03/25/2015 10:42 am ET Updated May 25, 2015

Food Is Now More Interesting Than Sex

There is an old joke: two men are sitting on a park bench, feeding pigeons, and all of the sudden an old lady, wearing a raincoat, runs up to them and yells, "Super p*ssy!" and rips open her raincoat revealing herself to be totally naked. One old guy says to the other, "What did she say?" and the other old guy says, "She said soup or p*ssy!" and then the first old guys says, "I'll take the soup."

Well, I have officially become that guy. I'm not that old, just 50, but I have been dieting for about a year now and all I do is fantasize about food. I watch TV shows about food, like Man Vs. Food and The Layover With Anthony Bourdain and several that involve cooking meat on a grill. I even like to watch those survival shows and my mouth waters when two guys are cooking a squirrel on a stick over a camp fire.

Sadly, I have learned that the key to dieting is never actually eating enough food to be happy. As soon as you start feeling the slightest pang of joy, put the fork down immediately. Dieting, like any addiction, is a slow slide toward further and further moral depravity. Less than a year ago, I said, "I'm not going to be one of those people who eats nuts for dinner!"

Last week I bought my first bag of cashews. What's next? Kale, I suppose. Kale is sort of the Subaru Legacy of cool foods now. But please, God, I don't want to turn into one of the gluten free freaks.

Out here in California, where I live (not bragging, simply stating a fact) the hip trend is "raw" food. As in, raw fruits, vegetables, nuts, twigs and berries. Sort of the same stuff we ate ten thousand years ago, during the hunter gatherer days. You know, back when the average age of mortality was 27 and syphilis was fatal.

Frankly, if raw food is the only option, I'd rather be fat.

No, moderation is the only way. Count calories like a fiend and tell yourself over and over about all the great stuff you will eat, when you reach your diet's goal. For example, I have about five more pounds to lose, to get to my target of 190. And I tell myself that when that happens I will gorge for however long it takes to gain back five pounds. It makes no sense at all, but I need a mechanical rabbit to chase, even if I know damn well I will never catch the little bastard.

Oh it's going to be such fun! Pizza and sushi and fried chicken and steak! Of course it will never happen. Half of that and I would be back to two twenty, and looking like a parade float.
Am I suggesting you should lie to yourself? Hell yes! Do it! It works!

Think about it, you probably lie to yourself all the time already. Those little white lies, like "I'm going to start saving money," and "I still love my husband," and "I don't have a racist bone in my body."

Nothings says "I love you" like self-deception.

Now, go lie like the wind!

You're welcome.