Kathy joined Weight Watchers. Shut up. Because it apparently breaks some weight loss commandment to display even a scintilla of cynicism at meetings, Waisted is where she bitches about eating, not eating, oversharing weight watchers, and probably you.

By Kathy Cacace [Archives]

The last vestige of my Catholic childhood that hangs around my adult life (besides the inability to steal anything due to crushing guilt) is the concept of purgatory. A universal waiting room of judgment is an idea that has a certain resonance when you learn about it as a kid, because then, everything is purgatory: K-Mart, the dentist’s office, math class, being stuck in the car with your mom. Being stuck in the Tae Kwon Do lobby waiting for your brothers to break their stupid boards. Being stuck in the vestibule after church while your mom talks to other moms and you jump from floor tile to floor tile on one foot because there is nothing else to do and you are LITERALLY DYING, MOM. GOD. Everything is purgatory when you have no control.

Welcome to the wonderful world of the “plateau.”

Despite following my points regimen, drinking all my water, walking more, and sacrificing thin young kittens at an altar built from old Vogues and Ex-Lax boxes, I have lost approximately two pounds in the last month. I’ve heard countless stories that this will happen from time to time, and that you just have to keep on trucking and eventually your chemistry will adjust and start losing again, but come ON. It’s like my body is my personal purgatory, stuck between sizes due to some unwitting earthly sin of mine.

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Kathy joined Weight Watchers. Shut up. Because it apparently breaks some weight loss commandment to display even a scintilla of cynicism at meetings, Waisted is where she bitches about eating, not eating, oversharing weight watchers, and probably you.

By Kathy Cacace [Archives]

The old lady who weighs me in and sometimes offers me free pretzels (which is sort of sadistic, when you think about it) was chirping her “support” so loudly that I put my boot back on the wrong foot. When I stepped down on it I kind of tripped because all my toes were going the wrong way, and, since my lucky weigh-in outfit always includes the one dress I own, I accidentally flashed my underwear to everyone perusing the shelf of one point snacks.

“You made it! You beat it, actually! Amazing! You should be so proud! Ricardo! Come look at this!” Ricardo, meeting leader extraordinaire, catwalked his way over to my scale.

“Ten percenn! Congrass! Ha you thought abow a new goal?”

This was the point at which, if my life were an actual situation comedy instead of just resembling one, they’d do that simultaneous zoom in/zoom out that instantly reads as shock and terror. I got through three and three-quarters years of high school gym class without ever having to kick the ball during kickball. I am the queen of avoidance. But last Wednesday there was no getting around speaking to Ricardo, despite eight consecutive weeks of sitting in the back, muttering things like “Heroin has no points, how about you try that?” and avoiding all human eye contact.

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Kathy joined Weight Watchers. Shut up. Because it apparently breaks some weight loss commandment to display even a scintilla of cynicism at meetings, Waisted is where she bitches about eating, not eating, oversharing weight watchers, and probably you.

By Kathy Cacace [Archives]

Tootie, Natalie, Blair or Jo? Jessie Spano, Kellie Kapowski, or Lisa Turtle? Melanie Wilkes or Scarlett O’Hara? Mary-ann or Ginger? Rayanne, Angela, Sharon or Delia? Mary Kate or Ashley? Kristy or Claudia or Mary Ann or Stacy or Dawn or Mallory or Jesse? There are all these archetypes under the umbrella of girldom, and I don’t buy any of them until confronted with a recently engaged Charlotte.

In my regular life, this is a situation in which I have found myself precisely zero times. Thanks to my new weekly get-togethers, however, I’m buying ever more into the fact that there are kinds of girls who cannot ever see eye to eye, despite even the shared bond of elastic waistband ruts in our stomach skin.

When I signed up for Weight Watchers, I did it to be able to walk into a store and purchase a decent pair of pants like the motherfucking gainfully employed American capitalist consumer I am, goddammit.

I was not, despite the shrieking owners of flashy new rings multiplying amongst the ranks of my meeting like termites, signing up for Miss Ovary’s Estrogen Hoedown.

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Kathy joined Weight Watchers. Shut up. Because it apparently breaks some weight loss commandment to display even a scintilla of cynicism at meetings, Waisted is where she bitches about eating, not eating, oversharing weight watchers, and probably you.

By Kathy Cacace [Archives]

Happy fucking Valentine’s! Hope fat little cupid spears you all right in your skinny asses and you have lots of bony, pointy, sharp, gangly sex. Fuckers.

In the song I’ve had stuck in my head all motherfucking day, sage old Kool and his Gang advise us to, “Celebrate good times, come on (do do do DO, do DO do doo, YA-HOO!).” I’m doing my best, like Lionel Richie, to get my fat ass dancing on the ceiling, but gravity (and reality) keeps intervening. There’s so much to celebrate: Valentine’s Day, 11 pounds gone in four weeks, Thursday (laudable only for its proximity to Friday), the burrito I brought for lunch, my bangs staying basically in place despite sleeping on them wet, and a Foodswings Valentine’s “date” tonight with my girl boyfriend Jes. But the celebration part (YA-HOO!) keeps getting foiled.

Last night at my WW meeting (P.S., the official gang sign I’ve devised for Weight Watchers is the “whatever” W…but wiggle your index fingers twice, like air quotes), the old weigh-in lady told me I’ve lost 11 pounds in four weeks on the program. “Make sure you celebrate it at the end of the meeting!” she urged.

“Uh, I’m not really…a celebrator,” I said, putting my shoes back on.

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Kathy joined Weight Watchers. Shut up. Because it apparently breaks some weight loss commandment to display even a scintilla of cynicism at meetings, Waisted is where she bitches about eating, not eating, oversharing weight watchers, and probably you.

By Kathy Cacace [Archives]

The other night, I had this dream that I was on the subway. Why I can’t dream a limo, or a private jet, or even a station wagon stuck in traffic instead of the F train is beyond me. I was trying to get off the train at West 4th Street when this big guy in a trench coat and a fedora (less like a detective and more like someone Frank Costanza would have a vague business association with) got in my way. Instead of moving away from the door so I could get out, he slapped me on the backside and said, “Move your fat ass!”

So I killed him.

Literally, I strangled this man until he was on the floor dead, and then I calmly got off the train, and, because this was a dream, emerged into my elementary school.

With subtle hints like this one, I’m realizing there’s a rage associated with people knowing I’m trying to lose weight that I probably need to deal with lest I end up wearing an XL orange jumpsuit and estimating the number of points in a tray of institutional franks and beans.

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Tomorrow is Super Tuesday! If you live in any borough of NYC, you can find your polling place for the primary elections via this handy Board of Elections website. Just put in your home address and it’ll spit out a map and everything. If you’ve never voted in New York before, it’s a good idea to bring a photo ID and a current utility bill along with you to prove your identity and address. Most polling places are open from 6 a.m. until 9 p.m.

If you still haven’t registered to vote in New York, you can do so here by downloading a PDF, filling it out, and mailing it in.

Kathy joined Weight Watchers. Shut up. Because it apparently breaks some weight loss commandment to display even a scintilla of cynicism at meetings, Waisted is where she bitches about eating, not eating, oversharing weight watchers, and probably you.

By Kathy Cacace [Archives]

Though they are probably the least nautical thing on the planet (they don’t float, you can’t surf in them, and they don’t even have a sailor waist), my anchor is a pair of Trash and Vaudeville jeans.

To explain: every Weight Watcher is supposed to have an “anchor” that you think about and dream about and sleep with a picture of under your pillow and wish for on every twinkling star that somehow propels you toward your goal. When you think about it, this is just “thinspiration” more appetizingly named. Everyone on a diet has something that keeps them turning down the Reese’s Pieces (which I have not wanted in something like five years AND which appeared in the work vending machine this week for the first time I can remember, proving once and for all that there is a god and he fucking hates me), and whether that’s a pre-pregnancy pair of jeans or a picture of Kate Moss taped to the underside of your toilet lid it doesn’t much matter to anyone but you.

Except when you have to listen to a pack of hungry retards talk about it on a weekly basis. “My boyfriend bought me a diamond anchor necklace and I wear it all the time to remind me of my goals.” Yeah? Really? And you just walked into a door, right? (more…)

The Best of Craigslist Personals—Real Ads, Real Gross
by Kathy Cacace

Craigslist is a horny hotbed of personal ads. It has to be the no-frills anonymity compelling the crazies to fill page after page with strange, demanding, borderline terrifying requests for love. Below, I’ve gathered and tried to explain my favorite headlines from recent M4W posts.

click here for the time of your life – 35
Woo. Boy, am I having a great time.

I WILL PAY CASH FOR YOUR……..woman’s essence
Right. Because posting on Craigslist for used underwear is the time to get……..poetic.

GREEK MAN SEEKING ASIAN BIKE RIDING PARTNER FOREST/PARK WEEKDAYS - m4ww
Are you looking for a date or putting together a circus act?

I’d RatherLaugh With The Sinners Than Cry With The Saints - 52 (Metro NYC)
On the list of songs that might be slightly off-putting when trying to attract blind internet dates, “Only the Good Die Young” is probably pretty high on that list. You know what? Maybe stay away from “Purple People Eater,” “Stairway to Heaven,” “Whip It,” “Beat It,” and “Wanted Dead or Alive,” while you’re at it.

I’m in the mood to squeeze some boobs! - 37 (Brooklyn)
I’m in the mood to vomit in my lap!

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Kathy joined Weight Watchers. Shut up. Because it apparently breaks some weight loss commandment to display even a scintilla of cynicism at meetings, Waisted is where she bitches about eating, not eating, oversharing weight watchers, and probably you.

By Kathy Cacace [Archives]

“Cuhhcakesss…” Ricardo said, in that gay Cubanish drawl that will remind me of Hank Azaria in The Birdcage for all time even though I saw that movie once and didn’t even like it. “Cuhhcakesss are all abow feelinksss.”

It is my fate to sit in the back of whatever classroom I find myself in and never speak. This does not prevent teachers, professors, priests, magicians, and Weight Watchers group meeting leaders from looking me in the eyes and speaking directly to me as though they are ghosts and I am the only medium able to channel their desperate unfinished business to the corporeal world.

“No, I’m sssseriousss. Cuhcakesss are nah abow nutrishio! Cuhcakesss are all abow pleaashurrr! Now I gonna tell you how I make frensh toess for two poinsss.” (more…)

The Best of Craigslist Personals—Real Ads, Real Gross
by Kathy Cacace

Craigslist is a horny hotbed of personal ads. It has to be the no-frills anonymity compelling the crazies to fill page after page with strange, demanding, borderline terrifying requests for love. Below, I’ve gathered and tried to explain my favorite headlines from recent M4W posts.

LOST & FOUND – 38
FOUR LEFT GLOVES
A PAIR OF BIFOCALS
iPOD FILLED WITH BILLY JOEL
HALF A PASTRAMI SANDWICH, STILL WRAPPED, LOOKS OKAY

I’m free during the day… – 46
At night my rates start at $50.

What can brown do for you? – 31
1. Gross me out.
2. Make me an internet star, provided I can find a friend and a cup.
3. Give me E.coli.

Looking for my other half – 49
Last time I saw it, it was attached to my waist.

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The Best of Craigslist Personals—Real Ads, Real Gross
by Kathy Cacace

Craigslist is a horny hotbed of personal ads. It has to be the no-frills anonymity compelling the crazies to fill page after page with strange, demanding, borderline terrifying requests for love. Below, I’ve gathered and tried to explain my favorite headlines from recent M4W posts.

All I want for X-mas is a big black chick, a big black chick…….. – 38
This is actually the title track to the soundtrack from the little known Alvin & The Chipmunks XXX film, “Alvin, Simon, Hardcore.”

All I Want 4 X-Mas Is My Very Own Harem……
So I could wish a merry pimpmas!

MAKE YOUR KNISH COME TRUE
Baby, all I want for Christmas is Jeeeeeew.
(Jewwww, baby…)

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The Best of Craigslist Personals—Real Ads, Real Gross
by Kathy Cacace

Craigslist is a horny hotbed of personal ads. It has to be the no-frills anonymity compelling the crazies to fill page after page with strange, demanding, borderline terrifying requests for love. Below, I’ve gathered and tried to explain my favorite headlines from recent M4W posts.

GREEK MAN LOOK FOR GREEK-AMERCAN LADY if you or u know one rewart
It’s amazing how a typo of just one letter in this situation is the difference between a fistful of cash and a returning skin eruption.

Former Olympian
Yes, a very very special Olympian.

You’ve got the silver - 30
Please return the forks or we will prosecute to the fullest extent of the law.

***#1 CLUB PACHA W/ 6′4″ BUILT ITALIAN/HAWAIIAN STUD??? - 25 (Sheepshead Bay)
***#1 CLUB PACHA W/ 6′4″ BUILT ITALIAN/HAWAIIAN STUD??? - 25 (Manhattan)
***PACHA THIS WEEKEND W/ 6′4″ BUILT ITALIAN/HAWAIIAN MODEL??? - 25
***PACHA W/ 6′4″ BUILT ITALIAN/HAWAIIAN MODEL W/ A LAMBORGHINI?? - 25
I can only imagine the thought process that lead to these posts. “Wait a second…no one’s going to want to go to #1 CLUB PACHA W/A STUD from Sheepshead Bay! Let me just repost this saying I live in Manhattan. No, wait, even better, I’m a model with a LAMBORGHINI! So what if it’s my bed? Maybe I should take down the other ads? Nah. I need a whole GANG of bitches this week at #1 CLUB PACHA. This is the week they let me in, I can feel it!”

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The Best of Craigslist Personals—Real Ads, Real Gross
by Kathy Cacace

Craigslist is a horny hotbed of personal ads. It has to be the no-frills anonymity compelling the crazies to fill page after page with strange, demanding, borderline terrifying requests for love. Below, I’ve gathered and tried to explain my favorite headlines from recent M4W posts.

Looking for Frolicking Fun with a Frisky Feline-You? – 45
I’m feeling faint at the freaky phantasm of your feely fingers anywhere near my fagina.

COME INTO MY WORLD AND STRIP YOUR FEARS AWAY - m4w – 50
Clap clap! Clothes are for another da-aa-aay! Let the Whitesnake play (clap clap)! Down at Stripper Rock!

Sexy Nanny Desire – 37
That’s right my little sugarplum, Sexy Nanny Desire says it’s time to get into your jammies and go to bed. Sexy Nanny Desire just needs to pull something a little more comfortable out of her bottomless carpetbag of tricks.

YOUNG ITALIAN Man to SPOIL Young BEAUTY - 31
With ACID because YOUNG ITALIAN MAN HATES BEAUTY

A DIFFERENT TYPE OF THERAPY - 52
THE TYPE THAT EJACULATES
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The Best of Craigslist Personals—Real Ads, Real Gross
by Kathy Cacace

Craigslist is a horny hotbed of personal ads. It has to be the no-frills anonymity compelling the crazies to fill page after page with strange, demanding, borderline terrifying requests for love. Below, I’ve gathered and tried to explain my favorite headlines from recent M4W posts.

Actually, this week I just couldn’t deal with another round of glorified johns, perverts and mustachioed casanovas. Instead, I’ve headed over to the W4M ads because seriously, Craigsladies are just as crazy.

Travel Companion Wanted For European Trip – White Males Are Welcome - 31 (NYC)
Tongan men will be considered trespassers and shot on sight.

where are all the italian men at
Italy.

where have all the cowboys gone.. probly texas cuz IMMA Jerzi Gurl – 19
Yeah, that’s what Paula Cole was saying if you play “Do dodo do dodo do dodo do dodo” backwards.

I AM BORED !!! KEEP MEETING ROBOTS…ANY THINKERS AROUND? - 45
Seriously, every time I leave the house it’s like I go to Starbucks, wait in line, order my skim macchiato with an extra shot, and the cute guy behind the counter is all like, wink, Starbucks doesn’t need to know about that extra shot and he gives it to me for free, and then I get all excited because I’ve had like a real moment, and I smooth my hair and he makes my drink and smiles really big as he hands it across the counter but then my finger grazes his thumb and it is COLD STEEL. Again! Another robot! They’re everywhere!

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