Wednesday, September 17, 2008


Last night was the first episode of the new season of Biggest Loser. Feeling inspired by their double digit loss after double digit loss, I decided that I would kick it up a notch at the gym today. I also decided that I needed to dress appropriately for the battle and reached to the back of the drawer for the Enell Sports Bra that I bought four years ago. I've tried it on a couple times, but have never worked out in it because it makes my typically robust tatas look like one flat as a crepe uniboob which results in my gut looking even bigger. The twins have never ridden so high as when encompassed by an Enell.

I got the Enell after Oprah touted it as her favorite sports bra ever. After promising that your girls wouldn't move an inch in this thing, I jumped online and ordered the most expensive bra I've ever owned. When I got it I tore into the package and swore I heard the Hallelujah Chorus as rays of sunlight shown upon it. It was the bra of all bras. It fastens in the front and must have a good 20 hooks to hold back the flood gates. I slipped into it like a vest and tried to pull it together and get it fastened. Oh there is just no way. I obviously ordered the wrong size. I grabbed the little note card that came with it. It explained that it would be a very tight fit. It gave instructions on how to fasten it, and that once you do get it fastened, to reach down inside and pull the girls up to report for duty. Since when do bras need instructions? I've pretty much had this down since 5th grade. Nevertheless, I followed the instructions and got strapped in. I looked in the mirror and finally knew what it was like to be an A cup, cuz my lovely lady lumps were AWOL! My gaze drew lower to my abnormally giant gut. I stripped out of that bra and refused to work out in it with a gut like that.

Well, four years later, today was that day. I strapped in and headed to the gym. I've apparently lost just enough weight not to be completely mortified as long as I sucked my gut in whenever anyone looked in my direction. As I drove to the gym I felt confident that if S.W.A.T. should call, me and my new flak jacket were ready to serve. This thing is heavy and thick and I felt like I could either stop bullets with it or deflect even the fiercest of X-rays. I also felt like I was losing circulation, but forge on I did.

I started by lifting weights, which is surprisingly easier when you trade in DD's for A's. When I moved over to do the elliptical I chose the harder model. Not all ellipticals are created equal and this one kicks my butt. I was sweating all up in my Enell and was out of breath by the 10 minute mark. I wanted off this thing. I wanted to go home. I wanted to curl up in a ball in the corner and suck my thumb. Then it hit me. W.W.J.D.? No, not What Would Jesus Do...I'm pretty sure Jesus was gifted with a killer metabolic rate and working out is not on his list of things to do. I mean What Would Jillian Do? If I were on Biggest Loser and Jillian were my trainer, what would she do if I were gettin' all pansy on her ass? I imagined her getting in my face and screaming at me. Telling me to keep going. I pressed onward to 15 minutes. At that point I felt like I'd earned an out, but there was Jillian telling me that unless I faint, puke, or die, I better not quit. "Just FIVE MORE MINUTES!" She is so not as cute when screaming in your face as she is on TV and I am wholly confident that I could snap her like a twig if I could just catch her spry little ass.

After 20 minutes I peeled myself off the elliptical and I stood in front of one of the fans to catch my breath and evaporate some of the sweat from my brow. With Jillian on my heels I also did 20 minutes on the recumbent bike. At this point, I no longer cared W.J.W.D. and I headed home. I considered taking the Enell off in the car as I drove, but I didn't want to put out an eye with the force that they'd explode forth with once set free. As soon as I walked in the door I started to release the hounds and I let a out a Braveheart worthy roar of "FREEEEEEEDOM!" I think I need a hug from Trainer Bob now. Yum.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Welcome to, Aurora.

I've passed through Aurora, Oregon more times than I can count. It's the easiest way to get to Southeast Portland from my parent's house. I stay on the main highway that runs through it and, though I've wondered what lies beyond, I've never deviated from my path. All I really knew about Aurora was that there are a lot of antique shops and that one should never speed when going through it. I've found myself occasionally wondering if it was like the quaint little towns I sometimes see in movies where everyone knows your name and people are actually nice. When I see those towns I, even if briefly, find myself longing for the comforting hug of a nice small town instead of the harsh kick in the ass that the city often doles out.

Until now.

Today I had to go to court for my ticket. I called prior to my allotted time to make sure I had the right date and time (being as how one can barely read what must be the 10th level of a carbon nightmare) and that the address given was where I was supposed to go. Good thing I called. Why no, that isn't where I go. I should go to "this" address instead. The town itself has a population of about 950 people. So, blink and you just might miss it. I drove up and down Main Street twice looking for the address I was given and the closest thing I found ended in 10 not 20 and it was the American Legion building. Well, that can't be it. That's not a courtroom. I went to the building that matched the address on my ticket (which was also the Police Station). I felt dirty just looking at this place. It was gross and run down and made me feel like I needed a tetanus shot to enter. I walked into the musty smelling front office of the Municipal Court building, explained my dismay and was directed back to the American Legion building. She told me that she was also the Court Clerk so she'd be over there soon. I suddenly found myself wondering if this Municipal Court building/Police Station also doubled as the General Store, Post Office, and local watering hole thus making it impossible to hold "court" in the building that actually had Court in the name. I bid farewell to Aunt Bee and made my way back over to the American Legion building to wait.

Aunt Bee eventually let us inside, checked us in, and asked us to have a seat. I took in my surroundings and found it all very laughable. Basically, it was a room that probably had a potluck in it prior to court and would certainly have a Ho'down in it just as soon as they moved the beat up desk out, folded back up the tables, and stacked all the chairs back up. I determined that Officer McCrosswalk was there (apparently being out of plain clothes and into full uniform adds like 20 pounds...I'm just sayin'). He was playing the role of Bailiff at today's festivities. Opie was setting up the mics and Barney Fife was trying to work a TV for a reason I still don't know. We continued to wait and then I saw an older lady walk in through the very doors that we did and grab a black robe from Aunt Bee. She walked up to the aforementioned beat up desk and took her seat (20 minutes late, but who can blame her what with running the post office and general store and all). You gotta be kidding me. What kind of parallel podunk universe did I just cross into?

When it was my turn I walked up to the mic at the sad little podium atop a fold up table. She read my heinous charge of "Failing to Stop and Remain Stopped for a Pedestrian" and followed with "How do you plead?" I said, "Guilty sounds good." She asked if there was anything I wanted to say on my behalf before she assigned my fine. I said, "Well, does pointing out that I'm typically an annoyingly cautious driver and currently unemployed do anything for me?" There were chuckles from the "courtroom" and she smiled. She said she wasn't sure, that my record was clean, and she asked how long I'd been driving in Oregon. I said, "Since I was 16 and I'm mumblethirtymumbletwomumble now." She informed me that she'd reduce the fine to $190, but that was the lowest she could go. She didn't even cut it in half. Podunk towns need all the money they can get I guess. People aren't all that friendly in Mayberry anymore.

I called the company I had the interview with last week (no, it wasn't Lucy). They haven't made a decision. She hasn't gotten much feedback at all, actually. She told me that all the big wig (who I'd never met) told her was to keep searching. Not looking all that promising anymore. I'm still in limbo and feeling like I'm about to fall flat on my ass.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Move over baby Jesus, there's a new miracle in town!

I lost 3 more pounds. Let me now put some perspective on the miracle that is this weigh in. First, as you know, I "supposedly" lost 7 pounds last week so I wasn't expecting much this week. Back to back big losses is a rarity in my world. Second, I ate complete and utter gluttonous crap Thursday through Sunday. If you think I'm kidding the list follows:

Taco Bell, Ice Cream

Gelato, Burger King, Starbucks, Chinese Food, Alcohol, Gelato (why yes, I do realize I said gelato twice, but thanks for not pointing and laughing).


Taco Bell

Now that we're all chalk full of perspective, would anyone like to explain just how in the hell I pulled that one off? I feel that next week I'll get on my scale and will suffer a serious gut punch as it screams "Psych!" and I'm 15 pounds heavier. This just can't be. I probably have to change the batteries in it or it's time to move it to a more balanced locale in the room. I just don't deserve that.

There is only one thing telling me that it's a legit and well deserved loss. A little thing I like to call Gastrointestinal Pyrotechnics. If you've ever eaten healthy for longer than a month or two then you know what I'm talking about. You can't dive head first back into greasy, fattening, morally degrading food like that and not suffer the consequences. Your body calls for back up via the morse code that is the gurgling of your tortured insides. It calls into action every available inch of intestine, colon, and bowel with tactical support from the liver, pancreas, gallbladder, and stomach. Together they force the enemy from your body as quickly and efficiently as possible. Obliterated, it seems, from the recesses of ones fat cells.

My body pulled together and saved me this week. I must thank it by being 100% back on program. I think I got a little out of control because my life is in limbo. My future is currently resting in everyone's hands but my own. I'm still waiting to hear from the literary agent. I had an interview for a job I would kill to have (ok, maybe just mame). I don't know what's going on with me and "the boy." I start school next week. I have court for the ticket tomorrow. Yeah, I don't do well in limbo land. Mama likes everything to have order and fat girls have no business doing the limbo anyway.

So, now weighing 323 (or do I), I've officially lost 10% of my body weight. Hoorah, Bitches!

Monday, September 8, 2008

Can I get a witness?

Because when I got on the scale this morning, it said I’d lost seven (7) pounds. Not once, not twice, but THREE times. Though I gave it plenty of chances to change its mind, it still gave me seven. I say take it and run. For all those good at math, you know I’ve lost 34 pounds. For all those good at history, you know this is the point that I always, without fail, she’s nothing if not consistent, QUIT!

So, what will she do this time? That’s an excellent question. One in which I’d like to answer, but I can’t. I’m going to the gym. This is still Sparta, Bitches!

Friday, September 5, 2008

This is Sparta, Bitches!

I’ve been considering changing my name to Antigone because I’ve been feeling like my life is like a goddamn Greek tragedy lately. Still no job, my savings account has been summarily wiped out, ticket, last month’s weight loss has been pretty slow, I may never move back out of my parent’s house, and to top it off I’ve been breaking out in what I can only describe as hives since, like, May. I take a little swig of Children’s Benadryl almost every day just to keep from scratching off my own skin. I no longer have health insurance, me being that of the unemployed, so I can’t really go get it figured out without spending more money I don’t have. Et tu, Brute? Et tu?

The first time I watched “300” I was distracted because I was hold up in my room, in the dark, with the volume turned down to almost nothing, hiding from my psycho roommate (and I may or may not have been distracted by all the abs). My crush on Gerard Butler (he’s since been deemed Matthew’s replacement and is now the desktop image on my computer) was not fully developed at this point and I wasn’t even aware that he was the King of the Abs, er, Spartans.

With nothing else really on tonight, and me actually having control over the remote for a change, I watched it again. Those Spartans, boy, they had nuts the size of small children. You know a guy is testicularly gifted when he is huddled under his shield, giggling like a school boy, while millions of razor sharp arrows are plummeting to the earth around them. Not a lot of people would find that sort of thing funny, but a Spartan? Nothing is funnier than possible death by decapitation.

After watching it this time I felt like I, too, was a Spartan warrior (albeit a softer, gentler, more estrogen filled version). I will make Xerxes my bitch. Xerxes, in this case, being my job status, my financial status, and my fat ass status. I took my butt to the computer and emailed an activewear company that is based in Portland and hiring for a girl of my qualifications. I had wanted to email them earlier, but felt that would be a very awkward interview for a big girl, what with it being ACTIVEwear and all. Well, I’m a Spartan now. I kicked them in the chest and sent them spiraling down into a dark cavernous well.

“Good evening,

Attached, you will find my professional cover letter and resume. Here, you will find a little more. My job search has been bleak and I’m feeling the need to step it up. The things that I feel compelled to say in this submittal will most certainly set me apart (whether in a good way or a bad way I’ve yet to determine). The unemployment office would surely give me a solid swat on the back of my hands for even thinking about typing this, but here I am...typing.

I am a woman that has never shopped at Lucy. Don’t get me wrong, I love your store. I’ve been in there often. I walk in with my sister or my friends and my tactile nature has me touching everything. I put together outfits for them and point out what I think is super cute, and yet, I buy nothing. You see, I don’t fit into anything you have. I am a plus-sized woman and I aspire to wear your clothes. I have picked things out that I tell myself I will one day wear and have almost gotten to the check out line. I stop myself just in time and I leave. I step outside to wait aching for the day that Lucy and I will be BFF’s (I know, I can’t believe I just said BFF either).

The fact of the matter is, I’m losing weight. I’m even writing a book about the experience. All of my dates with Gym have me longing to spend time with Lucy even more as the baggy t-shirts just aren’t cutting it. When I picture my future self doing yoga, Pilates, hiking, and the like I see me doing it with Lucy. When I saw your posting for Office Administrative Assistant I told myself that if I can’t wear her yet...I’ll work for her. So, here I am, writing a completely inappropriate letter for employment in hopes that my humor, chutzpah, and secret crush will somehow work in my favor. If not, please disregard and see attached.


Kelly Anderson”

They'll either think I'm completely crazy and delete it or they'll think that I also have balls the size of small children and they'll call me in for an interview despite my girth. Either way, I'll get noticed. No retreat, no surrender; that is Spartan law!

Note: If the job for Spartan Queen is open and it entails diddling Gerard Butler, I have an updated resume and references available upon request.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Fear does not exist in this dojo.

If you’re like my friend, you believe that Ralph Macchio’s career was cut tragically short (and who doesn’t really?). If you’re like me, you believe that anything worth learning in life could be taught by Mr. Miyagi. “Look eye, always look eye!” Wise words, Mr. M., wise words.

Though pain often does exist in my dojo, fear apparently does not. I did something that I thought I’d never do. Leaving my fear of rejection behind me like a baton meant for the hands of a U.S. Olympic track athlete, I emailed a literary agent. After all the years of people telling me I need to write a book or telling me I need to publish my blog, I’m setting it into motion. I sent the following email to said agent:

“Dear Mr. Literary Agent,

Please do forgive me if my submission reeks of shock and awe as I thought hell would surely have had to freeze over before I submitted a query to a literary agent. And yet, here I am. Initially conflicted with the voice that should come across in my email, I surmised that I should attempt to mimic the one most often present in my writing...intelligence and wit (often also referred to as “a raging smart ass sense of humor”).

My family often hounded me about writing a book, but seriously? They’re my family. They’re supposed to encourage even the most ridiculous of fantasies. Enter November, 2004. I started a memoir/blog about my journey to lose weight (current working title Operation Shrink A Bootie). Having been fat my entire life, I felt more than qualified to broach the subject. Though more a way for me to collect my thoughts and stay focused than anything else, I also hoped that at least a few people would be able to relate to what I said. What resulted was, well, a following. A mini fan club of people that are either inspired or entertained. Now complete strangers (read: people I’m not related to) leave comments on my blog about how much they love my writing, how they relate to what I’m saying, how I inspire them. Though I’d rather have my eyelashes plucked out one by one than admit my family might be right, I’m left begging the question...what if?

There really is no better way to give you a feel for my writing then to let you glimpse into the blog itself. Since I’m not sure how you feel about links to random blogs, I have inserted a few entries below. Though they are in order, there are many entries missing. My hope is to publish my entries in a style similar to a journal. I realize that edits need to be made and I also realize I should stop posting to my blog if I am serious about publishing it in something I expect someone to actually pay money for (buying the cow, free milk, yada yada). I do hope that this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship and that some day I’ll be afforded the opportunity to thank you in a cleverly crafted “Acknowledgements” page.

Thank you for your time.


Kelly Anderson”

Then I inserted a few of my entries. Now, I wait…and wait…and wait. Rumor has it that these people will respond in one way, shape or form (unlike the staff at Oprah when I suggested a meet and greet with Matthew). The questions is, will they tell me I’m a talentless hack or will they agree that I have an audience and they’d like to hear what other pointless ramblings I’m able to muster? I, obviously, vote for the latter. I think we can all agree, when it comes to pointless ramblings, I am queen!

I know that it can take weeks for a response, but every ding alerting me to email received finds me with my heart in my throat. I just want to know, either way, what someone in the industry actually thinks (not that your opinions are in any way less important to me, natch).

Gasp! Email.

Rats! Junkmail.

Monday’s weigh in had me losing the 2 pounds from last week. One more to lose to get back to where I was. I’m at 333. On “the boy” front, he got back from his trip last night. He missed me (giggle) and wanted me to come up to see him (giggle), so I did (giggle). Since I wasn’t expecting him back so soon and had to get decent, it was midnight before I got there. This was the first time I saw him since he finished up with school. We snuggled up on the couch (giggle), watched a movie (giggle), and then I stayed the night (giggle). We didn’t study. Banzai, Danielsan! Banzai!