The issue is, that I thought there would be more.
When you are 17, there is a world of opportunity and things you could be. Some people are content with what I thought were pretty pedestrian plans (yes, at 17 I was a judgemental bitch). I was convinced I would change the world. I wasn't scared of standing up, or yelling loud or demanding more.
Now, not so much.
At 40, I don't know where that girl went... and that, I'm convinced, is the problem. She is still inside screaming and kvetching and whining all the time that there has to be more. More fun, more money, more fame, more power... more, more, more. But instead, the woman she became is grown up and responsible and truly disappointed in herself.
Because everything is a "give and take" - she took the compromises. She no longer demands more. She no longer is willing to take the same kind of risks.
I miss the girl. I can't believe she won't fight her way back. I'm rooting for her. I'm rooting for me.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
Snappy
Most of the time, I try to keep my mouth closed... no, I mean really. 100% of the time I have an opinion on whatever is under discussion..
"Do you think we should go out to dinner?" - Yes, of course.
"Which pair of shoes goes with the dress better?" - the blue ones.
"Can you believe what Jane did last night?" - no
"Can you get over .... blah, blah, blah... - no, yes and only on Fridays.
I have an opinion about absolutely fucking everything. Again,most sometimes I keep my opinions to myself because I am the person that says out loud what everyone else in the room is thinking.
This, my friends, is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because there is no MAYBE with me. You will know if I like you, you will know if I approve, and you can damn well bet that if I tell you something looks, tastes or sounds fabulous... I am not lying.
On the flip side of this coin I often find myself with my foot in my mouth. Enter... today's story.
So...
Like nearly everyone else I know I have a Facebook page. I will openly admit I use it to spy on my kids and their friends. This... is every parents job. If you have a teenager and you are not following them on Facebook, you suck. I also go on Facebook for the following reasons:
1. I live vicariously through the lives of other people.
2. I am a voyeur. I've come to terms with it. Watching people is more fun than watching TV. You simply cannot make up some of the shit you see on FB.
3. Sometimes I really like the stupid sayings people post. They make me smile.
Anyway I creep all the time. This (in my vernacular) means that I read all about people and rarely post a thing. I do not brag about my kids or my husband or whine about bad days or laundry list the sicknesses that are going through my house. I just click around looking for links to interesting stuff... then click away.
Today however (for no real reason) I did not slam on the brakes fast enough and before I could stop myself - I typed. You see, although I am used to putting my foot in my mouth in a room full of strangers or calling out the white elephant... I forgot that on Facebook, the room is REALLY big and white elephant has cousins.
HO-LY-SHIT.
Check out this picture:
I think this color combo is ridiculous. Truly I do. I am simply not a fan. I call this one the "shocktop". (WTH were you thinking... )
I know several people who go with this style and change the colors with the seasons. Unless you are current rock star, I'm just not feelin' it for you.
So.. when a long time acquaintance from high school (seriously I probably spoke to her a total of 15 times back in 1988) (and yes, no idea why I originally accepted her friend request) wants to know...
"do you think I should cut and color my hair like this?"
It took me a mind numbing 2 seconds to tell her the truth..
"Hell no, not unless you want to start whoring or have recently signed a deal to play SXSW."
oops... the filter came off. And her band of merry men ran off the rails to her defense. Apparently this style and color is extremely popular in small town Alabama. Who knew?
Frankly, it may actually match the camo and pink sweatshirt that reads "Jesus loves me" that I saw her wearing (on fb) last week. My bad.
Listen - if you don't really want someones opinion. Don't ask for it. I'm pretty sure I just got "unfriended".
"Do you think we should go out to dinner?" - Yes, of course.
"Which pair of shoes goes with the dress better?" - the blue ones.
"Can you believe what Jane did last night?" - no
"Can you get over .... blah, blah, blah... - no, yes and only on Fridays.
I have an opinion about absolutely fucking everything. Again,
This, my friends, is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because there is no MAYBE with me. You will know if I like you, you will know if I approve, and you can damn well bet that if I tell you something looks, tastes or sounds fabulous... I am not lying.
On the flip side of this coin I often find myself with my foot in my mouth. Enter... today's story.
So...
Like nearly everyone else I know I have a Facebook page. I will openly admit I use it to spy on my kids and their friends. This... is every parents job. If you have a teenager and you are not following them on Facebook, you suck. I also go on Facebook for the following reasons:
1. I live vicariously through the lives of other people.
2. I am a voyeur. I've come to terms with it. Watching people is more fun than watching TV. You simply cannot make up some of the shit you see on FB.
3. Sometimes I really like the stupid sayings people post. They make me smile.
Anyway I creep all the time. This (in my vernacular) means that I read all about people and rarely post a thing. I do not brag about my kids or my husband or whine about bad days or laundry list the sicknesses that are going through my house. I just click around looking for links to interesting stuff... then click away.
Today however (for no real reason) I did not slam on the brakes fast enough and before I could stop myself - I typed. You see, although I am used to putting my foot in my mouth in a room full of strangers or calling out the white elephant... I forgot that on Facebook, the room is REALLY big and white elephant has cousins.
HO-LY-SHIT.
Check out this picture:
I think this color combo is ridiculous. Truly I do. I am simply not a fan. I call this one the "shocktop". (WTH were you thinking... )
I know several people who go with this style and change the colors with the seasons. Unless you are current rock star, I'm just not feelin' it for you.
So.. when a long time acquaintance from high school (seriously I probably spoke to her a total of 15 times back in 1988) (and yes, no idea why I originally accepted her friend request) wants to know...
"do you think I should cut and color my hair like this?"
It took me a mind numbing 2 seconds to tell her the truth..
"Hell no, not unless you want to start whoring or have recently signed a deal to play SXSW."
oops... the filter came off. And her band of merry men ran off the rails to her defense. Apparently this style and color is extremely popular in small town Alabama. Who knew?
Frankly, it may actually match the camo and pink sweatshirt that reads "Jesus loves me" that I saw her wearing (on fb) last week. My bad.
Listen - if you don't really want someones opinion. Don't ask for it. I'm pretty sure I just got "unfriended".
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Travels - the bracelet
So I think I was late to the party that is the Travelling Red Dress.
Like everything, I had this brilliant idea about two years ago to send a piece of jewelry to some of the fabulous women who have made an impact on my life. I think somewhere along the line, I heard about the pair of jeans book. In high school, my friends and I shared scarves, and jewelry and sweaters... so now that I am an adult, I suppose I wanted to try to live that all over again with a piece of jewelry. But before I could send off the bracelet that I had chosen - it broke while I was wearing it. In my world of fate and kooky consequences it was clear to me that a broken bracelet was no way to start this weave into the world. I needed to wait until I had something solid. Something that was good for me, something I loved, that would not break. Fast forward two years to about a month ago.
Wasting away another day at the computer I stumbled across the story of the Travelling Red Dress. Ay' Carumba! There were (of course) other people who had the same fabulous idea as me. They chose to get it started with a red dress... which turned into several red dresses... which turned into a bit of a movement. It was time to find a bracelet and on a much smaller scale, send it into the world.
Every year my mother and I hit the same artisan craft show in the summer. And, every year she buys me a bracelet from this little old man who weaves these beautiful gold and silver knots into sparkly, bangly bands that I simply cannot get enough of. At the time, I thought I was simply drawn to how they looked. In retrospect (and after pulling out my stockpile) I realized there was much, much more to his signature style. Different materials, and different knots all add to the beauty of these things. The super bonus was they were big enough to look fabulous dangling from my plus size wrist.
So, I chose one. It was not my favorite one but instead one that I thought I could part with. One that has been worn all over the world (they slide right through metal detectors at the airport). One that was beautiful enough to be given away and one that was sturdy enough to endure some additional travel and abuse. I put together a little package with the bracelet including a small notebook and a card. The card explained why I was sending the bracelet and what you were supposed to do with it when you were done. The book was for writing a brief story if you choose.
My next step was deciding who would get this bracelet first. I have always been very lucky to surround myself at different times in my life with people who seemed the perfect match. I knew it had to be Jules. This is the woman who talked me off a ledge back when I needed it at 19 years old. Upset and frustrated with my weight and my decisions, I was talking out loud about my life and my choices. Of course this was back in the day where depression was never diagnosed let alone talked about and anti-depression drugs weren't popping up like Pez. I didn't realize I was depressed at the time but I was. I went to some ineffective on-campus counseling and as I chain smoked my way through a bottle of Absolut, Jules said the one thing to me that I will never, ever forget. " I would never hurt myself because I can't wait to see what happens next." HO-LY-SHIT. In just one short sentence she helped to shape the rest of my life - "you never know what is going to happen next."
So, Jules it is. Today I put the bracelet in an envelope and mailed it off to her. She does not know it is coming. I know she will wear it well, follow the directions and send it on. It may never make it back to me and if it doesn't, that's OK. I did good in the world today. I reached out and sent my love on to someone who may or may not know why. I truly believe in the God that weaves us all together. Some obvious and some not.
p.s. - I want a red dress.
Like everything, I had this brilliant idea about two years ago to send a piece of jewelry to some of the fabulous women who have made an impact on my life. I think somewhere along the line, I heard about the pair of jeans book. In high school, my friends and I shared scarves, and jewelry and sweaters... so now that I am an adult, I suppose I wanted to try to live that all over again with a piece of jewelry. But before I could send off the bracelet that I had chosen - it broke while I was wearing it. In my world of fate and kooky consequences it was clear to me that a broken bracelet was no way to start this weave into the world. I needed to wait until I had something solid. Something that was good for me, something I loved, that would not break. Fast forward two years to about a month ago.
Wasting away another day at the computer I stumbled across the story of the Travelling Red Dress. Ay' Carumba! There were (of course) other people who had the same fabulous idea as me. They chose to get it started with a red dress... which turned into several red dresses... which turned into a bit of a movement. It was time to find a bracelet and on a much smaller scale, send it into the world.
Every year my mother and I hit the same artisan craft show in the summer. And, every year she buys me a bracelet from this little old man who weaves these beautiful gold and silver knots into sparkly, bangly bands that I simply cannot get enough of. At the time, I thought I was simply drawn to how they looked. In retrospect (and after pulling out my stockpile) I realized there was much, much more to his signature style. Different materials, and different knots all add to the beauty of these things. The super bonus was they were big enough to look fabulous dangling from my plus size wrist.
So, I chose one. It was not my favorite one but instead one that I thought I could part with. One that has been worn all over the world (they slide right through metal detectors at the airport). One that was beautiful enough to be given away and one that was sturdy enough to endure some additional travel and abuse. I put together a little package with the bracelet including a small notebook and a card. The card explained why I was sending the bracelet and what you were supposed to do with it when you were done. The book was for writing a brief story if you choose.
My next step was deciding who would get this bracelet first. I have always been very lucky to surround myself at different times in my life with people who seemed the perfect match. I knew it had to be Jules. This is the woman who talked me off a ledge back when I needed it at 19 years old. Upset and frustrated with my weight and my decisions, I was talking out loud about my life and my choices. Of course this was back in the day where depression was never diagnosed let alone talked about and anti-depression drugs weren't popping up like Pez. I didn't realize I was depressed at the time but I was. I went to some ineffective on-campus counseling and as I chain smoked my way through a bottle of Absolut, Jules said the one thing to me that I will never, ever forget. " I would never hurt myself because I can't wait to see what happens next." HO-LY-SHIT. In just one short sentence she helped to shape the rest of my life - "you never know what is going to happen next."
So, Jules it is. Today I put the bracelet in an envelope and mailed it off to her. She does not know it is coming. I know she will wear it well, follow the directions and send it on. It may never make it back to me and if it doesn't, that's OK. I did good in the world today. I reached out and sent my love on to someone who may or may not know why. I truly believe in the God that weaves us all together. Some obvious and some not.
p.s. - I want a red dress.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Stripped down and smug pups
213 this morning by the trusty new scale.
Although at first glance it appear as if this was a no carb week of shocking losses, the truth is I stripped all my clothes off and got on the bastard buck neked in the morning right after I peed. (I probably would have shaved my legs if I thought that might help the process along too... )
I did not do what I said I was going to do with the alternating low carb and high carb days. Really? Yeah, really.
Spent most of the weekend moving for a friend who died in a tragic accident last October. It was horrible for the family - and very sad. We talked a lot about time and death and life over the weekend and this morning I woke up absolutely convinced I was going to eat well - and be nice to people. These were the only two rules.
By 10:30am I had broke both. (What the hell is wrong with me?)
By 10:30 am I ate two oatmeal cookies and told the intern at work he was a son of a bitch. Yep. True story. There is absolutely no way I can be nice to this kid (20's) with a shit eating grin who is 4 credit hours light from fucking up someone else's life... sounds like there is a story there, huh? OK - fine, if you insist...
Let me preface this by saying I have no initial issue with engineers. I find them to be lazy and categorically limited in their range to accept and understand anything that is not within their speciality. My problem with several engineers I deal with on weekly basis is the fact they are smug and believe that because they are engineers, they are smarter than everyone else in the room. I get extra raw when the little pup is but 21, and can't follow simple instructions.
Said pup and I are engaged in a project to re-work a series of drawings for our company's website. He keeps telling me they are done and I keep finding errors. This has gone on now for 6 weeks. On Friday I realized that the easiest way to keep most of his work was for me to make a change to the design specification. A major change. A change that I explained in detail on Friday afternoon. Turns out smug pup isn't so playful on Monday morning.
A fair amount of whining to the wrong people and I'm left to justify the changes. Unfortunately, this did not go well for him. Long story short - I was right, he was embarrassed and I my best guess it will be another 6 weeks before I get everything done. Lesson to all smug pup intern engineers... do NOT fuck with a fat Midwestern mom first thing Monday morning unless you want bitch slapped into place.
Oh, and bring me my coffee... with Splenda, if you please.
Although at first glance it appear as if this was a no carb week of shocking losses, the truth is I stripped all my clothes off and got on the bastard buck neked in the morning right after I peed. (I probably would have shaved my legs if I thought that might help the process along too... )
I did not do what I said I was going to do with the alternating low carb and high carb days. Really? Yeah, really.
Spent most of the weekend moving for a friend who died in a tragic accident last October. It was horrible for the family - and very sad. We talked a lot about time and death and life over the weekend and this morning I woke up absolutely convinced I was going to eat well - and be nice to people. These were the only two rules.
By 10:30am I had broke both. (What the hell is wrong with me?)
By 10:30 am I ate two oatmeal cookies and told the intern at work he was a son of a bitch. Yep. True story. There is absolutely no way I can be nice to this kid (20's) with a shit eating grin who is 4 credit hours light from fucking up someone else's life... sounds like there is a story there, huh? OK - fine, if you insist...
Let me preface this by saying I have no initial issue with engineers. I find them to be lazy and categorically limited in their range to accept and understand anything that is not within their speciality. My problem with several engineers I deal with on weekly basis is the fact they are smug and believe that because they are engineers, they are smarter than everyone else in the room. I get extra raw when the little pup is but 21, and can't follow simple instructions.
Said pup and I are engaged in a project to re-work a series of drawings for our company's website. He keeps telling me they are done and I keep finding errors. This has gone on now for 6 weeks. On Friday I realized that the easiest way to keep most of his work was for me to make a change to the design specification. A major change. A change that I explained in detail on Friday afternoon. Turns out smug pup isn't so playful on Monday morning.
A fair amount of whining to the wrong people and I'm left to justify the changes. Unfortunately, this did not go well for him. Long story short - I was right, he was embarrassed and I my best guess it will be another 6 weeks before I get everything done. Lesson to all smug pup intern engineers... do NOT fuck with a fat Midwestern mom first thing Monday morning unless you want bitch slapped into place.
Oh, and bring me my coffee... with Splenda, if you please.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Who are the people who read the business section?
A detour at lunch today led me to Wendy's. Who doesn't absolutely love the chili? I mean really, really great for $1.59 and just over 200 calories.
With very limited time and completely alone I sat quietly and ate alone. It took me 10 minutes.
I am not one of those people who is intimidated by eating alone or going out alone or going to the movies alone. I like the anonymity of the whole thing. In fact going to the movies by myself (especially a matinee) with a tub of popcorn and a stack to tissues is one of my most favorite things.... but I digress.
So, sitting in the now wifi enhanced Wendy's sucking down my chili, I was looking around the restaurant to check out the surroundings. Here, in no particular order, are the group of misfits I discovered -
A. 50 ish overweight businessman. Reading the business section of the Plain Dealer. Who does this, really? I don't understand what is in the business section that means anything to me. I have never had a job where there is even one headline I care about let alone one I'm going to act on. Shit, I barely even understand what they talking about and I've had write ups in the damn business section. Who reads the business section? and what EXACTLY are they looking for? Sometimes I wish I was important enough to need to read it.
B. 40 something dad. With a hoodie on. With the hood up. With his laptop open to facebook and not eating or drinking anything but watching CNN on the big screen TV and seemingly actually caring about what the talking head Blondie was carrying on about. Again, really? You're sitting in a Wendy's during the middle of the day on a Thursday. Are you really planning on getting a piece of the Facebook IPO? and why in all that is holy did you have your hood up?
C. 40 something mom and her teenage daughter. OK Stop. There is absolutely no reason I can ever see or understand that explains why you would want to wear sweatpants with words on your ass. What the shiznit is that all about? I don't care how old or young you are there is absolutely no reason to do it. Ever. Are "juicy" sweatpants and Ugg boots de'rigeur everywhere or just in the hell that is Ohio. (p.s. - did you know that all the world's freakiest serial killers are from Ohio? - look it up)
D. 20 something goth couple. I got hand it to these world of warcraft kids. They rock the style, right? Huge guy, fairy girl, both dyed black hair and smelling of smoke. Laptops open, gaming while enjoying their fries. I think they should probably be working or something but... they are in their 20's so - whatever.
E.F.G.and H. The senior patrol. Apparently after you get to be a card carrying member of the AARP you get free "senior drinks" at Wendy's. In the whole of my existence I never understood drinking coffee with a hamburger but I think something may switch when you get older and constantly need caffeine. Hamburgers don't taste good with coffee. I've tried it. They don't. This group of go-getters have set up shop in the Wendy's similar to the breakfast crowd at any given McDonalds on any given morning. They are scattered throughout the building in a way that allows them to talk to one another without actually having to commit. They wear the most comfortable shoes. They know the value menu by heart and can get in and out at lunch for under three bucks. I love these guys. They rock.
With very limited time and completely alone I sat quietly and ate alone. It took me 10 minutes.
I am not one of those people who is intimidated by eating alone or going out alone or going to the movies alone. I like the anonymity of the whole thing. In fact going to the movies by myself (especially a matinee) with a tub of popcorn and a stack to tissues is one of my most favorite things.... but I digress.
So, sitting in the now wifi enhanced Wendy's sucking down my chili, I was looking around the restaurant to check out the surroundings. Here, in no particular order, are the group of misfits I discovered -
A. 50 ish overweight businessman. Reading the business section of the Plain Dealer. Who does this, really? I don't understand what is in the business section that means anything to me. I have never had a job where there is even one headline I care about let alone one I'm going to act on. Shit, I barely even understand what they talking about and I've had write ups in the damn business section. Who reads the business section? and what EXACTLY are they looking for? Sometimes I wish I was important enough to need to read it.
B. 40 something dad. With a hoodie on. With the hood up. With his laptop open to facebook and not eating or drinking anything but watching CNN on the big screen TV and seemingly actually caring about what the talking head Blondie was carrying on about. Again, really? You're sitting in a Wendy's during the middle of the day on a Thursday. Are you really planning on getting a piece of the Facebook IPO? and why in all that is holy did you have your hood up?
C. 40 something mom and her teenage daughter. OK Stop. There is absolutely no reason I can ever see or understand that explains why you would want to wear sweatpants with words on your ass. What the shiznit is that all about? I don't care how old or young you are there is absolutely no reason to do it. Ever. Are "juicy" sweatpants and Ugg boots de'rigeur everywhere or just in the hell that is Ohio. (p.s. - did you know that all the world's freakiest serial killers are from Ohio? - look it up)
D. 20 something goth couple. I got hand it to these world of warcraft kids. They rock the style, right? Huge guy, fairy girl, both dyed black hair and smelling of smoke. Laptops open, gaming while enjoying their fries. I think they should probably be working or something but... they are in their 20's so - whatever.
E.F.G.and H. The senior patrol. Apparently after you get to be a card carrying member of the AARP you get free "senior drinks" at Wendy's. In the whole of my existence I never understood drinking coffee with a hamburger but I think something may switch when you get older and constantly need caffeine. Hamburgers don't taste good with coffee. I've tried it. They don't. This group of go-getters have set up shop in the Wendy's similar to the breakfast crowd at any given McDonalds on any given morning. They are scattered throughout the building in a way that allows them to talk to one another without actually having to commit. They wear the most comfortable shoes. They know the value menu by heart and can get in and out at lunch for under three bucks. I love these guys. They rock.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Backhanded assholes
Last week I needed to travel to a national trade show for the industry I work in. While there, I did the usual chit chat and hand shaking associated with sales. We all smile and cross our fingers that somewhere down the line - someone will get in touch with you and you'll make a buck.
So, after a day of glad handing and a day of meetings I wrapped it up and headed back to Ohio. Like the good girl I am, I followed up this week with a few of the folks that I really hoped would be solid leads for me.
This morning I received the following email -
"Thanks for the followup Stacey. I've sent your contact and capability info to my people and I hope we do business soon. You have a refreshing style and I enjoyed our brief discussion. Good luck this season."
Are you fucking kidding me? I don't even know how to react to this. And, as usual - I overreact.
Am I reading this wrong or did this tight lipped, tie wearing, self important prick just tell me to go fuck myself? "refreshing style" - what the hell does that mean? (although I suppose I could guess)**
**REFRESHING STYLE (def) : Chooses not to lie, chooses to be forthcoming and honest, chooses not to put on airs or pretend to be something other than they are. Usually does not fit in with liars, "business professionals" or assholes.**
Of course, this may not be the case. Instead, I may really be a crazy person that truly doesn't know just how off base I am. I can tell you this - I am not rude and I am not mean. I don't lie and I laugh and smile alot. Isn't that enough in this world anymore?
I know I should not give a rats ass about this or about what other people think of me but honestly, it is very rare that someone will actually tell you either. I'm not totally convinced I understand what this fuck was trying to say....
"refreshing style"
Okay - I'll take that.
I think.
So, after a day of glad handing and a day of meetings I wrapped it up and headed back to Ohio. Like the good girl I am, I followed up this week with a few of the folks that I really hoped would be solid leads for me.
This morning I received the following email -
"Thanks for the followup Stacey. I've sent your contact and capability info to my people and I hope we do business soon. You have a refreshing style and I enjoyed our brief discussion. Good luck this season."
Are you fucking kidding me? I don't even know how to react to this. And, as usual - I overreact.
Am I reading this wrong or did this tight lipped, tie wearing, self important prick just tell me to go fuck myself? "refreshing style" - what the hell does that mean? (although I suppose I could guess)**
**REFRESHING STYLE (def) : Chooses not to lie, chooses to be forthcoming and honest, chooses not to put on airs or pretend to be something other than they are. Usually does not fit in with liars, "business professionals" or assholes.**
Of course, this may not be the case. Instead, I may really be a crazy person that truly doesn't know just how off base I am. I can tell you this - I am not rude and I am not mean. I don't lie and I laugh and smile alot. Isn't that enough in this world anymore?
I know I should not give a rats ass about this or about what other people think of me but honestly, it is very rare that someone will actually tell you either. I'm not totally convinced I understand what this fuck was trying to say....
"refreshing style"
Okay - I'll take that.
I think.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Choosing to make it a good day
Somedays I feel like crap. Today is not one one of those days. Today, I choose to be happy.
After much ado with my broken scale I found one on the cheap and bought it on Saturday. What this means of course is that I got on a scale for the first time since November and what I saw made me want to throw up. Literally.
In two months I am up 16 lbs. What ??!! (obviously, this new scale must be broke)
Get off scale, get back on - up. 16lbs.
This, my friends, is a very large speed bump in my world. Not a wall mind you, just a speed bump. If I think back about how something like this happens it is certainly no surprise. I can count on both hands the number of times over the past two months where I ate so much I nearly shit my pants (was that a song lyric?)
I remember drinking and eating and drinking some more. I remember several times that I thought I would explode from all the food I had just ingested but "knowing" it would just fall back off if I drank alot of water and went running once a week. FAIL. All of that is clearly not what happened.
What happened, is that my size 16 jeans (which I was convinced would one day be too big) are now so tight that I haven't worn them in a month. My size 18 jeans cut into my stomach when I sit at work and make me annoyed that all my shirts look strange. My size 20 jeans go on tight and then stretch out to the point where they are the only option for the weekends. Yesterday in fact, I found myself piddling around the house in a size 22 stretchy jean. Seriously.
But, for all the negative there, I still believe that this is just a winter build up. I swear if I lived back in the days of dinosaurs and foraging for food I would clearly be the hottest chick at the fire ring. My big ass can store fat like a squirrel putting away nuts for the winter and all the cavemen would want to get with the super mom who would be able to feed their hairy little offspring. Alas, we are not cavemen and my big ass doesn't get me anything other a second glance from drunken sailor on shore leave.
So - with the best of intentions I head off into my next great adventure. All weight loss projects in my world seem to start at the beginning of the month. I look at them as grand experiments. I have my favorites that I keep running through to various degrees of success. I love it when a new one comes along that puts on twist on a oldie but a goodie.
Enter my girlfriend Lisa. So, she sees some show on TV (Dr. Oz - who has time to stay home during the day?) and buys the book of some guy who says "all you need to do....." and we're in.
Apparently we are going to alternate low carb and high carb days. We're going to drink water and exercise 30 minutes a day. The exercise is going to be tough because of some scheduling issues with my sons this week but I think I can make it work most days.
Full report to follow in one week. Dear god in heaven - let the scale NOT say 219 next Monday.
After much ado with my broken scale I found one on the cheap and bought it on Saturday. What this means of course is that I got on a scale for the first time since November and what I saw made me want to throw up. Literally.
In two months I am up 16 lbs. What ??!! (obviously, this new scale must be broke)
Get off scale, get back on - up. 16lbs.
This, my friends, is a very large speed bump in my world. Not a wall mind you, just a speed bump. If I think back about how something like this happens it is certainly no surprise. I can count on both hands the number of times over the past two months where I ate so much I nearly shit my pants (was that a song lyric?)
I remember drinking and eating and drinking some more. I remember several times that I thought I would explode from all the food I had just ingested but "knowing" it would just fall back off if I drank alot of water and went running once a week. FAIL. All of that is clearly not what happened.
What happened, is that my size 16 jeans (which I was convinced would one day be too big) are now so tight that I haven't worn them in a month. My size 18 jeans cut into my stomach when I sit at work and make me annoyed that all my shirts look strange. My size 20 jeans go on tight and then stretch out to the point where they are the only option for the weekends. Yesterday in fact, I found myself piddling around the house in a size 22 stretchy jean. Seriously.
But, for all the negative there, I still believe that this is just a winter build up. I swear if I lived back in the days of dinosaurs and foraging for food I would clearly be the hottest chick at the fire ring. My big ass can store fat like a squirrel putting away nuts for the winter and all the cavemen would want to get with the super mom who would be able to feed their hairy little offspring. Alas, we are not cavemen and my big ass doesn't get me anything other a second glance from drunken sailor on shore leave.
So - with the best of intentions I head off into my next great adventure. All weight loss projects in my world seem to start at the beginning of the month. I look at them as grand experiments. I have my favorites that I keep running through to various degrees of success. I love it when a new one comes along that puts on twist on a oldie but a goodie.
Enter my girlfriend Lisa. So, she sees some show on TV (Dr. Oz - who has time to stay home during the day?) and buys the book of some guy who says "all you need to do....." and we're in.
Apparently we are going to alternate low carb and high carb days. We're going to drink water and exercise 30 minutes a day. The exercise is going to be tough because of some scheduling issues with my sons this week but I think I can make it work most days.
Full report to follow in one week. Dear god in heaven - let the scale NOT say 219 next Monday.
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