Currently Chasing: A Fresh Start

I hate starting over. I also hate continuing to cry over things that I have the power to change, but fuck it…here we go!

Whether I’m writing an email and it mysteriously deletes before I send it or I’m updating a status message that refuses to upload.

I hate redoing something I’ve already done. I don’t even want to get old tattoos touched up. I went through the pain once. I’m NOT going to do it again.

I hate it even more when I have to redo something I hated doing in the first place. This is the constant case for two areas of my life: Dating and Weight Loss.

I love being in love. But I hate the process. This is usually why I tend to fall in love too fast. I just want to skip all of the beginning shit and get to the part that feels familiar. I don’t want to worry about every single thing I say…or if I’m going to talk too much and end up saying something that makes you rethink ‘us.’ Or talk too much about an ex, or talk too much about a future, or talk too much about my past. I’m tired of redoing the beginning of a relationship. I just want to move to the part where we’ve accepted everything about each other and now we are living together in happiness. And trust me, that part won’t feel like a redo, because I don’t think I’ve actually ever experienced it.

The other thing I hate redoing is losing weight. Before I came on this deployment I weighed about 160 pounds. As of last month I had gained about 11 pounds. So today when I weighed myself and I was at 166, you would think I would be happy. But I’m not. Because it’s still six pounds heavier than I was before I came here and I hate STARTING OVER. What’s even more sad is that my friend was afraid to tell me how much weight she’s lost since starting this deployment because she knew it would just depress me. She even tried to say she only lost weight this past week because she had to get a root canal. Poor girl, she’s trying to make excuses for her weight loss so I won’t feel bad that I shoved 20 frozen Reece’s Pieces down my throat.

Another friend tried to offer me some advice. He said, don’t look at it as starting over…just look at is as a continuation. Ok, well that’s fine, but I don’t like to ‘continue’ doing something I’ve already fucking done. It’s crazy that my goal weight is now the weight I was before I left, when before I left my goal weight was 10 pounds less than that.

Tomorrow cannot be a repeat of today. I need to mix it up.  I cannot continue to eat too much, fall too hard and complain too often. I don’t need to start over. Starting over would just lead to the same place I am right now. Instead maybe just restart.

Currently Chasing: Ice Cream Cake

So I’ve been, like always, working out and trying to lose weight. I can lose my ID and my room key daily, but I can’t lose weight to ‘literally’ save my life.

I got a hair cut the other day … It will look great in a couple of weeks when it has grown out a little. And I ordered a pink hoodie and am trying to get permission to wear it with my PT gear. And I got to thinking … why am I cutting my hair? Why do I wake up every day and apply eye makeup? Why do I want to wear a pink hoodie instead of my blue Navy hoodie? Why do I care if I weigh a couple of more pounds than I should. Who cares? Other women, that’s who.

Women do not dress up or care about their appearance to attract men. I mean, in this place I could look like a lagoon creature and still land a man. And for the most part we don’t dress up and care about our appearance for ourselves. (and I’m not talking basic grooming here.) Because for the most part, we should be happy with ourselves, as we are. Naked and with no makeup. We all truly accept ourselves EXACTLY the way we are right? Of course we do. So, if we are happy with ourselves just the way God made us, and men will like us even if we barely resemble a women, then why do we go out of our way, even in a war zone to be ‘pretty.’ Because other women are looking, that’s why.

The other day a girl walked out of the bathroom and didn’t wash her hands. Immediately we were all aware of the situation and thinking to ourselves…good GAWD, what is her problem? We didn’t want her to wash her hands for her, we wanted her to wash her hands for US!

I worked out the other day. I knew I didn’t have much time before I needed to get back to the office, and I probably wouldn’t have enough time to shower. It wasn’t a hard workout, and I didn’t sweat much. But I still felt ‘guilty’ for not having enough time to shower. Finally my roommate says, oh good Lord, you don’t have time, it’s no big deal. I won’t tell. And that’s all I needed to hear. (although I just told on myself.) I wasn’t going to take a shower for me. I was going to take a shower for HER. The minute I knew she wasn’t going to judge me, I was dressed and out the door.

When we look at magazines with celebrities and they are on the worst dressed list … it’s probably because they tried for once to dress for themselves. No makeup. Shit that doesn’t match … who cares right? They were happy with themselves. But being happy with yourself is overrated. The world needs to be happy with us or we get slaughtered.

Just like my Canadian friend said, “When you walk into a room, the room doesn’t come to a stand still because of your personality. You’ve got to wow them with your looks…and if you are wowing the women, then the men are putty in your hands.

Men however have more leeway. They can be slightly overweight. They can be going gray and they can even be very average looking. None of that matters if they have the one thing women are most attracted to. Power. Is your man someone? Do people look up to him? Does he fit in well with any group of people? Is he successful? Is he confident? Do people answer to him? Can he make you feel safe? Is he a provider? I can handle a fat ass if I tell myself that he’s not fat, he’s just ‘protective.’

We want to feel safe. And the more confident, successful and powerful your man is, the leaner, prettier and sexier you need to be. Not because he needs you to be, but because other women need you to be. If they think they are prettier, they will take a chance. How many times have you heard …

“He cheated on you with who? She’s not even attractive.”

Or you’ve heard a guy say

“Why is she with him? He’s not even that attractive.”

It’s because women are obsessed with looking better than other women…and most men don’t understand that going to the gym for a hundred hours isn’t going to make them a better father.

I guess what I’m trying to say is … I wanted ice cream cake earlier today, but I also found out that a friend of mine is seven pounds thinner than I am. And we can’t have that now, can we? … Either we are both fat, or no one is.

Currently Chasing: The Like Button

I’m just going to say it. I used to be fat. 260 pounds at my heaviest. I was round, I was soft, but let’s face it, I was still cute. And lately I’ve been obsessing over my weight, and I need to stop, because right now, even at 163, I’m nowhere near 260, and I’m not even on the doorstep of 190, which is where I was in the picture my friend recently tagged me on. She knows who she is. And she is reading this right now. Hey B…Love ya girl.

Now you all know how I feel about people tagging me in photos. If I’m a whale, then feel free to parade me around in front of your friends, but for the love of all that is holy, don’t parade me in front of mine. Many of my friends are shallow and judgmental. 

So here is what happened.

I log on to facebook one morning. Easy enough. I see a message. B.G. has tagged a new photo of you. Hmmm, ok, that sounds dangerous, let’s have a looksie. HOLY FUCKING BATSHIT. You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s a picture of me…only you can’t really even see me past my FUCKING THIGH. And that is probably a good thing, because my hair was a nightmare. I see there is one comment on the photo. I read it. It is from my best friend. The comment reads:

“She is going to be pissed.”

I comment below it.

“Yes, she is.”

There is also another photo tagged of all of us from highschool. I’m a whale in that photo as well but at least it’s a group shot. There was like five of us including my second chin. The sad thing is, I walk around here all day not eating, and then eating too much. Not working out and then working out too much. And the real truth is, I’ve come a long way. And I need to just look in the mirror and be proud of what I see.

So the other day I leave the base I’m at to visit another base. A smaller base. A dustier, dirtier, less crowded base. And I wake up in the morning to brush my teeth and the girl says, you have to walk all the way over by where we eat chow..there are shower stalls over there and sinks. I’m like, way the fuck over there? And she says yes, and the first thing I think of is, well, the walking will help me lose weight. I mean, jeezus, does it always have to go back to the weight thing? What I should have been worried about was what I was going to do when my fucking toothbrush fell in the fucking dirt. Fat or skinny, that shit sucks.

I guess what I’m saying is, I’m going to take a huge weight off myself by stopping all this worrying about my weight.  If I just concentrate on my health, and I just eat to fuel my body, and I workout because it makes me feel better about myself, well then, I’m on the right track.

And if you are thinking about rushing over to facebook to see the picture I’m talking about, well, B went ahead and deleted it. She knows I’m out here carrying a weapon, she didn’t want me to have to use it…to shoot my fucking laptop screen.  But I’d like her to send me a copy of it to my email. I plan on printing it off and taping it to all the snack food in my office, and maybe tape it to the wall behind me, right next to the wanted poster with the picture of my missing self esteem.

 Maybe B should post the picture again, and this time, instead of  a negative comment, I'll just press the like button. I should be proud of where i came from right? Just kidding B, you keep that shit on lock, you hear me?

Currently Chasing: A few more pounds

So I’ve been getting hit on out here…mostly by twenty somethings who weight one hundred and twenty something pounds. What is the deal? What is it about skinny guys that make them want to take on some heavy junk like me? I’ll crush you dude!

Don’t get me wrong. They are cute, with their tiny little abs and their tiny little asses. But good lord, I’m not looking for something I can wrap my arms around, but I am looking for something I can wrap my head around…and this whole little guy, big girl thing is throwing me for a loop.

When we are walking down a dark alley, or you know what…let’s get even scarier, when we are walking down a dark alley in motha fuckin Afghanistan…and someone walks up on us, I don’t want to throw you behind me as I lock and load on some insurgent. And I also don’t want to be standing behind you if you decide to sacrifice yourself for me…CAUSE THEY WILL STILL BE ABLE TO SEE ME BEHIND YOU.

Maybe I’m being too hard on the little guys. After all, they are the ones stepping up to the free throw line right? Although recently a rather freakishly tall man has made his way back into my life, which is a good thing, but the majority of men who have been trying to court me these days would have no business being on a court of any kind.

My type has pretty much been the same for quite some time. Tall and heavier than me. At 5’6 and 160, that doesn’t seem like an outrageous request. Ok, maybe a bit more than 160, but hopefully by the time I leave here I’ll be around 145-150 and then that will open up the door for a few more of these 12-year-olds, but goodness. I think that anyone looking at me would be like, damn, that’s quite a bit of woman right there…let me gain a few pounds and ask her out.

There are a couple of positive points I should bring up about these lean stallions. When they send pictures, it is hard to find a flaw. The abs are usually very defined and there is nothing hanging somewhere it shouldn’t be. But that is also the case with victims of malnutrition. And a lot of these guys have tattoos that end up unintentionally wrapping around their bodies because they ran out of room. Trust me, every tattoo I have has PLENTY of breathing room. There is a guy here who has already lost 30 pounds since being here. He’s been skipping meals and working out twice daily. That is a hard regiment to maintain, so he recently gained a few pounds back and he’s been depressed about it. Two months ago he was heavier and happier, and in my opinion a more well-rounded person, no pun intended. Now he’s just skinny and miserable. And now, at two pounds less than me, completely un-dateable. Not that I was considering it, just saying.

If I have to lose 20 pounds to feel comfortable around you, I’m going to go out on a limb and say; it’s just not going to work. The Skinny Brit I’ve made friends with may read this. Don’t worry love; I’m talking about all skinny guys, except you. (Wink wink.)

Currently Chasing: Weight-loss Sex

So if you know me then you know that I’m always looking for great and unconventional ways to lose weight. I’ve tried the Atkins Diet, the soup diet, the detox diet, the cookie diet and the vegan diet. I’ve taken dexatrim, slim fast, Xenadrine, Hydroxy Cut, Phen fen and Phentermine. I’ve joined Jenny Craig, Nutri-Sytem and Weight Watchers.

So recently when I noticed that a friend of mine was continually posting photos of herself become increasingly thinner and sexier, I finally had to ask … What the fuck are you on?

Sex, she said.

Turns out about a year ago my friend’s husband decided he needed a break. He moved out and left my friend and her children to figure things out on their own for awhile. Initially, the break devastated my friend, and sent her to that place where women hate and love to be, the “not able to eat” zone. That started the weight loss.

Eventually though she embraced her new semi-single status, and she also embraced what was quickly becoming a body she hadn’t seen since high school. However, she still wasn’t feeling very sexy.

All that changed when men started coming out of the wood works. From 19-42, she had a buffet laid out in front of her. She began taste testing. A little 19 year old here, a little 25 year old there, until she had established a menu she was more than happy to order from daily.

When the hunger pains would kick in, she would call one of her entrées over to both feel and fill her up. With every conquest she felt more sexy. Until finally a man who she was truly interested in took notice. HER HUSBAND.

He had also noticed this change in her body and her attitude. He noticed that she was feeling sexier and more confident. He saw that she was doing just fine on her own. She wasn’t calling him as much, and she was running off to Vegas with friends without so much as a text message to him. She was fazing him out. So he decided to put himself back on the menu.

So with this last picture she posts I finally have to ask …

“How does your body keep getting finer?”

“I don’t know, must be my five lovers and the workouts they give me,” she said.

“So you’re telling me that not only is sex great for weight loss, but also muscle toning?” I asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she said.

“Is there any one lover better than another?”

“I work the most with the 25 year old, but the 21 works me the most. The husband has the biggest dick. The 42 year old is just a really great lover all around. I’m currently on a break with the 19 year old. The 25 year old is who I’m with the most. I always get mine and love that he is ready to go again after only 10 minutes.

So I ask her why she doesn’t just keep the 25 year old and dump the rest. She asked why she should do that. You don’t always feel like eating the same thing every night. I guess sometimes you want something sweet, and sometimes you want something spicy. And she’s got a plethora of flavors.

As much as I love her body, the sex method is not going to work for me at this point. But I’m sure the “overseas diet” I’m about to embark on will do just as good of a job. I hate eating in foreign countries because I don’t eat anything unless I know for sure what it’s made of. No goat cheese pizza for me, thanks. Unfortunately, forced starvation doesn’t sound anywhere near as fun as the weight-loss program my friend is currently on. However, with this new vow of celibacy I’m overdosing on lately, food will continue to be the only thing ending up in my bra at the end of the night.

Currently Chasing: The Taste of Thin

I have been working out a lot lately. But it’s not by choice. I paid for some personal training sessions, and now I’ve been so lazy in previous months that out of my 28 sessions, I’ve only used eight. That leaves 20 half-hour sessions, and with only 19 days left to use them, I’ve had to shift myself into overdrive. I’ve even started doing some hour-long sessions. I can feel it all literally killing me.

The problem is, for every bit of working out I’m doing, there is a Twinkie standing by waiting for me to use it as a throat swab. All of the working out I’m doing seems to be for nothing, and it’s pretty damn depressing.

My friend let me borrow the Zone Diet book. It sat in the back of my car for five days. When it did finally make its way into my house I used it as a paperweight. She asked for it back a week or so later. I told her I wrote down all the recipes I wanted. Truth is I actually had to search a bit for the book. It was under a box of Twinkies.

This type of sabotage is normal for me so I don’t know why I even bother still talking about it. When I was pregnant with my daughter I would eat dinner on the way to dinner. When I delivered my daughter I weighed 265 pounds. Yep. That’s right. And no amount of hair dye was covering that up I assure you.

I was approached by a guy who was not afraid to call a baby ugly. And also was not afraid to call a big-boned girl “FAT.”

He got me into shape…(I can’t say back into shape, because there was never really a shape to begin with.) So I’ve been down to that 150 range. I’ve had a glimpse of a petite me. But there’s another petite I prefer; a Bon Appétit.

They say nothing tastes as good as thin feels. But have you ever tasted a taco from Jack in the Box…or cold stone ice cream on a hot day? It’s irresistible. And yeah, I’ll go home, strip down naked, look in the mirror and cry later; turn around, stare at my butt and go into a full on emotional breakdown, but for some reason it still doesn’t stop me from asking for extra bread and a dessert menu.

Because there is shit that tastes as good as thin feels. And today it was 27 skittles.

Currently Chasing: A Reason To Say Cheese

So I have a picture on my fridge from March of last year. My friend and I had taken a cruise to Jamaica and had a photograph taken of us in the water wearing our bikinis. I’ve always loved that picture. Until yesterday.

A friend of mine came over to help me paint my daughter’s room. (I think the color I used was actually called “Obnoxious Pink.”) While he’s there, he takes a glance at the fridge and says, “Wow, that’s a great picture. Your body looked great there.”

Ok, now I can take this to mean one of three things.

A. Your body probably isn’t that great, it just looked great in that photo.
B. Your body always looks good and it’s nice that you photographed it for your fridge.
C. Your body looked great there, but doesn’t look great anymore.

So guess which one I went with?

Immediately I fire back.

“What are you trying to say? Do I look different from that now?”

“I don’t know,” he answers back. “Do you?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Do I?”

That could have gone on forever. He quickly changes the subject and moves on to the task at hand. However, I’m still suffering from the reality beat down I just encountered.

I thought to myself, “Do I look different? I was working out more then. I had hired that personal trainer. I was working out three times a week. It’s possible I’ve gained weight since then. I probably have. I’m sure I have. I’m a fat piece of double chocolate cake. I’m never eating again.”

Until I do of course.

My point is photos are the devil. They either cause me to remember that I used to be fat, or they help to remind me that I’m not as skinny as I once was. They aren’t healthy and they aren’t treasures. I’m always anxious to show people picture albums. Almost like saying…if you don’t like how I look right now, no problem. Just take a gander through these profile pics and tell me which look you prefer. See, I can look hot…oh, here, look at this one…sexy right? Or what about this with the glasses? I’m smart I swear.

It’s all pressure. Pressure to look better than you did, or pressure to look as good as you did. Fuck it, I’m not going on a diet. I’m simply burning my camera. They say pictures steal your soul…too bad they can’t steal your fat ass.

Currently Chasing: A First Place Win

I’ve tried to teach my daughter a valuable lesson when it comes to being a good sport. When we play tic-tac-toe and she wins, she jumps all over the table, does a victory dance, tells me it’s ok that I lost and continues to gloat. When I beat her she begins to pout, complain, shove the paper away and call me a cheater. She’s a bad sport. But she learned it by watching me alright! She learned it by watching me.

You see, I’m a bad sport. I don’t mean to be, I just am. And I know this about myself so I take measures to prevent it from happening. One of these measures being that I only compete in things I know I can win. I’ll enter a talent show, a karaoke contest, a rollerblading race and a poetry contest without blinking an eye. These are areas in which I excel. These are things I know I’m good at. Even if I don’t win, I’m not super disappointed. I know I’ll get second or third place, or I’ll at least go down knowing that despite someone being better than me, I was still pretty damn good. However, if I'm playing a friend in iphone Scrabble and she starts to beat me by more than 100 points, I'll simply forfeit the game.

I’m not going to enter a ‘who can be on time to work competition, a ‘who can stop texting while they drive’ competition, a math competition of any sort, a ‘who knows states and capitals’ showdown or a ‘where is this country/state located on the map’ party.

I just don’t like losing. But for some reason, being a girl means being in constant competition. Whether you like it or not. My friend and I are victims of this. If she has a lip gloss, I want it. It may look like shit on me, but she has it and I want it. If I go to the store and I can’t find the exact color she had, I’ll buy a slightly different color. She will see that slightly different color, determine without even applying it that it will look better than the one she currently has, and lose sleep until she can make the purchase. It’s crazy, it’s a neurosis, it’s a psychosis and it’s my life.

But when she decided to run the Marine Corps Marathon this weekend, well, I just had to give it to her. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I did work out this weekend as well. I did a very intense 15 minutes on the elliptical machine. But I’m just going to have to admit, in the case of who can run further, faster, and without puking and passing out in their own vomit, the answer is clear.

However, I was too busy to eat much yesterday, so I’m down two pounds since last week. Every woman reading this is already on the scale and ready to send me a text telling me they lost three. It’s a woman thing, and trust me, you don’t want to understand.

Currently Chasing: Needle and Thread. To sew my damn mouth shut!

If you’ve ever taken a test, then you know what I mean when I say, What the Fuck? How can a test judge what you know? I am a horrible test taker. I usually just C them out. Or I do the counting game … how many D’s do I have? 21. Well I only have 17 A’s, so these next few answers are A by default.

But there is one test that no matter how many times I take it, the answer remains the same. And no, it’s not a pregnancy test, although let’s count on those results always staying the same as well. Cause Lord knows I don’t want to be responsible for yet another human life. The test I’m talking about is a personality test.

It seems that I am an extroverted, intuitive, feeler, perceiver. Now that’s all fine and great, but let me tell you what that equates to. A fat person with a big mouth. No fucking joke. I’ve blogged about this in the past, but I felt it needed a revisit. For one thing, I’ve been on this crazy “eat every single thing I see whether I’m hungry or not” binge, and two, I’ve been on this “talk a bunch of shit about everyone I know” kick. Neither of those things keeps friends around. And I blame my personality! Or better yet, I blame a test for telling me it’s ok … because guess what … It’s just part of my personality!

Now let me put your fears to rest. When I say talking shit about people, I don’t mean I’m talking shit about you. Of course I’m not talking shit about you. It’s other friends. Other idiots. Other assholes. Not you. Glad I cleared that up.

Truth be told, this personality definition said I’m obsessed with all things oral. Ok. Clarity is needed. More specifically I am focused on mouth-centered activities, and by mouth-centered activities I am referring to eating and talking. OF COURSE!

I can turn a 20-minute conversation into a half a day bullshit bonanza about all the pets I’ve killed in my lifetime. I can turn a 10-minute car ride into a damn music studio while I make you listen to every song I’ve ever written. I can turn every story you start to tell into a story about me, that chances are, you’ve heard before. Or read about in a blog. And I blame my damn personality definition!

And as far as feeding that mile-a-minute mouth … well, don’t get me started. I don’t even like dried apricots, but I ate a bag of them today. Why, because they were on the conference table and they were Gosh Damn unattended. That’s why! Because of my cursed personality … that’s why! And if there is a box of krispy krème donuts, just one should do. But If I have one, I’ll have three, because if you give me an inch I’ll gobble up a damn mile.

Moral of the story … don’t put something near me that you don’t want ending up in my mouth, and don’t tell me something, you don’t want falling out of it.

Currently Chasing: A Place to Throw UP!

I worked out today. Now, I don’t say this to sound simple. It was anything but. Most of the time when I say I worked out, I mean that I went to the gym, watched TV while pedaling a bike, and threw a couple of weights around. Other times when I say I worked out, I mean that I stepped on my Wii fit and hula hooped for 30 seconds. And still other times when I say I worked out, I mean that I worked myself out of a size 10 and into a size 12.

But today when I say I worked out. I mean it. I got up at butt crack:30 and was at the physical training site by 7 past fuck this. I wasn’t going to go. I was going to flake out and stay in bed. But I had put on my facebook status last night that I was going to PT today. So I was accountable to myself, and the 300 other people on that site who barely know me, have never met me, and who hated me in high school. Who would have thought facebook would make me a more responsible person.

So there I am, surrounded by 50 or so other people all ready to do the same thing. Run laps around a parade field while simultaneously carrying 30 pound bags of sand. You may be asking yourself, “Why would anyone want to do this?” And the answer is, “Nobody wants to fucking do this!” And by the way, we are in groups of six and the goal is to basically race. Really? Race? Cause I’ll tell you right now, A turtle with three legs could probably whip my fucking ass in a race at this point. My eyes are still glued together with sleep sand for fuck’s sake.

So we start. We don’t all have to carry the bags the entire time. We carry it for as long as we can before handing it off to someone else in the group. So we make the first lap (each lap is a half a mile) and I don’t even touch the bag. I don’t even almost pretend to want to touch it. Although I’m tempted to just stab it with something sharp…I’m sure you can guess why.

On the next lap it gets handed to me. Good Lord it’s heavy. I begin to talk to myself while I’m running. And by running I mean, shuffling along like there is a rubber band holding my legs together. The dialogue goes something like this:
Me: Fuck this thing is heavy!
Me: I want to throw it on the ground.
Me: Don’t fucking throw it on the ground, you’ll look weak.
Me: Fuck it. I don’t give a fuck.
Me: Come on, it’s only a half a lap.
Me: That’s a fucking quarter of a mile!
Me: I’m a fat piece of shit!
Me: I’m going to vomit and then pass out in my vomit.
Me: …………………………

So needless to say, it was a nightmare. In the end there were still those masochistic men who carried the sandbag the entire time and kept a sprinter’s pace. But you know what? When is that ability going to help me in life? I’ve been carrying around 30 extra pounds of fat and waste most of my life and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere!

Granted, I’m not sprinting with it. I’m mostly just taking it out to dinner and asking it about its day.

BFL Day 3

(Original Post: July 7, 2005 - Thursday)

Alright, another day almost down. It's 6 p.m. I can eat again at 7. My roommate is making eggs and bacon. Bacon is not on my list of authorized foods, and the great part is, although it smells great, I'm not craving it. I'm not craving anything. I am at ease with myself right now.
I fasted for three hours before my workout and didn't eat for an hour after. According to the book you should work out on an empty stomach. And not eat for an hour after. Let your body have a chance to burn some fat why don't ya?
So yeah, I'm letting it, and I'm loving it. I love that my body is going through incredible changes. I love how sexy I'm going to feel when the process is complete. I mean, really, I feel damn sexy right now, so imagine.
I've been hiding behind this shell for far too long. I think it is time to see the girl behind the fat. Some of you may look at the photo to the left and go...hmmm, she doesn't look fat to me, and trust me, fat means different things to different people, and I realize that. But when you look at yourself and you know there are improvements that could be made for your health and your self esteem, well, quite frankly, you try and make them. And I like to just give that improvement a name....fat loss.
Now, am I saying that once I lose 20 pounds, all my problems will be solved and prayers answered...no. But problems and prayers are easier voiced while thin.

Arrested Development

(Original Post: December 8, 2005 - Thursday)

What in the hell were they thinking with that Tennessee song? I've been here for a week and I've found nothing to sing about.
Went to a bar called Donnie Joes. Never trust a bar with two first names. I ordered the healthiest thing on the menu and it was 2,308 fucking calories. I should have had the burger. But NOT the quarter pounder. According to the waitress they do not serve a quarter pounder. However, they do serve a 1/4 lb Cheeseburger. If I wanted to have that, cool, but please ma'am, do not order items not on the menu. I guess in Tennesse 1/4 pound is not a quarter pound. Please excuse my education.
Last night I drove 45 minutes to eat at Ruby Tuesdays. Somebody kill me.
I'm taking a fitness course. I've learned 65 different warm up routines. I've also learned there are quite a few people in the world that can run faster than me, but at least one that cannot. YES!
I have to pee right now, but I refuse to get up. It's the first time I've found a computer in a week, so I'm not getting up till I'm done. There are people waiting. They want to get on the computer. Fuck, I have to pee. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. I can't even complete a thought. I should go to subway for, FUCK I HAVE TO PEE. See, no complete thought syndrome. (My friend sweetie, you are the only one who gets that and I love you for it.)
Oh yeah, did I mention I'm in Tennessee. Am I spelling that right? Are there two E's? And then ask me if I care. I don't. Ok, fuck, I do care. Are there two E's?
Plane ride was normal. No husband trying to pass me a note. I read a book. The infidelity diet. Three overweight men, three desperate wives, one bad plan.
Wives promising husbands a prostitute if they lose weight. My friend told me her hubby is going to pay her 10 bucks a pound and buy her boobs at the completion of her goal. My goodness, where can I find a man like that? 10 bucks a pound? I'd be the skinniest bitch ever. I have to pee. That's 10 bucks right there.

Everything, and my thoughts on the subject

(Original Post: July 15, 2005 - Friday)
Goodness. I need to have one perfect Body for Life day or I'm going to scream. I need to have more control over what goes in my mouth. There is one person laughing at that statement right now, and he knows who he is;-)
Tonight I went to see a movie, fantastic four. It was alright. There will probably be more parts to it. You cannot just let a dead dog lie. It'll be interesting to say the least. I enjoyed watching. It was loud enough to keep me awake. But the real reason you go to movies is popcorn. I indulged. And tasted the rainbow. And then ate a few chips. And washed it down with diet coke. Um, because I'm on a diet, duh.
Things at work are going well. I feel like this is my month professionally. Things are just moving along and I feel good about it. Personally: I'd love to say things are perfect so I've decided to make a list of things I look for in a man:A sense of humor. The ability to make me feel good about myself. A strong decision maker. Someone who knows what they want, and is not afraid to voice it. Someone who won't just tell me what I want to hear, but will know what I need to hear, and will say it because they mean it, and because they know I deserve to hear it. Someone sincere and honest. Someone trustworthy.
Someone who won't mind if I sleep with other people. (Ok, just making sure you are actually reading this. I was kidding about that last thing.);-) I mean, unless of course he doesn't mind...then that's cool. Just kidding again. For the record, I don't think that's ever cool....So to sum it up, my diet is going well, but could be going better. I've done well on my workouts, so I feel good about that. I need to do better....I can always improve. Movies are great ways to break up an otherwise uneventful evening...I'm going to see Charlie Choco Factory Sunday possibly. Work is good, and life in general is cheery. And sleeping with other people when you are in a relationship is not a good idea.

I cheated....and a bunch of other random thoughts

(Original Post: July 13, 2005 - Wednesday)

I went to six flags today. For those of you who don't know, it's an amusement park. So now ask how my diet went today? I can't tell you how it went, but I'll tell you where it went....out the window, that's where.
I started the day ok. I had a shake for breakfast, then a bar a couple hours later. Good right? Then I had a number 7 at taco bell. I won't tell you what that is, but it isn't good. Then at the park I had some cinnamon cashews. Alright, not too bad, but then I had some chicken strips and fries with chili. Holy shit. Then I had Ben and jerry's ice cream. My goodness. I feel so freaking gross right now.
In my defense though, and you knew this was coming, I walked that entire park. I walked up stairs carrying an inner tube. I had the shit scared out of me three times while riding Two Face, Superman, and some other rollercoaster that I cannot remember the name of. My heart was beating fast all day. It was like a sauna outside so I was sweating all day, and I just feel like I burned a lot of camy friendes.
And just a quick side note. My friends and I had a great time. We felt like total kids again. They make an inner tube that seats four people. It was the most fun thing ever. I just relish in the time spent with them. It was so amazing. You girls are classics.
So, let's wrap it up...did I cheat....? Yes. Do I feel terrible about it...? Yes. But will I get the hell over it and start back on it tomorrow? Absofuckinglutely. Besides, HE is coming over tonight...Cardio anyone?

One whole week

(Original Post: July 12, 2005 - Tuesday)

Alright, it's been a week. And I'm still hooked. I did have some unauthorized grapes today, but my goodness. I've never heard of anyone getting fat from grapes. So I think I'm alright.
My workouts have been going well. Today I did lower body. My calves are hurting. Which feels good actually, because you know you are working.
My divorce will be finally final tomorrow. It's been a long time coming, but it's sad that four years of marriage will take 15 minutes to resolve. It's true. 15 minutes. It even says on the paper, 'please do not be late. We only allot 15 minutes per case.' So ok. 15 minutes it is.
Today is Brady bunch day. My daughter will meet 'HIZ' daughter, and we will see if they like each other. We are going to the park. And then out to eat. (I cannot eat much...I mean, I am on a diet) but it's kind of a special occasion, you know? I really like this guy. I hope 'We can all just get along.' :-) I am really digging on living in his world.

BFL Day 3

(Original Post: July 7, 2005 - Thursday)

Current mood: anxious
Alright, another day almost down. It's 6 p.m. I can eat again at 7. My roommate is making eggs and bacon. Bacon is not on my list of authorized foods, and the great part is, although it smells great, I'm not craving it. I'm not craving anything. I am at ease with myself right now.
I fasted for three hours before my workout and didn't eat for an hour after. According to the book you should work out on an empty stomach. And not eat for an hour after. Let your body have a chance to burn some fat why don't ya?
So yeah, I'm letting it, and I'm loving it. I love that my body is going through incredible changes. I love how sexy I'm going to feel when the process is complete. I mean, really, I feel damn sexy right now, so imagine.
I've been hiding behind this shell for far too long. I think it is time to see the girl behind the fat. Some of you may look at the photo to the left and go...hmmm, she doesn't look fat to me, and trust me, fat means different things to different people, and I realize that. But when you look at yourself and you know there are improvements that could be made for your health and your self esteem, well, quite frankly, you try and make them. And I like to just give that improvement a name....fat loss.
Now, am I saying that once I lose 20 pounds, all my problems will be solved and prayers answered...no. But problems and prayers are easier voiced while thin.