Growing up, I was always super skinny. My friends who had already started puberty sprouted hips and in their jealousy of my scrawny size 000 bod asked me if I was anorexic (which is basically the best compliment a girl could ask for. Unless she’s actually anorexic, then you probably don’t want people to notice you only eat Altoids). When I hit high school, I was still under 90 pounds. But since I played ice hockey, that became a disadvantage. Which sucked, because playing hockey was already a disadvantage socially. No one wants to take a girl who can kick your ass to Homecoming. And that’s even assuming there was a boy who didn’t think I was a les. Although, even if I wanted to go, I was away most weekends playing 4 games in 2 days and trying to pack on the pounds like a college wrestler trying to up his weight class. My mom force fed me things like peanut butter, avocados (it has good fat!) and beef stroganoff (yeah probably just regular, bad, fat) to try and bulk me up. I got a personal trainer to pack on muscle. It didn’t work. This also made me feel like one of those poor little Chinese kids who are sent away to mean, Communist trainers to become Olympians, only I couldn’t do the splits. And I don’t think those kids are allowed to eat.

That was until I started my Junior year, then I got the world’s tiniest boobs puberty could give someone, but then all that beef stroganoff started settling into my midsection and all of sudden I wasn’t being asked if I had an eating disorder anymore. I remember visiting NYC that summer with my family, and seeing photos of me and my little spare tire squeezed into my Old Navy t-shirts that were baggy the summer before. Then I saw all those skinny bitches walking around in designer clothes clip-clopping around me. So this is what low-esteem feels like. Shit. I refused to eat that night at dinner (I insisted “I wasn’t hungry.” Classic teenage move. In hindsight, I’m a little disappointed I couldn’t think of a more colorful excuse, like screaming “MEAT IS MURDER!” in the middle of the crowded restaurant…or claiming I wouldn’t eat until gays could marry). But then, obviously, I was ravenous by the time we walked back to our hotel room, so I made my dad buy me a Snickers bar for dinner. Which…was clearly much more nutritious than just ordering a fucking salad.

After accepting the fact that I did not posses the necessary willpower to pull off anorexia – nor did I have a good enough gag reflex to be bulimic – I searched for other get-skinny quick fixes, like all teenage girls do (and if you don’t cop to doing this, you’re either a dirty liar or your metabolism hasn’t slowed down yet, In which case, you can go fuck yourself).

I tried all-fruit, which only worked the day my mom went grocery shopping. By the next day, I’d eaten all the good fruit and I was back on real food. I tried all-liquid, South Beach, the Power Bar diet (which ended up being an “eat a PowerBar then a full meal 15 minutes later” diet).  All failed due to the previously aforementioned lack of willpower. So one day I came up with the “I can’t eat until I poop” diet. This was incredibly ill-conceived for two reasons. One, I went like four times a day. Two, it made no fucking sense to begin with. In case this needs further explanation or you want to steal my nonsense diet tips, it meant I would only eat after I produced a bowel movement. The logic here (and I use the term “logic” loosely) was that I had just made room in my body and expelled fat (I probably needed to take a nutrition class, because you generally do not poop pure fat). Clearly I saw zero results and adopted a weird eating schedule.

Years later and more diets later (I now consider myself a PescaVegan), I can tell you the best diet is having an undiagnosed colon problem. I started losing a ton of weight almost two years ago for no apparent reason. Which was amazing not only because I wasn’t trying, but I also had a 6-pack for the first time since that sad day I hit puberty and looked the best I’ve ever looked. Compliments and tight yoga pants galore! Shopping was so fun. It was like a movie montage where everything looks amazing and you’re asking the sales lady if they have anything smaller than a 0. This was the only time in my life I enjoyed those small, inconsistent European sizes H&M insists on making. These are the sizes that mean if you are a size small anywhere else, you’re an H&M 12 and then you slit your wrists.

After months of slowly dropping weight and finally having skinny thighs, I started feeling really sick. I went to a few different doctors and was eventually diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis. And unfortunately, it got under control. And I put 15-lbs back on. I know, I know. Beauty comes from within. Unless you have a flat stomach, then who the fuck cares what’s not working inside (hint: proper nutritional absorption).

Whenever I think about this, I think about that part in “Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion” when Lisa Kudrow says “mono was the best diet ever.” Which…is true, because she was so skinny and pretty by the time Prom came around.

 

So I guess my advice to you, reader who wants to lose 20-lbs before you go home for holidays and run into hopefully fat people from high school…pray for a gastrointestinal issue and not seek medical attention. Maybe also give up dairy. That will at least cut down on the farting.