Well, well, well. It’s been 18 months since I last wrote in here, but you’ve caught me on a big week. This week, I turned 40. 40 Four-freaking-tee. How the hell did I get here and I still haven’t figured out how to live as a responsibly thin adult? I could write a book on how that happened, but instead, let’s just close that chapter and agree to move on.

I sucked up my pride and walked back into Weight Watchers this week. This is the fifth time I’ve done it since I turned 18. It’s clear that, left to my own devices, I will not choose the right things in life. I will chase shiny objects like cake, and martinis, fried butter at the fair, and Diet Coke for all of my days. This is my homage to them as I learn how to put these vices in a little box that I open only occasionally while I party down with the veggies, protein, and water. [Insert gag reflex. Hoping this changes soon.]

And working out. Let’s chat about that for a minute. I used to think I was big, but strong and could keep up. I watched The Biggest Loser and felt sorry for them. This week it was clear that those contestants put me to shame. No more. I have accepted my fate. I am 40 and sick of waiting for my life to start. Buckle up, buttercup. Here we go.