quiet time

I am a fat girl. I freely admit that to myself and to the world. and I didn't get to be a fat girl by having "skinny bitch" hobbies. Relaxing to me does not consist of making my own organic granola or climbing faux mountains that are made of polypropanolisticated rock like material with brightly colored nubbies for me to put my highly specialized and expensive faux rock climbing sneakers on.(you wanna climb a rock?......go find a fucking rock!) No no no. My hobbies involve sitting......and spreading. You will never find me running a 5K or "power" walking with my arms pumping wildly so the world can know that I'm walking and not enjoying it. I'm an ambler......I amble.

As I become a slightly less fat girl (down 25 pounds! that's a big 100 sticks of butter thank-you!) I find myself picking up my pace at work and also while walking my goddamned dogs. I'm walking a little faster because I can now.....and because dogs are not amblers. They force me to pick up my pace. Sorry Cesar Milan. So much for calm assertive energy. My dogs are not deferring to my authority by walking slightly behind their leader. (and that would be me??) They are hurrying to sniff the next enticing aroma of animal excrement which is like crack to them. I am walking fast in an attempt to maintain the illusion that I am in control of them and not the other way around.

The reality is that they have a very high opinion of their place in our little hierarchy. This is especially evident when I'm engaging in one of my favorite exercises.......reading. Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could burn calories by reading?? Yes you say??.......I have found a way!!! All you need is a house full of animals that are assholes.....like mine.

Here's how it goes: It's a lovely fall rainy day. I love fall. the smell of rain and wet leaves and wood stoves. A good book on my lap. *sigh* Heaven!! The seductive sound of paper has drawn several cats. Jet Black saunters over and sits on my open book. I gently push him off but not before a claw catches my ample thigh "OUCH!!...bastard child" The steady stream of cats continue,and despite my efforts to remove them painlessly, I'm becoming battle scarred. I'm convinced that they are gathering in the kitchen, shooting the breeze and smoking cigarettes until it's the next cats turn to leap between me and the open pages of my book. I put my book down and stand up with the cat and place him on the floor. This diminishes my chances of getting an ouchey. Six sets of twenty "standey up and sitty back down"s later, I'm exhausted and have managed to actually read 3.75 pages. Clearly, the cats have concerns about my more sedentary pursuits. They are always thinking of my health, the dear little angels.

Nickolai has decided that watching television is a worthwhile past time but reading is most definitely not. I pick up a book and in between cat assaults, Nickolai is vocalizing in his truly hellish husky way. He sits at my feet and harumphs, and pushes at the book with his nose. I put the book down and turn the television on. Hmmmmmm....he's stopped rrrrrowling. He's settling at my feet!! Cool!! I very slooooowly,so as not to wake him, turn the volume down......shhhhhh!! being......very......careful.......not.....to.....wake..........I pick up my book......volume almost all the way down....book almost open....shhhhhhhh. Nickolai springs up from a dead sleep and pushes the book closed with a final annoyed harumph, jumps up on the couch.....looks at the TV.... and looks at me as if to say "What did you do to fuck up the television?!"

I quit! "Who wants to go fucking walkies you little hell hounds!" I miss sitting. I miss spreading. I miss Funyuns. What have i done?? I've turned perfectly sedentary and chubby animals in to lean, mean, annoying machines.

Such is my life

Confession.....good for the soul.....right?

So I've let go of my little dream bubble of denial where I gained 100 pounds and no one really noticed because I'm the same person inside, and I'm attempting to learn to accept me as I am. I really miss that bubble. In it I looked always 125 pounds. All I had to do was avoid mirrors, cameras, scales, the doctors office, old friends.............Ok so the list goes on, but I do miss it......and I miss Funyuns.....and double cheeseburgers....and.......fudge brownies with heaping chocolate icing and.......Focus Nancy!!!! Focus!!

I feel that the time is right to begin to air some of my more embarrassing qualities. If a little confession will help me along the path to rediscovering my inner slim person, I can suck it up and confess a little. OK.......so.......contrary to what you may believe of me, my life is not as perfect as it appears. I know....I know......"You can't possibly mean that" you may say. I assure you.....tis true. Where I go, weirdness follows.

My confession is this: I have a fear of my television remote controls. My job involves operating and maintaining diagnostic and imaging equipment worth more than my house if it weren't crappy and I can't work my remotes. At work, I've come to know my friends at tech support very well. I send them cards, and ask after their families and pretend that they're not hanging up going ...."and once I described what the power button looked like, her problem was SOLVED! hahahahahaha" (I cling to what small shreds of denial that I have left).

At home....different story.....no tech support. Except for my brother Ted when I'm not too embarrassed to call him and say "one of the cats walked on my remote and now I have no picture and I'm getting country music....make it STOP!!!!" I'm a reasonably intelligent woman. Lets just have a look at these bad boys. "Hmmmmmm.....need my bifocals....these buttons are numerous and quite tiny" "Hmmmmmmm"....at which time I begin randomly pushing buttons.

I inherited an insanely large plasma screen Television after my father died. It's monstrous and utterly ridiculous looking in my small townhouse. Now I have a large TV remote and a comcast remote for my high definition functionality formats on the broadband who-haws and wing nuts and what the fuck ever else those freakin' teeny buttons do.

Four days I endured country music while I attempted to re establish my obnoxiously large picture......without calling Ted. Finally, by the grace of God, I managed to press the right sequence of buttons and POOF! There she is!! In all her High-def glory. Being the incredibly intelligent woman that I am, I knew exactly what to do to keep this from ever happening again. I pointed the remotes away from the television. Pretty fuckin smart huh!!?? Ted would be so proud! (OK Nancy....see the button that says TV??....press it")

I feel slimmer already!! This is my life......and no one Else's.

It has come to my attention

It has come to my attention that a small investment in some bug spray may be in order if I'm to continue on with my goddamned fitness program which involves walking the dogs in the park. Let me just say that I did, in fact, purchase bug spray some weeks ago. Being my Grandmother.....I am unable to use anything new right away. I have to live with it for a while, maybe push it around with my foot a little. This little personality quirk is growing exponentially as I age.

Hilary brought bug spray the last time we walked and it was a revelation! No kamikaze stalker gninja gnats hounding me, forcing me to wave poopy bags around as my only means of self defense. Hilary very gracefully lifted the can above her head and unleashed a gentle mist of spray. Then she extended her long graceful arms and sprayed them. She then sprayed a fine mist over me and we proceeded to have a lovely walk.

Now on to last night: I finally grab my can of Deep Woods off and lift it over my head to unleash same said fine mist........only.........and remember this is me we're talking about.........*kersshhhhhht.....splat* I feel a wad of bug spray land on top of my head and immediately smell of insecticide. "Shit!!!.....what the hell did I do wrong?!" I test the spray again in to the air. A fine mist emerges after some sputtering. I extend my arms gracefully and.........*keeersshhhhhh.......sput*, a wad of bug spray lands on my arm. "Well shit a brick", Whatever!.......I'm goin'"

So I'm in the car with the dogs. Nickolai leans tentatively over to the drivers seat from his spot on the passengers side and give me a little sniff. He pulls back, shakes his head and sneezes. "OK....I know.....I stink......but you're getting your walk so deal with it!" He pulls as far over to the door as he can and sneezes again. I then notice that Willow is in the very back of the car instead of the back seat. "Everyone is a fucking critic".

I'm driving....I'm stinking......and I'm pondering my place in the universe......and I bet there's not an insect within 500 yards of me. Let me just say that it takes about 4 minutes to get from my house to the park and in that time, I'm managing to do a lot of pondering.......and smelling for that matter.

I see an older woman wearing a leopard print overly tight top. "Never a good idea, animal prints" "They look fine on animals and trashy on women no matter what the age" I say to Nickolai who is pressing his nose against any crack in the seal of the window and sniffing loudly. Then I see a very large man, clearly over 350 pounds, riding a very small motorized bike and talking on a cell phone. I laugh out loud. "What do you suppose is so urgent that it needs to be discussed at this particular moment?" Willow has now laid down in the hatch back and Nickolai is still sneezing. I have mercy and open the windows for them......and they are grateful.

I see a perfectly pretty and tanned young woman walking her dog. Her dog is walking perfectly at her side, the leash slacked as if not necessary at all. Her hair and make-up also beautifully done. I turn to Nickolai's ass (because the rest of him is out the window) "I bet she never wakes up in the morning with her pantie shield stuck to the side of her face..they migrate you know" He does not respond.

We walk at the park. Nickolai must "hose everything down like it's his job" as Hilary says. He is not perfect on the leash, and I am far from perfect on the other end of the leash. We are not like the perfect petite blond with the perfect dog. We are not trashy like the leopard lady. We are not without care for appearances like the mo-ped man. We are Nancy and Nickolai and Willow.......a pack........a unit.......We are ourselves and, that's OK! ... only one of us really reeks right now.

This is my life........and no one Else's *sigh* I'm down 23 pounds (that's 92 sticks of butter)

Gninja Gnats

Just in case any of you might be operating under the assumption that I am even remotely in charge of my life, let me clue you in.......I am, in fact, not in control......the dogs are. The dogs, out of a genuine concern for my health and well being have decided that it's best for me if we go for a walk in the park every evening. Aren't they sweeeeet! That's some serious unconditional love in action right there.

OK.....so what they really want is to sniff random animal urine and poop on the trail but you get the idea. They have learned that I will come home and eat, and then we'll go for a walk in the park where mama will fight off the killer gninja gnat population that's drawn to her sweaty face. Try one time swatting a gnat away with a leash in each hand, one of which is also sporting a swinging bag of stinky poop. Not easy.

So here's how it goes: I have already decided on the way home from work that I'm tired and am not going to walk tonight. I'm sitting quietly in front of the television watching cooking shows and wondering why that girl gets to eat butter and cream and chocolate cupcakes. Nickolai sits at my feet and looks directly in to my eyes........mmmuuuuurrrrrroowwwwllllll........roooowwwwwwlll,,,,,,,,haaaaarummph......*sneeze* "Good God! who's brilliant fucking idea was it to get a husky mix!!??" The husky vocalizations defy explanation. "Nickolai hush!....I don't wanna!!!" mmmmurrrorooowrooowlll........grrrooooooooommrowrowlwoooowllllll......*sneeze* By this time Willow has picked up on the game and is doing her dance of joy, which consists of hopping up and down on her back legs while waving her front paws in the air. "Willie!!.....I don't wanna!!" God help me if I say any word that sounds even close to "go" or "park". By the time I reach for my sneakers in defeat, the dogs are already waiting by the collars for me to slip their martingales around their necks.

To say that they are waiting is misleading. They are battling each other like two children each wanting to be the first one up the stairs. Nickolai pushing Willow out of the way so he can be first to be leashed and Willow circling back around for a sneak attack from the rear. I'm standing there waiting, and saying something utterly impotent like "come on kids!!......enough!!" They bound joyfully to the car! Nickolai pisses on the tire! We get in the car! We're going to the park!!.........so mama can exercise!!

We're walking......we're peeing.....we're sniffing...we're watching carefully for those damned communist bastard squirrels because we have to pull mama to the base of the tree and look up longingly. "What exactly are you getting from this Nickolai!?" Willow is practicing her precision peeing technique. This is where she perches carefully over a random fallen leaf and squeezes out 3 drops of pee. Mission accomplished. Now we must kick up a large amount of dirt.....preferably on to mamas shoes or Nick's face. (shes getting him back for peeing on her head yesterday)

Witnessing my ridiculous dogs and their rituals and my ongoing battle with the gnats armed with nothing but a poopy bag is your basic local gentry.......joggers.....tennis players....kids in very large baggy short pants walking manfully to the basketball court......folks out on the fitness trail with their own dogs. What they must think of me.

The dogs touching concern for my health is paying off.......they have badgered and harassed me into a 22 pound weight loss. YAY ME!!! that's 88 sticks of butter my friends.

Obsession

The list of strange and unusual occurrences that I did not see coming seems to be an ever growing entity. I was just talking about how fortunate I am that I'm not struggling with food obsession. You know how that works don't you?.......you spend all the time that you're not actually eating, thinking about what you're going to eat next. I haven't struggled with cravings. I haven't had fast food or chocolate since I started this journey. My obsession is a well worn old friend....and the reason I'm here to begin with. I'm talking about scale obsession. It was my scale addiction that led to my vow never to hop upon one of those evil little contraptions ever again.

So here I am....not suffering from the expected cravings......but with the unexpected ones. I'm completely at the mercy of that blinking LED number that flashes every time I pull out my carefully put away scale. At the urging of Hilary...I have put the scale in an even more inconvenient place to reach. I must learn to deal with my addiction.

I have always thought it odd that companies like Jenny and Weight Watchers seem to bankroll our diet failures, to the point of actually encouraging and even demanding our obsessed attention. Weight Watchers would never work for me! Good God!! All that calculating and point conversions....."OK that was a turkey sandwich on 2 slices of bread.....swiss cheese......mustard....What are the calories in mustard? So that's 4 points and 22o calories so I'd have to walk @#%$ minutes or run @#$% miles to burn $#%& calories to make up for having 2 slices of bread...if I can get my heart rate up enough.....so for dinner I'll have......."Stop right there Tiger.......you are so fucked right now" What kind of a life is this? Jenny is little better. I don't have to think at all. I just have to buy the food. I don't have to do anything else except go back to Jenny and buy more food once I fail. What?.....am I gonna eat Jenny for forever?

Thank God that I'm not spending all my time thinking about food. I am not however,free from the obsession. I need to see the numbers reducing and when they don't....I'm having a mini stroke about it. "OK.....what did I eat....salty crackers?...that could account for the gain...and it's evening and not morning so........"Stop right there tiger......you are so fucked right now." Lets examine this, shall we?

I think that all of this obsessing is a way not to deal with the emotional changes that evidently go along with weight loss. (yeah.....didn't see that coming)Let me clue you in about us fat girls......we expect to be overlooked, judged and found lacking, and generally pushed to one side. We don't demand notice or respect. Trust me when I tell you it's easier that way. It's not because of who we are....it's because we are fat. That's one hell of a hefty crutch to let go of easily. It's why most of us fail.

So I've put the scale away and am infinitely grateful that I'm not thinking continuously about food. I am however...mad as hell. "Don't you dare fucking look over me like I'm not here!!!" "Where is that little dickless waiter!?!" Is this me? Is this what self esteem feels like? This can't be right. What the hell has happened here? As long as I'm thinking only of the numbers.....well.....then it's only numbers and not a long ago wounded Nancy trying at last to enter the world not being second best...second choice.....and not worth the trouble.

I am worth the trouble......lots and lots of trouble. I can generate some serious fucking trouble up in here..... just as soon as I'm able to go 20 minutes without getting on the scale.

Rage.......against......what??

Let me clue you slender people in a little on us fat chicks. We are quite accustomed to, if in fact not embraced by, complete oblivion. We are the unseen masses. We are the overlooked and the unimportant. We are the last to get noticed ever.....under any circumstances. People for the most part would much rather we keep our round heads down and our chunky butts moving along down the line. That makes you slim folks sound like complete arrogant assholes but the truth is.........we set it up that way. Yes.......there......I said it.



At some point in our lives, we decided that we simply could not compete. So we "insulated" ourselves from those feelings of inadequacy. (Thank-you Vicki.....good word!) There is a reason for everything that ails us and that is fatness. And that my friend....is not our fault.....it's genetic.



Well here I am. Twenty pounds lighter and mad as hell. Ask me if I saw this coming. Yeah....no. I have spent a lifetime really being OK with being treated badly. Strip away all the five dollar words and it's as plain and simple as that. I simply never demanded notice......respect....kindness....tenderness.... Remember?..I'm not good enough for those things. I have only me and my security blanket of cellulite. Quietly sitting on the sidelines, trying not to be noticed lest someone discover my terrible secret. That the universe has judged me and somehow found me lacking.



I'm fucking pissed off. All the rage and buried indignation are unfurling inside like a pirate flag. What do I do with all of this anger? Is this what self-esteem feels like? Good God!....I hope not.

Sleep.......sleeeeeep

Sleep.......not an easy thing for me. Since starting my goddamned diet, I have been without the soporific effect of a belly full of funyuns. Seriously, nothing will put you to sleep faster than being funyunated and unable to move. Evening eating was just a part of my daily routine. Now, after a full day working as a veterinary surgical assistant and a brisk evening walk with the dogs and a light fruit snack, I'm............very...........A-W-A-K-E!!!.

I've been forced to find new routines that do not involve unholy amounts of highly processed food-like products. One of them is writing this blog. Another is working to regain control of my house. During this process I've also become rather painfully aware that I have pets. Let me just say that I love my animals.......all too fucking many of them. They are a potpourri of quirks and issues that accelerate and magnify at night.

Let me just set the stage here and give you a sample of the typical post- goddamned diet sleepless night: The house is dark. The crickets are chirping. A lovely cool breeze is wafting through the bedroom smelling of early fall......and here's me: "F-R-E-E that spells free, credit report dot com bay-bee" "Crap!....that kid really needs to die" "He's almost as annoying as those freakin' cavemen" "What time is it?" "credit report dot com bay-bee" "Fuck" "I'll kill him myself!"

Enter Sandy......my rather large black and white cat who has decided that now is a perfect time to make biscuits on mamas large flabby belly. "Yes Sandy...I love you too, now OUCH!! "Move along big daddy"

Enter Suede...the masturbater.....OK....don't judge. I said my cats have issues. Suede has a talent for self gratification. Hump.hump.hump.hump.hump. I'm almost positive that he's not the only kitty in the world with a slight masturbatory problem."Goddamnit Suede get off my leg!!"(yes...he's neutered..... and multi-talented)

Enter Dimitrius who is jealous that Suede seems to be having such a good time and wants some attention by purring loudly and rubbing against my face. The problem here is that Sandy and Dimitrius don't care much for each other.(Never underestimate your cat's ability to use your face as a launching pad in the event of an altercation.)

Enter Diego.......initiator of the infamous inadvertent cat-butt download. He's sitting on the freakin' keyboard....beep....beep...beep....beep......"Bastard child!.......get off it!!!" beep....beep....beep...beep. I fling the covers back after coming so close to drifting off to glorious sleep and stomp over to the computer. There he sits...purring.....lovely, sweet Diego. I scratch him on the head and stow the keyboard.

I am convinced that Diego was responsible for "The incident" This involved me being shaken out of a deep sleep by a loud male voice booming in a foreign language. I was airborne for a full 2.3 seconds as the voice rattled my brain. Kneeling on the floor trying to catch my breath.....eyes darting wildly around the room....I regained my senses enough to walk over to the computer and there, shining through, in all it's LED glory is a window.....["are you sure you want to download the Greek language translator?"]
"FUCKING DIEGO......WHERE ARE YOU .....YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!!! as I said.......he is the reigning king of the cat-butt download.

I miss my night food. I miss uninterrupted sleep. I miss my little dream-denial bubble where my pets aren't psychotic at night which I wouldn't notice anyway because I'm sleeping so well.

I have learned a few things during my wakefulness that I'd like to share. First......my cats are completely unbalanced and a genuine menace...but I love them.....who the hell else would? Second.....never check your bank balance in the middle of the night...not conducive to sleeping well. Third.....never give the dogs pupperoni late at night because they will systematically wake you at the exact same time every night in the hopes of getting another pupperoni....forever!!

Such is my life.