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A Weight Loss Journey That No One Warned You About.
If you’re looking for some GLP-1 weight loss humor to lighten the mood, you’ve come to the right place.
Are you taking Zepbound, Mounjaro, or Wegovy for weight loss? Considering tirzepatide or semaglutied to help shed those extra pounds? Let me be your guide through the utterly absurd reality that no doctor’s pamphlet will ever prepare you for. After almost two years on this GLP-1 medication rollercoaster, I have compiled the definitive collection of “wait, THAT happens?!” moments that every Zepbound user eventually experiences.
The Refrigerator Philosopher: When Food Becomes a Theoretical Concept
Remember hunger? That familiar sensation that once propelled you toward the kitchen like a heat seeking missile? On Zepbound, you’ll find yourself standing in front of your open refrigerator at odd hours—not because you’re hungry, but because you’re contemplating the existential question: “What was hunger supposed to feel like again?”
Just last Tuesday, my partner discovered me at 2 AM, refrigerator door wide open, staring intensely at a block of cheese.
“What are you doing?” they asked reasonably.
“I’m trying to remember if I like food,” I responded with complete sincerity. “I know I used to eat this yellow rectangle thing regularly, but I can’t recall why.”
Pro tip for new Zepbound users: Set calendar reminders to eat. Otherwise, you might suddenly realize at 4 PM that your only caloric intake was half a rice cake and you’re now experiencing what can only be described as “hungry but in a theoretical sense.”
Your Taste Buds: The Ultimate Betrayal
Before Zepbound, I had reliable food preferences developed over decades. Pizza was good. Broccoli was tolerable. Coffee was life-sustaining nectar.
Post-Zepbound, my taste buds staged a full rebellion, often known as dysgeusia:
- Coffee now tastes like someone filtered motor oil through an old gym sock
- Chocolate triggers a gag reflex that could win Olympic medals
- Broccoli? Somehow delicious. BROCCOLI. What wizardry is this?
- Water tastes like it’s trying too hard to be water
However, if you want to know the most devastating betrayal? Bacon. BACON! The food so universally beloved that even vegetarians acknowledge its tempting aroma. Now it tastes like salted disappointment with notes of regret.
Last month, I caught myself enthusiastically eating raw bell peppers while explaining to my horrified teenage nephew that they are “nature’s candy.” He’s currently accepting applications for a new uncle.
The Social Minefield of Sulfur Burps
No one—and I cannot stress this enough—NO ONE warned me about sulfur burps. These aren’t your standard diet cola belches. These are chemical warfare episodes that emerge from your body with zero warning.
During my performance review at work, I felt one brewing just as my boss asked about my professional goals. What followed was an elaborate charade of trying to suppress what felt like a volcanic eruption while maintaining eye contact and discussing my five-year plan. When it eventually escaped, the smell was so horrific my boss actually looked behind me to check if someone had snuck in to release a stink bomb.
My collection of emergency excuses has grown impressive:
- “I think I left my car running”
- “Is that my phone ringing in another room?”
- “I need to check if gravity still works elsewhere in the building”
For fellow sufferers: Peppermint tea helps. Sometimes. When it doesn’t, just apologize profusely and blame it on “medication.” No need to specify which one as the ambiguity allows people to imagine it’s something more dignified. Peppermint and ginger can help also with nausea!
The Mystery of the Vanishing Alcohol Tolerance
Pre-Zepbound: Three glasses of wine = pleasantly relaxed. Post-Zepbound: Three sips of wine = accidentally texting your high school crush at 7 PM
My friend’s wedding featured an open bar, a fact I approached with my usual pre-Zepbound enthusiasm. Half a glass of champagne later, I was tearfully telling the bride’s grandmother about my “complicated relationship with carbohydrates” while she frantically searched for someone to rescue her.
Warning for new users: Your alcohol tolerance hasn’t just decreased—it has been utterly annihilated. That “just one drink” might as well be administered via IV for how quickly it hits your bloodstream.
The Incredible Shrinking Wardrobe Catastrophe
Weight loss is the goal with Zepbound, but nobody prepares you for the comedy of errors that is your wardrobe during this transition. One minute your pants fit perfectly, the next they’re staging an impromptu evacuation from your waist without warning.
I’ve mastered what I call the “penguin shuffle”, a specific waddle designed to keep my pants from pooling around my ankles in public. I have also accidentally flashed my colleagues during video meetings when standing up, forgetting my pants now require manual assistance to stay in position.
Pro tip: Belt. Belt. Belt. And safety pins. And maybe suspenders. Basically, approach each outfit like you’re preparing for structural failure, because you are.
The “Where’s My Brain?” Chronicles
Brain fog is real, and it’s spectacular! Last week alone, I:
- Searched frantically for my phone… while on a phone call
- Put the milk in the cabinet and the cereal in the refrigerator
- Drove to work on Saturday because my brain was on autopilot
- Called my son by the dog’s name and the dog by my boss’s name
- Forgot the word “fork” and asked for “the stabby food pickup stick”
During a crucial work presentation, I completely blanked on the word “quarterly” and instead said we needed to discuss our “three-month-ish time chunks.” My CEO now uses this phrase exclusively to torment me.
The Airport Security Theater Production
If you think TSA agents are typically fun-loving individuals who appreciate medical humor, allow me to shatter that illusion. Traveling with temperature-sensitive injectable medication turns security checkpoints into your personal episode of “America’s Most Suspicious Traveler.”
TSA Agent: “What’s in this case?” Me: “My weight loss medication. It needs to stay cold.” TSA Agent: looking at me like I just announced plans to hijack the plane with a butter knife Me: “It’s basically just expensive insulin for non-diabetics who want smaller pants.” TSA Agent: unsmiling “I’ll need to check this separately.”
Forty-five minutes and what felt like a background check later, I was released back into the wild, clutching my medication cooler like it contained the nuclear codes.
The Bathroom Becomes Your New Office
Let’s be adults: Zepbound affects your digestive system in ways that range from “nothing is happening ever again” to “EMERGENCY EVACUATION NOW.”
I’ve become intimately familiar with every public restroom within a five mile radius of my home. I have opinions about bathroom design that I share unsolicited. I know which establishments have the good toilet paper and which have lighting that won’t trigger existential crises.
My family now accepts my disappearances during meals with knowing nods. “The Zepbound Express is leaving the station,” and the acroynym of NTAF (never trust a fart) is my new life’s motto.
The Support Group You Never Asked For
Perhaps the most unexpected side effect is how quickly Zepbound users identify each other in the wild. There’s an unmistakable knowing look exchanged when you experience these encounters.
- Orders a child-sized meal at a restaurant
- Carries an emergency snack bag despite never being hungry
- Reacts with visible panic when a restaurant bathroom is “out of order”
We’ve developed our own secret language:
- “I’m having a Z day” (Translation: All side effects have arrived simultaneously)
- “The taste apocalypse has happened” (Translation: Everything tastes wrong)
- “I’m riding the struggle bus” (Translation: I haven’t had a successful bathroom visit in days)
At a recent dinner party, I noticed another guest taking minimal bites and subtly reaching for her anti-nausea ginger candies. Our eyes met across the table. No words were needed. We were Zepbound siblings. We spent the rest of the evening in the corner, comparing bizarre side effects while everyone else enjoyed their functioning digestive systems.
The Unexpected Food Waste Guardian
With my dramatically reduced appetite, I’ve discovered my true calling as a human garbage disposal replacement. Funny thing is that I’m not actually consuming the leftovers, I’m becoming an expert at creative food preservation.
My refrigerator now contains:
- 7 take-out containers with approximately 3 bites missing from each
- 12 half-finished smoothies in various stages of separation
- A collection of meals I was absolutely certain I would want “later”
My dogs think I’ve been replaced by a more generous version of myself. They follow me to the kitchen with hopeful eyes whenever I pick up a fork. The smaller one has gained five pounds, which is ironic given that my weight loss medication is making my pets chunkier.
Embracing the Zepbound Journey: Where Weight Loss Meets Absurdity
For all the bizarre and hilarious moments Zepbound has introduced into my life, the health benefits make the side effect carnival worthwhile. My blood pressure is down, my energy is up (except during “fog days”), and yes, the number on the scale keeps decreasing.
If you find yourself on this Mounjaro or Zepbound journey, keep these essentials handy:
- A robust sense of humor
- Emergency bathroom supplies in every bag, coat pocket, and vehicle
- A belt collection that would impress the most dedicated fashionista
- Peppermint tea for the sulfur dragons
- A phone reminder to actually eat something occasionally
Remember: when your doctor casually mentioned “some digestive issues” as a potential side effect, this entire circus is what they were diplomatically avoiding describing. Consider yourself properly warned—in ways the medication guide never could be.
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