Diet*Tarot Day 5: The Hierophant vs. The Skinny Bitches!

Diet*Tarot Day 5: The Hierophant vs. The Skinny Bitches!


Today, I roll with the Hierophant. The Bureaucrat who complains about rules, but secretly loves them. Organization. Structure. Tradition. The Way Things Have Always Been Done. It’s hard for me to battle my conflicting nature. My Erisian fly-by-the-seat-of-my-broomstick-kallisti-fnord tendency along with my gooey Single-5 center of do-the-right-thing-because-it-is-what-your-supposed-to-do-you-idiot… It makes things a bit tough. I’ve always felt that the Hierophant has a droll, witty, and dry sense of humor. He appreciates irony. He’s more of a Demetri Martin than a peasant, joke-stealing simpleton like Dane Cook. Of course, there is a big awesome brewfest in my town this weekend. The Magician I Married is totally stoked on going. This is bad for me. Beer is my enemy. I love good beer. Love it. I have a very well-developed palate, not unlike my Wine Snob friends. Beer is much the same, if you develop a true appreciation for the craft. There is far more subtlety than piss-water like Budweiser or Coors could ever posses. Yes. I like good beer. The calories seem meaningless when I’m drinking it. I am try to avoid extra calories I don’t particularly need. Beer is hard for me to resist, but other than a pomegranate flavored Michelob Ultra (not terrible for light, kind of fresh and summery), I’ve been good. This brewfest could blow my whole plan to Shit Planet and back. I can’t let that happen. It could trigger a “I’m drunk… I need food… IN-N-OUT BURGER!!!! NOW! IN MY FACE AND INTO MAH BELLY!”.
Nope. The Hierophant knows that the best plan of attack is for me to be the DD, and let the Hubs partake of the glorious nectar. He’s quite charming when drunk. It’s going to be really hard… So many very fine beer-making establishments will be present. I might cry a little on the inside. Yet the Hierophanty-pants tells me that I have to avoid it for now if I want to make this whole experiment with Diet*Tarot work. I have to confront a situation that could be difficult for me, and through discipline and mastery over my impulses, make it work.

I hate the Hierophant. He’s kind of a buzzkill. Still… He’s right, you know. He loooooooves being right.

So… Diet*Tarot… I feel good about this. I feel like it’s working for me. Each day, the card I put on my altar (er… one of them) sets the tone for my triumphs and challenges. I am still a Fool, but my Crapsack is growing full of ideas, work-arounds, and protective devices. It’s a 6 of WIN-WIN-WIN!

Some asshole put a HUGE tub of chocolate-covered raisins in the breakroom at work. I don’t care for them, except for the chocolate part. I’ve avoided all temptation completely. Even though The Skinny Bitches won’t shut up about them. “OMG… Who put these back here? They look so good, but I can’t have any!”. Shut up and put a sammich in your face. I am an average sized girl and then some. I require more food than you do. My metabolism is what it is. You look at me oddly because I eat a whole chicken salad sandwich and not a half. You condescendingly “congratulate” me for eating my diet food all week. “You’ve been eating so healthy this week! Good for you! Are your diet foods low in sodium though?” “You’re going to the gym? Good for you! You should start with some free weights and…” GAH! SHUT YOUR FACES! If I wanted your unsolicited advice, I’d punch myself in the face first to dull the pain of hearing your agonizing voices. I am lucky though… We got some new girls in the office who are not 20 year old, rabbit food eating, gym obsessed Mean Girls. The Regular Gals are average-sized. The Regular Gals eat average things for lunch, average portions, and don’t make a big deal about the amounts of food they’re not eating. I am glad for them, as I am one of them for the most part.

I’m not one of those “CURVY GIRLS ARE BETTER THAN SKINNY GIRLS” types. Nor do I support the response “SHUT UP, BITCH. YOU SOUND FAT.” I think our bodies should be where they are naturally prone to be, with a bit of help if needed if they’ve gotten derailed. I think our genes, brain chemistry, and physical make-up are each staggeringly different, and there truly isn’t a one-size-fits-all for diet and exercise. That’s why Diet Platitudes dished out to “help” the office fat girl aren’t welcome. These things aren’t said to help me. They are said to help the Skinny Bitches feel more smugly-self-satisfied. It’s not the case with everyone, of course. I think skinny can be just as beautiful as Christina Hendricks. I won’t demean everyone who has a particular body type. That would make me a hypocrite. Skinny Bitches are ugly on the inside. So are Fat Bitches who do act the same towards all who are thinner than they are. There is a difference between being skinny and being a Skinny Bitch, just as there is a difference in being fat or being a Fat Bitch. I am just fat, and the Bitch only comes out if you overstep your bounds.

There we go again with the Hierophant soap box… I’ve gotta hand it to him, he’s very good at pimpin’ and pontificatin’, especially in areas where his sense of right, reason, and ethics have been somehow blemished. He’s hell on the Skinny Office Bitches. And you know what? I must have needed that.

So… I am off to go roast in the hot July sun while my beloved Magician gets his drink on. 6 of WHINE. 😉

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