Someone on my Facebook fan page asked whether I’ve noticed, one year after surgery, that I’m treated differently by people…and the answer is yes. And no.
Most of the people I knew before my surgery still treat me the same – because they love me, or at least like me, for the person inside. They don’t even remember the girl in my “before” picture because they never really noticed my physical faults in the first place…and I love them for it.
There are a few people in my life who don’t get it. Unfortunately I work with them, so I can’t completely exclude them from my life. To them, my surgery and my process is not mine…it’s somehow about them. My decision to have gastric sleeve surgery seems to have labeled me as a person who needs to be babysat, else I might eat the entire Thanksgiving potluck and cause the rest of the department to skulk back to their desks with empty plates and empty stomachs. And bloody nubs where their fingers were because they tried to grab the last dinner roll from my heaving jaws. I call these people the Food Police.
It’s hard for me to handle people like this in a professional environment because I have quite the sassy mouth, but I also have a profound desire to keep my job. This is the reason I don’t drink at company happy hours. It’s also the reason I try to avoid the Food Police as much as possible. I’m just trying to keep the peace because, honestly, these people aren’t my personal friends and it’s not worth the hassle. Sometimes, however, I need to put someone in their place as an example and I get the sweats just thinking about it. I always feel like I’m going to let my tongue off the leash a bit too far and end up being escorted to my car with my personal belongings in a box.
One day in particular comes to mind as I’m thinking of the Food Police. I was chatting with a few people when one of the secretaries came by with a tray of cookies that were leftover from a celebration. I hadn’t had a cookie in several weeks and these were from a bakery…and they were gorgeous. A little something sweet sounded quite yummy to me so, like others in the group, I said thank you and took a cookie. You would have thought I pulled a gun out of my handbag and shot a dog…that’s the reaction I got from the Food Police.
It started with a very loud, over dramatic gasp, which brought everyone’s focus to the mortified expression on her face. As if that wasn’t enough, she pointed a finger at me and loudly exclaimed, “YOU CAN’T EAT THAT!!!”
Everyone turned to look at me. Bad, bad, bad. This is exactly the situation I try to avoid. First, it takes me back to my days as a ten year old kid who was repeatedly emotionally terrorized by an asshole over whatever food I put in my mouth. And then all the kids and parents would turn and look at me, most of them secretly grateful that the negativity was not aimed at them. I don’t like being reminded of what that felt like.
Once I get put in that spot, I feel a split second of fear and panic before I realize I’m an eff’in adult. I’ve spent a fortune on therapy to get past all this shit…and, oh crap, here comes my sassy mouth with a big zinger. But I’m at work. And I have to be professional. So I can’t verbally smack the crap out of this insensitive asshat like I want to. I decided to play along and see where that took me.
“Why not?” I asked innocently.
The Food Police sputtered madly at first, then blurted “Because you worked so hard and lost all this weight. You can’t have a cookie!!!”
By this time, most of the others in the group had slightly embarrassed or bemused looks on their faces because they realized I was fighting to keep a lid on the Hot Mess Princess who was just dying to get out and put this chick in her place. The finger was still pointing at me. Part of me wanted to bite it, but I would have just proved her point so I resisted.
“Don’t you think I can be trusted with a cookie? Do you think this one cookie is going to bring back all the weight I’ve lost and undo all the hard work I’ve done?”
She sort of blinked as she thought about it. I didn’t wait for an answer.
“Do you even know how long it’s been since I’ve had a cookie?”
More blinking. More suppressed smirking from my colleagues. I continued.
“I didn’t realize my food choices affected you so much, so I apologize.” I slowly moved the cookie away from my mouth with the same cautious obedience a criminal uses on an episode of Cops. Be cool, man. Just be cool. I put the cookie down.
“There. I put the cookie down. Are you feeling better? I’m so sorry I upset you.”
The look in her eyes told me she finally got it. She saw what she’d really done, which is embarrass me with her ridiculous judgmental bullshit. I resisted the urge to say “Maybe you should lie down” or something, but I knew I’d made my point. I walked away quietly.
As much as her behavior pissed me off and as happy as I was that I was able to stand up for myself with diplomacy, I still returned to my desk with tears in my eyes like a scolded little girl. I took a moment to pull myself together and then I was fine. That ten year old little girl will always be there inside my head…and that’s okay. I have the skills to deal with jerks now. I never fail to come to her rescue – but I hate that other people’s behavior touches this part of me. I know it’s going to happen once in a while. Once I unleash the fury of HMP, I feel better. The jerk’s feelings, to be frank, don’t matter to me in the slightest.
I have similar feelings about the judgy strangers I meet from day to day. I was out to dinner with a friend and I was eating my dessert when I caught the disapproving glare of a stranger a few tables over. My first thought was “What’s up their ass? I look awesome!” Then I realized this person doesn’t know that. He’s looking at a disgusting fat woman eating dessert. He doesn’t know I’ve lost 113 pounds. He doesn’t know I won’t be able to eat the whole thing. From his seat at the Judgy Asshole table, I’m going to eat the whole dessert and then go out for pie later. How dare I do that? I should be jogging around the parking lot, not daintily spooning up a few bites of my mini peanut butter chocolate mousse.
Who the hell did I think I was, right?
See, when I run into jerks like this I know I don’t have to face them again. Strangers are awesome that way. My job isn’t in jeopardy if I mouth off, so the sky’s the limit really. In this particular case, I settled for making a suggestive motion with the spoon like I was trying to turn him on.
I love doing shit like that to men who obviously find me disgusting and think they’re quite the badass for humbling me with dirty looks. My intention was to take away any possibility of a boner his little pinky dick might get for the next 6 months. Judging from the look on his face, I was successful…and that’s all I wanted. He doesn’t need to know that in reality I wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole.
On the other end of the spectrum, there are plenty of people who didn’t know me last year – so when they see me take a few bites of something and say I’m done, the unavoidable next question is…”Oh, are you on a diet?”
First I cringe, then I smile and explain. The fact that they first see a fat person and then they think it’s okay to ask such a thing just irks me.
The problem is…the world still thinks they have way too much freedom with the boundaries of overweight people and it really pisses me off. If there’s a guy in a grocery store with his cart loaded with booze, the assumption is what? Someone’s throwing a party!!! The assumption isn’t usually “Wow, this dude needs help…” Replace him with a fat person and a cart loaded with chips and processed crap? People feel they have the right to glance at the cart and give dirty looks. You disgusting person. How can you eat all that?
Hot chick walking out of Victoria’s Secret with a big pink bag ‘o panties. Like…hundreds of dollars in panties (which is probably 5 pair). Guys are drooling over her. Not one of them is thinking “Wow, she’s in credit card debt so bad she’ll be an old lady before she pays that off.” I don’t want to get with someone like that…she’ll drag me down into financial hell.
She looks good…so she’s okay.
Because we’re overweight, we wear our addiction for everyone to see…and so people feel entitled to assert their opinions for some reason. They think they’re being helpful. They think they’re educating us. They need to turn their judgy vision on themselves and leave others be.
So the answer is yes…and no. People treat me different and people treat me the same. The people who really matter in my life treat me the same as they did when I weighed 383 pounds. Healthy relationships don’t change whether you weigh 100 pounds or 500 pounds. And the jerks? Yeah, I still get the same treatment from them because jerks don’t change either. Sometimes we want them to, but they don’t.
There are a few clueless souls out there, however, who treat me like some sort of walking cookie monster because I was honest about having surgery and they’re judgy, misguided people who can’t see the damage they do with their unhealthy need to control. They need to interfere in order to feel helpful in someway and they don’t see the damage they do as they’re mowing you down in the process.
My take-away from all of this? I’ve changed…and that’s enough. I’m blessed with loving people in my life. I’m grateful for my independent brain and my will to be happy…and that’s all I really need.
I’m so sorry I haven’t written a damn thing since…oh, about 1990. That’s what it feels like.
The thing no one tells you about losing a ton of weight is that you get to a point where you feel so good you want to do so much more – but you’re still dealing with the same 24 hours that you had before. If I’m going to have this much energy, the least they could do is give me more hours in which to accomplish all the amazing shit that a Hot Mess Princess must do…am I right? Well, they didn’t.
Y’all know that my plan for pulling away from emotional eating was to substitute that incredibly destructive behavior with something positive. A lot of people would have chosen exercise as the alternative, but I’ve seen that go the wrong way too many times. You can be just as compulsive with exercise as you can with eating and, if anyone’s going to fuck up their good intentions in that area, it’d be me. No thanks. I chose needlework because it’s been a passion of mine since I learned how in Girl Scouts…and because I know I won’t get crazy compulsive about it. It’s something I retreat to when I start thinking about food or body weight or anything negative and destructive. It brings me peace and calm – and it keeps my hands too busy to eat.
The farther I get from my surgery date, the more grateful I am that I had a plan for replacing destructive behaviors. Just over a year ago, if I had a bad day at work I’d get home and curl up with a pizza and a pint of mint chip ice cream. And maybe a bag of salty potato chips. And some licorice, perhaps. The list was endless and so was my appetite for calming myself with eating. Nowadays I eat considerably less. I’ve either made peace with the foods that were my vices or I’ve completely banished them from my life – but I didn’t have brain surgery, y’all. I still fight the compulsion to stuff food in my face and chew away my anxiety. The gift is…I simply can’t do it.
Having 85% of your stomach surgically removed doesn’t magically make you want salad and green smoothies for the rest of your life, but it does stop you from washing off a bad day by downing an entire box of Little Debbies. IF there was a box of snack cakes anywhere near me today and IF I wanted some, I could probably get part of one down. Maybe a whole one if I hadn’t had anything to eat for hours and hours – and, in spite of what the multi-billion dollar diet industry tells you, one snack cake isn’t going to kill you. For the record, though, snack cakes are on my banned list. Why? Because I simply don’t get enough enjoyment out of them anymore. They’re not worth the empty calories. My taste buds have radically changed…and most processed snacks taste nasty as hell to me.
So I’ve been doing a lot of needlework, which I love…and it doesn’t make me wear bigger pants. I’ve also been doing a few household projects that were badly needed, including cleaning our dumping ground of a bedroom so that the elliptical trainer could be unearthed. It took me hours of emptying storage boxes and tossing, putting away, or donating the crap inside in order to get to the damn thing – but I finally did it. It was an epic project on the same scale as finding King Tut’s tomb, peeps. Now the elliptical waits for me every morning. Sometimes I get on it, sometimes I don’t. But it’s all up in my face again, and it’s made me realize that the second part of my journey is just beginning.
For the past year, I’ve celebrated some amazing milestones. 50 pounds. My first drop in clothing size. Reaching my feet for the first time. Dropping another clothing size. Riding a bike. Hitting the 200’s on the scale…and more. These milestones are all amazing and wonderful. They’re also mostly weight or size related. Now that I’ve lost 113 pounds and I’m halfway to my goal weight range, I realize that there will come a day when I don’t have any more weight to lose. There won’t be any more sizes to drop. And then what will my goal be? If I’m not careful, I won’t have anything left to strive for. There won’t be anything left to write about – except maybe when HMH successfully farts along to the 1812 Overture – and I assure you, that’s not pretty.
I still have quite a few weight loss related milestones to celebrate, but I’m adding some exciting ones to strive for in 2015 – and, just like needlework, they’re helping me substitute one habit for another. I’m going to add the habit of exercise to my repertoire in the new year…and, like my withdrawal from certain foods, diet soda and caffeine, I’m going to do it with baby steps. With me, baby steps seem to be the only way I can really get things done. 2015 will be about celebrating the remaining weight and size milestones while bringing in new healthy living goals that will set me up for a lifetime of happy exercising.
In the next few weeks, I’ll share my 2015 goals with you and I invite you to share yours with me. As always, we’re stronger together than we are apart…and the wonderful thing about this thing called the internet is that even someone living in a remote location with no friends or family close by can feel connected to others with the same issues. So let’s squeeze together and hug it out and get ready for an amazing year because we deserve it.
Today we’re traveling, peeps. We’re going on a Tour Through Blogland, thanks to HMP fan Ashley from This Pretty Little Life. Ashley’s quite a blogger herself and when she contacted me about this opportunity it sounded like a hell of a lotta fun. So I said yes.
If you haven’t read Ashley’s blog, you need to go check it out. Here are a few of my favorite posts of hers:
The letter she wrote to her younger self. Who wouldn’t want to do that? Well, she did it! It’s moving to read and don’t we wish we all had a time machine so we could go back and smack some sense into our younger selves?
This Pretty Little Spring Cleaning: Kitchen – Under the Sink Honestly, Ashley’s “before” picture doesn’t look nearly as bad as what my under sink cabinet looks like right now – but I’m betting she doesn’t live with a Hot Mess redneck like I do. Seriously, HMH can be a real challenge sometimes…and there’s only so many hours in a damn day. But I love spring cleaning and I love before/after pictures of home organization – so this one really got me.
And finally, My Weight Loss Journey – Support is just simply a good read. It’s incredibly hard to change and Ashley’s take on what really matters is open and real.
You can find Ashley on all the major social media networks. My favorite is her Pinterest boards, but she’s everywhere in social media – so click here to go to her blog and look at the social icons on the upper right to see which ones suit you best.
Ashley’s asked me to answer certain questions as part of this tour, so here I go!
Question 1: What am I working on right now?
The answer is…many things. I have a post waiting in the wings about change. Are you ready for it? How do you know? I’m also working on checking items off my list of 50 awesome things to do before I turn 50…and that day is getting closer. Eeek! And I’m working on writing my first book, but I procrastinate that one a lot because the idea of finding someone to publish it is daunting as hell. (Yes, I realize I can self-publish these days…but I’d rather have a publishing house do all the work for me.)
Question 2: How does my work differ from others in the same genre?
Well, for one thing…what the hell genre am I in? Weight loss? God, I hope not. I have a huge problem with the weight loss industry. I don’t like people who make money off of fat people. Bottom line. I don’t mind paying for goods or services if there’s an end in sight, but if I have to keep buying your shit then there’s a problem with that. So I’m not sure what genre you’d put me in but I’ll tell you this much: my central message is that you have to do what works for you. I’m not a weight loss blog…I’m a hot mess and I’m just blabbing about my life and my path and my process. I’m unique and so are you.
Question 3: Why do I create/write what I do?
That’s easy. Because I can’t help it. I started this blog because I knew there were others out there like me and I was reaching out. And I found you. I wouldn’t be where I am today without your support and I know, thanks to comments here and the many private messages and emails I receive, that many of you have been helped by this blog. So I do what I do because I’m called to it. I can’t imagine things ever being any different.
Question 4: How does my creative/writing process work?
I have two very distinct, separate methods for writing: one for the blog and one for fiction. My methods for writing this blog are very organic. I write what I write because it comes to me. I can’t put it off and I can’t plan it. When I first started the blog, I tried to create an editorial calendar and schedule certain posts for certain days…but it didn’t work. I can’t schedule any of the shit I spew through my keyboard because it’s all coming from the heart. Fiction is different. Fiction is created completely. It’s crafted. Embellished. It’s bullshit, basically, so it’s a lot easier to manipulate. The Hot Mess thing is real.
So those are the questions and my answers. Now? I’m super proud and happy to introduce you to my pal Brenda’s blog “One Awesome at a Time”. You might remember Brenda from the 2013 DFW Penis Expedition…or at least you should. It’s hard to forget this girl once you meet her. She rocks!
Brenda is a wonderful, funny, loving, creative, amazing work in progress and I’m proud to be her friend. You can find Brenda on her blog…you can even subscribe to new posts via email.
Here are a few of my favorite posts of Brenda’s:
Her post on creating the life you love. Brenda is all about color, life and creativity and this post totally shows it!
Her own 50 Things Before 50 post. She’s turning 50 a month before me (hahahahah!) and she’s well on her way to completing her list.
Her amazing “Shame – Today I am ENOUGH!” post. It’s beyond description. Grab a cup o’ something and read away. It’s wonderful.
I can’t wait to see what Brenda cooks up for her post next Monday. Until then, big thanks to Ashley from This Pretty Little Life for inviting me along…this was really fun!
Today we’re going to chat about the internal struggles emotional eaters can face if they decide to use bariatric surgery as a tool, so grab a cup o’ whatever and nestle down. This is a long one…because I want to talk about our emotional struggles as a whole, first.
Emotional eaters are a weird animal. We don’t eat because we’re hungry. We eat because we’re bored. Happy. Sad. Mad. Anxious. Sometimes we don’t even need a reason. The simple act of putting food in our mouths and chewing is somehow a soothing balm to whatever woes we’re facing in the big bad world.
What makes things more difficult is that it’s not usually crystal clear what’s bothering us in the first place. If you have a bad day, you most likely end up angry at a person or situation and it’s clear to you what happened. A manager at work is such an asshole. Tiffany the Executive Assistant forgot to give your boss a message and now you look like a jerk. The bitch in front of you at the grocery store argued with the cashier forever over a 10 cent coupon. Whatever it was, regular people vent about it and then they feel better. I don’t think that’s usually the case for people who deal with emotional eating…or any addiction, for that matter. I don’t think it’s that clear. At least, it wasn’t for me.
Most of the time there was no one pissing me off. There was usually nothing fresh and new that was bothering me. For me, the specter that my dance teacher created in my head was enough. I walked the earth knowing that I was an ugly, fat, unacceptable excuse for a human being who didn’t deserve love. It was always in the back of my head. Talking to me. Reminding me. Showing me.
You didn’t get that promotion at work because you’re ugly. You don’t get asked out for dates because you’re fat. You have too much hair on your forearms…you look like a monkey. Who could love you? You can’t wear dresses; your legs look like tree trunks. You should feel embarrassed. Stay home in your sweatpants and eat a pizza. No one loves you. No one will ever love you. Get some ice cream, too. That always makes you feel better. Maybe grab some chips for tomorrow because the game is on and the only person who wants to watch it with you is your Mom. How pitiful is that? When’s the last time you even tried to work out? You’re ridiculous. And weak. And stupid. Better grab a candy bar.
I can’t speak for every overweight person on the planet, I can only speak for me…and I can honestly tell you that there is a mindless eating machine at the heart of my subconscious. She is my food demon…and she is a hateful bitch. She has never cared how bad I felt when I went up a size in clothes. In the past, the guilt I’ve felt over the number on the scale has only served to fuel her fire. She wants to eat. She is never full. She is never satisfied. And she is always louder than any other voice in my head that tells me to suck it up…go for a walk…eat a carrot. She is insatiable.
So how do we stop this destructive, self-absorbed bitch? I’ll tell you what’s working for me in a minute. Hear me out first.
If you’ve read my blog for a while you know that I’m a huge believer that each of us has to do what’s right for us. We’re not all the same, so applying cookie cutter solutions to our issues with our food demons is not going to be helpful. If that shit worked, there wouldn’t be fad diets…because the first one would have cured us all, right? There is no Brown Rice Diet or North Beach Diet or Dog Fart Diet that’s going to solve our problems…because what really solves our problems is sitting down and spending the time to figure out what works for us as individuals. And it’s all different. Because what made me a Hot Mess Princess is not what made you a…whatever you are. Amazing Ninja Woman? Incredible Kickass Chick? Fabulous Dude? Superman? (because some things don’t change).
So how do you handle this food demon that has somehow attached itself to your life and won’t let go? That depends on who you are. Not on who I am. Not on which Kardashian lost 5 pounds on the amazing placenta diet. Not on Dr. Oz. It depends on you.
How do you learn best? By doing? By seeing? By reading? Do you do better with a regimented routine or do you need the freedom to go with the flow? If you need freedom, how much freedom can you give yourself without exercising the freedom to eat a whole box of Little Debbies during Dancing With the Stars? Are you trying to force yourself to follow a plan that doesn’t work for you? Because if you’re fighting it, doesn’t that mean you’re not ready for it? Doesn’t that mean it’s not working in some way? As sucky as it sounds, you have to pick each one of these things up and examine it. Hold it up close. Look it over. Notice things about it. Figure it out. In the end, if you decide it works for you…keep it. If it doesn’t work, is it worth forcing yourself to do it? For me, the answer is no.
I spent 20 years of my life being obese – and before that, I spent too much time believing I was ugly, fat and disgusting. Because someone else told me so when nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve spent my life trying to figure out how to stop the self-loathing, totally jacked up behavior that I used to comfort myself from an emotional terrorist. In the process, I found enough of myself to grab hold of…but I went from 125 pounds to 383 pounds before I completely sobered up.
So last November, when everyone else was planning their Thanksgiving dinners, I had gastric sleeve surgery. Almost 11 months later, I’ve lost 106 pounds and have dropped 5 sizes in clothes. But you know what? I didn’t have brain surgery.
Sleeve surgery allowed me to grab the food demon by the throat, throw her black-hearted ass in a crate, and nail the fucker shut – but she’s still around. I have more than 20 years worth of bad habits under my belt. Having 85% of my stomach removed didn’t change that. Never being hungry doesn’t change that. If I wasn’t mentally and emotionally ready for this surgery, it wouldn’t stop the demon bitch from hell.
Here’s what I’ve learned…
Making sure I had a positive behavior ready to replace my eating with was fucking brilliant. She might be locked up in a box, but every once in a while I can still hear her screaming. Sleeve surgery has afforded me the luxury of never feeling hungry, so I no longer feel a physical, urgent need to eat. I have regularly scheduled, small meals and I stick to that schedule religiously because I find comfort in the routine. That works for me. So when the food demon starts screaming from inside her crate, I calmly tell her to shut the hell up…and I go to my needlework and start stitching. Needlework makes me focus on something else. I have to count. I have to concentrate. And my hands are busy. If I’m at work when it happens, I get up from my desk and go walk around the floor. I stretch my legs…and as soon as I’m up and walking, I feel grateful that I’m no longer walking around in pain. I’m instantly reminded that I’m far from the 383 pound walking corpse I was last year. I am an awesome, kick ass ninja butterfly who gets stronger every damn day.
In contrast, i know people who’ve had bariatric surgery and weren’t ready. They had no plan for shit like this. They didn’t think it through. For them, surgery was the solution…not a tool. After surgery they couldn’t overeat anymore, so that destructive behavior manifested itself in new ways. Some turned into total sluts. I’m not trying to be funny here. They made scary decisions that they never would have made before. Some became angry and bitter. They couldn’t eat anymore so they got pissed at the world instead of dealing with their shit. One developed a serious spending issue.
All of them have gained most, if not all, of their weight back. I didn’t want to go down that road…so I made a plan.
There’s a difference between real hunger and a gurgling tummy. If you don’t eat for 8 hours or so does your tummy gurgle? Probably. Do you also feel empty? That’s important. That hollow feeling in your stomach is probably hunger. What happens if you eat spicy food? What if your tummy is just gassy? It gurgles, right? That’s not hunger. I knew the difference between the two before I had surgery and I didn’t realize how important it was until I was home from the hospital and my tummy was gurgling like I swallowed a box of fireworks. But I didn’t feel hungry. Weak at first, sure. I’d had major surgery. But as I slowly adjusted my diet back to real food over the weeks following my surgery, my tummy would gurgle with each new stage…and I didn’t freak out about it because I knew the difference between hunger and a gurgly tummy.
Change is challenging and fun. At first, it wasn’t so fun. It was just work. So much work. Life after sleeve surgery was just me fielding one curve ball after another. It felt like it took forever for me to feel comfortable in my own skin. I had to learn how to eat all over again. I was learning to live all over again. Once I’d lost my 46th pound, I started to get excited. (I’d gained and lost the same 45 pounds repeatedly…so I felt like the first 45 pounds was a do-over.) The excitement was a welcome distraction – because right around the third month I hit the “OMG I’m so tired of thinking about eating” wall. It happens. I was used to thinking about eating bad foods. I’d plan my day around that shit. After surgery I was still thinking about food, but it was “Okay, how much protein have I had so far? Do I have room for more yet? Have I had enough water? What do I need to eat today in order to hit my protein goal?” That is some boring shit for a girl who used to think Twizzlers was a food group. There’s no magic formula for how to beat that if it happens. I muscled through it. I didn’t want to be the girl who failed at weight loss even after surgery. I still don’t want to be that girl. But now I realize that I won’t be…because I’ve changed.
When I look back at who I was a year ago, I look forward to the changes I can only imagine are coming. After all, I’m only half way to my goal. When I think about it that way, the road ahead opens wide up and I’m excited about the possibilities that wait for me.
Yes, there are struggles. Yes, there are hurdles. But it’s all an adventure…because I finally embraced change.
If you have questions, please ask. I try to be an open book about my experience because I know what it feels like to be lost in a fog and not knowing where to turn or who to talk to. While I can’t say what will work for you, I can tell you what’s worked for me…and that might just help you find another piece of your puzzle. Until then, just remember that it’s okay if your tiara’s crooked. Perfection is for pussies.
I just had gallbladder surgery on Thursday and since I’m restricted from doing pretty much anything else, I thought I’d post an update on my list of 50 awesome things I want to accomplish before my 50th birthday this November. So let’s check off a few!!!
I did it…even though I’m petrified of needles and some dude totally fainted just as I walked in. I still did it. Thank God for my patient pal Laura who was there to hold my hand. LOL.
Visit my cousin in Florida
4. Sketch something
Enter the State Fair of Texas needlework competition
Done! My needlework received an Honorable Mention ribbon. I’ll post a picture when the State Fair opens and I go see it!
7. Send flowers to someone
Take a CHL class (cancelled – will explain in another post)
9. Write a short story
10. Play with sidewalk chalk
11. Finish the watercolor painting I started in Florida
12. Get my passport
13. Buy a new bike
14. Take a knitting class
15. Walk a 5K (in process…I’m registered for one next month!)
16. Design my first cross stitch pattern
17. Over-tip a waitress
18. Attend a live performance
19. Play in the rain
Lose 100 pounds
Done! I can’t believe how heavy these 50 pound bags were…it’s overwhelming to think I once carried this extra weight on my body!
21. Serve myself breakfast in bed
22. Clean out my closet to donate clothes
23. Eat ice cream for the first time in a year
24. Embroider something
Clean out the trunk of my car (talk about a hot mess…)
Done! It looks fabulous, trust me. If I waited to take pictures it would take even longer to post this!
26. Watch a movie outside
27. Eat a popsicle Done! Nothing like major surgery and general anesthesia to give you a sore throat.
28. Get a new floor stand for needlework
29. Watch a sunrise
31. Inspire a rebel
Surprise my Mom with a weekend visit
I don’t have pictures, but I did stop in Orange County on my way home from Kauai…but I was exhausted. LOL. Mom was over-the-moon excited to see her baby girl, I promise.
33. Make a really cool craft project
34. Teach a child a new skill
35. Help someone think better of himself or herself
37. Make a new friend
Read a book
39. Go to the movies again (it’s like pulling teeth to get HMH to go)
40. Buy a stranger a drink
42. Random act of baking kindness
44. Ride a rollercoaster
45. 2014 DFW Penis Expedition (Confused? Read this: I live in a penis!)
46. Make a candle
47. Go to the top of the ball at Reunion Tower in Dallas
49. Surprise HMH with a super awesome home-cooked dinner
50. Perform a random act of kindness every day for a week
As for the blank spots, I’m still working on filling those in. Any ideas?