South Beeotch

Someone throw me a piece of toast, or even a crouton. I started the South Beach Diet on Father's Day, otherwise known as the Myrtle Beach Diet, which is where we are headed in two weeks with Joe's family.

I don't like organized cult diets. But, folks, I recently stopped breastfeeding, which HAD been doing its part to burn off my fudgesicles and cheese enchiladas. But now my convenient fat-sucking tool is gone, and I don't think you're ready for this jelly. I have a friend who lost eight pounds in two weeks on South Beach, so I'm trying it.

I will only be on this diet for 12 more days -- no carbs allowed -- and then I will sit my butt on the beach with a sandwich and ruin all my progress. It will be great fun. In the meantime, I have adjusted my eating to conform to the plan that "has enabled millions of people to shed unwanted pounds." Millions of satisfied fatties worldwide who never want to see another egg quiche cup or mozzerella stick again.

Last night I accidentally had three desserts. I ate a Jell-o cup, a big scoop of peanut butter and a South Beach Diet Almond Ricotta Cream, a freaky mixture that felt like cold, sweet wallpaper paste in my mouth. I like to think I am on the right track.