So 2009 is winding down and it's time for New Year resolutions. Can I just tell you that I hate resolutions. To me it seems like a first class one way greased slide to failure and believe me when I tell you that I need no help in this area. I recall too many December 31st's where I've resolved to quit smoking, lose weight, cut back on my funyun addiction, try to keep a cleaner house and maybe even buy curtains, and pull out the stove and refrigerator and clean underneath and aside from the curtain thing.......I've done all of these without proclaiming them in the form of a "doomed to fail" guilt driven resolution.
I saw on the Today show this morning, Matt Lauer introducing a segment where a woman had lost half her body weight.....wait for it.......without pills or surgery!!! THIS gets you a spot on the Today show! Evidently I am an anonymous part of a grass roots movement toward natural weight loss. That's right people.......there was the attempted terrorist attack on Northwest Airlines flight 253, Sean Goldmans Christmas reunion with his father after a 5 year court battle and a woman who lost weight without pills or surgery. Believe it or not kids, this is how it used to be done back in the 70's.
I am convinced that this lead story was designed to subliminally encourage people to join Jenny Craig and buy a thigh master and a Kymora body shaper and hurry up and schedule that appointment to get a good liposucking because it's time for fucking resolutions and for the diet industry to make more money off of fat people who are desperate to drop weight fast and just this once not to fail at it. My answer to all of my fellow fat girls at this time of the year is to take a deep breath......and fuck Matt Lauer. You really can do this without pills or surgery or Dr freakin' Phil. Time for my list-o-goals for 2010..... the bastard child of resolutions.
As I dangle here on the prepuce of financial ruin, my goals have undergone some slight alterations.I am dropping weight loss off the list (I think it goes without saying at this point) and am instead determined this year to achieve some degree of financial success creatively. I have bitched a lot about my talent and $1.37 getting me a coffee at Sheetz, but then I have never really been so panic ridden and motivated......not to mention being unable to spare the $1.37. This is my big goal for 2010. What follows is a list of my somewhat smaller goals:
I would like to find the strength to walk away from the "Twilight Zone" marathon for short periods of time. I don't know what it is about that cheesy freakin William Shatner fest that holds me like a stun ray emitting from a time portal in the twilight zone.
I would like the discipline to throw away one bag full of useless crap every week. I have too much debris in my life. For the record, the freeloaders don't count as debris.......except for maybe whoever is pooping in my shower.
I would like to call a truce with my remote control. You win. I conceded shortly after the cat vomited on it. Now my "guide" button doesn't work and if I weren't afraid that randomly pushing buttons would somehow bring back the country music, I would attempt to restore it. As it stands.....I can live without the guide button. Please just let me continue to live here.
I would like to spend much more time writing and painting......and less time dulling my senses and smoothing my anxiety by watching 1950's television reruns, and just for the record, Ricky never said "Lucy....you've got some 'splainin to do" ever. I'm just sayin'
I would like to cut down on the "Nancy-isms" These include pinching my finger in my cell phone, puncturing my neck with my keys while pulling my purse over my shoulder, standing in front of an automatic door only to have it pause........while it decides if I'm worthy of entering......as I stand......waiting.......before it finally opens, getting out of the shower only to realize that the towels are 2 floors down in the dryer, (see curtain reference above), perpetually forgetting where I left the car and finding out once I'm at work that I'm wearing one blue sock and one brown sock.
Thank you and goodnight
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
The cheese ball incident, and other short stories
I'm quite happy to announce that I managed to get through Thanksgiving and Christmas without gaining any weight. I had a few little indulgences but was able to leave it at that without the gorging and guilt and M&M's and double cheeseburgers. Of this I am quite proud, but just in case you're thinking that my holiday was without the weirdness that hounds me continually, let me clue you in........it was not and all is right with the world. The sun will continue to rise in the east and set in the west and the fabric of time and space will remain securely interwoven because I am here for the weird shit to happen to. As always, I ask myself " What can I learn from this experience?"
I learned that sump pumps have a set lifespan because mine passed quietly away during the massive snow melt. I learned that wet floors and kitty litter cause a nuclear bond when they come in to contact with the bottoms of rubber crocs that nothing short of scraping with fingernails and welders torch can remove. Mental note: try not to forget that sump pumps exist because they tend to remind you late in the evening during a historic rain event. I will call her Sally sump pump and she will be my friend........my new......overly expensive friend.
I learned that if there is a little blob of cream cheese on Hilary's kitchen floor that she stops and points out to me with her key lime cheese ball fingers ( mental note: It's not a good idea to mix cream cheese with your hands. Trust me on this one) and warns me not to step in,that a series of events have been set in to motion that will alter the space time continuum until an unalterable force exists between my shoe and the cream Cheese blob in question. From there, things quickly deteriorate in to Scotch tape throwing and me yelling "fuck the cheese ball" instead of "Merry Christmas"
I learned that as I age, I have a diminished capacity to know, understand or care that my face has a perpetually confused and dazed appearance. I expect to start swatting at imaginary flies any day now. Example: Hilary and I in Wal-Mart today with me looking for printer ink when I've forgotten the numbers I need or the make of my printer. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Hilary's voice telling me to "let it go". I'm not ready to let it go......I need to find 15/22/21/96 HP fucking shit and I'm not ready to let it go goddamnit....why does ink have to be so expensive any way!? It's ink forchristsakes!!
It took Hilary gently prying my fingers off the cart and saying loudly "Mama...let it go!!!....that's NOT our cart!!!! before I realized I had walked away in frustration pushing a cart full of miscellaneous electronic equipment, leaving my purchases and purse parked by the ink. I am very thankful that Hilary was with me and is in a position of having to love me anyway. Her impression of me as she attempted to make me understand the cart incident caused me to laugh all my make-up off in the middle of Wal-Mart.
So knowing what you do of me.......what do you think the chances are that one of my cats will puke all over my Comcast fancy schmancy remote control? That's right!!.....100 freakin percent. What do you think the chances are that the person directly in front of me at the popcorn counter will spill their gallon jug pepsi all over my feet? Right again!!!.....100 freakin percent. What do you think the chances are that my dog will poop on a mound of snow right on the corner of someones driveway that he has to hike his ass up higher to poop on when he was fed almost 24 hours earlier and shouldn't have any poop anyway?? This is getting too easy, isn't it?
Any suggestions on how to get regurgitated seafood supper out of a remote control? Never mind......I'll Google it.
I learned that sump pumps have a set lifespan because mine passed quietly away during the massive snow melt. I learned that wet floors and kitty litter cause a nuclear bond when they come in to contact with the bottoms of rubber crocs that nothing short of scraping with fingernails and welders torch can remove. Mental note: try not to forget that sump pumps exist because they tend to remind you late in the evening during a historic rain event. I will call her Sally sump pump and she will be my friend........my new......overly expensive friend.
I learned that if there is a little blob of cream cheese on Hilary's kitchen floor that she stops and points out to me with her key lime cheese ball fingers ( mental note: It's not a good idea to mix cream cheese with your hands. Trust me on this one) and warns me not to step in,that a series of events have been set in to motion that will alter the space time continuum until an unalterable force exists between my shoe and the cream Cheese blob in question. From there, things quickly deteriorate in to Scotch tape throwing and me yelling "fuck the cheese ball" instead of "Merry Christmas"
I learned that as I age, I have a diminished capacity to know, understand or care that my face has a perpetually confused and dazed appearance. I expect to start swatting at imaginary flies any day now. Example: Hilary and I in Wal-Mart today with me looking for printer ink when I've forgotten the numbers I need or the make of my printer. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Hilary's voice telling me to "let it go". I'm not ready to let it go......I need to find 15/22/21/96 HP fucking shit and I'm not ready to let it go goddamnit....why does ink have to be so expensive any way!? It's ink forchristsakes!!
It took Hilary gently prying my fingers off the cart and saying loudly "Mama...let it go!!!....that's NOT our cart!!!! before I realized I had walked away in frustration pushing a cart full of miscellaneous electronic equipment, leaving my purchases and purse parked by the ink. I am very thankful that Hilary was with me and is in a position of having to love me anyway. Her impression of me as she attempted to make me understand the cart incident caused me to laugh all my make-up off in the middle of Wal-Mart.
So knowing what you do of me.......what do you think the chances are that one of my cats will puke all over my Comcast fancy schmancy remote control? That's right!!.....100 freakin percent. What do you think the chances are that the person directly in front of me at the popcorn counter will spill their gallon jug pepsi all over my feet? Right again!!!.....100 freakin percent. What do you think the chances are that my dog will poop on a mound of snow right on the corner of someones driveway that he has to hike his ass up higher to poop on when he was fed almost 24 hours earlier and shouldn't have any poop anyway?? This is getting too easy, isn't it?
Any suggestions on how to get regurgitated seafood supper out of a remote control? Never mind......I'll Google it.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Men's Underwear
So Christmas is bearing down upon us and we here in the Northeast are getting hammered by a serious snow event that just happens to fall on the last shopping weekend before the holiday. Due to the wonders of modern meteorology we had plenty of warning of the oncoming blizzard. We knew that it would start sometime between midnight and 8:00 a.m. and would accumulate somewhere between 4 and 36 inches and be accompanied by wind gusts anywhere from 5 to 55 miles per hour. You really have to hand it to our brave little weather gnomes.........they know how to refrain from being wrong at all costs.
Aside from the fact that the dogs are running in tiny circles in my teenie weenie yard with only their heads visible, and my big toes are numb from being out shoveling freakin' snow that I'm pretty sure I'm too old to be shoveling (bring forth the young men on 4-wheelers with a plow attachment!!) I'm feeling a sense of accomplishment that at least the ambulance crew will have a clear walk to wheel me on.....and now that I'm 34 pounds lighter, will not have to cut a hole in the house to retrieve me.
So back to the shopping dilemma. With all this advanced warning, Hilary and I ventured out to try and wrap things up before the big snow. Hilary is interesting to shop with. She knows what she wants and will settle for nothing less. She hates to be rushed so be prepared to spend the necessary time for her to make her decision. Since I have no such "must have just the right item" compulsion, I have a little extra time on my hands that requires I come up with new and interesting tactics to entertain myself.
It all started when Hilary, shopping for stocking- stuffers for her fiance', announced that she needed "to look in men's underwear." I defy any of you to pass up a straight line like that! "Yes Hil.........lets go look in men's underwear", I announced loudly in the middle of Target. "It's been a long time since I've looked in men's underwear" I noticed at this point that she had extended the distance between us, requiring me to speak just a little louder. " I CAN TELL YOU WHATS IN THERE IF YOU DON'T KNOW HILARY" Fortunately for me, my daughter is unflappable after a lifetime with me as her mother.
Having arrived in the undie section we were assaulted by rows and rows of manly packages shining out at us in a variety of shapes and sizes. Everything from barely there "man panties", as Hilary called them, to Betty Boop boxers. Perusing the bulging packages quickly deteriorates in to giggling and sensory overload so time is of the essence. Sensing that we were nearing our saturation point, Hilary made a grab for the boxer-briefs-with-comfort-waist-band and we hightailed it outta there.
The drive home with Christmas carols blasting, knowing that very soon our world would be white and dirty grey for the remainder of winter, was a joyful thing. Until, that is, I made the mistake of trying to start over "Jingle Bells" by Frank Sinatra.......no one can sing Jingle bells like Frank........and managed to hit the mute button instead. Hilary's long and tried patience with me had reached an end.
"Mother!.........DON'T PUSH BUTTONS!!!! You muted Frank!.......No one mutes Frank when he's singing fucking Jingle bells!" Stop touching things"
Merry Christmas Ya'll
Aside from the fact that the dogs are running in tiny circles in my teenie weenie yard with only their heads visible, and my big toes are numb from being out shoveling freakin' snow that I'm pretty sure I'm too old to be shoveling (bring forth the young men on 4-wheelers with a plow attachment!!) I'm feeling a sense of accomplishment that at least the ambulance crew will have a clear walk to wheel me on.....and now that I'm 34 pounds lighter, will not have to cut a hole in the house to retrieve me.
So back to the shopping dilemma. With all this advanced warning, Hilary and I ventured out to try and wrap things up before the big snow. Hilary is interesting to shop with. She knows what she wants and will settle for nothing less. She hates to be rushed so be prepared to spend the necessary time for her to make her decision. Since I have no such "must have just the right item" compulsion, I have a little extra time on my hands that requires I come up with new and interesting tactics to entertain myself.
It all started when Hilary, shopping for stocking- stuffers for her fiance', announced that she needed "to look in men's underwear." I defy any of you to pass up a straight line like that! "Yes Hil.........lets go look in men's underwear", I announced loudly in the middle of Target. "It's been a long time since I've looked in men's underwear" I noticed at this point that she had extended the distance between us, requiring me to speak just a little louder. " I CAN TELL YOU WHATS IN THERE IF YOU DON'T KNOW HILARY" Fortunately for me, my daughter is unflappable after a lifetime with me as her mother.
Having arrived in the undie section we were assaulted by rows and rows of manly packages shining out at us in a variety of shapes and sizes. Everything from barely there "man panties", as Hilary called them, to Betty Boop boxers. Perusing the bulging packages quickly deteriorates in to giggling and sensory overload so time is of the essence. Sensing that we were nearing our saturation point, Hilary made a grab for the boxer-briefs-with-comfort-waist-band and we hightailed it outta there.
The drive home with Christmas carols blasting, knowing that very soon our world would be white and dirty grey for the remainder of winter, was a joyful thing. Until, that is, I made the mistake of trying to start over "Jingle Bells" by Frank Sinatra.......no one can sing Jingle bells like Frank........and managed to hit the mute button instead. Hilary's long and tried patience with me had reached an end.
"Mother!.........DON'T PUSH BUTTONS!!!! You muted Frank!.......No one mutes Frank when he's singing fucking Jingle bells!" Stop touching things"
Merry Christmas Ya'll
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Internal fat girl
So....tis the season......for food.
It's during this time of the year that we at the Vet Clinic are deluged with goodies. Cookies and a truly amazing chocolate cherry cordial cake, and hand made candies and truffles and trifles and parfaits and snacks of all kinds are generously offered by our clients. It would not be at all uncommon for our array of treats to require an 8 foot table be set up to hold everything. Things are not quite like that anymore since the recession is requiring people to scale back on their chocolate chip and red sugar sprinkle related purchases. We still get our share.
So how to handle all this food and maintain my goddamned diet? As we all know.......sweets are not that hard for me to pass up , although a superbly made chocolate chip cookie is a thing of beauty that simply cannot be resisted for long. So far.....I have refrained from grazing to the point of bloat coma. The same could not be said for years past when a deluge of fudge and salty chips made up my entire food intake for the day. *BLAH!!*
What I want........what I really want.......is funyuns......and pretzels and cheese......and hard salami with a hunk of sharp cheddar.......and pecans roasted with butter and salt to the point of melt-in-your-mouth goodness. I want a lovely piece of rare roast beef with creamy mashed potatoes and gravy. Now I have high blood pressure and must limit these excesses as well. The plain simple truth is that indulgences for me must be strictly controlled or else my internal fat girl takes over and she is one hard-assed bitch on wheels folks.
My internal fat girl is suggesting that I postpone my goddamned diet until after Christmas. She feels that a few hundred extra cookies never killed anyone so why not just lighten up a bit and treat yourself to a 5 pound Genoa Salami to offset the sweetness of all those peanut butter cookies with the chocolate kisses in the center. She tells me that I've been so good about refraining from McDonalds double cheeseburgers that I ought to just have a few for old times sake. My internal fat girl is evil to the core. She is the Darth Vader of internal fat girls. She would like nothing more than to retreat to the failure that we know so well. Ahhhhhhhh.....failure........my old friend.......comfortable as an old pair of shoes.
So here's the thing people. My internal fat girl needs to shut the fuck up. I'm done with funyun related stupors. I'm done with food guilt. I'm done with trying to convince myself that I didn't really just eat all of that. I'm done with sore knees and hot flashes and only feeling good when I'm lying down. I have listened to her long enough. She needs to take a trip around the salad bar and get off my back.
No funyuns for you!!
It's during this time of the year that we at the Vet Clinic are deluged with goodies. Cookies and a truly amazing chocolate cherry cordial cake, and hand made candies and truffles and trifles and parfaits and snacks of all kinds are generously offered by our clients. It would not be at all uncommon for our array of treats to require an 8 foot table be set up to hold everything. Things are not quite like that anymore since the recession is requiring people to scale back on their chocolate chip and red sugar sprinkle related purchases. We still get our share.
So how to handle all this food and maintain my goddamned diet? As we all know.......sweets are not that hard for me to pass up , although a superbly made chocolate chip cookie is a thing of beauty that simply cannot be resisted for long. So far.....I have refrained from grazing to the point of bloat coma. The same could not be said for years past when a deluge of fudge and salty chips made up my entire food intake for the day. *BLAH!!*
What I want........what I really want.......is funyuns......and pretzels and cheese......and hard salami with a hunk of sharp cheddar.......and pecans roasted with butter and salt to the point of melt-in-your-mouth goodness. I want a lovely piece of rare roast beef with creamy mashed potatoes and gravy. Now I have high blood pressure and must limit these excesses as well. The plain simple truth is that indulgences for me must be strictly controlled or else my internal fat girl takes over and she is one hard-assed bitch on wheels folks.
My internal fat girl is suggesting that I postpone my goddamned diet until after Christmas. She feels that a few hundred extra cookies never killed anyone so why not just lighten up a bit and treat yourself to a 5 pound Genoa Salami to offset the sweetness of all those peanut butter cookies with the chocolate kisses in the center. She tells me that I've been so good about refraining from McDonalds double cheeseburgers that I ought to just have a few for old times sake. My internal fat girl is evil to the core. She is the Darth Vader of internal fat girls. She would like nothing more than to retreat to the failure that we know so well. Ahhhhhhhh.....failure........my old friend.......comfortable as an old pair of shoes.
So here's the thing people. My internal fat girl needs to shut the fuck up. I'm done with funyun related stupors. I'm done with food guilt. I'm done with trying to convince myself that I didn't really just eat all of that. I'm done with sore knees and hot flashes and only feeling good when I'm lying down. I have listened to her long enough. She needs to take a trip around the salad bar and get off my back.
No funyuns for you!!
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Time to buy new pants
I've finally begun the process of letting go of my fat pants. I really love the feeling of loose pants for the most part. It's when the crotch begins to rub and chafe at my knees that I start to consider the possibility that they maybe, might be, possibly, may be juuuuuust a tad too large. I have reached that point. Last night I decided to try on a pair of pants that I bought about 2 years ago which turned out to be hopelessly too small then.
I picked them up to survey the basic cut and landscape of the garment. Yup......these are a lower rise which is never a good idea for me......but they do stretch which is a plus.......they don't really look like they'd be able to double as shelter in the event of a natural disaster so there's no fucking way I'll be able to fit in them. For years, my pants had to pass the "boat cover" test. If they didn't look like they'd be able to cover your average cabin cruiser.......they were a "no go". Imagine my surprise when they slid right on.
Pants buying has always been a source of great distress for me. I learned not to be too terribly alarmed at the size. What really mattered most was that they did not require me going in to a dressing room and trying them on. Seriously.......me?.....and a mirror?......and overhead lighting?? Just put me in a black bikini with white knee socks and combat boots and call 911 because I'm trying to cut my wrists with the price tag.
My plan was to find a size and type that fit....sort of... and just pick up extras as I needed them which translates to: whenever I wear friction holes in the inner thigh portion. This worked for a while, until pants that managed to pass the "boat cover" test failed to strain and creak past my thighs once I got them home. Lets talk some serious mental tap dancing to convince myself that the manufacturers were just cutting them smaller. You must know by now never to underestimate my ability to bullshit myself with a completeness that stupefies.
Over these last few months, I've gotten to the point where I'm able to say my weight out loud......to Hilary, but I can't say my pants size. The number catches in my throat like a hairball, so I've developed a new system. The good news here people is that my pants size "humpback whale" are finally too large to wear. My size "hippopotamus" are a little on the roomy side too, so I'm currently able to fit in to size "Rhinoceros". I don't think it's realistic that I'll ever be a size "gazelle" again, but I think that "zebra" might be within my reach. Isn't that just soooo much better!?!
I'm down 33 pounds....or 132 sticks of butter.
We rockin' on.
I picked them up to survey the basic cut and landscape of the garment. Yup......these are a lower rise which is never a good idea for me......but they do stretch which is a plus.......they don't really look like they'd be able to double as shelter in the event of a natural disaster so there's no fucking way I'll be able to fit in them. For years, my pants had to pass the "boat cover" test. If they didn't look like they'd be able to cover your average cabin cruiser.......they were a "no go". Imagine my surprise when they slid right on.
Pants buying has always been a source of great distress for me. I learned not to be too terribly alarmed at the size. What really mattered most was that they did not require me going in to a dressing room and trying them on. Seriously.......me?.....and a mirror?......and overhead lighting?? Just put me in a black bikini with white knee socks and combat boots and call 911 because I'm trying to cut my wrists with the price tag.
My plan was to find a size and type that fit....sort of... and just pick up extras as I needed them which translates to: whenever I wear friction holes in the inner thigh portion. This worked for a while, until pants that managed to pass the "boat cover" test failed to strain and creak past my thighs once I got them home. Lets talk some serious mental tap dancing to convince myself that the manufacturers were just cutting them smaller. You must know by now never to underestimate my ability to bullshit myself with a completeness that stupefies.
Over these last few months, I've gotten to the point where I'm able to say my weight out loud......to Hilary, but I can't say my pants size. The number catches in my throat like a hairball, so I've developed a new system. The good news here people is that my pants size "humpback whale" are finally too large to wear. My size "hippopotamus" are a little on the roomy side too, so I'm currently able to fit in to size "Rhinoceros". I don't think it's realistic that I'll ever be a size "gazelle" again, but I think that "zebra" might be within my reach. Isn't that just soooo much better!?!
I'm down 33 pounds....or 132 sticks of butter.
We rockin' on.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Cough Cough Sniff Cough grrrrrrrr
You would think that my giving myself an entire day to recover from my illness would suffice, but this bastard cold hangs on. When you live as close to the bone as I do, a much needed week in bed to nurse a head cold is simply not a possibility. I have spoken to Dr B about considering raising my yearly 3 days of sick leave to 6 weeks, but he's not going for it. I think the committee he discusses such things with consists of the three cats who reside at the clinic. Once they get an answer to him, I'm sure he'll forward it to me. Excuse me while I hold my breath.
Seeing as how I was up most of the night coughing, I've decided it's time to visit very young Dr Heather. I have crows feet older than her but shes wonderful and has been a great cheerleader through my Goddamned Diet ups and downs. So, back to being up last night.........I had a lot of time to watch TV which is never a good idea for me. Anything that isn't Andy Griffith or a cooking show tends to piss me off. OK......so....the cooking shows piss me off too....what's your point!!? Last night, it was the amazing Kymora Body Shaper. It will certainly explain the sharp elevation in my blood pressure to Dr Heather tomorrow.
So we have a parade of fat girls brought before us all wearing impossibly tight and clingy clothing that no self respecting fat girl who owns a fucking mirror would be caught dead in. Every bump and bulge is magnified as our poor fashion sense deficient ladies stand slump shouldered and withered like an unwatered plant, and talk about how much they hate their lumpy bumpy bodies. A quick step in to the dressing room and *Viola* all that blubber is pressed and squeezed in to a lycra body suit that has effectively "re-distributed" it. "I'm 10 inches smaller....I can buy a smaller size!!" they exclaim excitedly. "Oh my God!!....are....her earlobes larger!?" I ask Nickolai at 3:00 a.m. (He tends to ignore me during tirades.)
I have to wonder where all that re distributed fat goes? does it register as seismic activity when the body shaper is finally taken off at the end of the day? How many fat squeezing related fatalities have their been? If you were to fall down, would you bounce? What are the chances of your spleen getting pressed up in to your esophagus when seated while wearing the patented Kymora Body Shaper? I must know now.
"OK...for the before shot...look sad......awwww.....you're a sad fat girl....that's it, slouch...pull your hair down in front of your face. Now....the after shot......you're happy!!....happy squeezed fat girl standing tall!.....happy fat girl under flattering lighting......yay!!"
My favorite scene is the token skinny girl, who ever so gracefully slips on the "body shaper" and then slides in to her size 4 little black dress......an appreciative glance in the mirror and shes off to that super fabulous party. I can't help but picture the reality which includes a size 26 lady falling forward as she attempts to step in to her torture device and huffs and puffs and ruptures a rotator cuff while searching for the arm hole which is hopelessly lost somewhere in time.
Come on ladies!!!!.....Don't fall for this bullshit! Be smart, Be who you are!!...Love who you are!! We may not be size 4's but we have enough self respect to dress appropriately and strive for healthy bodies. Hating ourselves is not the answer and neither is being involved in a body shaper related bouncing accident, but if you ever are.....e-mail me okay?.....I'd love to hear about it.
Seeing as how I was up most of the night coughing, I've decided it's time to visit very young Dr Heather. I have crows feet older than her but shes wonderful and has been a great cheerleader through my Goddamned Diet ups and downs. So, back to being up last night.........I had a lot of time to watch TV which is never a good idea for me. Anything that isn't Andy Griffith or a cooking show tends to piss me off. OK......so....the cooking shows piss me off too....what's your point!!? Last night, it was the amazing Kymora Body Shaper. It will certainly explain the sharp elevation in my blood pressure to Dr Heather tomorrow.
So we have a parade of fat girls brought before us all wearing impossibly tight and clingy clothing that no self respecting fat girl who owns a fucking mirror would be caught dead in. Every bump and bulge is magnified as our poor fashion sense deficient ladies stand slump shouldered and withered like an unwatered plant, and talk about how much they hate their lumpy bumpy bodies. A quick step in to the dressing room and *Viola* all that blubber is pressed and squeezed in to a lycra body suit that has effectively "re-distributed" it. "I'm 10 inches smaller....I can buy a smaller size!!" they exclaim excitedly. "Oh my God!!....are....her earlobes larger!?" I ask Nickolai at 3:00 a.m. (He tends to ignore me during tirades.)
I have to wonder where all that re distributed fat goes? does it register as seismic activity when the body shaper is finally taken off at the end of the day? How many fat squeezing related fatalities have their been? If you were to fall down, would you bounce? What are the chances of your spleen getting pressed up in to your esophagus when seated while wearing the patented Kymora Body Shaper? I must know now.
"OK...for the before shot...look sad......awwww.....you're a sad fat girl....that's it, slouch...pull your hair down in front of your face. Now....the after shot......you're happy!!....happy squeezed fat girl standing tall!.....happy fat girl under flattering lighting......yay!!"
My favorite scene is the token skinny girl, who ever so gracefully slips on the "body shaper" and then slides in to her size 4 little black dress......an appreciative glance in the mirror and shes off to that super fabulous party. I can't help but picture the reality which includes a size 26 lady falling forward as she attempts to step in to her torture device and huffs and puffs and ruptures a rotator cuff while searching for the arm hole which is hopelessly lost somewhere in time.
Come on ladies!!!!.....Don't fall for this bullshit! Be smart, Be who you are!!...Love who you are!! We may not be size 4's but we have enough self respect to dress appropriately and strive for healthy bodies. Hating ourselves is not the answer and neither is being involved in a body shaper related bouncing accident, but if you ever are.....e-mail me okay?.....I'd love to hear about it.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Le Plateau.......again
I have been bouncing all around the scales here due to the holiday where I indulged in sinfully rich Thanksgiving goodies and lovely salty treats. Everyone is so impressed at how I turn down a luscious desert. Little do they know that me turning down desert is like a heroin addict saying "no" to an after dinner cocktail......it's just not my drug of choice people, but feel free to be impressed anyway. I'll be happy to suck it up and let you believe that I'm so terribly self disciplined. Let me just say that dipping the chunks of fresh sourdough that I was tearing up for stuffing, in to the pan of melted butter almost sent me growling to the corner like a bad dog, loaf and melty butter in hand. It would have taken a rabies catch pole to pull me away.
So let's review, shall we?
I have learned that eating an entire bag of baked Lays is a baaaaad thing, and will cause me to gain 3 to 5 pounds overnight. Re-losing those pounds takes a little more than a week if I'm being really good, and can be re-gained after a plate of cheesy fries with the family on Saturday. Do the math kids......"aaaaaaaand, I'm up 2. Aaaaaaaannnd, I'm down 3, aaaaaaaaaaand, I'm up one, Aaaaaannnd.....oh Hell........where's that bread!?!" It's not about the baked Lays, it's about learning to control those fat-girl impulses.
I have learned that as a fat-girl, I have a pre-disposition to greet every new success or bit of good fortune with a terrible headache and "an anxiety attack to go please" This little bit of fun awareness is new to me and may be at the bottom of why I'm a fat-girl to begin with, and why all my relationships have failed, and why my life has turned out so great (note sarcasm). OK.....so, it's really not so awful, but lets face it!.....money would be nice huh!?! I discovered this quite by accident recently when I received an e-mail from my online editor, full of praise for my writing, and details for starting up my blog for The News Post. I took to my bed like Grandma did when it was time to get Christmas cards out. I could hear the little voice in my head, "this is how you respond to success!?" Not a great road map to weight loss success.
OK......so....yes it is how I respond to success. Lets change that, shall we?
I have learned that it is in fact, not necessary to eat continuously from the time I arrive home from work until I fall asleep. I just enjoy it. OK....seriously, the point I'm making here is that bad habits can be broken. Maybe not all at once. Funyuns required a three pronged approach of reduced quantity, then forced substitution, followed by complete disentanglement. It took the strategic genius of General Freakin' Patton but I'm off funyuns......and baked Lays. I'm slowly letting go of the evening crutch eating.
So as I've long suspected, losing weight is not easy and not without unwelcome little awareness es that keep cropping up out of nowhere. I am determined however, to see where this twisty turny road takes me. I am determined to succeed despite my self inflicted programming to the contrary. This is Nancy, jumping in to the deep end in her symbolic, control top, one piece, black bathing suit with the ruffles to conceal her thick thighs. Certainly no one will ever see that you are a fat-girl with ruffles??....right??.....like a hippo in a black lycra tutu.
I'm down 31 pounds.......still........thats fucking what?....124 sticks of butter?? You wanna make somethin' of it!?
So let's review, shall we?
I have learned that eating an entire bag of baked Lays is a baaaaad thing, and will cause me to gain 3 to 5 pounds overnight. Re-losing those pounds takes a little more than a week if I'm being really good, and can be re-gained after a plate of cheesy fries with the family on Saturday. Do the math kids......"aaaaaaaand, I'm up 2. Aaaaaaaannnd, I'm down 3, aaaaaaaaaaand, I'm up one, Aaaaaannnd.....oh Hell........where's that bread!?!" It's not about the baked Lays, it's about learning to control those fat-girl impulses.
I have learned that as a fat-girl, I have a pre-disposition to greet every new success or bit of good fortune with a terrible headache and "an anxiety attack to go please" This little bit of fun awareness is new to me and may be at the bottom of why I'm a fat-girl to begin with, and why all my relationships have failed, and why my life has turned out so great (note sarcasm). OK.....so, it's really not so awful, but lets face it!.....money would be nice huh!?! I discovered this quite by accident recently when I received an e-mail from my online editor, full of praise for my writing, and details for starting up my blog for The News Post. I took to my bed like Grandma did when it was time to get Christmas cards out. I could hear the little voice in my head, "this is how you respond to success!?" Not a great road map to weight loss success.
OK......so....yes it is how I respond to success. Lets change that, shall we?
I have learned that it is in fact, not necessary to eat continuously from the time I arrive home from work until I fall asleep. I just enjoy it. OK....seriously, the point I'm making here is that bad habits can be broken. Maybe not all at once. Funyuns required a three pronged approach of reduced quantity, then forced substitution, followed by complete disentanglement. It took the strategic genius of General Freakin' Patton but I'm off funyuns......and baked Lays. I'm slowly letting go of the evening crutch eating.
So as I've long suspected, losing weight is not easy and not without unwelcome little awareness es that keep cropping up out of nowhere. I am determined however, to see where this twisty turny road takes me. I am determined to succeed despite my self inflicted programming to the contrary. This is Nancy, jumping in to the deep end in her symbolic, control top, one piece, black bathing suit with the ruffles to conceal her thick thighs. Certainly no one will ever see that you are a fat-girl with ruffles??....right??.....like a hippo in a black lycra tutu.
I'm down 31 pounds.......still........thats fucking what?....124 sticks of butter?? You wanna make somethin' of it!?
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Sick Day
I'm home sick today and let me just tell you that my animals have gone completely insane. To say that the dogs have been a little clingy would fail to convey the degree to which they've been all over me today. The cats have also stuck close. Resting is difficult because the animals are wedged in against me at every possible bend or crevice. Misha has draped herself over my head and will not be moved. Dimitrius wants to be draped over my neck.
For a while there I was touched at how much they really care. "Awwwwww.......they know mama's sick and want her to feel better" Then it dawned on me that my fevered body was generating some pretty irresistible warmth on this cold and rainy day........little bastards. The dogs have never liked the cats getting too close and Willie has taken it upon herself to press her fuzzy face in to whatever infinitesimal space that might be found between me and the nearest feline heat seeking missile.
Since sleep is difficult amongst all of these freeloaders, I turned on the TV. Why did nobody tell me that daytime TV is a vast wasteland of infomercials and all baby daddy DNA tests all the time!? Who is freakin' in charge here? Is there some overpaid underage whiz kid controlling the programming!?Let me just say to you whoever you are, that the day of reckoning is approaching and you will have to explain Maury Povitch to the powers that be. Take that little bit of possibility to the dermatologist with you sport. I'm just sayin'
So I'm feeling lousy. For those of you that don't know me, I am a G I A N T B A B Y when I'm not feeling well. My sister Ann is terribly stoic about her health. "Hi Ann.....how are you?" "Oh..I'm better now" "What?.... you were sick?" "Yes....just a little walking pneumonia....but I'm feeling better now.......I'm out of intensive care" Alrighty then. I have a sniffle and people start screening my fucking calls. "Oh my God!!...it's Nancy again!......would somebody please take her some soup so she'll shut up!!!" Yes......this is my life. Hilary will call.."I'm so sorry you're sick mama....would you like me to bring you some soup?" *sniff* *cough cough* "yes please". "Well I can't because I'm working right now" Alrighty then.
Such is my life.....and I'm feeling puny......and....and......and I'm annoying even me right now.
For a while there I was touched at how much they really care. "Awwwwww.......they know mama's sick and want her to feel better" Then it dawned on me that my fevered body was generating some pretty irresistible warmth on this cold and rainy day........little bastards. The dogs have never liked the cats getting too close and Willie has taken it upon herself to press her fuzzy face in to whatever infinitesimal space that might be found between me and the nearest feline heat seeking missile.
Since sleep is difficult amongst all of these freeloaders, I turned on the TV. Why did nobody tell me that daytime TV is a vast wasteland of infomercials and all baby daddy DNA tests all the time!? Who is freakin' in charge here? Is there some overpaid underage whiz kid controlling the programming!?Let me just say to you whoever you are, that the day of reckoning is approaching and you will have to explain Maury Povitch to the powers that be. Take that little bit of possibility to the dermatologist with you sport. I'm just sayin'
So I'm feeling lousy. For those of you that don't know me, I am a G I A N T B A B Y when I'm not feeling well. My sister Ann is terribly stoic about her health. "Hi Ann.....how are you?" "Oh..I'm better now" "What?.... you were sick?" "Yes....just a little walking pneumonia....but I'm feeling better now.......I'm out of intensive care" Alrighty then. I have a sniffle and people start screening my fucking calls. "Oh my God!!...it's Nancy again!......would somebody please take her some soup so she'll shut up!!!" Yes......this is my life. Hilary will call.."I'm so sorry you're sick mama....would you like me to bring you some soup?" *sniff* *cough cough* "yes please". "Well I can't because I'm working right now" Alrighty then.
Such is my life.....and I'm feeling puny......and....and......and I'm annoying even me right now.
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