They say that quitting smoking is harder than quitting heroin. But what about chocolate?

First off, let me say that I hate every single "woman and chocolate" stereotype. I hate the stupid t-shirts, the cross-stitched throw pillows and the plaques. I hate the word chocoholic. It all boils down to the notion that women have a primal and uncontrollable urge to eat chocolate, like cats to catnip or Scooby to Scooby snacks. I want so much to scream that it does not exist, there is no connection. Unfortunately, I can't do that. Why? I have a problem; I need to loose weight. And what is the root cause of this problem? Chocolate.

Many pictures were taken of me last week. In all of them, I had a double chin. I've never noticed that I have a double chin, but how could it show up in every single picture if it doesn't exist? When faced with a camera, perhaps I subconsciously smoosh my face into my neck. Or maybe I need to stop eating chocolate.

So I've been thinking of dieting.�� However, this just doesn't mesh with my lifestyle. At the end of the moth, I'm going to the field museum in Chicago to see the chocolate exhibit. Over Independence day weekend, I'm going to Vegas to see the World Pastry championship. My life is somehow devoted to the consumption of desert. How did this happen?

Perhaps I need to take the same approach that recovering drug addicts take.� Cut out all of the enablers from my life.� Goodbye family, friends, and workplace.� I'll make all new wheat-grass drinking friends.� My sister knows some people who live in a militant vegetarian commune, complete with an anarchist puppeteer.� They probably only eat carob, which is icky.� On a side note, I never got carob's justification.� It is just as fattening and expensive as chocolate, it simply tastes like the hydrogenated vegetable fat that it's made with.� Go figure.�

I will not have double chinned wedding pictures.� I will look thin, like the 17 year old models in the wedding dress ads.� That one day of my life will be preserved in pictures for the rest of my life.� If I do not have the self control to get it together, my failure will haunt me for ever, framed in silver and hung on the wall in family members houses.

I know that I am being completely irrational (don't make me mention female stereotypes again).� Being irrational is my modus operendi.� On some level, I think I enjoy it.� (It really doesn't help that in the two and a half years that we have been dating, I have always outweighed my boyfriend)

BTW, sorry this is not very coherent.� I am absolutely starving right now (seriously).