. I recall discovering my child in a strange olive-green jumpsuit that I was certain was originally white. What disturbed me more was the fact that the strange colour change had taken place from neck to knees. Did I run for some paper towel? No. A wash cloth? Nope. Run a bath? No way.

I ran for the phone and called my mum, 4 hours away. Not to ask for help but just because I simply had to tell another person who would appreciate the massive clean-up I was about to undertake. Only another mother could take a phone call like that. I also recall how my sometimes difficult child would only take her bottle whilst hanging upside down from her fathers knees or the time that we literally walked up and down the hallway all night long, tagging in and out like a very long and boring wrestling match.

I think about all of things now and I laugh. And then when I finish laughing, I get sad. Because I want that again. I want another baby.

I think I will be able to audibly hear the gasps and questioning of my sanity from my family even from 400 kilometres away. This admission might come as a surprise. The reason being is that I have had failed attempts over the last few years. Miscarriage at 2 weeks, 3 weeks, 4 weeks. I don’t care how many weeks. It hurts. And I absolutely cannot help but to feel like maybe it was something that I had done wrong. Like if I wasnt so overweight, maybe I would have been able to carry to term.

I would shrug it off. Make out like it wasnt a big deal and that I was expecting it to happen. But man, oh, man. That feeling when the cramping starts is like the ground just falls out from underneath you. Then when you see the blood, you know it’s all over before it even really had a chance to begin. Then you wonder what might have been. If only….You can lie to your friends and your family about how you are fine. You knew it was a high possibility blah,blah, blah, There was still a part of you eyeing the baby clothes at Target. You still couldn’t help looking into the spare room and mentally calculating where the crib would go.

I have spent so long pretending that I did not want another baby. I figured if I faked it long enough eventually the longing would pass. But it didn’t. And life is too short to live a lie. So there it is. This is what the 12wbt means to me. My doctor says that if I can lose 10 kilos, I will find it easier to conceive and have a higher chance of carrying to term. And I have figured out the dilemma about having enough room in my heart for two. It is not that you have to share the love over two children. Quite simply, your heart just gets bigger. The love for your child is infinite and unconditional. Even if she is laying next to me in bed right now asleep and tearing shreds off my legs with her Freddy Kruger style toenails, something she inherited from her father of course.


Happy Size 12 Day

Today is like my birthday. No scrap that. Today is better than my birthday ( sorry mum). Today is Happy size 12 day and it is probably pretty self-explanatory but never-the-less I am going to bang on about it for a good 500 words or so because it is my size 12 day and I’ll rant if I want to 🙂

I bought some new pants and they are…yup, you guessed it…A SIZE 12!!!!!!!!! I seriously cannot remember the last time I was in a 12. It has to be at least 6 years ago but probably closer to 10. For the longest time I have been a 16 and now I am going to let you in on a dirty little secret. Shortly before starting the last round of 12wbt, even the 16’s were getting snug. I couldn’t swallow the idea of jumping up to an 18 pant. It was just far too much to comprehend. The tightening of my waist band along with the deterioration of my health were what sparked me to join Michelle Bridges on her quest for a healthier world.

So I finally experienced the sweet feeling of victory when I got into those pants and they fit. I mean really fit, nice and comfortable like. No seams straining under the pressure of my bulbous butt. No fears of an incredible Hulk like episode as my ass emerged from my pants in an explosion of torn fabric and busted zippers. It was easy, breezy, beautiful. I feel like today should always be my size 12 day. Ideally celebrated with a 12 layer cake, served with 12 different flavours of ice cream and 12 sparkly candles on top.

Nah…if I did that it would become the day I fit into a size 12 for all of five short minutes. The day started out stressful. We braved the local shopping mall to do the Santa photos. My daughter is gorgeous but she is rough as guts. I always find it amusing how she can be obsessed with weddings and fairies and mermaids. She wants to wear the most dainty, pretty dresses and loves it when we pretend she is a princess. She also loves to crawl along the ground. Outside. In the rain. In the mud. In her dresses. Getting her ready for Santa photos was easy. Keeping her clean in the interim between getting ready and actually being photographed takes planning and military style precision.

I managed to time her bath, hair washing and my shower perfectly. We blow dried together, dressed together and I made her sit, perfectly still on my bed while I finished getting ready. So far so good. As I straighten my hair I look over my shoulder and see her using the delicate lace bow on the front of her dress as a tissue to wipe her suddenly snotty nose. Ladies and gentlemen, conniption fit number one.

In the 2 seconds it took me to fish the car key out of my purse, she managed to get in with my rather large, long-haired and incredibly dirty German Shepherd to celebrate international hug a wet dog day. Conniption fit number 2. This was my fault for not thinking to have the car key already in my hand.

Because I freaked out over the near miss with the dog and the white lacy dress, my daughter became confused and thought she was in trouble. So she then did what only a 3-year-old only child can do best. Enter into an immediate sook position, crouched in childs pose on the ground. The dusty, dirty car port ground. Yeah, you know whats next. Conniption fit number 3.

Apparently as soon as the calendar flicked over to December, the entire population of this town, all 100’000 of them, decided that they had to do their christmas shopping. Immediately. Whilst eating ice creams and donuts and carrying overly full fluorescent pink milkshakes and walking directly at us but looking in a completely opposite direction. We ran the gauntlet of food colourings and arrived safely and more importantly cleanly at the gate for Santa. We were first. I began to relax, a little. Until I realised that the girls working the photographic equipment were looking a little strung out. Oh dear God, sweet Jesus, the camera was not working.

We waited, and waited, 10 minutes turned to 20 and the girls started talking of sending us all on our way to come back another time. Feeling sheer panic start to bubble up in my chest, I start thinking of the logistics it would take to get her here again tomorrow in one piece, still clean and tidy. I had no hope. I closed my eyes and prayed that some angel with an IT degree would swoop down and fix the camera. I am not a religious person but desperate times call for desperate measures and all that. Behind my closed eyes, I sense a flash has occurred and I peek out from between my lids to see a look of relief from the Santa girls. It was working. Thank you , thank you, thank you.


The photo happened, It was adorable, it was perfect, my daughter was beside herself to meet the most important man in her life right now and I no longer gave a rats backside what happened to the damn dress. Or her hair for that matter. My child could roll around on the ground until she resembled Bob Marley for all I cared. I had pulled off one perfect moment and had the pictures to prove it. I decided to celebrate with a new pair of pants seeing as all my old ones kind of now resembled baggy parachutes due to having lost considerable size from my lower body ( yay).

That was when I discovered it was Happy size 12 day. So is it worth doing the 12wbt you ask? Would I spend the money again if I had the choice? Is it really that different from all of the other programs and fads on the market today?

In the words of the most suave and sophisticated man on TV, Mr. Big…….Abso-fucking-lutley 😉

The not so bottomless pit.

Ok, I have pulled myself out of my pit of despair from the other day. It is so funny how that pit feels so bottomless at the time but after a few days of thinking about things like a normal logical human being, you realise that you were only buried up to your knees. I did learn a few things in the last few days though so my sojourn in the pit was at least useful on some level. I learned not to take other people’s inadequacies to heart. You can’t change someone who doesn’t want to be changed or doesn’t think they need changing. All I can do is just be true to myself and try to recognise when it is time to stop putting my heart on the line and setting myself up for a disappointment. I also learned a valuable lesson about whipping dead horses. That particular lesson was years in the making but I may have finally figured it out.

So today I did something. drum roll please……………..I ate pasta for lunch. “Gasp….Shock…Horror….” Yup that’s right, you heard me, pasta. My kryptonite. A big, juicy, cheesy bowl of the stuff. Now my abdomen resembles that of woman at around 4 months gestation and I think it is entirely possible that I won’t eat for the rest of the day/night/weekend. But here is the thing….I dont regret it. Not one bit. Today I had a bit of a light bulb moment.

I ate pasta. I chose to eat pasta. I planned to eat pasta. Pasta did not just happen. I did not trip over and land mouth first into a giant bowl of pasta faced with the choice of eating my way out or perishing in the parmesan. It was my treat meal and I looked forward all week to going to my favourite little cafe and enjoying some traditional Italian cuisine. I figured if you are going to have a carb overload, it had better be worth it. None of this dolmio crap….it’s gotta be authentic all the way. The break through here is that usually a meal like this would be driven by emotion ( usually negative) and then washed down with a nice big cup of guilt followed by the dessert cart of regret. Not today. And that is a big thing for me. Trust me, emotional eater of the decade over here!

I also had another light bulb moment in regards to portion sizes today. I am currently reading a book that is suggesting that the portion sizes in restaurants in this country have tripled in the last 2 decades and are directly linked to the rise in obesity. I would have to say that there are other factors at play here to when it comes to obesity but yes, portion size is a major player. The bowl of pasta I had for lunch today cost me $18 and was equivalent to roughly 4 12wbt meal sizes. 4 !!! Breakfast, lunch, dinner and then breakfast the next day all in the one meal! It is no wonder that we start to emulate these portion sizes at home. It also does not take our incredibly stretchy stomachs to come to think this amount of food in one meal is the norm. Eat like this for a while and then switch to a proper portion size and it is no wonder people think their throat has been cut for the first week until their stomach adjusts.

So, i am aware that some of you are shaking your heads right now and looking at me with the kind of pity usually reserved for that hopeless addict who tells you with a desperate look in their eyes that they totally capable of having just one drink, cigarette, etc etc. while they pour or light with shaking hands. I swear to you, this is not the beginning of my decline into Dantes Dolmio Inferno. I have got a handle on this. Really, truly.

Anyway, whats not to be happy about? Work is running on schedule for the first time in like 3 years, it is the first day of summer and 21 days until I am sitting on a beautiful beach with my husband and beautiful daughter enjoying our first Christmas as a family where she actually understands what Christmas is about. I have been exercising faithfully and eating clean as a whistle and how is this for the view I have been enjoying on my nightly walk/run around the lake…..


Like I said..what’s not to be happy about? Until next time….Happy first day of summer and first official day of the Christmas season 🙂

By the power of Greyskull…..

It is astounding how much our kids influence our lives. There are the obvious ways but it is the not so obvious ones that make me laugh. Like for instance, my 3-year-old daughter discovered He-man and She-ra quite by accident one day while playing around on my phone on you-tube. She seemed to like it so I found the animated ” Secret of the sword” movie and off she went.

Now weeks later she is hooked. She runs around with anything even remotely resembling a sword playing he-man and yelling out ” by the power of Greyskull” as loud as she can manage. Of course she is always He-man in her games. This must be a genetic pre-disposition as when I was a young girl the game of choice was Star-wars. I was always Luke Skywalker of course and my younger brother was Leia. I wouldn’t let him be Vadar, he had to be the princess. And even after all those years of forced female role-play my brother is now a normal, functioning heterosexual male so that puts an end to the nature versus nurture debate.

I think the gravitation towards the powerful male characters in our young role-playing games is somewhat symbolic of the fact that all of the women in my family are strong, independent and self-assured. Even as children we asserted ourselves by assuming the most powerful roles in the games we played. None of this damsel in distress crap, hand me my light sabre dammit!

My daughter is always He-man because even though She-ra was created to be He-mans female equal, it is still quite clear in the cartoon that she is not as physically strong as he. He-man is muscular and buff. Tanned and rippled in his strange furry underpants and barbarian boots. Even in his “normal” Prince Adam persona, the muscles cut through the lovely pastel pink and purple tights and vests. It is obvious even to a child that he represents power and strength. A child sees nothing out-of-place with pink and purple tights complimented by furry jocks and this is precisely the reason that we dress our children rather than letting them pick their own outfits every day.

She-ra in her every day persona of Princess Adora is overly slender, with no real muscle tone to speak of. When she unleashes the power of the sword and becomes She-ra she changes outfit but is still overly slender with no real muscle tone to speak of. She has a flying horse which is pretty cool and all but nothing like having a raging battle cat. Seriously, tiger wins over horse any day. She still portrays the weaker sex, even if the shows producers were aiming for the opposite. Let She-ra have a six-pack I say and some sexy definition in the bicep region as last time I checked, cleavage was not the measure of a womans strength. Muscles are definitely not reserved only for the men any more.

So this blog is a perfect example of how my daughter has influenced me. I have just spent 446 words writing about He-man. Something that would have been most unlikely had I been childless at the time of writing. Probably even funnier is the amount of times the He-man theme music goes through my head while I am working out. I won’t tell you exact figures, It is more than a little embarrassing.

But for now, I will be off. My daughter is playing a Lion king game in her room with all of her stuffed toys. In her version however, Simba saves Mufasa from falling to his death and they live happily ever after. She is Mufasa right now hanging from the edge of a cliff ( her bed) and I have to play Simba who comes to her rescue. She always wants to be Mufasa as he is the biggest and the strongest of the pride. So I will go and save the lion kingdom from the wrath of Uncle Scar and then make some delicious rice paper rolls for lunch.

For those of you having problems with the rice paper, here is my Nigella style cooking tip for the day. Use warm water, not hot and only soak them for 30 seconds. Even if they still feel a little stiff, they will soften more as you are making them. Enjoy 🙂

Until next time…Hakuna Matata.

The anniversary edition.

Today is my wedding anniversary. Four years married to my best friend. It is a good thing he is my best friend too, not just my husband. Because I don’t remember at any stage making vows that included snoring, bad jokes and strange bodily smells that will outlast religion. But you know what they say..You break it, you buy it.

About three and a half years ago I distinctly remember trotting around Melbourne looking for my wedding dress and vowing to myself that I would not be a fat bride. I had weight loss on the mind in a big way. That kind of pre-wedding weight loss that is more like a religious cult for those involved in it.

Somehow we manage to forget all of the other ways that being fat makes us uncomfortable and it becomes all about the wedding. As if it would not matter if I spent the rest of my life being mistaken for Jabba the Hut, as long as I was skinny in the wedding photos. Is it right? Nope. Is it logical? Nope. But it just is what it is.

Turns out I was not a fat bride. I was a pregnant one. Whoops! Never mind. The photos turned out great and we had a blast that day. Of course it did not go without its quirks. Like the celebrant who turned out to be a Nazi control freak. The best part was when he forgot what he was saying half way through and made my Husband repeat his wedding vows. I have memories of literally hiding from the photographer so I could actually eat some of the food that was being served. Hours and hours of photos was not how I had envisioned spending my wedding reception but they are great shots. Even if they did take a year and a half to make it into my possession after the wedding. Note to potential brides: Do NOT pay for the photos up front. Pay half now and half later otherwise they suddenly lose their motivation once all the money is safely in their bank account.

Just remember girls, all of the things you are stressing about don’t really matter. It did not matter that my garden wedding was moved indoors last-minute to cater for the fact that it decided to hail. Literally. In November! It did not matter that my mother-in law had a few questionable moments. The huge hairy spider that followed me down the impossibly steep staircase did not even matter.

All that matters is that he was there, I was there, the rings were there and the certificate got signed. We had a beautiful day with our friends and family and I now have priceless video and photos of my dad, pre-brain cancer that one day will mean more to me than any possession I could ever own.

The moral to this story is that as important as a wedding seems, it is one day. Thats it. It is every day that comes after that one day that really matters. It is the life that you build together, the children you have together ( if you choose to) and the things you achieve together that really matter. NOT whether you have a double chin in your photos.

So for any of my 12WBT buddies that may be doing the program as a 12 week pre-wedding blitz, take a moment and put it in perspective. You are building your best body and re-claiming your health for life. Not one day but for every day that comes next. So take a chill pill, follow the program and accept that when it comes to your wedding day, what will be, will be. That being said, do not be afraid to give your celebrant a kick in the shins if he is being a twit. God knows, mine had it coming!

How many calories in the average diet book?

The answer is none. They are a vacuous black hole of information. For there to be calories there would have to be substance. Information that is usable in some small way. If anyone ever starts a book-aholics meeting program let me know, I’m in.

Hello my name is Amber and I am a book addict.

This is really not anything new for those near and dear to me. I have always had a healthy appetite for knowledge. I used to draw quite a few raised eyebrows from my early primary school teachers when they would come across copies of Jane Austen in my school bag. Truthfully I find Jane Austen incredibly dull but an addict does not get picky about how they receive their fix now do they. The problem is that my healthy appetite for reading has now turned into a voracious hunger that can never be satisfied. My brain is literally morbidly obese from devouring so much useless knowledge.

An unfortunate side effect of my overloaded knowledge stores is that I seem to have become some kind of strange ” go to guy” for people’s troubles. As if my steady diet of information and useless facts have made me into some kind of jack of all trades when it comes to problem solving. I have literally overheard people tell other people ” oh, you should ask Amber about that, she’s really smart, she knows about all kinds of weird things”.

This all came to a head about six months ago when I was approached quite out of the blue and asked by a lady I barely knew why her daughter whom I had definitely never met was experiencing discomfort ” down there”. Shocked, I asked her why she was asking me, last time I checked I was not a gyno or a urologist. Apparently I had been “referred” by someone else who had heard the mythical tales and legend of the woman who knew everything about everything. I then explained to the woman that I did not in fact know everything about everything and that her daughter sounded like she needed a gynaecologist or a general practitioner at the very least. Unsatisfied by my answer, the woman pleaded with me to throw her a bone, anything she could tell her daughter who was apparently convinced she had some kind of cancer of the lady bits. Shaking my head, I simply replied ” Herpies, cystitis, urinary tract infection, chlamydia, thrush, hypochondria, tell her to go see a bloody doctor for Christs sakes!” and walked away. Needless to say, I have spent the last six months keeping a low profile around the place for fear of another impromptu Q&A session.

I can and often do read a book a day. Sometimes more. Usually my choice of book will be directed by what I am currently interested in and as we all know, that is health and fitness at the moment. I have read and owned and ebayed many many diet books already and followers of my blog will know that I have an extensive knowledge of the different diet programs out there waiting for some poor unsuspecting overweight person to stumble across them. The problem here is that I am an addict. I cannot get enough of reading and it has gotten to the stage that I will read utter crap and nonsense even though I know from the get go that they are going to be utter crap and nonsense.

I am literally a book binger. Very similar to a binge eater. I know that the burger,pizza,fried chicken etc etc that I am shovelling into my mouth is nutritionally void and is doing nothing for me but am powerless to stop. I am pleased to say that I have been able to get a handle on the binge eating but the binge reading is getting worse. I shovel the information into my brain where it gets sorted and stored for me to dredge up at a later date. I read books that I know are informationally void and know thatI will never have a need for it ever again but I can’t stop. I just keep thinking that it might make a good conversation starter one day or maybe a good blog. I am beginning to worry that if I keep filling my brain with useless garbage that It will start to take over the useful information I have stored there in the same way that bad cholesterol invades the once healthy arteries of a junk food regular. The truth is once you read it, you can’t unread it. You would think that I would have learnt my lesson after the fifty shades trauma I willingly inflicted upon myself.

Sadly no, I am struggling to learn from my book bingeing mistakes and today once again, feeling a little down after a less than stellar weigh in, I treated myself to a little mindless reading. I knew that any book entitled ” the easyweigh to lose weight” was going to be questionable but it was like a train wreck. I couldn’t not read it. I had to know what snake oil was being peddled in this little parcel of false hope.

It turned out that after a whole book of being told that you can lose weight in no time at all simply by eating all of your fave foods any time you want and in any quantity, the book was right! You CAN lose weight easily by eating all of your favourite foods in any quantities and at any time. As long as your favourite foods consist of raw vegetables and no meat, dairy or animal products of any kind whatsoever. It wasnt a vegan book, it took vegan about ten more steps to the extreme. Ok then, have fun eating your raw onions and potatoes, I kind of like , oh I don’t know, cooking my food, but hey, maybe that’s just me.

In all seriousness, the principal was that seeing as we share like 99% of the same DNA as Chimps, the logical conclusion is that we should eat the same way that chimps do. Considering I have seen chimps literally reach around and grab the faeces from their butts and then eat it right out of their hands , I think I will pass, thanks but no thanks. So really all I learned from this book today was that if I ever met an avid follower of this method face to face, I should maybe think twice before shaking their hand.

Whilst losing copious amounts of weight, Boris the Chimp still cannot figure out why everything he eats on this new diet tastes like crap???

The devil did not go down to Georgia. He is right here on my shoulder!

I suspect that the topic of this blog may be a theme for many of us 12wbt’ers. What on earth is with the six-week slump? As you may have gathered from my many hilarious and chuckle-inducing blogs, I have tried a lot of different weight loss programs. They have all been vastly different but one common thread joins them all in a most unholy matrimony. The dreaded six-week slump.

Seems no coincidence that self sabotage is the topic of this weeks mindset video does it? As someone who stood at the kitchen bench after work tonight eating half a loaf of freshly baked ciabatta bread, I can tell you that the devil is not prancing around Georgia looking for a soul to steal or engaging in a rather un-lord of darkness like violin battle. He is reclining on my right shoulder with a smug, carb fuelled smile on his face feeling quite content after a binge on plain bread. PLAIN BREAD!! What the hell is with that? I don’t even like bread as a rule.

I have found from my experience that somewhere around the halfway mark of a weight loss program or challenge I enter into this strange parallel universe where I literally turn into a doubting Thomas of downright biblical proportions. I doubt my fitness has improved even though the 8 hours I spent hauling heavy objects and busting my ass today felt much easier than it did 6 weeks ago. I doubt that my diet has been clean enough even though I know that I have followed my plan to the letter. I convince myself that a loaf of bread is going to remedy that when all it does is cause my initial doubt to become self-fulfilling prophecy. I doubt that I can feel any real benefits from quitting smoking even though I can tell quite clearly in the quality of my singing and my breath control alone that it has helped dramatically. Don’t despair though, even though I am doubting the quitting I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will never go back.

It’s the devil. The devil made me do it! The six-week slump lures him from the darkest depths of hell and invites him to sit on my shoulder and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. To test my resolve and see what I am made of. Well I may have him beat this time. After my carbo-loaded bread-a-palooza tonight, I realised that the wolf does indeed disguise himself in sheep’s clothing. The devil can sneak up on you and before you know it he has deck chair unfolded and cocktail in hand. Why do we let him do so much harm before we literally send him back to hell in a handbasket? Is it because whether we admit it or not, there is always a small part of us attracted to the bad boys, the rebel?

Maybe so, but herein lies my strategy. From here on in, when the devil drops by he will always take on the appearance of the worlds most unattractive man. Ladies and gentlemen, without further adieu…playing the role of ” Devil”…..Mick Jagger. Next time Mick Jagger tries to whisper in my ear that the fate of the western world depends on me eating that entire box of Krispy Kremes I will be far too grossed out by those big rubbery liver lips to want to eat anything. And if Mick goes on vacation? Steven Tyler, Step right up.

Right then Calorie King…How many calories in a Krispy Kreme then…Muhahahahaha >:)

There you have it…problem solvered. Oh, and for those of you wondering what the angel on my other shoulder looks like? That is Captain Jack Sparrow and if he wasnt;t spending so much time weaving about wondering why the rum was always gone then he might have been a little more effective in keeping the devil at bay and the bread out of my digestive system…..Just sayin Jack!