So, today I am totally inspired by Miss T to start eating lesser and healthier.

i.e -

1. A bowl of noodles, half the intake of noodles, but finish the rest of the meat and vege.
2. Zero rice. I bid farewell and au revoir to my beloved Nasi Kandar. Although the occasional Bak Kut Teh is still permissible. Justification: My ass, my rules.
   
3. Purchasing a good fruit juicer is top on the list now. The one which, you can toss in any imaginable fruit, which, in return, you get a yucky colored concoction which is packed with Vitamins A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K - Z. (Me and Biology - we weren't exactly the best of friends back in high school.)
   
4. And when I can tick a 'Done' to Item 3 above, the bf and I will have a glass of fresh juice each every morning before we head out to battle through the day to save humankind.
5. No fried stuff, if I can help it. Which can loosely be translated to --> Fat chance.

I guess the turning point to this was when I realised I am actually starting to develop cellulites just below the ass. Yes, I do know that the skinniest girl or celeb (in this case, Fergie - Click here) also suffers from the cursed C. It just goes to show that cellulites are fair. They do not discriminate. They just appear unannounced and destroy our self-esteem at the beach.


So, me and my bikini. We do not go to the beach these days. We do not even dare appear together at the residence pool below. We, are going through some pretty hard times together.


If you think I'm fat, wait till you see the bf. Which, by the way, is pregnant now. So pregnant that he has resorted to consult Google on "How to flatten tummy", to help rid off the 'baby'. He is very clever, I kid you not. He seems to think a flat tummy is achievable by using this roller mechanism (which he has) where you roll forward and backwards daily. Hate to break it to you again baby, it ain't gonna work. Layers of tummy fat just ain't gonna melt away with that machine. Cardio, baby, CARDIO. Told him to go run with me outside. No, he says. Great. Though I have to give him credit for trying to swim more and hit the futsal pitch weekly with the boys. And seriously, he ain't fat at all. He's just carrying a 5 month old 'baby' inside.


So I came to a conclusion that, unless you are blessed with a high metabolisme rate (though, eventually will decline as you age), you are pretty much fcuked if: Calories input > Calories output. A pretty easy concept to adopt, this 'Input < Output' rule. Question is, how disciplined are you to actually follow this. Well, I'd give 100 points to Miss T, who, ordered a curry chicken noodle, ate all the chicken and left the noodle untouched and "Oh, I had half a steamed fish for dinner last night." Amazing willpower. Impossible for me.


We will get there. We hope. Me and bikini sans cellulite will make our appearance once again by the residence poolside, with a good book, sunblock and a Pina Colada. I, hereby, announce a full-fledged war against The Cursed C. Even if it means I have to ground coffee beans and rub them on the ass.