The Mother of All Diets

I just thought I'd start off my Mother Loss Chronicles (MLC) with a look at the bright side. I've always been a half a loaf kind of girl, and this ML whole business is pretty dreary. I don't want to skeeve you out or anything. To catch you up if you're a little unclear on what is going on here, my mother has recently died from lymphoma. And, just so you know, if I seem to be just a little, ummmm, flippant, rest assured that my mother always thought I was HILARIOUS. Well, maybe that wouldn't be her EXACT word. A more direct quote might be, 'You are just too, too much', or 'Very funny', but I'm sure hilarious is what she meant. And since she's dead, well, what I say goes (just another fantastic little side bennie!).

And what I say is that the MOAD is by far the most effective one I've ever seen. Forget South Beach, Atkins, Weight Watchers, that stupid cabbage soup thing or whatever else you've tried. No lie, people, it's effortless. Here, let me show you what I mean:

6 a.m. Wake up with raging headache from extra wine

6:15-8 a.m. Drink pot of extra strong coffee; eat some tylenol, rhodiola and St. John's Wort

9 -11:30 a.m. Raging stomach ache

Noon Drink small glass of milk or ingest a small amount of some non-objectionable food, if available

2 p.m. Force down a lump of food to stave off increasing faintness and hostility

6 p.m. Another food lump

7:30-11:30 p.m. Drink wine while listening to mournful Uncle Kracker tunes and perusing grief websites to learn how bad it's REALLY going to get

Repeat.

See? Simple, yet effective. AWESOME, though I can't really whole-heartedly recommend it. After only 10 days I've had to put my fat pants away. A few more weeks of this oozing, sucking morass of agony and I'll be in territory I haven't seen since the mid-80's, when I could have rocked a leopard print bikini with reckless abandon, but didn't because I thought my butt was too fat. Stupid, I know; just look at Kim Kardashian. I won't make THAT mistake again, and you can take that to the bank. Normally, of course, this would be cause for great celebration, because then I would have to go thrifting for new pants. Sadly, however, I seem to have lost my taste for just about everything, including the thrift store. Damn you, MOAD!

Dead

So, my mother is dead. You probably know that. You might even know how much it sucks. I didn't, not until about a week ago. The handy websites devoted to the 'grieving process' serenely assure me that I'm in shock right now, but that in a few weeks that will wear off, leaving me in almost unbearable pain. Then, they all advise, be sure not to self-medicate, as this will ultimately make it WORSE. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA, MORONS! Oh, sorry: I am finding that this whole dead mother thing is really rubbing my nerves raw. EVERYTHING is annoying. Today, I hate fruit flies, the fake Duke Boys, and those multi-colored goldfish crackers, just to name a few.

Anyway, if you don't want to read the forthcoming Dead Mother Chronicles, you might want to avert your eyes for a while. It could get ugly around here.