Levy - Calorie accounting : the foolproof diet-by-numbers plan for a skinnier new you

Copyright 2015 by Mandy Levy

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Rain Saukas

Cover photo credit: Christopher Patrick Ernst

Print ISBN: 978-1-63220-472-1

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63220-797-5

Printed in China

For Mom and Dad. Yall cray. LY.

CONTENTS

Disclaimer

Any fatty who is considering buying this book needs to make sure they can put that thick skin to some good use. Were trying to get skinny here, people, and we dont have time to get butt-hurt about feelings or sensitive about political correctness, bullying, egos, errant jabs at vegans and/or yoga, etc. Dieting suckswe all know that. But attitude is everything, and success can be a long-ish journey. The least you can do is have a little fun getting there. If the Doughboy can giggle when someone pokes at his rolls, so can you. The fact of the matter is this: Youre heavy. So do yourself a favor and lighten up!

Also, I am not a doctor. Im just some schmuck like you.

Four Word:

Lets Get Skinny, Bitches!

Foreword

Well howdy-ho, plump dumpling! Fancy meeting you here, in the perpetually euphemized Health & Fitness section of your local booksellers shoppe! I can tell just looking at you that youre neither healthy nor fit, but baby beluga, thats what Im here for. Super snaps for conquering the first step: admitting you have a problem, and deciding to do something about it. That part sucks, so good for you! And from what I can see, youre a perfectly human sort of being with hands and eyes and impeccable taste, and perhaps youve just let that impeccable taste get the better of you over the months, or years, or decades, or whatever. The point is, youre fat. Maybe its the freshman fifteen, maybe you just gave birth to triplets, maybe you make yourself a pan of brownies every morning for breakfast. Whatever the reason, youre fat. And youd rather you werent. Youve tried all the fad diets, flirted with all the fashionable disorders, spent hundreds on miracle pills, but in the end, Miracle Whip has been your only friend. The beautiful clothes that hang in your closet, price tags still attached, are collecting dust. Your Facebook profile pic is over two years old. You havent felt the gentle touch of a lover since... never mind. But now youre determined, once and for all, to squeeze that fine ass into those skinny jeans and strut the streets like theyre your runway. You just need to know that this time will be the time. You just need to know it will work. Well, I may not have Dr. Atkins and Suzanne Somers and The Today Show dieticians proving my sciences, but Im pretty sure Einstein would have my back. Calorie Accounting, boys and girls, is math. Its simple arithmetic. Black and white. Right and wrong. No guessing, just knowing. Just fact. This time, it will work. Everybody bring a calculator?

Introduction: Well Who the Hell Are You?

Valid question.

Perhaps this clever poem I often employed to vandalize the chalkboards of various junior high classrooms will help clear things up:

Mandy is awesome ,

Mandy is the best ,

Mandy is better than all the rest !

Do you trust me yet? Well, I suppose I can cough up a little more detail.

My name is Mandy Levy. Im 31, and Ive been lying about my age for 3 years now. That was the first time in a long time Ive told the truth. (Or was it?) It was. I like to consider my life thus far a try-coastal experiment. Born to the Chicago shores of Lake Michigan, I made the most of my Midwestern upbringing and education. I have distinct memories of waking up in the mornings before high school, thinking to myself, I sure am lucky to be so perfect. I was student council president, head of the class, not on the goddamn homecoming court (but whos really dwelling on that?), and a champion golfer and badminton player. And no, thats nowhere near as horrifying as it appears typed out on paper. I was blonde enough and thin enough (teenage metabolism is not something to take for granted, people!) to be admired and oftentimes stalked by staggering numbers of hearing-impaired and/or sweaty-handed exchange students at school, which only encouraged me. Even after four years of angst and rebellion and forced intellectualism in college I was still so taken with my highly developed superiority complex that immediately upon graduation I flew my delusions out to Hollywood to make it. The most I made was a $60 tip at Maggianos, and on Tuesdays I sat in Judge Judys jury as a professional audience member, rubbing shoulders with the other junkies and vagrants who agreed to a ten-hour day on set with the promise of Oreos, cigarette breaks, and $6.75 an hour. Oh, I was a star.

And like any struggling young starlet might, in order to dull the pain of failure, I turned to the drink. And the food. And the more food. And because my rsum didnt tout much more than a voiceover for a chronic constipation commercial, I wasnt really a frontrunner for Dr. Drews Celebrity Rehab . I got fat. And so I went back home to the Midwest, where at least Id blend in.

I spent four years in Cincinnati, Ohio. Respectfully, some of the most fun and most productive years of my life. I met wonderful people, fell in love with the city, won an Emmy (google me, Im serious!), founded a successful arts and events collective, and became something of a small-town society girl, if I do say so myself (and I do). But widespread adoration and tangible success did not feed me enough. My confidence was up but so was my dress size. I paid the price for all the partying, stumbling home every night at 3:00 a.m., having become the unofficial spokesperson for the Taco Bell Fourthmeal campaign, and soon I was a cow-and-a-half, even by Midwestern standards, and cows are, like, an industry there.