The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl Read Online Free PDF

the guidelines and graphs! Gimme the tools and rules! Lately my only rule has been, “Stuff your face with wild abandon then hate yourself afterward,” so I want to be told what to do. It gives me hope that I could become less hopeless.
    I picked up the official points tracker and stared at all the optimistic white spaces. There was a column for each day of the week, each divided into four boxes for Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and Snacks. So… that’s twenty-eight chances not to fuck this up.
    I have to make this tracker perfect. I want to show it to Donna next Monday and have her tell me it’s the best tracker she’s ever seen. I want to be the Model Weight Watcher! I can’t bear to think about the horrific amount of weight I must lose, but I can focus on seven little days and this stupid tracker.
    I wrote muesli and milk in the Breakfast column in my best handwriting.
    Rhiannon and I both had the day off work so we launched ourselves into Operation Lard Bust.
    My usual halfhearted attempts at losing weight involve me buying a few apples and some rubbery low-fat cheese then hoping for the best. But this time we were on a serious mission. It involved precise planning and organization!
    We made lists. We consulted cookbooks. We paced the kitchen like curmudgeonly generals in the Second World War.
    I must admit, Rhiannon is the brains behind the operation. She’s the real superhero of this story; I’m more the bumbling sidekick. At twenty years old she’s by far the most intelligent and mature person I know. She tackles problems with a calm and practical mind, whereas I throw my hands in the air and howl like a kicked puppy at the first sign of trouble.
    I couldn’t ask for a better ally in the fight against flab. The girl doesn’t even need to lose any weight, if you ask me, but she says her jeans are a bit snug and she wants to be healthier. I feel so overwhelmed by my mountain of lard, but Rhiannon’s support makes me want to try.
    After we mapped out our meals, we went shopping for all the wholesome ingredients. Then we tackled the pantry, tossing all the dodgy food straight into the bin.
    My heart ached and my stomach growled at the memories. The near-empty box of Ritz crackers that I’d demolished while watching the tennis. The bag of chocolate chips that I’d been scoffing by the handful. The dozens of ketchup sachets from my endless sorties to the McDonald’s drive-through.
    “Goodbye, old friends,” I said solemnly. “I’m going to miss you!”
    “It’s not forever!” said Rhiannon. “We just need to make healthier choices for now.”
    “I know,” I sniffed. “We’re on a mission.”
    Tonight we cooked mandarin chicken stir-fry from an old Weight Watchers cookbook I’d purchased on an aborted mission. I felt so smug and wholesome as we chopped up vegetables and weighed chicken breasts. The air filled with the aroma of sizzling garlic and ginger, which was a pleasant change from the usual french-fry fug. We huddled over the wok, plucking out stray snap peas and carrot strips to sample the sauce.
    “This is bloody beautiful!” said Rhiannon.
    “I know!” My tongue was alarmed by bright and lively flavors. “Maybe this healthy shit won’t be so torturous after all!”
    “Maybe! Shall we dish out the rice?”
    “Half a cup each, right?”
    I carefully measured out our allotted portions of sensible brown grains.
    “Holy crap, is that it?”
    “I know! I normally have four times that amount!”
    “We’re going to starve, Rhiannon. Starve, I tell you!”
    But oddly enough, I didn’t starve. I felt pleasantly satisfied instead of my usual painfully stuffed.
    So that was Day One, perfectly done. My points tracker looked so tidy I almost kissed it.
WEEK 2
January 22
341.5 pounds
9.5 pounds lost—176.5 to go
    The Triumph of Day One spurred me on to behave myself on Day Two. On Day Three, I thought my body would explode with longing for a Mars Bar, but miraculously, I settled for a chicken