Burn Those Mo-Fo Scales

A few years ago my weight made my day, literally.

If my weight was up my mood was down and by down I mean down in the fiery pits of sooky-la-la-hell. Picture hyperventilating, tragic tears, snot everywhere, kicking stuff like a tempered two-year-old and eventually a hurt toe or two, it’s a pretty sight huh?!

On the other end of the scale (pun intended) if my weight was down I was up. Up in the clouds, high on happiness and full of confidence. Seriously though the only difference between a good and bad weigh day was a cheat meal and a decent shit.

One particular down day, of which there were many as it seemed just breathing my own farts could make me gain, my husband threatened the life of my scales. So when my tears didn’t dry up after the umpteenth time of him describing how he saw me and that the scales couldn’t rate sexy or awesome he honoured that threat by taking it to the next level.

He kidnapped my scales!

Yep, kidnapped that silver-tongued weighing machine without so much as a ransom note and he threw it powerfully over his head and directly at the driveway beneath our first floor balcony. He then pulled out his keys, threw himself frustratedly into his car, turned the ignition and proceeded to drive over them. Not satisfied with the crunch he ripped it into reverse, drive, reverse – you get what I’m saying? And then when he felt sure the scales were unusable he parked his ute on it as a final triumphant winning move.

I was devastated. Silly I know but I really was! How was I going to judge my day from now on if I didn’t know how fat or not-too-fat I was? Did I really have to wake up and just be happy? Is that what the rest of the world did?

I’ve told this husband-car-smashing-scales story before but now I’m out the other side, not completely cured but living better than I have before, I see this story differently. I also see it as a must for all women, everywhere, who choose their mood in a negative way because they listened to this mean girl machine! She is a mean girl compacted, digitalised and she doesn’t even have to speak to make you feel shit about yourself. Who are you giving your power away to?!!! If you must give your wonderful womanly power away at least make them living breathing humans! And by ‘if you must give away your power” I mean DON’T FUCKING GIVE ANYONE YOUR POWER EVER! Living, breathing or machining.

It does not matter how much you paid for those scales. It does not matter what excuses you come up with. If you weigh yourself every day or as in my case back then three times a day then you go NOW and you get that mother-fucking number thingy and throw them at the driveway and reverse, drive, reserve, drive, repeat and park on them! And no I won’t pay for your punctured tyres be smart about it ladies cover it in cardboard if you have to. If you don’t have a car, get a hammer, don’t have a hammer, get a bat – but not the perfection bat because that’s imaginary. Throw them in a bonfire if you can’t beat them to death and stand there triumphantly watching them burn! DO something significant to those little gravity defining mofos!

Was my pep talk not enough? What are you still doing here? Can’t let go? You want more?

Well, here’s ten reasons why you should amputate those fuckers from your life:

1. The scales WILL NOT tell you who you really are! That bitch will never give you the answers you are looking for! No. NOT. EVER.

2. The scales will not tell you how your genetics influence your weight/height/body shape. They will not tell you whether you are a petite dainty babe or a complete glamazon or some beautiful specimen in between. It only gives you a number. JUST A NUMBER! Like this – 67 – or this – 84 – or this – 72.47567296 – …. Numbers! NOT genetic make-up. You’ve got your Dad’s legs, your Mums waistline and apparently your Great-Aunties nose … A scale can’t calculate that whole bundle of gloriousness!

3. The scales will not tell you how funny/smart/creative you are. They can’t tell you that you have a killer backhand in tennis, that your kids/husband/dogs think your laugh is the one of the best sounds to hear ever in this world or that, if there was such a thing, you would have earned a Masters Degree in parenting/kicking arse by now.

4. The scales just stress you the fuck out … Don’t they? Then why do it to yourself? We are smarter than that. We are worth more than that! Life CANNOT be defined by that!

5. The scales cannot tell you your ‘correct’ or your ‘ideal’ weight. Why? Because it’s a stupid fucking machine! A stupid fucking machine that someone invented to make you feel bad about yourself! And they continue to do so and they win! Why let them win?!

6. The scales tell you nothing about your actual state of health. Nothing! It may give you your body fat percentage or your hydration level but can it really? It doesn’t take your blood and then calculate your cholesterol. It doesn’t evaluate the arteries in your heart, your pancreas function or tell you that you have a fatty liver. Other machines do that. Let them make you feel bad – but only to make you do something positive about it!

7. The scales can actually hinder your efforts! How? Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the statement, and probably, like me, scoffed at it too, that “muscle weighs more than fat”…. It actually really does! So if you are exercising and eating well and your weight is not shifting (or it is going up) then could it be possible your shifting fat and building muscle? Could it!?! But no you see you’re weight has gone in the wrong direction and you throw in the towel, sit on the couch, crying into a bag of caramel popcorn and chocolate. Don’t worry I’ve done that too a billion times over!

8. The scales can’t and won’t tell you that you’re due for your period, if you ate a cheat meal last night or if you haven’t been to the toilet in a few days. It cannot tell you that you are retaining fluid or if you’ve lost centimetres off your waistline. A tape measure can, your clothes can but not that mean girl machine.

9. Weight is your gravitational pull. Your mass is your matter. But none of it matters if you’re healthy and balanced in life. Your scales will only tell you your physical earthly mass. Not the depth, the intensity or the worthiness of your mass. It cannot tell you that your laughter is contagious, your smile lights up the room like sunshine or that you look totally fucken hot right now even though the scale says a number that isn’t socially acceptable to you.

10. The scales will only confuse you, haunt you and give you reasons to whip out your perfection bat. It’s a mean girl disguised as a helpful health machine and it will take away your power – if you let it.

Who’s the one in charge of your health? 

Who’s the one in control of your body? 

Who is the only one who can change who tells who what to do?

I’ll give you a clue: it’s not the scales!

Wear it. Own it. Be it….. And by ‘it’ I mean YOU!

One love,
DRK xxx

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Go On – Cure Me!

Over the past 18 months I’ve had various “diagnosis” and I use inverted commas because I am still not sure I believe I actually have these illnesses and I do still believe I can ‘cure’ all of them. This, I’m sure, will have the medical practitioners rolling their eyes at my bold statement while the naturalists are no doubt applauding me – a standing ovation I’d say – chanting that to live natures way is the only way and I would but here lies part of the problem I’m “allergic” to most of the raw fruits and vegetables we commonly use to heal ourselves. Yes, laugh. Seriously it’s ok if you do. This “syndrome” is one I’m sure most teenage boys would love to have. I am, however, 100% sure that my 10+ years of dieting/bingeing and my nasty internal dialogue has done this damage to me. Essentially I have poisoned myself.

I am writing this post – one that will be relatable to almost no one and after the Belle Gibson saga it’ll hardly be believable in the eyes of many – cheers Belle – but I’m still writing it and for two reasons: one) to maybe get a message out to people to start eating to survive and thrive and to stop torturing our internal system with diets, shakes, pills and poisonous potions and two) I’d love to find someone out there like me, find someone who has cured themselves, someone who lives successfully with these “syndromes”. And YES there will be MANY more inverted commas throughout this lengthy post…  

So … let me break these “diagnosis” down…

Diagnosis #1: Irritable Bowel Syndrome. 

Symptoms: stomach cramps, diarrhoea/constipation, bloating, feeling of still needing to go after you already went – we are talking bowel movements here for those of you who are unsure where I am going with that.

Treatment: the FODMAP diet which is essentially avoiding onion, garlic, lots of fruits and vegetables, grains etc – here’s the list which is too extensive for me to waste important word count on … http://www.ibsdiets.org/fodmap-diet/fodmap-food-list/


Diagnosis #2: Oral Allergy Syndrome this name makes my girlfriends laugh and laugh and laugh… If you have a dirty mind you will get the hysterics of ORAL allergy syndrome if not keep reading…

Symptoms: instant itchy mouth, swollen tongue and lips, scratchy throat, itchy inner ears, and a short time later for the real bad reactions – stomach cramps.

Treatment: avoid all fruit and vegetables that I react to which include but is not limited to avocado, watermelon, green beans, carrots, rockmelon, kiwi fruit, celery, capsicum and so on. Cooking them can sometimes help too.


Diagnosis #3 came in a bundle of three after an endoscopy: gastropathy, severe GERD and Barrett’s.

Symptoms: chest pain to make you think you’re having a heart attack and nausea. They’re the only two symptoms I had/have. No indigestion or heartburn.

Treatment: 40mg Nexium for two months then reduce it to 20mg and also, yep you guessed it, more dietary restrictions. Avoid coffee, chocolate, spicy food, tomatoes, alcohol and sleep upright at a 30 degree angle.

On top of these “syndromes” I am also sensitive to milk and whey powders (think weight loss shakes), allergic to certain grasses and soy … I also get the most incredible ovulation pains that take me out for a good 12-24hour period once a month and speaking of periods well actually let’s not go there and instead just say I’d have a hysterectomy if it wasn’t so extreme! Continuing on I have bursitis in my left knee and my left shoulder and intermittently have back and/or neck pain. Am I making your ears bleed yet?! Trust me my poor husband, Mum and friends must be over it – another reason to over share with you – allow that probably accounts for 50% of my followers 🙂

What I am feeling from all these things is that I’m internally toxic. Inflamed. Unbalanced.

The “avoid” food list of all these “diagnosis” combined are mind boggling! There is so much I have to stay away from and most of them are things that I’d put on my favourite list if I made one … Coffee, spicy food, avocado, chocolate and being a 1/2 Italian stallion means I’m accoustomed to having tomato based meals, pasta, and bread. I also love a good salad but on eating salad every day for two weeks some time ago, pushing past the itches and swelling, in a bid to lose weight I ended up with sinusitis. Hell that hurt! Another OAS effect when overexposed to the pollens/proteins (?) your allergic too. 

I can’t say I’ve given much of the avoid list up simply because I don’t know then what I should eat – looks like a water detox for me. It’s confusing. I do avoid the OAS foods most of the time only because it’s an instant physically reaction which drives me crazy whereas the other food restrictions are internalised, silently killing me (dramatic much? I must of just channelled Belle Gibson) and aren’t physically apparent until and hour or so later when I’m in agony. 

I love all food, I’m not a fussy eater, hence the reason I have gained 10kg in 18 months and I’m confused by it – not the 10kg gain but confused by the whole food thing in general. What to eat, how to make it delicious and nutritious. How to cure what I already have. You know I’d love to get up in the morning and just eat. Without thinking about what I can or can’t, should or shouldn’t or what I will regret later on in my day. 

So this is where my superheroes come in, aka you! If you’ve read this entire post then I pat you on the back and I also owe you an ear massage after all my unloading. If you have found anything that has worked for you, naturally, give it a shout out here! Give it a shameless plug if you have a product you 100% believe in. And by all means share with people who may have the same problems – I’d love to know there is someone, anyone, out there, relatable!

Go on! Cure me! 

One Love,

DRK xxx

10 Cheeky Comebacks For When Someone Asks If You’re Pregnant BUT You’re not!

In the light of recent pregnancy comments about Princess Zara I was reminded of a lifetime of my own. As a mere ‘normal’ mortal, though, I am lucky not to have had my “is-she?-isn’t-she?” splashed across the internet and news feeds but I do wonder why there is this obsession with the woman body. I believe just like being “on a period” you should never ask a woman if she is pregnant. You should never ask when she is due and definitely never EVER have an opinion on her “baby” weight! We are women and weight is a very sensitive subject. It’s not hard though. Just keep your mouth shut.

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I’m generally two from left – except my boobs are bigger – unless it’s been a few days since visiting the toilet then I am definitely more a three or four.

If you, like me, have ever been asked these questions, if you have ever been in that mortifying and uncomfortable situation don’t hide yourself away. Don’t feel ashamed. Don’t visualise punching them in the face – and please don’t actually punch them in the face! Instead have a comeback. A fucking witty comeback topped up with good dose of sarcasm so people learn that it is NOT ok to assess a womans body or to make assumptions that we can’t simply be a little voluptuous or god-forbid bloated without having to be up-the-duff. Lets face it for those of us who can conceive it is an awkward situation and, at worst, it’s a throw-the-outfit-in-the-bin-and-never-wear-it-again embarrassment but for those who can’t have babies then it is just a heartbreaking moment in their life… A question they would give anything to answer “YES!” to …  A question and answer scenario they dream of, even when they are awake.

Lets raise the bar (or our eye level) and look at each other when talking together instead of analysing bumps and lumps. If you do feel the need to analyse bumps and lumps then do a breast check and by that I mean your own! Now doesn’t that seem much more important than insulting an unsuspecting and definitely not pregnant woman?!

OK so let’s talk about comebacks to particular questions. They must be delivered with shoulders back, head held high and a smirk on your face. No one needs to feel embarrassed in the skin they are in and typically, these questions come from people who mean well but lack any type of filter from brain to judgement to mouth.

Here we go………

Q1: How long have you got to go?

A: Well, I dropped a couple of laxatives a few of hours ago now so ummm any minute now I guess and then my five day old shit will be ready to explode!

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Q2: Wow you must be ready to pop – how long now? 

A: Oh no I’m not pregnant but hey looks like your arse is about to have twins – congrats!

Q3: Oh my god you’re pregnant… Congrats!

A: Yes but don’t tell my husband – it’s not his!

Q4: OMG so-and-so told me you were pregnant – congrats!!

A: Shit! Am I? I better lay off the tequila shots and cigars!

Q5: When’s this one due?

A: I was just about to ask you the same question!

Q6: OMG! Are you preggas?

A: No but the night is still young!

Q7: Look at that belly! How far along are you?

A: Well I’ve been brewing this massive fart all morning but unfortunately you’ll need more than gas to help that mouth of yours!

Q8: Are you up the duff?

A: No. My boobs are always this awesome!

Q9: Oooohhh (points to belly) what are you hoping for?

A: A puppy that can burp the alphabet

Q10: I can’t believe you’re pregnant again!

A: Actually I’m not. I have a condition called “Fuck-You” – Google it.

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Only ever assume a women is pregnant if a) you have x-ray vision (which you should be careful with as it can be harmful to the baby) or b) you physically see that baby emerging from her body! Otherwise shove that foot firmly back into your mouth and never utter those words again to any woman ever?! Got it? Get it? Good!

Now some wise words from the always effervescent P!NK, the woman I adore and may even consider leaving my husband and children for….

Pinks statement

Ahhhhh god I love her……

One love,

DRK xxx

Master of Exercise – Master of Health – True Story!

My health is important to me. It used to be (used to be as in a couple of weeks ago) just about my weight – that illusive number – but due to lots of recent (like really recent) awakenings I now know I want to feel healthy coz, quite simply, I can’t feel 60kg … That’s just a number it isn’t a describing word, or as those smart people say, an adjective. You cannot “feel” 60kg unless you have really, really big giant hands and you are cradling 6 x 1kg bags of loose potatoes. So in keeping with this feeling healthy (which really is something you can feel) I’ve upped the exercise in the last three weeks, not to punish myself like in previous lives but because I actually enjoy (yeah I said it) the way the end result makes me feel – there’s that feel word again, ah think I’m going to vomit! So, yeah, a few weeks of health awareness means I am definitely now your Guru! Read on and you’ll see why!

No approval neededUpping exercise started with walking every morning with my Mum and pushing my 2 year old in the pram. We initially started with 3kms around the blocks which are pretty flat surfaces, then we have upped it to 4kms using big hills as the non-toxic heart starters. Doing it every morning means my day starts out right (I can’t speak for my Mum but she does come along willingly, I promise) and as a bonus it gets the noisy early riser out of the house before he wakes everyone else up!

One day I was not feeling completely satisfied with my morning walk so I decided to add some treadmill action in at lunchtime.  I started with a walk/jog and then days in I pushed it to interval training of walking at a steep incline and jogging/sprinting on the flats. Once I had managed to conquer 5km with some left in my tank I decided to push it further again by adding 25 push ups, 20 tricep dips and a yoga(ish) style cool down and a blessed thanking to the universe to end my sessions.

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Yep, I’m hardly graceful or flexible but I give it a go!

So I’m thinking, “Awesome, I got this fitness shit nailed!” and decided to push myself to the next level. I’ve been a fitness head before so I was feeling like this was me making my big fit chic comeback…

Now if you are a friend or a follower of my blog you know that I have certain weight and body issues which means I own every fitness, health and food app you can ever think of to further confuse and frustrate me. There’s this one app in particular that I knew I had to give a red hot go, possibly because I had already given it a super review just to convince the world that I do indeed use these apps… The phone app in question? PT in My Pocket. Which is as it says … A Personal Trainer in your pocket or palm of you hand or in my case placed precariously on the edge of my bed end. I picked a 10 minute session with the best intentions of doing it twice maybe even three times if I was still feeling it. And I did it. I finished it….. Once. Then I spent the next 1.5hrs dry retching, shaking like a leaf and unable to sleep – yeah I thought it was a good idea to do it at 9 o’clock at night, I’m not just a pretty face right, I’m smart too!

Days later I am still reeling from this bitch called PT in My Pocket. I have throbbing pains in places that shouldn’t throb unless you’ve had a wild fifty shades of grey night ….. with your entire neighbourhood! And there are more aches than the osteoarthritis clinic waiting room on pension day. These are not the good aches and pains of oh-shit-I-cant-sit-down-coz-my-muscles-are-so-freaking-awesome type but more like the uh-oh-I-think-you’re-getting-a-bit-too-ambitious-and-old-to-be-a-try-hard-hardcore-fit-chic-oh-shit-was-that-a-tendon pain.

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I’m hurting. So is my pride. Where has my awesomeness gone? Where has my 45 minute training without vomiting gone? 10 minutes! Seriously?! Now I have to wait until the bursitis in my knee settles down AND I have pay for a physio appointment to help get me back into … well into some type of normal human like stance AND I have to remember to keep my mouth from opening up and whining otherwise my husbands ears might bleed….

There is so much to be grateful for … Must. Stop. Whining!

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Soooooooooo tell me about your awesome workouts? Who ACTUALLY nailed it today … Go on inspire me….. PLEEEAASSSEE!

One Love

DRK xxx