I recently found myself at the base of the famed Exorcist Steps in Georgetown, D.C. I started up the first 20 of 97 and thought "Ha! Look at me! I'm as graceful as a salmon leaping upstream." Then, on the 21st step, something kicked in and I started thinking very harsh thoughts about your mother.

It's no surprise that most people are of the opinion that the obese should pay for their sins through higher insurance premiums or higher taxes for the food they eat. Only problem is the obese more than pay for their sins by dying earlier than most of us and thereby collecting less in government pensions and retirement income.

You start a diet, you do moderately well, and then you completely fall off the wagon at a bar mitzvah party. By the end of the evening you find yourself up on a moral's charge involving two underage slices of cake. Worse, a week later, you learn that that one night of debauchery has cost you an entire week's worth of weight loss.

Last week I threw a conniption fit because baby couldn't have a Cinnabon. That was a fun blog to write but reading it days later I felt pangs of shame. Is this really the worst thing in my life right now that I have to exercise some self-control around my food intake?

The notion that I can unfold a paper clip, stick the tip into my brain, and press the RESET button that will make me go cuckoo for Brussels' sprouts is insane. I will never change into a spa-cuisine kind of eater. I will never choose edamame over taters. This is a diet and it sucks.

Last Monday I weighed in at 234.4 and by Wednesday, I was at 231.6. Yes! A three-pound drop! By Friday I weighed myself and saw -- gasp! -- 237.4! I had gained six pounds! Christ on a stick, what happened? These numbers hold no true value when taken out of context.