Since it’s Friday Avoid the Scale Day and I was playing with my camera yesterday I’m christening Friday as Pimp My Kitty Day.

















Last night we were heading towards the door for a late night run to Coldstone. I turned to MLG and said very matter of factly, very matter of on my mind every second of every minute, we need to have sex, thinking oh maybe he’ll remember this weekend or something. But instead we nixed Coldstone and ran up the stairs like teenagers. I’ve since decided that I think every time I feel a craving I should just have sex. It works I tell you.

This totally happened to me yesterday and it’s so classic you’ll swear I found it in the Not How You Diet Handbook. Brainfrozen me purchased all turkey taco ingredients at the grocery store the other night except taco seasoning even after I reminded myself about 4 times in the store and we managed to spend about $130 in groceries but forgot a $.79 packet of taco seasoning. Therefore after procrastinating making the turkey tacos all week until Thursday and starting the rice, I realized I did not buy the taco seasoning and we’d be stuck eating rice for dinner. Unless, of course, we go out. Which is fine by me! MLG comes home to the house smelling like chicken flavored rice and offers to make breakfast burritos.

I was against the breakfast burritos from the moment I heard sausage in the ingredient list, because although I can’t pass the icecream aisle without whimpering, sausage, sausage my friend, is a huge no-freaking-no. So he fries up the sausage and adds the egg (and didn’t wipe the pan though we did drain the grease, oh the horror (though I was to suggest Coldstone about 15 minutes after eating this meal). We load up our flour tortilla with Mexican cheese, and the sausage/egg mixture and top with salsa. It’s pretty good but heavy and as I’m completing my breakfast burrito, heavily complimenting my honey for cooking for me for the first time since we’ve met (that would be a year this Monday) I realize in pure fear that I always have 2 of my turkey tacos and have only had one of his breakfast tacos. I have to eat another one, what would he think if I shortchanged him. Certainly that I was just being kind by eating one measly little taco. So despite being full, though craving icecream like a kid hearing the icecream bell, I ate another burrito.

Why would you do that? To appease yo man?

Any weight loss blog reader will tell you finding a boy weightloss blog is damn near impossible and not only have I tripped upon one but really enjoy reading it regularly. If you check it out, and you know you should, make sure you read the food intake portion of his journal. Usually, I know, it’s bland to read what someone ate but I’m telling you if you don’t you’ll miss some very creative descriptions of food that will certainly put a smile on your face.

I bring you Metamorpheus.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend and happy anniversary to MLG and myself on Monday. The best boyfriend I've ever had and I've had him for a whole year and counting. Lucky me.

Morning Calls

So sadly, MLG’s parents are not coming up this weekend. I tell you I cleaned that house head to toe. I even broke out the Pledge. I even cleaned the suction container in the bathroom that holds all our hair products. ::Whispers:: Nasty. All the laundry is done including every piece of linen in the house. It took me two long full days after work. I was ready. Ready I tell you.

I gotta say I was really worried when the phone rang at 8 am. We have one phone in the house now and it was downstairs so we just let it ring. They called immediately back, something my mom does when there’s trouble. It was scary. I just kept thinking, please don’t let it be my dad, please don’t let it be my dad. Which now I feel bad about because it was MLG’s dad with a fever so they aren’t coming. It’s so anticlimactic because we’ve been spending time talking about what we could do with them. We just talked about the best local restaurant fare to take them to that wasn’t too expensive and cross-referenced those restaurants against those we’d take his brother to if/when he visits. This has to be something only fat Americans do. Or maybe they just pop down to Pizza Hut no matter who comes to visit, I dunno.

I had my doctor’s appointment on Tuesday and the most unfortunate part was Lunch Buddy and I were running way late for lunch and I was gobbling down my Shrimp BLT (something that should be savored) at 1:15 with a 2 pm doctors appointment. I don’t think anyone wants a full tummy during a pap smear. I knew weighing would be difficult. It’s always happy meet and greet and bam get on the scale. I feel weird about putting down my purse but really I want to take off my shoes. I don’t. Big bar on 150 pounds, so sad really, and the scoot begins. She tries to rest it on 180 pounds but it tips back and she says, “oh I’ll just give you 179.” Oh really, thanks for that because that’s what I am! Fat, grotesque, over 150 fucking punk ass pounds. Can we take my blood pressure now, great, because I’m not depressed or agitated or anything.

I’ve been holding out for having a 20 pound fibroid. I don’t suppose many people do that but it would answer all my questions except why my legs stick together and where that extra chin came from. No such luck however. He didn’t even mention my fibroids. Probably can’t feel them in all that fat. Yet another reason to lose weight.

Feel a trend yet? No, didn’t think so.

But I’m fit as a whistle though he didn’t say that, he’s too cool to say that. Did I mention my doctor’s handsome for an older guy. He says I’m a fast dresser. Yeah, I rock. No time for Freecell waiting for me to dress. No mention of my weight despite gaining a big bar movement. I was prepared to ask him to look at the year before. Classic yo-yo’er. And yet healthy and strong, imagine that.

I also skipped church this past Sunday. I realized I was getting the exact same feeling about going to church that I get about having to exercise. The uncomfortable boredomness of having an hour sucked out of my life for my own damn good. I was thinking and maybe they could combine the two and have spinning church sessions. Spin class and a sermon all in the same hour. Followed by Belgian waffles after. It’s just a thought.

Comments

I’ve been running it through so much in my head that it’s getting ridiculous. I’m not writing in my blog because I can’t make a decision and I’m thinking about it all the time, like when I blowdry my hair and MLG makes funny faces at me because I’m off in lala land. I’m getting rid of the comments. I feel like it’s a big decision but really after much thought it’s really not. The comments are more harmful than good to me and I’ve decided, at least for now, to drop them.

My mom likes to tell this story of me learning to tie my shoes when I was 5 or so (whenever you learn to tie your shoes) and I wouldn’t let anyone help me. I’d struggle and struggle but when someone would try to help I’d adamantly say, “I’ll do it myself!” I was always fiercely independent in so many ways and still am. The comments hold me back. I’ve tried to tell people that I have a mom already. I don’t need a lecture or tough love or a “pep talk” disguised as shit I already know. My mom drives me crazy and being driven crazy makes me want to eat so you see how it doesn’t help, because I have to work even that much harder to not eat. I feel like I’m growing more and more moms in my comment section and I really think it’s having an adverse effect on me spiritually.

I know how to diet. I’ve lost 70 pounds on this very blog and before that I’ve been dieting since I was 6 years old. Can you sit back and take that in for a second. Do you really think there’s something you can tell me that I don’t already know or haven’t told myself 500 times. I know it all. You can’t help. But still people offer no-shit advice and stern for your own good rants. I know you’re all trying to help. I know you feel bad and want to help me. I know you think you can help because you’ve been through it, are doing it, or watch it on tv. But you can’t. And more than that I never asked for help and I’ve written countless times that I don’t want help or advise and still these comments flood in like no one even reads what I write.

The comments are so much more than the harmful aspect. There are some really good things about having them and I’ll miss those. I’ve found countless enjoyable blogs by clicking on commenters’ addresses who have written to me. I can also tell at a glance who I help (if anyone) and learn a little about who reads me. This is what I love about the comments. I love getting to know other people’s struggles and finding commonalities between us all. I love knowing someone who isn’t dieting, doesn’t even think about dieting, would read my blog and find it interesting and enjoyable. I love a swelled ego like the next person. That’s why I put the comments on my blog and it’s what I’ll miss so much by taking them away.

I think by taking them away I can get back to writing this blog for what its intention is. It’s my journey, my view, my life. It’s a diet blog because my weight is my largest (no pun intended) struggle. I deal with it every day, ever second of every day. It permeates into everything I do. I can’t take a shower without thinking about it. I can’t go to the movies without thinking about it. I can’t go on vacation or dress up without thinking about it. I can’t garden or take a walk without thinking about it. It’s the way it’s always been. It’s the way it’ll always be. It’s my struggle and I’m sharing it with you. My only intention is to be honest and real and hopefully entertaining and sometimes funny (because I seek humor in things to make the pain more bearable). If it seems shallow or woeful (and trust me it will) or like I need my head to be pounded against a rock and told get over it, it’s still the truth and it’s still what I feel.

My words also you must understand, though I try with all my might, don’t define me. My life is too large to fill a blog. I can only write about choice little morsels of my life. Whatever you read and think you know about me is not the whole of myself. It’s just a smidge.

As always you can email me. I once read where someone was pissed off because she didn’t get an email back from a blogger she wrote. At the time I was very slack about writing people back, often forgetting altogether, though I read every email. Since reading that I really try to write everyone back quickly but if it hits me at the wrong moment when I’ve got too much going on I may forget to write back or write you back when you’ve long forgotten about me. If you read me and want to write me and have a blog please tell me your address. I love reading new blogs and especially want to read those who read me.

I hope I didn’t disappoint anyone too badly, yet again another reason to get rid of the comments. The blog is for me in the end, despite counters and comments and hours of HTML self-training to get the perfect column width and perfect shade of pink. It should be what I want it to be and not to appease people I probably can’t appease anyway. That’s the hardest part I suppose, knowing you can’t please everyone, sometimes you gotta please yourself.

My journey as always is yours.

GD Pants!!!!!

Well so far, I guess, that seems to be working. Wearing a size 14, and did I mention it’s a very fitted size 14, not a loose size 14, but leaves marks on your tummy size 14, scared to put in the dryer size 14, and sitting down (or standing up, or laying down, whatever) to have something to eat and thinking, Well, Self (aka Dumbass), you can make a good decision and be one step closer to being smaller in these GD!!! pants or you can eat whatever your stupid ass fatchick heart desires and find yourself unable to wear these badboys too, you decide. Suddenly the M&M brownie isn’t looking too hot. I’m not counting calories, and need to, or exercising, and need to, or weighing myself, and need to so it’s one step of many. But my decisions are changing so that’s a good thing.

Well, gotta run. I’m heading off to Lowes to get some painting supplies.

Scary Stuff

Oh my god.

You know the new Gap ads that make flared skirts and tanktops look like the cutest clothes on the planet. They spin and spin to a song from my innocent youth than can only bring back memories of the scariest thing in life being to remember to look both ways before crossing the road.

I had on my size 12 fluted skirt hoping it would be so cute and I’d be so inspired to spin around in the dressing room to Seventies Songwriters music but I stood there with mouth agape at my tablecloth for a skirt. I figured it would attract ants and mustard so I calmly repositioned it back on its pinchy hanger. Sadly it was the only thing in a size 12 that fit me. I bought 2 sized 14 capris and 2 size 14 shorts.

It was not to be so easy as it may sound. I carried into the dressing room about 30 items since everything had to be in size 12 and 14 or Large and Extra Large. I immediately broke into a sweat when the first size 12 skirt didn’t come over my hips. Of course knee deep in clothing that does not flatter I overheard what I imagined to be a Kate Hudson look alike next door shout, “Oh, I guess I’m not a size 2.” And I had to mumble it back silently to myself in the mirror like my reflection and I would both break into laughter. Instead my cheeks flushed pink and I continued to wallow through my fabric quicksand.

“It doesn’t fit like it does on the commercial,” she continued yelling to her friend on the other side of me. Don’t I know it, I thought. “I think I need the next size up.”

Grrr.

The porch swing has been hung. It looked a bit S&Mish from the road with all the big shiny chains dangling but I think I’ll get used to it.

I’ve been lectured incessantly about answering the door since I’ve moved downtown and don’t have 2 large French doors to access my guests. We have a peep hole but it’s about 6 feet up from the floor (and I’m 5’5”) so on tip toes I can barely make out anything, even height, gender, or weaponry. Often I peek and stare and walk away. They’ll knock again and I’ll relook and think and ponder and finally open the freaking door to see who it is. Sometimes it’s the UPS guy and sometimes it’s a homeless person with a weed whacker asking if we need any trees removed or a crazy unshowered lady asking if we want to buy a bible. I’m supposed to wait until the person leaves and then I can sort of make them out better from the nasty cobweb filled window in the living room. But the UPS guy hauls ass when he thinks no one’s home or the resident is afraid of a black man and I have to chase him and apologize and flirt a little so he knows I’m not afraid of a black man, unless he’s carrying a knife and some rope, and often my Jcrew package looks like a big knife through that lousy peephole anyway.

I actually thought the homeless guy was the UPS man because they both had on brown. I didn’t even see his weed whacker until he thrust it towards me. "Dude, don't cut me or my camellia bush."

So last night while MLG was at basketball I was terribly sewing some sheets into some terrible curtains when I heard a knock at the door. I tiptoed to the door and looked out the peephole. Nothing. I tiptoe back to the dining room (where the sewing machine is set up). Knock on the door. My heart races and I tiptoe back to the peephole. Nothing. Lights are blaring in the house because I’m blind (and non-deft) when it comes to sewing. I know they can see in. I hide behind the door trying to figure out what to do. I stare out the peephole again trying to make out something, anything, in the hazy, cloudy, tiny hole. That looks like MLG’s car though it could really be Ted Bundy’s yellow VW bug for all I can tell. I swing open the door ready to be accosted. MLG is chilling on the porch swing.

“Just wanted to swing on the porch with you.”

I carefully survey the porch for bugs and go have a swing, feet off the ground of course.

Yesterday I was trying to look up if I wrote about going to church with MLG in the Adirond@cks because that was a funny experience, especially when I accidentally wiped the holy water from his forehead and he gave me a look like I was the devil, I thought it was sweat, but I didn’t write about it so I started reading my posts from last September and October where I was only 15 pounds overweight. I had the EXACT same issues I have right now. That’s extremely bizarre. Not to mention sad that I’ve been going on about the same thing for 30 pounds now. This is really so sad to me that I can’t snap out of this bullshit and it’s just been going on and on and on. Maybe the zone doesn’t come back. Maybe it waits until I hit 200 pounds again, when honestly, size 14 should do the trick, I mean really. Maybe I have to forget about the zone and just make myself do it. People are doing it all over the place. They eat properly and workout and there’s no whining or anything, it’s all very matter of fact. I want to be matter of fact. I want to erase the emotion part of me that clings like a five-year-old child stamping her chubby ass feet over brownies and whatnot. I want to be the parent that says, you’re doing it. And do it. And then do it forever.

So it’s now lunchtime. What decisions will I make and how will it carry through the rest of the day? Will it be the same day I’ve lived now almost a year now and cost me 45 pounds? Or will today be the first day in the direction of a size 8. Only I can make the decision.

Golden Slumbers

Let’s see, where to begin. How about, I’m going to England! In June, MLG and I will be flying to London on a very uncomfortable, but virtually free (thanks to stepdad’s mileage Christmas present), coach seating where we will curse the gods for such small leg room and crappy microwaved food. MLG will play 5 hours of Tetris on his employee’s hot pink gameboy and I’ll watch my batteries wither away on my laptop the first ½ of the trip. We’ll talk about how excited we are while I panic over that blood clotting thing that can kill you on transatlantic flights and wish the flight attendant HAD given me the entire diet coke can. We’ll arrive gaunt, well not that gaunt, and tired and I’ll be pissy because we didn’t have a window seat. We’ll be whisked away to his brother’s house for 7 glorious days where we’ll partake in a cheesy Beatle tour and a short trip to Paris, ah, Parie, how I have missed you, no.

We’ll then return, me carrying a 10 pound dead batteried laptop, on an equally uncomfortable flight after which MLG will take off directly to the office and I’ll march past my now dead garden, with withered hydrangeas, and fall into bed for a deep slumber, a Golden Slumber.

Yay!

The bad news is I have a sad, sad little, well big in size, little in quantity, wardrobe. Since this weight gain is temporary (going on seven months or so) I haven’t been buying many clothes and currently my wardrobe consists of one very tight panty line showing tan velour tracksuit, a Target boxy capri tracksuit in navy with a white stripe down the side (it’s not flattering), a knee length vanity-sized size 10 black skirt that’s becoming increasingly tight and uncomfortable, a pair of my mom’s sweatpants that are faded black and really quite ugly, and that’s it. And it’s summer so you can see the dilemma. I can’t possibly go to London with sweatpants to wear. I’m going to have to suck it up and go to the Gap and wear size 14 if that’s what it takes. Sometimes just buying clothes that fit actually improves your spirit and helps you diet. The last diet my mom had just bought me some clothes, size 16 (and polyester), and after squinching my nose and crying a 1000 tears I wore them and started dieting soon after.

Big long woe is me sigh.

In other news I’ve been scoping furniture for the porch, well since we moved in. I decided I really wanted a porch swing but am short of cash, despite impending Gap shopping spree, and promise to reduce my debt just 2 days ago. My mom offered to chip in $100 towards a porch swing and after much searching, sweating, and headaches, we found one on sale at Pottery Plu$ for $130. It’s being put up today, probably right now as I type this.

I’m having serious bug problems at home. I know I have no right since a portion of the US is under cicada alarm, which seriously would land me in a mental hospital, but lets just say I’m having trouble going out after dark without screaming like I’m in a horror movie. MLG almost had a heartattack last night when I saw one skirt out from under my new welcome mat, grinned, and started running for my blue flipflops. I screamed, “get inside, get inside!!! Shut the door, shut the door!!!” He held his heart and gave me the Dad stare for a long moment and said to seriously not do that.

Like you can help a phobia.

We had a long Dr Philesque discussion about how the bug can’t harm me, he’s just gross, and attacks, and burrows himself into your hair or ear or toe nail, I mean he’s just gross and fast and scary but he won’t hurt me. But he almost gave my boyfriend a heart attack. So there.

I already tried the pellets a few days ago and there’s white dots every where but bugs still roam fast and free. When I saw one on the curb outside the car door I immediately said, “But I laid pellets!” and I was still commenting about it when freak-a-zoid leap out of the welcome mat. So I’ll be spraying the porch tonight we just won’t tell MLG.

Monday Recap

I actually went to church this weekend and it wasn’t struck by lightening or anything. MLG’s parents are coming for Memorial weekend and he needed to scope out his church and be familiar with the service so it looks like we’re regulars, or he’s regular and I don’t have red horns growing out my temples.

It’s awkward for me, because I don’t know (or really want to know) any of the protocol, I don’t even know the Lord’s Prayer. I mean, I know part of it, while it’s being said, but it’s like Christmas Carols, the longer it goes the less I know, and I’m afraid I’ll screw it up in the middle and people will judge and stare and stuff. She doesn’t know the Lord’s Prayer, holy fuck, what a nimrod.

If that wasn’t enough, I don’t know the hand gestures, and have to suppress giggles when I see them, and when to bow my head, and the proper way to kneel or what to do with my hands once I do get over the novelty of kneeling. I look around and everyone’s doing different stuff. There’s no set thing to do with your hands. Further mortification comes when MLG gets up for communion and I MUST stay put because I’m not a catholic therefore I must not partake of the wine and bread and cooties from sharing that glass with all our friendly neighbors.

Later at breakfast, the best part is breakfast afterwards, MLG said he enjoyed church because it’s calming and gives him the opportunity to think about things. I had spent the last hour trying to soak in all the shit read to me and he doesn’t even listen to them? You can think about things on the hammock in the backyard, I don’t have to suffer in heels for that.

The diet front is looking horribly sad. I got on the scales after one of the worst TOM’s in history and it’s not pretty. I believe I’m going to try the doctrine of that thin bitch and first watch my food and then add exercise once I get used to the food situation. The good news is it doesn’t feel horribly impossible anymore, I just keep slipping up and making bad decisions. Furthermore, I have to really buckle down with my spending. I’ve gotten further into debt, not quite sure how, but IF I can just really really calm the fuck down with my credit card, like stop using it completely and really stop spending like a crazy woman, I can, it is actually possible though not entirely comfortable, to be out of credit card debt by November. It won’t be easy or fun and things will come up to mess it all up, I’m already thinking about car maintenance and hair coloring that wasn’t factored in and I’m sure the cats will have to go to the vet eventually, Aidan really needs to go for his teeth, but really that’s it.

Atta Girl Yourself

I’ve started taping Oprah again. This occurred when I kept reminding myself that Brad Pitt was going to be on and not to forget to set the VCR, do not forget, maybe you should go program it right now, but I didn’t, and I forgot. So it’s now programmed to tape everyday, though Brad Pitt will probably never be on again.

Yesterday I watched the Wynonna Judd followup show. My mom had told me about the first Wynonna Judd show that I missed and cursed again that I wasn’t taping Oprah put didn’t do it then either. So I was fortunate to see a second show.

I think it’s really terrific when a celebrity (or average person for that matter) will go on a show, a good show, like Oprah, and really be honest about their life and struggles. It’s what I really try to do here, in my blog, despite sometimes feeling like I’m selling my soul. Watching Wynonna helped a lot of viewers, and watching yesterday helped me. Not only that but I learned about Wynonna as a person, not as a fabulous celebrity with all the world at her feet but as a real person.

I cared so much for her that when she started singing I Wanna Know What Love Is and I almost fast forwarded that part because I can sing that song (the rock version, thanks radio of my youth) on cue and not get it out of my head for a week, I’m singing it right now in my fucking head and sorta wanna wave my hands over my head, but anyway I listened to it because her voice is so powerful, and I started crying. They showed Ashley tearing up and trying to breath in and out so she wouldn’t go into ugly tears mode and I was too. The last thing I needed was for MLG to walk in the door and me to be bawling because Wynonna is sad and I want someone to hold her and tell her everything will be all right.

Then she sang the lyrics that said something like, hold on, let me go through the lyrics in my head since the last time I looked up lyrics I got a pseudo-virus and had to f-disk my computer at work, fuck it’s the same one line of the song, over and over and over in my head “In my life, there’s been heartache and pain, I don’t know if I can face it again,” that line. And it hit me, that’s what’s the matter with me.

I love so powerfully right now. Everything that I’ve ever wished for happened for me this past year. All the years I tried to tell myself in all my despair that love would happen for me and not to give up (though I did for a while). It wouldn’t always turn so horrible and defeating and sad. Along came MLG and as much as I’d like to say we walked off into the sunset, me in a minidress, size 6, deep down I was scared. The more I loved him, the more I felt like if it was taken from me, if he hurt me, I’d be completely shattered. I cannot go through another broken heart. I will not survive. Crap I’m crying. So I think I’ve been using food to pad my fears, you know, protect me from a pain I can’t take. I wanted so badly to believe him but I’ve been around so many (well, not that many) boys that tell me things and later change and I’m left with the words I believed that were probably never true and if they were true then that means I did something to make them change, which is even more frightening.

I know MLG is right for me. I know because he not only tells me everyday how much he loves me but why. He points out things that I do that he loves and this helps reinforce to me that I am a good person, a really good person. I think a lot of the time I get focused on the bad things about me because that’s mostly what’s been pointed out to me in my lifetime.

It’s important that I spend time looking at the good things and really valuing myself. I think when I can do that all this food self-sabotage will go away because I’ll want to take care of myself in the manner that I truly deserve to the be healthiest, most beautiful person I can be.

Hasn’t worked yet however because I gave into a breakfast biscuit. Shit. If only it was so simple. Or if people didn’t ask you if you want anything from McDonalds. Or if I could say, “No, I don’t want anything from McDonalds, thanks.”

Doctor TOM

Why the fuck does my Blogspot banner have advertisements for fudge? Shouldn’t it have something diet, health, or exercise related? Have I fallen off that bad? Have even the great advertisers of Blogspot given up on me?

That’s pretty darn funny actually.

So I’ve been putting off my yearly gynecologist visit since I know the blaring news of the day would be that I’ve gained 30 something pounds since last year. I figured just the question, from my gray haired yet hot doctor, staring down his bifocals at me, “why did you gain so much weight,” would be too much for me. The stuttering and the eventual breakdown into heavy sobbing tears, “I’m a fucking failure, that’s why!!!” I didn’t want to see the big lever on the scale moved a place to the right. That’s just sad. But I also don’t want to be one of those people who stops going to the doctor because of weight gain of all things. I’ve got female issues that need to be observed and cared for so I set up my appointment a week or so ago. It was for today at 4 pm.

I noticed cramps starting last night. Today I figured I’d either have TOM today or tomorrow and no sense having an examination with death cramps so I rescheduled. The whole point of all this TOM rambling is I started TOM, I swear to god, at 4 pm today.

Not much to say today. Maybe a bit gun shy.

Thank God Friday's Almost Over

Today I really feel like I’m just kidding myself about this whole thing. I’m up a pound from yesterday, which makes sense because it was a 2200 calorie day (Thursday 1/2 priced wings be damned) yesterday. At first I was playing around with the idea of only eating 5 wings, though I’m starved out of my mind and though I stopped before I was full and didn’t get any icecream yesterday (usually we get icecream to counteract all that protein after wing night) and still went to bed just a hair under full and it didn’t matter. Working out didn’t matter. It was hot in the bedroom and I couldn’t feel the ceiling fan and Bachelor on tape didn’t help and bottled water didn’t help. I was a hair over 3.0 most of the time and cursing myself for once having this sort of difficulty with 4.2 and always starting my workouts at 3.5. What’s this 3.0 shit and losing my mind over it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. It’s too hard. I’m too tired. I’m 10 minutes into a 30 minute WALK. I thought exercising was supposed to relieve stress. I’ve done it 4 days in a row and it’s not relieving stress, it’s causing stress, it’s making me tired and grumpy and a sore attitude get back on the wagon person.

And perhaps you think well tomorrow, today, is a new day, right. And I snagged a chocolate milk out of the fridge promising myself that somehow this tiny bottle of liquid goodness was going to hold me until lunch. I drank it in all of 3 tiny sips and feeling no effect, made myself promise not to visit the vending machine for 20 minutes, just in case there were some magically qualities in a tiny bottle of chocolate milk that I’m not aware of. 10 minutes later I get nasty milk breath. I smell like a toddler who just spit up, except I get to taste it in my mouth. Lovely. 10 minutes later I’m about to reach in my purse for a dollar when lunch buddy arrives at work with surprise biscuits. Hardees, 510 calorie ham and egg biscuits. I suppose this is when I say thanks Lunch Buddy for thinking about me and surprising me with my favorite breakfast in all the land but I’m going to have to turn it down [loud stomach growl rippling the walls of my office, embarrassed grin]. Instead I rip through the biscuit in three bites. Yum.

SIGH. FUCKING SIGH.

On top of that I’m having a really crappy day at work. I’m completely unmotivated and have a bad attitude (though I’ve got my excuses, by god). This, of course, makes me ravenously hungry, because, of course, food will calm me and sedate me and I’ll be able to make it through this god forsaken why aren’t you at the beach or doing something productive with your sad little college educated brain Friday without losing my mind. And it’s not something where it’s fixable. This is how it is and really I don’t understand why I think it’s so bad. But I hate it, especially today. I want to lash out and pull out my hair and go off on someone (I have a short list), or ate least sedate myself with about 2000 calories of chocolate so I can repeat “yes master, no master, right away master” with that breathy nasally I have no brain voice while all the while a smidge of chocolate is stamped righteously on the left corner of my mouth.

Happy Friday!

PS - I did have Oreos. I do, sadly, feel better. Not exactly the inspiration you were looking for, is it?

Old, Dirty, Comfy Sweater

I wrote a post this morning, I’ve since deleted it, about how if I stay at my current (3 day tally, y-eah!) 1600-1800 calorie days I won’t lose any weight. It wasn’t soon after that I gave in when a coworker asked around if anyone wanted anything from McDonalds. And then I had a big (though delicious) lunch of soup and salad. I’m at 1200 calories right now. I’ll have to really watch my dinner. Eyeballing myself. Yeah, that’s right I’m talkin’ to you Missy.

I know this was spurned by negative thinking. It was, well I’m not going to be able to eat only 1200 calories today so I’ll just have a biscuit and deal with it later.

At least I learned from it. I know I can do this. I just need to get used to making exercise a daily part of my day and not use food for emotional reasons (basically binging). Then I’ll start trying to slowly cut back my calories at least to 1400. Geez girl don’t give up before you’ve even started.

One of my most difficult times to not eat is post-exercise and/or pre-MLG coming home. One of my most successful rules the last time I lost weight was not eating after 7 pm. It saved me so many times I can’t even tell you. But MLG doesn’t even get home until after 7 and we eat out often and I do like to eat dinner with him at home (especially when I cook, leftovers I don’t mind). I tried eating before he got home but found myself a couple times eating dinner twice so that didn’t really work. I’ve been trying to find ways to keep myself occupied until he gets home without eating.

Yard work was great for this and it’s also exercise AND pretties up the house. I thought it was a great thing. But them my mom gave me a guilt trip over not using the treadmill that she gave me and we got 4 days of straight rain, so I’ve been using the treadmill the last 3 days (3 days in a row, yay!). I always get hungry right after working out, which was good before because I would workout and immediately eat dinner to be done by 7 pm. I’ve been taking baths after working out and reading while in the bath. This has been working really well, plus I finished “I’m Still Hungry” in 2 freaking days. Baths have always worked really well for me because I’m pretty sure I’ve never eaten anything while in the bathroom so it’s normal to be a non-food zone.

I was however, especially last night, completely famished by the time MLG got home and we had dinner. I ate so fast. I was starved. I would have eaten less if I had eaten earlier. Plus I had a FF Pudding cup and would have saved the 100 calories. It just really sucks all these obstacles I have to learn to work around.

One more thing about my mom and then I’m taking a hiatus from bad mom talk, it’s mother’s day week after all. I spoke to her today and I must have sounded like the biggest brat but she asked me if I was dieting and I breathed heavily (brattily) YES. I told her I didn’t want to talk about dieting (my dieting, let me clarify, I am here to help if someone needs me, being the expert that I am) with her, that there wasn’t anything she could tell me about letting myself go that I haven’t already told myself, didn’t already know, wasn’t already freaking out about. She said she wanted us to diet together, and mentioned the little bit of weight she had to lose and stammered over the fact that I have 4 times that amount. Oh jeez wouldn’t it be fun to diet with someone who has 10 pounds to lose and does it by eating boiled chicken breasts… and likes them. I told her she should fry them in Pam or grill them or something, yuck, boiled? But she said she likes it. I think she likes it because it feels like a diet. When you diet it’s supposed to be stuff that you don’t like and you’re supposed to hate it so it feels like punishment. That’s my theory. Maybe she does like it boiled.

She asked me if I was doing the Beverly Hills Diet, which I think she means South Beach Diet. I told her I was reducing my calories and exercising. She’s trying Atkins but had to purge the house of icecream and cheesecake. I understand what she’s trying to do. 1) Bond over dieting 2) Try to control me because she likes to control things (I read that last night in Carnie’s book and wanted my mom to read that section but thought it would upset her). I’m terrible about bonding over dieting, despite appearances (hello Blog and Book) because I don’t like how it’s become all we talk about. I have the Blog for all my diet outlets, I don’t need or want anymore. Especially from someone no matter how much she thinks she can help me and relate to me, because she’s experienced being 15 pounds overweight for the first time in her life and now for the past year likes icecream, isn’t going to understand. I’ve dealt with this my entire life. She’s dealt with it a year. It’s curling iron burn emblazoned in the core of my self-esteem since Kindergarten and I’m trying to not let it do that anymore. She’s upset because she wears a size 10 and has a bit of tummy by the pool. She obsesses over it and tells everyone about it. I keep mum. I know my stomach is sticking out and I’m a complete mess physically but I don’t want to talk about it and never ever mention it except in the slightest hint of passing. The whole dieting experience is novel to her. It’s fresh and exciting. It’s a learning experience that gives her something completely new to learn about and cure. In a way I can see how it would be fun and interesting to her. Through 3 weeks of hardcore determination and the couth of a silky lioness she can whip the scale gods asses and take prisoners. But this is old dreary hallway school to me. Being overweight, I can’t even begin to explain, is status quo. I’m completely out of my element at size 6-8. I’m a fish flopping around on a pier. It’s a new ballgame and I run from it every fucking time I get there (that’s what needs to change). This, my misery, my uncomfortableness, the lack of cute clothes, lack of feeling pretty, hiding within myself, regressing from life, is normal and sadly cozy in some sick way. It feels like a favorite torn up smelly ass sweater that makes everyone cringe when you try to wear it.

Then she tells me, “it’s just your so pretty…” and I don’t know is that it or does she want to continue with, “…if you’d just lose some weight” that I’ve heard my whole life or is that it, Am I pretty? Am I pretty on the inside? Then she says, “I think it’s great that MLG accepts you for whatever size you are, but things are coming up, you’ll be getting married. Wait until after you have kids. Then it’s okay to let yourself go if that’s what you want.” So I need to be thin for a wedding when I’m not even engaged. I don’t want to be fat. I don’t want to “let myself go.” Not at 6 years old, not at 13 years old, not at 22 years old, and not, believe it or not, now, or even when I've had kids.

Worked It Out

Well I’ve worked out the past two days. I wasn’t into it at all on Monday but was already on the treadmill by the time I realized it and yesterday when I was trying to cop out of it with myself as I was driving home I reminded myself it was the most important thing I’ll do all day. It's that’s big, so I did it. I didn’t like it but I did it.

I was getting a blister towards the end but I had like 3 minutes left. It may have not been a big deal to cut the three minutes but it’s a rule to go ½ hour. I kept wondering if I could actually form a blister in 3 minutes, it got increasingly more painful, and was mind gaming myself if I got a blister I wouldn’t be able to workout the next day so working out the 3 minutes was hurting a future half hour. But finally the 3 minutes was up and I ripped off my shoes and sock immediately and stretched and cooled down. It was perfectly fine by our after dinner walk.

After a very healthy dinner of turkey tacos that MLG asked me to please make a weekly dinner (it took like 15 minutes to make, which rocks) we walked down to the icecream store downtown (16 blocks total). I know it’s bad to have icecream but at least we walked there and back and it was only a scoop of icecream and a cone rather than Coldstone add ins of fudge and brownie and chocolate chips (oh my). And it’s always fun to be together walking without outside distractions. If I could cut the cone it wouldn’t really be that bad of a treat. Without the icecream I would have been pretty close to a 1200 calorie day.

It was one of those good days where I was hungry but in strong mind set to not buy anything from the snack machine no matter what came my way. I feel it today too. And I’m seriously hungry. I wish lunch would hurry!

It just really sucked to be on Jcrew.com and having to think about whether to order the Large or Extra Large swimsuit bottom and that’s if I can even stomach (ha ha) going out in a swimsuit this year. I was a medium last year. I almost bought a string bikini last year for chrissakes. A String Bikini to a size Large Just Try to Get Me to the Beach Brief. I had to buy big girl panties last week. Granny panties! This is nonsensical. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be doing this.

We’re going to a party this weekend and a very nice function in a couple weeks. His parents are coming up at the end of the month. Our anniversary is at the end of the month. My grandparents are coming after that. I’m going to be completely miserable over my weight. My body. The thing I’m constantly saying I shouldn’t have to think about but when I’m fat it’s all I can think about because it’s protruding and interfering and making me uncomfortable and on the verge of tears every time I have to choose an outfit or get into panty hose. Let’s fix this thing. Seriously.

Momma Drama

Mom: I’ve really been avoiding the scales. I got on the scale today and it read 142.5. I didn’t want to go over 140 pounds. I feel horrible. My clothes don’t fit right. I’m almost back where I was when I was miserable in my body. So I’ve gone back to boiling chicken and really buckling down. I’ve lost a pound since yesterday.

Me: A pound, that’s great. At least it’s coming off. [Thinking: boiled chicken, yuck. Can’t she grill it or something? Boiled? Gross.]

Mom: Yeah, I think it’s because I eat so much. I really eat a lot. So when I reduce what I’m eating it comes off pretty fast.

Me: That’s great. [Fucking fast metabolism, yet another gene I got gypped on]

Mom: You know you really need to diet too.

Me: [Silence]

Mom: You don’t want to have to go another year to get the weight off. You should really start now.

Me: I don’t want to have this conversation right now [I was leaning over the computer guy to talk to her]

Mom: [Sounds hurt] It’s just I care about you.

Me: I know. I don’t want to talk about this right now [or ever]

Mom: Okay, I love you

Me: I love you too. Bye.

Me: [Suddenly craving an entire chocolate cake with thick chocolate icing]

And just for the record getting the treadmill back was a big mistake. She’s already asked me if I’ve been using it and I told the truth and said once and she said I need to use it more because my brother’s girlfriend really wanted it. Great, one more person to be disappointed in me if I’m not thin. That’s fucking fantastic.

Holy Fuck. I just want one fucking day where I don’t have to think about my body. I swear to god. I really don’t think this is what life is supposed to be about.

And yet I’m the proud owner of a weightloss blog. Ironic, no?

I finished reading Passing for Thin. I really thought it was going to come to some great revelation and I was ready for it but it was anti-climatic. I even read the acknowledgements hoping for some bit of sensibility, some knowledge I’ve yet to come across myself. Nadda. It is what it is. Deal with it sucka.

You know, I wake up everyday with the best of intentions. Every day. Today I was excited because I had yogurt. Today was a new day. I had a healthy breakfast. The same breakfast that helped me lose 70 pounds. This was great. I was (am) going to work out after work. I’m ready. Today’s the day. Today I make the turnaround.

I had already eaten some cookies from the vending machine when my mother called. I had already told myself I was still working out. YOU’RE GOING TO WORKOUT. I’m the boss of me and I can weak out and have the fucking cookies but I’m breaking a sweat when I get home. This is with the same rigor I started the day. No cookies, I have yogurt. YOU WILL NOT EAT OUT OF THE VENDING MACHINE. I still haven’t given up on the day. Despite the fucking phone call.

It’s harmful. It’s not helpful. How can I get her to understand that? Have I ever said Self, mom told you to diet today so you really should start today. Self, mom says to buy more ivy so you should definitely buy more ivy. Self, mom says you should move the dining room table more to the center so you should definitely move the dining room table.

I just want to be who I am. I want to be accepted for who I am. I want to be enough. I don’t want it to be because I’m pretty I’m worthy of love, attention, and to do what I want to do. I don’t claim to be a perfectionist. I have no intention of being a perfectionist. I have pimples and fucked up rainy day hair and currently toting around 40 extra pounds. I’m a work in progress. Continually. Like forever. I’m just me and I’m fucked up. Everybody is. It doesn’t mean I’ve given up, am not thinking about things, or can’t work through my own problems.

I don’t want to defend myself.