Sunday, September 27, 2009

Rain delay

She took her sweet time getting here, but (sorry boys) the playground is flooded. It started raining just before I went to Insertnamehere's house yesterday. By the time I got there I had some fairly annoying cramps, but they weren't that bad. I asked him for some of his ibuprofen, but he was out. Lovely. A couple hours later all hell broke loose on my insides. Kids were using my uterus as a trampoline. Little girls with pigtails were using my fallopian tubes for double dutch. My ovaries had clearly fallen prey to a rousing game of dodgeball.

I was sitting next to Insertnamehere on the couch. I was trying to do homework, but couldn't concentrate. I had to keep leaning forward to put pressure of some kind on my baby maker. He asked if I wanted him to go to the store. I said, "No, no, it'll pass." A few minutes later, "Are you sure?" I let out a groan, "No, no, I'm alright." An hour later I'd had enough, "So, yeah, that ibuprofen is sounding better by the minute." He jumped up and was on the road within seconds. He came home with ibuprofen, creamer for my coffee in the morning, and Ben & Jerry's which he expeditiously dished up as I laid on my stomach on the hardwood floor so that I could use my extraordinary amount of weight to push all my bits into the ground. He came out to the living room with ice cream in hand and I laid on the floor waiting for the drugs to kick in, wishing someone would punch me in the uterus to get it to relax, trying to enjoy my ice cream. I'd like to say it was heaven, but not so much. They hit me like a mack truck, but thanks to my hero, they eventually subsided and I was able to partake in some serious cuddling.

Why am I writing about this? Because tomorrow is weigh in day again and I'm hoping to hell that her terribly timed appearance and the agony of last night will some how pay off for me in the morning. School threw off my eating on a couple days and most certainly threw off my workouts this week and I could really use something great on the scale tomorrow. Something to help me push forward and continue to put in the work with everything I have on my plate right now. So, I'm paying my penance this weekend and hoping that tomorrow is the big reward. I'm off to get some more ibuprofen. Good Jesus.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Schoolhouse Rock!

I loved Schoolhouse Rock when I was little. Hell, I love it now. Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, Get Your Adverbs Here, Conjunction Junction, I'm Just A Bill, Interjections! Those were the good ol' days. Well, I'm grown now and I have a few new Interjections! Shit, fuck, and damn! These are Interjections! Well, not and, and is a conjunction, uh, junction. That's it's function.

I haven't been to the gym since Monday (and we all know how that went). Can't blame it on the playground because it's still status quo (though the signs are still present that flooding is eminent). It's school and lack of sleep. It's me getting used to my new schedule. It's me being a tool. In my defense, though, this is the list of things I have to do this weekend for school:

Figure out which horror movie I'm going to depict in a full page ad and draw 40 thumbnail sketches of said ad. Also, find 3 current movie ads in magazines.

Read Chapters 1-3 of From Design Into Print and prepare for quiz that will be on Tuesday

Read pages 1-32 of Making and Breaking the Grid and figure out which badly designed magazine I want to redesign and which well designed magazine I want to model it after.

Design an invoice and a timesheet that I will use for the African Film Festival non-profit project we've been assigned and do 30 thumbnails for said poster. Also, watch at least one movie from the African Film Festival collection and write a reaction to it as well as other various research.

Develop an 11 x 17 vision board of things that I find inspiring as it pertains to my own identity/brand/career and do 20 business card ideas for myself.

Good times, kids. School is most definitely back in session. For those that thought the first week of school couldn't possibly be that big of a deal? It's a very big deal. Let me get acclimated again and then we can talk about Gym.

Monday, September 21, 2009

The good, the bad, and the ugly

The Good:
This morning I walked into the gym and the boy behind the counter that is usually there on weekdays gave me a head nod and said, "It's ok." I said, "It's ok?" He said, "Yeah, you're good." What does this conversation mean? He didn't need to scan my membership card. He recognized me. Still not sure why this is good? It means I've been there so much in the last two weeks that I'm "one of them." I'm...a regular. I smiled, put my card back in my wallet and made my way to the women's workout area.

The Bad:
I jinxed myself yesterday with my jibber jabber about how smoothly my workouts have been going. Firstly, I woke up with a little bit of a headache and no desire to go. I wanted to weigh in so I got up and slowly made my way there. Two minutes into the treadmill and shin splints were in affect. Some people debate whether or not what I have going on are shin splints because it isn't actually my shins, it's the outer part of my lower leg living somewhere between my shins and calves. It's both legs. It burns like the fires of hell and if I push it too far I can't even tell if I'm lifting my feet properly because the muscles are so tight. Sometimes if I stop until they relax then I can get back to it and go for quite a while. Sometimes not. I made it eight minutes and moved to the recumbent bike. I set it for 22 minutes to try to get in at least 30 minutes of cardio. I quit at 10. It took me longer to drive there then to actually workout. Lame.

The Ugly:
After my sorry excuse for a workout, I got on the scale. Tally, ho? Up 3.5. 359.6. I wanted to kick puppies. I wanted to throw dumb bells kittens. I walked out and drove home. Here is the only thing that kept me from crying; TOM is in a day or two (in theory). I feel a little bloaty and various other treats Aunt flo brings when she visits. To all the fellaz readin' this and rolling their eyes at another period reference...bite me. Until your playground floods and kids start playing kickball with your naughty bits, you can't really pass judgement. So, I'm hoping that explains it, because I don't feel I screwed up enough to warrant a gain like that. I busted ass this week!

Saturday, September 19, 2009

I'll take Fat Girl Ailments for $800, Alex.

Alex: shin splints, plantar fasciitis, lower back pain, bad knees, lack of energy, and sometimes, TOM.

Me: What are reasons fat girls give to get out of a workout? I'll take Fat Girl Ailments for $1000, Alex.

Alex: diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and infertility to name a few.

Me: What are reasons a fat girl should give a damn?

I have somehow found my groove at the gym this go round. All of the things that ail me and cause me to quit have not been bothering me TOO much. I can really only attribute this to less time on the treadmill. To getting my cardio minutes in on 3 different machines instead of just one. World o' difference. It's just so hard on a good day to be there doing the things I need to do, but when everything I do is riddled with some sort of pain it's only natural that I'm going to eventually get tired of it and quit. I've gone to the gym 5 days a week for two weeks now. Today was a day off, but tomorrow I will be there bright and early for my workout and my weigh in.

Girl's night was ok. I ended up having one drink so I didn't pick up the ice cream I was planning to take over to Insertnamehere's. He and I did surprisingly well considering he had just met with his soon to be ex wife and was super cranky when he called. I like that I can provide some sort of calming effect. I like that he smiles when he sees me even after a crappy day. I like that when we hang out all of the outside crap seems less important, even if only for a few hours. We both need that right now.

Tomorrow school starts back up. Eff me. There are three things that I have to somehow manage to keep as priorities along with school. My weight loss (natch), the freelance graphic design business I've started with a classmate, and Insertnamehere. How in the hell I'm going to swing it all is not entirely clear, but I've been trying to devise plans. My classmate and I are going to meet on campus before classes a few times a week to stay on track with the business. Insertnamehere and I are going to get through the next couple of insane weeks and then sit down and figure out at least one day that we know we're going to see each other every week and plan for it. If other days can happen, all the better, but at least we'll have one day a week that is dedicated to this friendship. What I eat on Tuesdays and Thursdays might be a crap shoot, but my classes shouldn't get in the way of the other days. I am planning to try to hit the gym on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at least and do Wii fitness games on the other days. That will be subject to change as I see what my schedule brings. Pray for me!

Friday, September 18, 2009

Built for comfort, not for speed

So Gym and I were knockin' boots again today and the workout was kinda blah. 10 on treadmill, 15 on recumbent, and then I opted to start lifting weights again. Did a lot of leg work and as I was abducting my hips I realized that there was only one other person working out in the women's area with me. Suddenly the most foolish of notions came over me. Mayhaps a fat girl should run.

I got on a treadmill that wasn't easily seen from where this other person was and started cranking it up. I started running...ok, ok, ok...jogging. The treadmill strained beneath me, but I was doing it anyway. I got up to a minute and thought I'd push it to two. Then I heard other voices and realized the lunch time rush was starting. I stopped it at a minute twenty. I stepped off completely and utterly out of breath and then it hit me; I am most certainly not made for speed. I also couldn't help but wonder just how long I would have been able to push it if my fear of being seen hadn't kicked in. No one wants to watch a fat girl break a treadmill. Well, some do, but they are just mean.

Tonight the girls are congregating for food and gossip. They haven't seen me in a while and I'm likely going to be grilled on Insertnamehere. Who, by the way, I hope to see after dinner because I haven't seen him in days and it makes me cranky(ish). I think we're going to hold hands and watch Shrek again since we never finished it the last time I was there. Love that for some odd reason. Probably because I'm bringing ice cream to eat while we watch it, too, but don't judge me. At least I'm not going to drink any alcohol tonight and will bring my water bottle. I don't really know what the food will be, but I'm bringing blue corn tortilla chips and some black bean salsa that isn't too bad for you. Let the good times (and the fat girls) roll.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Make up sex

We've been spending more time together, trying to mend the things that came between us so long ago. Today, though, we had some mind blowing, sweaty, dirty, make up sex. Gym and I, are back together!

Tuesday's workout sucked. I got on the treadmill for my 10 minute warmup and within just a couple minutes my shin splints (or whatever they are) started to hurt. They are the whole reason that I've been keeping it at 10 minutes and then moving on, it's just too painful. I pressed on through the 10 minutes and went to the recumbent bike. I set it for 30 minutes and pussed out after 15. My thighs were tired and my hips ached. I went to the elliptical. The timer wouldn't work. It is at this point that I said effit and jumped off and walked out. I decided that Wednesday would be a day of rest. I paid attention to my body and this is what it told me.

Today I had to make up for it. I got on the treadmill. 10 minutes came and went. Nothing hurt. Same speed and nothing hurt. I pushed it to 20. I rock. I did the treadmill for 30 minutes and probably could have gone longer. I went to the recumbent bike. 20 minutes. I went to the elliptical. 10 minutes. I did 60 minutes of cardio and felt...great! Nothing hurt. I was a sweaty mess, but I wasn't in pain. If only all my workouts could be like that.

I listened to my body and I adjusted. I took the day off yesterday and went to Whole Foods instead to stock up on yummy, healthy goodness. I ate a healthy breakfast before I went and it made all the difference. I'm making good decisions and starting to feel empowered again. I start school on Monday, that is when it will be the hardest. I have to get the two to play well together and so far, I haven't been very good at that. Will. Find. Way. In the meantime, I'll just keep being a dirty girl with Gym.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Ya ain't much if ya ain't Dutch

I have always been very proud of my Dutch heritage. I grew up living only a couple miles away from my Dutch grandparents and spent a lot of time immersed in traditions I didn't even realize were because of my heritage until I was older. Tea time at 10 am and 3 pm, black licorice (still don't like it), birthday calendars, dinner for lunch and lunch for dinner, and the list goes on. One thing I did learn about the Dutch as I got older was what a bike friendly bunch of crazies we are. I am a disgrace to my heritage.

I haven't had a bike since I was probably in jr. high. When you're fat, you don't want to ride up the street on a bike having the people coming up behind you wondering where the seat went. When your fat, you can't pedal your fat ass up the street period. I can remember riding my bike with my brother all over our yard AND the neighbors yard or all over the campground when we went camping. And then it stopped.

So, I texted Insertnamehere last night and asked him if I could go on a pedal with him once I lost a bunch of weight. He rides his bike all over the place. He said he'd be looking forward to it and could he help me pick out my bike. I obviously agreed since I know nothing about bikes. Later that night we were talking on Facebook and he linked me to a bike. He already picked it out for me. The Electra Townie Balloon 3i. All I had to do was choose the color. Easy. Orange. It is the color of our people (he is Dutch, too, doncha know).

So, today I found a picture of my tangerine dream and it is the photo on my computer's desktop so that I see it all the time. They are spendy mofos so it will be a significant reward for reaching one of my goals. I just don't know what that goal should be yet. I don't know what level of fat this bike is approved for. It's got nice fat tires and a decent size seat. It will likely be more about when I'd feel comfortable riding it than what weight it could hold. Two vastly different numbers. It was nice having him support me. Later he asked how he could help. I told him to just ask me if I've been going to the gym and eating right and don't judge me. Tonight we talked about the ice cream we eat together and I said we're going to have to reserve the B&J for special occasions and get healthier stuff most of the time. He was all for it. He supports me because he knows my size matters to ME, not because my size matters to him. It makes all the difference.

So, when I get to 275 or lose 100 or something of that nature, I will be embracing my Dutch heritage and hopefully pedaling my less fat ass down the streets of Portland with a particular Dutch boy because, after all, you ain't much if you ain't Dutch.

Hello, my name is Hot Mess.

I sat my grandpa (mom's dad, where I get all of my smart ass ways and half of my Dutch heritage) down at the table. He was walking with crutches at this point because his balance was failing and he was having a lot of trouble walking. It was Thanksgiving and I somehow made it to the big table with the grownups. I guess enough of the family was missing that a spot opened up. I got him settled, helped him dish up, and got him everything he needed. As I reached over and fixed his suspenders that had gotten twisted he said, "Kelly, you're going to make some man very happy one day." I loved my grandpa dearly and valued his opinion greatly. He wasn't a man of many words, so when he spoke it resonated (often times because it was full of snark and old men with Dutch accents and all that sass are comedy). My smile had barely had time to form before it was wiped away. My dad was sitting on the other side of him and he said, "Who? Her?" It was his tone. It was his look. It was almost like disgust. It was him saying, "Please. She's never going to get a man. Who would be interested in a girl that big?" I knew he felt that way. He would always talk about some guy he'd come across that would be perfect for my sister, but he never suggested anyone for me because no one would want me, naturally. This was the first time he came out and actually said something that proved my suspicions. I was a teenager. I've never forgotten it.

My dad made me run up and down the stairs at the house until he said stop and sometimes run around in circles around the boat in the shop. He didn't care that I couldn't breathe. He didn't care that running around a boat in a fairly tight circle can make you dizzy. I was fat and it needed to change. So was he, but that apparently didn't need to change because instead of changing the way the family ate, he singled me out and embarrassed me often. During some of my dad's pep talks I was told that I was a worthless piece of shit and that I'd never amount to anything. I was a teenager. I've never forgotten it.

I've had artistic talent since I was little. I used to draw all the time. Every time I brought something to my dad he picked it apart. No compliments, just put downs. This could be better, the proportion is off on this, the shading is wrong on that. Because of this, I've never thought I was good enough. It never mattered that everyone else loved it and envied the talent. Because of this I stopped drawing. Because of this I threw away everything I had ever drawn. The only things I've kept (aside from things I've drawn recently for school) are two drawings that he couldn't find anything wrong with. Two drawings that must have been good enough. I hate that I let him take that away from me. I hate that I don't have confidence in my ability. I hate that because I stopped drawing I can't draw from my head anymore and have to see a picture of something to be able to draw it. I buy sketchbooks all the time because I love them. I open them and stare at the perfect white paper and ache for that girl to come back. The one that drew because she loved it and wasn't anxious because she wasn't good enough. I probably have about a dozen sketchbooks; they are all empty. I've been told that my dad brags about me to other people about my talent or my grades or the like. The only thing he's ever truly shown support in was my writing. He's always told me I should write a book. Beyond that, nothing I've done has ever been good enough as far as I can tell.

There are statistics out there that give numbers on how many compliments it takes to undo one single put down...especially when that put down comes from a parent or loved one. I wholeheartedly support this statistic, whatever it may be. It's been instilled in me since an early age that nothing I do will ever be good enough. I once wrote a letter to my brother that said something to the extent of, "You turned our childhood into anger, I turned our childhood into 350+ pounds." This was the first time I placed blame for my weight on anyone but me. I had always rejected the theory that "our parents are to blame" because I was now an adult and I should be able to change. I am an adult, but there are issues I've left unaddressed my entire life because I am a peacekeeper. I don't like ripples and I like to let bad things sink as quickly as possible. I've avoided addressing very many of the issues with my father in this blog because people I know, people that know my dad, read this. This blog is supposed to be honest. It's supposed to be about my weight and the things that positively or negatively affect my ability to lose it. My dad is a large part of this battle for me and I'm no longer choosing to sweep it under the rug. Until I can afford therapy (which I am now looking into), this is the only outlet I have.

For now I am choosing not to let my dad know that I'm trying to get focused on losing this weight again. I haven't told my parents that I rejoined the gym. I haven't made any comments on meals that have been made. I just stay in my room. I've lived back here for almost 2 years now and anytime I try to get focused again he has plenty of things to say about it. He points out everything that I shouldn't eat all while eating it himself. He complains if he cooks something and I don't want to eat it all while telling me that I need to lose weight. This makes me want to eat. This makes me want to binge. I become a little girl again and the only way that I can get back at my father is to do the one thing that bothers him most...get fatter.

Some therapist is going to have a field day with me. More to come.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Tally, Ho.

I was at Insertnamehere's house this morning (more on that later). I was dressed for the gym. I didn't want to go to the gym. But, I had to go because I needed the scale. Today is weigh in day. This guy suggested that I start with 10 minutes, see how I feel, and if it wasn't good, I could stop. We had an accord. I went in with an open mind. I planned to get on the scale before and after my workout to see what the difference was (ended up being a pound worth of difference). I did the treadmill for 10 minutes. I did the recumbent bike for 20 minutes. I did the elliptical for 10 minutes. Mama's legs were weak. I carefully made my way back to the scale. And what's the tally, Ho? I lost 4.5 pounds. 356.1. Down 9.9 pounds. Word.

Insertnamehere and I finally talked yesterday. First on the phone, then at his house. A lot was said, mostly by me. I broke out some good stuff. Like a grown up even. Things fresh out of some movie, I'm sure, like, "I'm not trying to save you. I'm trying to be your friend and help you save yourself." When the conversation seemed to be winding down he said he wanted to ask me something. I was nervous. I thought he was going to ask for his key back. He said, "Can we just go hold hands and watch Shrek now?" I smiled, told him that he sucked, and he agreed. Backstory: about a month ago when we were talking on the phone he told me that he and his 2.5 year old daughter were holding hands and watching Shrek. I told him that sounded awesome and I wanted to. He said we would, but hadn't yet. Now we have. Before we actually started watching the movie I hugged him and whispered, "Can we just go back to how it was before, Papi?" He said he would like that. Then I asked him to please talk to me when he started freaking out again so that we didn't end up here again. He agreed. We shall see. Boys are still stupid.

On another note, I find it slightly creepy that just a few days ago I had two posts that referenced Dirty Dancing and Patrick Swayze and today he lost his battle to cancer. This happens to me a lot. Just sayin'.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

How many calories do you burn wallowing in your own self-pity?

Though you would think laying in bed from 6 pm until 8 am tossing and turning, reeling from internal strife, fighting to sleep, unable to stop your brain from spinning would burn innumerable amounts of calories, the fact won't. The chances of it doing you any good at all are about as good as my chances of winning the title of Miss. Fitness USA. Last night I went downstairs to eat dinner after my last entry and made the executive decision to not eat. I wasn't hungry. Instead, I came upstairs and crawled in bed. I wallowed. I stewed. I came up with all these things I should say, but likely won't. I came up with questions and made up my own answers. I toggled ever so efficiently between angry and sad. For those that think I'm a hot mess in need of medication, I'm not. This is just what I do when my life is in limbo. I think I've mentioned this before, but fat girls can't limbo. I like definitive answers. I like knowing where I stand and what's around the corner. I like having some sense of control. Yesterday I felt like I had none. Toss in the fact that the height of the limbo bar has been set by someone I care a lot about and this is the result.

He and I were supposed to talk last night; we didn't. After a few texts about how we WOULD be talking last night, I got one that said we wouldn't be. It was the last night that his cousin would be staying there and they were "talking about life." What I wanted to say in response was, "Don't call me for a while," or "Have another beer and fuck off." Instead, a simple "Goodnight, Insertnamehere." His name is nearly always replaced with a term of endearment when I address him, so, the simple fact that I used his name probably got my point across without me lowering myself to levels I'd regret. I figured I'd wait until this morning and see how I felt. This is progress for me. And what was the result? I took back some of the control. I determined what height the bar would be set today. I gave his indecisive "time out" the middle finger and told him that I didn't want to talk to him the rest of today, or tomorrow for that matter. I wasn't going to sit here waiting for texts or calls that likely wouldn't happen. He has company in town tonight so I doubt it's going to affect him all that much, but it made all the difference for me. He said everyone (company, cousin, daughter) would be gone tomorrow night and things would be more settled. That we could talk. He sounded sad. I hung up.

I started cleaning, frantically, if I may say so. Dust bunnies called for backup as I tore through my room on a mission. Cardio, no? I turned on the Wii and fired up My Fitness Trainer to put some time in with Maya. I almost threw a dumbbell at the screen as she nagged me about missing my sessions lately. Look, bitch, I've been checking in daily getting workout credit for what I've been doing at the gym. Just because I haven't wanted to workout with YOUR ass, does NOT a slacker make. I did a 30 minute workout with her that focused on flexibility. Now I'm all stretched out and ready for some limbo. Anyone?

Friday, September 11, 2009

Flight Risk

When someone is deemed a flight risk it means that there is a good chance they are going to run, at their first opportunity, from something they are being held accountable for. Right now, I am a flight risk. I've been trying to do the right thing for me over the last few weeks; to eat better and be better, but it has been a struggle. I am not in the "zone" that usually has me professing some renewed sense of determination. I am far from it. Every bit of it has been a struggle. Today? I didn't even want to get out of bed.

Today I wanted to sleep until things were resolved. If I just kept sleeping then I wouldn't be thinking, dwelling, worrying. I wanted to hide. Instead I got out of bed, even if late, and I slowly got dressed. I drove, almost dazed, to the gym. I sat in the parking lot once I got there, not wanting to go in. I eventually did, but everything was a challenge. I got in a very weak 30 minutes of cardio and then I left. I usually like it when I'm there and feel proud when I leave. I didn't this time.

I wanted to hit fast food on the way home, but got Subway instead. I didn't enjoy it. I've been sitting in my room since I got home with no motivation to do anything. I go between wanting to eat everything in the house and never wanting to eat again. I'm going to go have dinner of some sort and then probably go to bed. If I had a passport I'd suggest that someone take it. I should be remanded without bail.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

(Not having) The Time of My Life

Sadly, Baby is still waiting for her memorable dance scene. He did call as promised. We did talk. He still doesn't know what to do. He basically agreed with everything I said. He told me that I've done everything right; that I've made it easy...but that when all he's ever had has been hard, easy is scaring him. Liking me so much is scaring him. How perfect it scaring him. I may or may not have driven 40 minutes one way to his shop tonight just to get a hug and then turned around, walked out, and drove back home. He's supposed to call me tomorrow.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner

Last night I was left sitting in a proverbial corner, feeling unimportant, feeling like an afterthought. Last night was rough. Last night I was torn between the girl I used to be and the the woman I am now. Last night I was conflicted over whether or not I stand up for myself or sit idly by as someone treated me less than I deserve simply because they are going through a tough time. What is the appropriate way to respond to someone who typically treats you so well when they have a lapse in judgement? How do you make it clear that what has happened is not ok while still coming across as understanding of their situation? Where is my Patrick Swayze to stand up for me?

The girl formerly known as Doormat would have just sat there all night, waiting for him to get home, and wouldn't have said anything. She would have had an attitude and when asked what was wrong she would have blurted out a snippy, "Nothing!" and answered every other question with an equally snarky one word retort. She wouldn't have stood up for herself. She would have spent months of her life being treated badly until one day he got a new doormat.

The woman I am now? Well, she made it known that it wasn't ok. She took off for a while and went to the gym (that's gym, not Taco Bell). She went to clear her head and prayed that some aerobic bliss would tame the beast that was inside her at that moment. The beast remained, but more of a petting zoo than an african safari. I went back. When he got home we talked. I wasn't mean. I wasn't snarky. I didn't have an attitude. I can't say my sarcastic core didn't shine, but I didn't say it out loud and I consider that progress any day of the week.

When we woke up it suddenly got a bit harder. Time outs were talked about. It stung. It left me speechless (even the snarky ones I'm usually so proficient in). It left me feeling like I was the one that did something wrong. I couldn't get out of his house fast enough. I know why he said it, but it was still confusing. My friend feels bad for how he made me feel last night and feels like he's taking advantage of me. My friend is going through a lot. He is conflicted with feelings he has for me (whatever those are) because he doesn't feel like his life is conducive to liking someone right now. He doesn't want to leave me in the wake that his life could leave behind all the while forgetting that I'm a big girl and I can swim (I just don't look good in a swimsuit). He is trying to figure out who he is as he goes through a divorce and gets his life back in order. My friend has spent so much time with a woman that gave him nothing that he has no idea what to do with a woman that would give him everything. My friend? Is scared.

My friend has told me that I'm the sunshine through the clouds. He tells me what a good woman I am, how beautiful I am, how caring I am. My friend goes a couple days without seeing me and then can't stop telling me how much he missed me, how good it is to see me, how glad he is I'm there. I sometimes look up and catch him just looking at me with a slight smile on his face, saying nothing and everything all at once. Content. Happy. I wish he would just see that what he and I have is easy. What we have isn't complicated. It isn't drama. It's two people enjoying each other and trying to help each other get through two lives that are NOT easy and are all kinds of complicated. I wish he would believe that he deserves to have some of that aforementioned sunshine sometimes, that he should get out of his own way and let someone make him happy. I wish my friend understood that bailing because you like someone is, well, stupid.

So there you have it. The reason my lil Twitter updates proclaimed a rough night, skipping dinner, tears, and a breakfast of McDonald's. Did I mention that I took off and went to the gym instead of burying my head in the pint of B&J he had in his freezer? Just trying to make you forget that whole McDonald's debacle. He and I are supposed to talk tonight. I don't know what time out means. He didn't even know what time out meant when I asked. I just know he doesn't want his key back so I guess that's promising. I'm hoping it goes well, but in the event that it doesn't, you all should take out stock in B&J quick!

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

The witching hour

Often thought of as the time between midnight and 3am, the witching hour is when witches, demons, and ghosts are at their most powerful. At my gym, that time is apparently 11am, cuz witches? They were a plenty. So many super skinny girls with no personality. I flash a smile in passing and they avert their eyes. Get a sammich, bitch, and lighten up.

The good news? I did a 10 minute warmup on the treadmill (with no indication that it couldn't detect me) and then 30 minutes on the recumbent bike. Toss in a little cool down time and I was at it for 45 minutes. The scale was a couple pounds kinder, too.

The bad news? My 6 year old nephew touched my tummy today and asked if I had a baby in there (his other aunt is pregnant so tis the season he thought). I said, "No, it's the last little boy that asked me if I had a baby in there." FML, yo.

Monday, September 7, 2009

User Not Detected

Obese people have an odd relationship with invisibility. Many of us feel like we're never seen because or our size and others feel like we're living under a microscope because everywhere we go we are judged. I am a combination of the two. In public I mostly feel like everyone is watching. In my more personal life I often feel invisible and overlooked.

Today I rejoined Bally Total Fitness (the proof is in the membership card). While there I even worked out. Not for very long, but I did it. I was warming up on the treadmill and in the ten minutes that I was on there it stopped about five times showing "User Not Detected" on the screen. Say what? How can you not detect me? If anything, the screen should have said "Hey, only one person at a time, for the love of God." Great, even gym equipment doesn't see me.

Before I left I noticed a new scale in the women's area (where I typically workout). I know the one in the locker room doesn't go high enough, but thought I'd step on this lil gem just for shits and giggles. You never can have too many scales reject you in my opinion (insert eye rolling here). I stepped on it and waited a few seconds for it to flash "Err" or something equally craptastic. Well, it was craptastic, but it was a weight. 360.6, fuck.

So, remember that one time, at band camp (or was it YouTube), when I said I was going to be at 299 by the time school started back up? Ooooh, good times. Think I can lose 60 pounds in a couple weeks? Me, too!

Kelly Scissorhands

My nails have been proving themselves to be as bothersome, um, effective as predicted. Last night as I tried to give a boy a massage after his hard day of work I'm pretty sure I stabbed him in the neck. Being as how I didn't hit the jugular and he's just happy to be getting one, he didn't say a word. As I waited in line at the drive through Starbucks this morning, I couldn't get my debit card out of its home in my wallet. I had to bend my wallet back and use my teeth. It prevented me from getting a pumpkin scone for breakfast and instead I got a reduced-fat turkey bacon and egg white sandwich. It did not prevent me from getting a pumpkin spice latte. Tis the season, bitches.

Per the request of someone who had too much whine with his pork, here's a photo of my scissorhands. I know. They're not even crazy long. For those that haven't had fakies before, it's not so much the length (I'm used to long nails for the most part), it's the fact that they aren't actually part of your body and you can't feel things with them the same way and it's how thick they are. They're twice as thick as your natural nails which is why it's harder to wedge them under the tab on your can of beer. Hell, I can't even set free a piece of turkey bacon from between my teeth anymore. I had to use a piece of paper in my car on the drive home. I know, this is serious. Hopefully they keep reminding me to stay on track. If not, maybe I can start trimming hedges and cutting hair with them

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Nailed it

I decided to get my nails done today. A full set of fake french loveliness. I've had acrylics before and I never keep them on for very long. They start pissing me off or I can't afford to get them filled all the time. I'm not sure why I keep going back to fake when my nails look beautiful naturally, but I do. Maybe it's the simple fact that they don't break as easily or maybe it's the fact that they just look effin perfect when they're fake and that's me, perfect.

I did it this time for a somewhat odd reason. They are meant to be a constant reminder of what I'm trying to do...better myself. There is very little I can do in a day that isn't somehow affected by my sassy new nails and I'm hoping, at least for a while, it will be a reminder. If I can't get the lid off of the pint of Ben & Jerry's that easily anymore than mayhaps I shouldn't be eating it. Can't open a can of Diet Mt. Dew? Shouldn't be drinking it. Long fake nails just don't cooperate the way long real nails do so things just end up more difficult.

We'll see. It's worth a shot. Regardless, I look hot.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Lovely Rita, Meter Maid

Have you ever spent a glorious afternoon in the city doing all of your favorite things as if money were no object? Mani with Pedi perhaps? Lunch with the girls/boys? A little retail therapy? In a perfect world, perhaps all of the above with a side of gelato. As you walk back to your car there is a certain bounce in your step and then your perfect day is over. Your stomach drops right out of your body as you notice a meter maid, excuse me, Parking Enforcement Officer, drawing nearer to your car. You check your watch and realize it's only a matter of seconds before your time expires. Your face goes flush, your heart races, beads of sweat form on your brow and, as if in slow motion, you start racing towards your car with arms and shopping bags flailing. You reach the meter as Rita starts flipping open her pad just itching to tally another ticket towards her quota. Clock ticking you start frantically searching your pockets and purse for the one thing that can save you right now...change.

That's what I need right now...change, or rather, changes. I need to make a lot of them. I haven't been doing very much right lately. At best I go a day or two before it all goes wrong again. I usually start off well, but if I haven't screwed it up by lunch I certainly have by dinner. The last couple weeks I've been eating better, but not good enough. I'm getting a little exercise, but not enough. Any of you that have been following me for any decent amount of time know that I can really only do this if I'm consumed by this. I haven't wanted to be consumed by this. I've been too busy being consumed by school and money and everything else life has been throwing at me. The thing is, when I am consumed by weight loss and doing everything right, I find it much easier to deal with all of the things life throws at me. I feel in control and better able to face any obstacles put in front of me. I feel stronger, I have more energy, I have more focus.

Here are 10 changes I'm prepared to offer you, Lovely Rita, Meter Maid, because I'm by no means ready for my time to expire just yet.

1. At least 32 oz. of water every day
2. At least 4 blog entries a week
3. Consistently Twitter every day about what I'm doing and what I'm eating
4. At least 30 minutes of exercise 5 days a week
5. Get out of bed before 8 every weekday
6. Be in bed before 11:30 every weekday
7. Eat a healthy low-fat breakfast every day
8. Eat 5 to 6 small meals a day
9. Start taking my diabetes meds again
10. Stop the negative self-talk

Put the ticket book away, bitch, I just bought myself some more time.