Tag Archives: Bullshit

Don’t dim my fridge lights, bro!

On to part 2 of this amazing tale of tired feet, sore backs, and shattered dreams. I feel duty bound to tell you at this point that there may, indeed, be a part 3. I didn’t deliberately deceive y’all yesterday when I said I had to break it into 2 parts, I’m just a real wordy bitch. Apologies in advance if that happens.

So I left off yesterday as we were ushered to the hospital cafeteria, goodie bags in hand, to fill out our official Biggest Loser applications.  It was well after lunch by this time and, to add insult to serious foot injury, the grill was closed.  Either that or the 684 contestants who were in front of us ate all the food and they had to close up shop.  I didn’t ask – partially because I was trying not to gag over the stench of the only food they were still serving:  Subway.  Sorry, Jared…your food smells like vinaigrette mixed with ass.

None of us had thought to bring snacks either.  Imagine that:  over a thousand fat people in the same place and no food.  Well played, Subway.  I’d brought some carrot sticks with me, but they were long gone.  Normally I would have brought a backpack full of partially hydrogenated nummies, but ya know, I thought I needed to bring rabbit food to show the producers how good I was at liking healthy food.  Because my giant ass was proof that I loved nothing more than a good salad after a stressful day, right?

I sat there with my 8 new BFF’s, feeling more hungry than I could ever remember, trying to keep my hand from trembling as I filled out my application (just in case they were also judging on penmanship). I didn’t even think about the goodie bag until one of the guys in my group grumbled, “Oh great…I bet these taste good.”  I looked up to find him holding a bag of something called Protein Crisps.  The look on his face was priceless.

Volunteers were stationed at the cafeteria entrance, calling out contestant numbers in sets of 5 every few minutes.  They called out #548 and I looked down at my contestant number.  #649.  Awesome.  I was going to be in Subway Stinkland for a while.

After a while, we became restless.  Our applications were completed with what we were all certain were perfect, heart-wrenching answers to all the producer’s questions.  They were bound to pick at least one of us.  Our goodie bags had been plundered.  Protein Crisps, a pen with the hospital’s logo on it, a message pad that said “Biggest Loser’ on it.  Nothing fabulous.  And no, no one touched their Protein Crisps.  Later that night I would carefully open the packet of crisps and offer one to our dog, Kokopelli.  She turned her nose up at it.  That dog would eat her own yard biscuits, but those Protein Crisps were just gross.

Before long, sitting hurt just as much as standing.  Every part of my body was throbbing and in pain.  Finally, they called #648…which was one of my BFF’s.  Then #649.  We were told to stand in a hallway, which we did with barely concealed excitement.  The rest of our friends soon joined us and the line began slowly moving.  We had no idea where we were going, but we were certain that our final destination was just around the corner.  Then we rounded the corner.

At least 200 people were lined up down a long hallway in front of us.  Jesus.  How long was this going to go on?  And now we were standing again, feet throbbing, with clunky goodie bags and applications to hold onto.  At least this line seemed to be moving faster, though.  The line seemed to end at a pair of elegant wood doors at the end of the hall.  I pictured a poshly decorated doctor’s conference room on the other side with a shiny black table, around which were seated a handful of Biggest Loser casting directors and producers.  The Promised Land.

In line…in another hallway. Sorry for the blur, but we were too tired for decent photography. (That’s me on the far right.)

We were positively wiggly by the time we got to those doors.  They were letting in groups of 10.  We were next.  They opened the doors and we rushed forward, but instead of finding ourselves in front of a bunch of Biggest Loser casting honchos we found ourselves in a huge auditorium.  A volunteer just inside the door told us to find seats.

We found seats off to the side in a little overflow section of folding chairs. I looked around and my heart sank.  There had to be at least 600 people in that auditorium.  We looked at each other in disbelief.  We were exhausted and hungry.  I would have cut a bitch for a half of a granola bar.  We thought we were at the end, yet there were still hundreds of people in front of us.  At that point, it felt like we were in the middle of some cruel joke.  Morale was starting to fade.

At least there was something to occupy our thoughts this time.  There was a woman on stage at a podium, speaking about her amazing weight loss success.  Everyone was riveted by her story.  Her “before” picture was projected on the screen behind her along with the Biggest Loser logo.  It was hard to believe that this skinny woman speaking to us had ever been overweight.  When her presentation ended she opened things up for questions and hands shot up all over the auditorium.

“What did you do to lose that much weight?” Girl-in-green-dress asked.

The answer was something like “Blah blah blah, portion control, blah blah blah…eating healthy food…”

Yeah.  That’s not what we wanted to know.  We’re professional fatties.  We’ve read a million books about portion contorl.  Besides, it felt like she was side-stepping something.

“How did you lose the weight?” came the next question from chick-with-red-hair.

“Blah blah blah…get in the right mindset…blah blah blah…hard work…”

No.  That’s not what we’re asking.  We’ve heard this shit a million times.  We’re still fat.

Finally, someone with balls stands up.  Blue-shirt-guy says, “How specifically did you succeed this time after so many failed attempts to lose weight?”

He got applause from the crowd.  We were all losing patience with this chick and her sketchy answers.  You’re in a room full of your fellow fatties, lady…spill the details already.  We eagerly awaited her reply.

“I had gastric bypass surgery here at the hospital.”

She clicked the remote in her hand and the slide changed from her “after” picture to one containing information about the hospital’s weight loss surgery programs.

My chin just about hit the floor.  Everybody’s chins just about hit the floor.  I was wrong about blue-shirt-guy having balls…because this chick had big brass ones.  So did the hospital.  What marketing genius.

No wonder the hospital volunteered to host the auditions.  What do you do with a thousand captive fatties, most (if not all) of whom are not going to get picked for the Biggest Loser?  You make them sit and listen to presentation after presentation about gastric bypass surgery.  Well played, you sneaky-ass motherfuckers.

The auditorium booed her.  Loudly.  She tried to recover by continuing to talk over the booing.  Eventually the crowd quieted down.  Off to the side, a Biggest Loser production assistant approached the stage and the auditorium went wild.  He stepped up to the microphone.

“We need numbers 438 through 447 out here in the hall please.”

What?  They’re only in the 400’s?  I was #648.  Son of a bitch.  Some of us were ready to cry.  It was the day that never ended.

Back on stage, gastric-bypass-chick introduced the next presenter.  Guess who it was?  Dr. I-Forget-Her-Name, Chief Resident Hoo-Hah over…you guessed it…Bariatric Surgery.

Sigh.  It was like being trapped in a timeshare meeting for fat people.

It was a collective slap in the face.  The doctor gave her presentation.  I didn’t hear much of it.  I started texting Hot Mess Hubby in disgust.  We had waited all eff’in day for a chance to have the shit kicked out of us on the Biggest Loser.  We wanted to learn from top nutritionists, chefs, and personal trainers.  We were auditioning for a reality show called The Biggest Loser, not Surgery Island.

The wheels of change finally began to turn in my rusty noggin when the next speaker was introduced.  A psychologist came to speak about the mindset you need for success.  She wasn’t pitching weight loss surgery, she was pitching something that every weight loss seeker needs whether they seek it through surgery or not:  change.  I wanted to hear the presentation…but I couldn’t.  Because two of my fellow fatties, seated in front of me, wouldn’t stop chattering.

Between the two of them, I’m sure they had at least 600 pounds to lose.  I was (and am) a pretty big girl…and these folks made me feel small.  Each of them was seated across two folding chairs and they filled up the space.  They definitely needed to be here with us – but they sat there laughing and chatting with each other, making fun of the doctor as she spoke.  In fact, when the doctor started speaking about change management, the woman looked at the man and said “Yeah, yeah, yeah already.  Too much work unless it’s for $250,000.”

Wow.  Not ready for change. At all.  I sat there, half listening to the presentation and half listening to them.  I was heart sick for them.  Maybe they were just as beat down with exhaustion as we were.  Maybe they were just venting.  But I wanted them to want to be there for more than just a $250,000 grand prize.

Their numbers were called and they stood up to go.  Our section applauded for them and they both turned to us and smiled, saying thanks as they picked up their belongings.  My heart really went out to this woman.  Her weight was everywhere.  It was pushing her cheeks up against her eyes.  Her neck was a giant roll.  Her face was so full that her chin had a tennis ball sized protrusion at the end of it.  She wheezed when she moved to gather her things.  I wanted to hug her and tell her to kick some ass when she got in front of those producers.

As I sat there watching her slowly waddle away, I realized…she’s me.  She’s me.

Since I was a little girl, one of my most prominent features have been my “big, brown eyes”.  Everyone has always complimented me on my eyes.  But at 381 pounds, my eyes had stopped being a prominent feature.  My face was puffy.  My body was huge.  If I kept up living as I was, my body would only be getting bigger.  As my new BFF’s chatted easily with each other, I sat there feeling ashamed of myself.  What had I done to myself?  I was on the wrong road.  Whether I miraculously made it on the show or not, something had to change.  I sat there with my mind reeling, knowing there was more for me to discover in this new realization, but not wanting to think on it too much in this huge room full of people.  I needed quiet time to really think this through.

They called our numbers and we bolted up and ran for the door.  Finally.  We were ushered down another hall and told to wait.  The volunteer in charge of us assured us that we were almost there, but I was hesitant to believe her at this point.  I wouldn’t have been too shocked if the next room included a panel of plastic surgeons to pitch tummy tucks for when we all hit our goal weights.  This was not the day of promise and possibility that I thought it would be when I woke up.  It was a day of exhaustion, realization, and hard lessons.

We stood in the hall together, excitedly chattering and taking pictures of our group, vowing to keep in touch.  Some of us lived quite far from each other, but we promised to get together when we could – especially if one of us made it on the show, as we would want to have a watch party some night.  It seemed our time together was finally coming to an end and it made me a little sad to think of it.

Part of my BFF’s as we waited to see what was behind door #3…

The volunteer came back to us, this time with the air of a boot camp drill instructor.

“Everyone in here, quickly!”  She pointed to an open door that led to a small meeting room.

As we rushed towards the door, she stepped in before us.  There was a lone man, very young, sitting at a small conference table.  He had a Hollywood hipster look about him, one I was all too familiar with since I’m from southern California.  He didn’t even look up.  The volunteer drill instructor spoke next.

“Quickly, put your things on the floor against the wall and have a seat.  Bring your applications.  Hurry up now!”

We dropped our shit and ran to the table and sat.  It was time to win a spot on the hottest reality show on tv.  The volunteer stepped out and closed the door behind her.  Finally, hipster boy spoke.

“Welcome, everyone.  We only have two minutes together today, so I’ll make this quick.  My name is (insert hipster doofus name) and I’m a casting assistant for the Biggest Loser.  Going around the table, tell me your name and where you’re from.”

He pointed at the person on his left and said “Go.”

Like military recruits, we spouted off our names and where we were from.  The only thing missing was “Sir, yes sir!” at the end.  He sat there, slouched in his chair, unimpressed.  Inside, I was thinking “Two minutes?  Did he say we only have two minutes???

“Pass me your applications.”

We passed them.  What happened next was a real eye opener for me.

“Okay, I just have one question for the group.  Why do you want to be on the Biggest Loser?”  He made an open gesture at all of us and said, “Go!”

Like a crazed pack of monkeys, everyone started chattering at him at once.  They were almost yelling over each other, each vying for his attention.  It wasn’t a discussion, it was a shouting match…and he sat there slouching in his chair with a slight smile on his face as this display went on before him.  I sat there with my mouth hanging open in amazement as my new BFF’s threw all decorum out the window and just yammered over each other like this was normal every day behavior.  I started laughing.  I couldn’t help it.  Our group went from being BFF’s forever to a bunch of screaming degenerates who’d stab each other in the back for a shot at this guy’s attention.  And he sat there gloating…as if we were all on Atkins and he had placed a single cupcake in the middle of the table.  I can’t imagine that he was able to hear much of what any one person said.  I couldn’t stop giggling to myself over the absurdity of it all.  I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that warranted yelling it above everyone else.  About 45 seconds into the melee, I heard myself say in my head “You are not the Biggest Loser.”

He held a hand up and there was instant silence.  Hipster doofus had the power.

“Okay, we’re almost out of time.  Quickly around the table:  would you want Bob or Jillian…and why?”

Each person blurted out their answers one at a time.  It was the only time I actually spoke while I was in that room.

Hipster boy explained that if we were selected to continue further we would get a call by 9 pm that night.  I already knew the phone wasn’t going to ring at my house…and that was okay.  I have a low threshold for crazy.

We hugged each other goodbye in the lobby and promised to let each other know if we got called.  That night, I waited for the call that wasn’t coming and emailed the group at 9:05 pm to let them know I wasn’t selected.  One of our group was chosen to go to a casting callback and another was asked to make a video tape and submit it.  Despite that, neither was selected to go any further.

I spent the rest of the day overwhelmed with everything I was feeling.  I was happy that I went, angry at the insensitive marketing done by the hospital, and absolutely aghast at the 2 minute brawl that ensued in that tiny little conference room.  As much as I tried, I couldn’t fathom how anyone could glean enough information from that 2 minute shouting match in order to narrow down the contestant field.  It seemed to me a process that was as ridiculous as it was futile.  I would rather have been pitted against others in a more civilized forum – or even a physical challenge.

In the weeks that followed, I sent a few emails to my BFF’s to check on them.  No one responded.  We were strangers again as quickly as we were friends, which only added to the weirdness of the entire experience.  Quite some time later, one of them found me on Facebook and we’ve stayed in touch…but everyone else is long gone.  I wish them well.

I ached to the bone the following day from all the hours of standing on my feet.  I was curious about the experiences of Biggest Loser contestants in a way I hadn’t been before.  The casting call was an eye opener for me.  I waited all day thinking I would have the chance to speak to a casting assistant for the show and instead I was thrown into a ridiculous situation.  In this case, the reality of the reality show did not meet with my expectations – and I wanted to see if there was anything else about the Biggest Loser that I had misconceptions about.

There was, indeed – but that’s a story for tomorrow.  It’s taken me over 3,000 words to tell you about the remainder of an amazing day…and I hope you’ve enjoyed it somehow.  Tomorrow I’ll tell you what I learned in my search for answers.  That will be Part 3.  I doubt it will take 3,000 words…but like I said:  I’m quite a wordy bitch.

I learned I wasn’t the Biggest Loser, but I also connected with the fact that I was on a dangerous path…and that I needed to find a way to change direction once and for all.  This was the beginning of my beginning.  This experience sent me looking not only for answers but solutions as well.

See you tomorrow.  🙂

1..2..3…GO!

Hey y’all!

I’m ready!  I am eff’in ready.  My goal isn’t just to get through Halloween…or even the holiday season…without over indulging.  My goal is to get to New Year’s Eve 15 pounds lighter than I am today.  I may be a Hot Mess…but I’m also a bit of a badass.  I can totally do this!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I may make some additional updates to my blog so that my status updates are all in one place for this project, but for right now I’m just going to blog them.  My weight tracker is on the top right corner of this page (on my blog’s home page if you’re reading this via email).  My starting weight is 338 pounds.  (If you’re new here, you should know that’s down 43 pounds from where I started…badass!)

As a little side project, I decided to see how many push-ups I can do.  If I stand about a foot and a half away from the wall and do them against the wall, I did 10 of them before I realized I wasn’t going to be able to lift my arms at work tomorrow if I continued.  I totally get all Rocky Balboa on myself when I have a goal, so I had to reign it in just a little bit.  Even now as I sit at the coffee table and write this on my laptop, my arms are feel’in it.

I’ve had a hella busy weekend and I didn’t get everything done that I needed, so I’ve had to make some sacrifices.  For example, my house is still a mess…but I’ve gotten everything done that I needed for this challenge.  Well, parts of the house are clean – but it’s like I cleaned with A.D.D. or something.  There isn’t one room that’s totally done.  There are pockets of clean and mess everywhere.  It’s kind of pissing me off that I can’t clone myself and get more done.

I blame the Hot Mess Hubby and the fur persons for my lack of organization this weekend, actually.  The Hubs, although very sweet & cuddly (and sometimes farty), was doing a lot of “C’mere babe!” this weekend.  “C’mere babe!” is Hot Mess Hubby code for cuddle up on the couch and watch 3 episodes of Burn Notice with me so I don’t have to feel guilty about all the cleaning you’re doing.  Yep.  I said that shit.

Kirby also has a way of getting us to do what she wants whether we want to or not.  If you haven’t had the pleasure of being owned by a Saint Bernard, I can tell you that they’re incredible dogs…but they can be very stubborn and quite insistent when they want something.  In Kirby’s case this weekend, she was miffed that I disappeared with Dyson on Saturday morning.  I took him to the vet…but she imagined we were off at the dog park, frolicking in the woods without her.  As a result, I spent a lot of the weekend with her giant head in my lap.  It’s best to just give in when she wants attention.  I can’t say no to her big brown eyes…look at this:

This photo was taken during an actual guilt trip in progress.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As if Kirby wasn’t enough, Caesar the cat made my daily chores hell today.  Little Mr. Crabby Tabby wouldn’t let me make the bed.  For some reason, he goes into crazy-ass mode when I start putting new sheets on the bed.  In fact, in comparing notes with the Hubs today we discovered that Caesar only pulls this shit for me.  I would be mad, but I think it’s his way of helping…because now I can make the Hubs change the bedding.  “What, babe?  I can’t do it…Caesar only freaks out for me.”

Seems legit.

Bring it, Momma!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So I did the best I could, but I still have laundry to do…and dishes to do…but it’s almost 9 pm and I’m all for kicking back with a good book for the rest of the night. This reminds me…

Upcoming project: my own meditation space. Won’t that be fun!

I’m an insomniac who can barely even get sleep on prescription sleep meds. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m having nightmares almost every night, so I’m not sleeping well. I’m thinking increased exercise and a nice quiet, comfy space to do some relaxation/meditation before bed might be just the thing. What do y’all think? Am I starting to sound too much like a hippy? What would you do if you were having sleep problems?

Upcoming recipe: caramel walnut apples.  A lighter (not tasteless diet grossness) version of a caramel apple.  I’m hoping to get that done by Saturday.

I’m looking forward to enjoying the fun part of Halloween and not letting the food demons control me.  Let’s have some fun, y’all!  What are your plans?

The Plan that Can

Today, I begin preparation for my attack on the holiday season. Join me, won’t you?

I love the holidays. I love autumn, especially…when summer shrivels up and crawls back to hell (I live in Texas…trust me, hell ain’t that far off in the summer) and the leaves begin to change and everything gets crisp and chilly.  Perhaps you think this is rather ho-hum where you live…but I am a born and raised southern California girl – so I might appreciate the change of seasons a little more than most…because seasons don’t change in southern California.

I remember in school we would start decorating with orange, yellow, and red paper…we would make leaves and decorate the classroom.  We would carve pumpkins and talk about seasons changing.  I love this time of year.

Fall 1971. Saving babies with my American flag and my awesome macaroni necklace. A little Hot Mess Bad Ass in the making.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As you can see, I get a little carried away sometimes.  Check out my Indian head dress and paper bag squaw garb.  I think this was the day we made cornbread in the school cafeteria just like our forefathers did.  I was totally pumped…which is probably where I got the yankee doodle baby saving grin from.

Once when my Mom was driving me to dance class I saw an orange leaf on a tree and I got so excited.  Finally, I thought to myself, finally the leaves are changing and we’re going to have a real autumn…and maybe even a real winter!

Yeah, that shit never happened.

Now that I live in a place where we actually do have seasons, I get completely immersed in the festive atmosphere.  No, I don’t go around kneeling with an American flag and a baby anymore.  After 40, that shit’s just creepy. My enthusiasm for the holidays does add an extra level of danger to a season that’s already fraught with temptation, though.  Like I said yesterday, Halloween is my own personal gateway drug…and I’m not gonna let it grab me this year.

I’ve spent the past week or so giving some serious thought to what really sets me back this time of year.  What are the potential pitfalls I’m going to come up against and how can I avoid them?  What do I really love about the holidays?  What will I be sorry I missed if I don’t indulge in it?

That’s how I came up with my Plan that Can…and here are the basics:

  1.   Get through Halloween without anything scary popping up on the scale
  2.   Enjoy Thanksgiving fully, guilt free, and with my self-respect intact
  3.   Have a Hap-Hap-Happy Christmas & a Lighter New Year

Of course I’m going to share the juicy details of each of the parts I just listed…otherwise, this is just lame, right?  Baby steps, folks.  I’ve learned that I can’t fully be one with my kick-assery skills if I go too fast.  This is going to be a multi-post blog series.  For now, I plan to tackle Halloween.

Here are the details of my Halloween attack plan:

  •  No chocolate of any kind in this house.  And no Twizzlers.  And no Swedish Fish. Or Sugar Babies.  Basically, only cheap CRAP candy is allowed:  suckers, Dum Dums, those straw things with flavored sugar that I liked when I was 9 years old.  Those cheap, disgusting gummy body parts are ok for some reason.  They don’t ring my bell.  I don’t know why Swedish Fish are yummy and gummy eyeballs are gross, but I don’t set the rules…my food demons do.  I just work within the rules to get what I want.  If it looks like a severed toe, it’s not at all tempting…I don’t give a shit why.
  • Five second rule.  Doesn’t matter if I’m at work, at home, out with friends…I’m enacting the 5 second rule.  If I’m around something tempting, I have to do something about it in 5 seconds.  A co-worker gives me a little festive baggie of candy, I’m dumping it in 5 seconds.  In line at a potluck and I see a gorgeous cheesecake while I’m dishing up from the fruit bowl…5 seconds…MOVE!  Back away from the cheesecake, Princess.  The purpose of the 5 seconds is to not give myself the time to bargain or give in.  5 seconds.  I’ll either toss it in the kitchen/break room at work…give it to someone else…run away from it or throw it in the trash can.  Whatever it is, I’m thinking of me first…and all my hard work.
  • Indulge without Bulge.  There are things I love about Halloween that I don’t want to do without.  Roasted pumpkin seeds aren’t really a big no-no, but if you roast them in olive oil like I do…well…you still have to count it.  I’m still going to have my pumpkin seeds – and I’m not going to limit how many I have.  I’m going to eat as many as I want, but I’m also going to counter attack them by adding an extra workout and eating lighter meals the rest of that day.  Repeat after me:  adjust…so you don’t bust.  And (just because I know how completely full of shit I can be when it comes to excuses) I’ve already set the rule that I have to do that workout before I indulge in those roasted seeds or any other treat I decide to indulge in.
  • Fun.  I will replace food with fun.  We have no kids of our own, but we have a neighborhood full of the coolest kids around.  So I’m going to spook up the house with fog machines and lights and all my usual tricks…and I’m going to sit outside and watch trick or treaters.  Think back to when you were a kid and you were trick or treating…there was always that one house on the block that was so much fun, right?  Yeah, that’s my house.  This year, I’m having fun with the neighbors instead of mowing through mini snickers on the couch.

With this four-pronged attack and my usual eating/logging – and added workouts…well, Halloween oughta get a run for her money.  Last year all I did was buy $50 worth of crap and eat it all night.  Then I felt sick after.  This year will be different.  This year will be better.

In fact, I’m gonna level with y’all…I’ve been thinking some crazy thoughts lately.  Crazy in an awesome way.  I don’t just want to get through the holidays without gaining weight.  Nope.  I want to kick it up about a notch and a half.  Later this week, I’ll tell you how.

Today is October 16th.  There are 16 days left until Halloween, all of which will be heavily blogged about, peeps.

If you want to follow along, be sure you’re subscribed to my blog via email…because I’m going to be posting quite a few times a week.  If you watch for my posts on Facebook, you may not always see them.  That’s just the way Facebook works with fan pages.  So look up at the top of my home page on the right and find the SUBSCRIBE section…and subscribe via email!

If you want to create a similar plan for yourself, it’s time to start thinking about your own temptations and what really screws you up.  Then find a way around them:

Avoid the things you know you can’t control.

Have a plan of attack for the times those things surprise you.

If you plan to indulge, plan to work it off…and don’t let yourself down!

Find a way to enjoy the things you really love about the holidays…and make sure you won’t come away feeling deprived. Adjust so you don’t bust.

This is about being real…this about finding positive, fun ways to bring healthy changes to my life.  Because I know I can do it, because I want to prove it can be done.

Y’all know what I say:  No rest for a fat girl with a plan.  Bring it.

Evil is Coming…and it’s “fun sized”

Can you feel it?  It’s coming.  Can you sense it?  It’s out there…ready to pounce on all our well-intentioned plans?  I can feel it.

Halloween is coming.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Halloween. As a kid, I loved dressing up as my favorite hero or scary creature.  And while, on this particular day, it’s perfectly acceptable for a grown woman to go traipsing around town in tights and a cape…I refrain.  Generally speaking, super heroes tend to have a lot less kneecap fat than I do.

I celebrate in other ways.  Mainly by turning my house into the most badass display of Halloween fun in my neighborhood.  I rock Halloween so much that I actually get “repeater trick or treaters”.  My house is the best one on the block for Halloween.  That’s how I roll.

So yeah…Halloween is a lot of fun, but you know what?

It’s also a big fucking problem. 

Do you know where I’m going with this?  Let me paint a picture for ya:

They call marijuana “the gateway” drug. Why?  Because young unsuspecting potheads often go looking for a better, stronger high…and they end up addicted to a world o’ shit.  For those of us who’ve had a few self-control issues when it comes to things like…oh, I dunno…chocolate…nougat…cream filling…Twizzlers…you name it, this is dangerous ground we’re about to be walking on.  Halloween is the gateway to a season full of holiday eating madness.  MAAAADNESS, I tell you!!  Bag after bag of temptation in the form of “fun size” bars in cute little packaging that cries out “Eat me!! Just one won’t hurt!  Look how cute I am!”

We need a plan.  With a quickness.  If we don’t come up with something soon we’re gonna be mowing our way through $50 of fun sized evil before we even know what hit us.  Screw that!

Luckily, I have a plan.  If you’re still ooh-ing and aah-ing at the tantalizing candy displays, snap out of it!  This is serious shit.  I know I’m usually all about the “You don’t have to be perfect…just do what you can do…c’mere and give me a hug!” but there’s no time for that.  (And, for the record, you don’t ever have to be perfect…but I don’t want to see any of us fall on our asses because we didn’t have a plan.)  If you don’t have a plan, you can borrow mine…but first you have to snap out of it!!!  Eyes off the Reese’s Peanut Butter Pumpkins, soldier!!  FOCUS!

I don’t just want this year to be different than last year.  I want this year to be better than last year.

Last year, I went shopping for Halloween candy and (just like every year before) I bought all the crap that I love to eat.  I know I’m not the only person who’s done that, right?  If we’re going to spend that much money on free crap for the neighbor kids we might as well enjoy it too, right?  Besides, it’s only one night, right?  Yep.  Well, I mowed through quite a bit of it that night…and it set me directly on a sugary road to hell, my friends.  Just like it’s done every year before that.  Are ya feel’in me?

This year will be different.  No more one night stands with the candy bowl…waking up in a sugar coma…empty wrappers on the dresser making me feel cheap and easy.  I’m not up for a repeat of last year when my sugar coma sent me straight into Thanksgiving with a lust for baked goods.  Before I knew what hit me, Thanksgiving had flown by and I was standing in my kitchen in December…bent over a tin full of butter toffee…crying…because I felt so sick from all the sugar and yet I could not make myself stop eating.

Listen up, peeps…and picture me doing my best Dr. Evil  impression:  Halloween candy is evil.  EEEEVIIIILLLLL!!!!!

After almost a full year of making positive, healthy life changes I’ve lost 45 pounds.  And I’ve managed it without listening to the diet & fitness industry mainstream that makes millions off of those of us who struggle with overeating and weight issues.  The past year has been pretty damn enlightening for me.  And here it comes again: Hallo-frick’in-ween… my own personal gateway drug.

This year, I’ve come up with a plan for getting through the holidays…and it starts this month.  The time for preparation is now.  There’s nothing fun sized about an extra ass in your pants by Christmas.  We’re talking plan & strategy this week here on the blog.  By the time we get to Halloween, we will laugh in the face of danger.

This year, we will control our shit before it controls us.  So get ready. Here’s your homework:

Make a list of what tempts you this month. Halloween candy?  Menu preparations for Thanksgiving? What situations do you find yourself in that always cause you trouble? What are the triggers that are set to launch you into the holidays?  Write ‘em down because you’re going to need them for planning this week.

Let’s band together and show the holidays we’re in it for the fun and the family and the joy…but not the extra weight.  Because we’re too smart to go down this road again…and New Years Resolutions suck ass!

Tomorrow, we plan!!

Marbles have moved…

…not into the jar I wanted, though.

I have gained 7 pounds.  Gained.  Me.  I thought I was over this shit.

I plinked 7 marbles back into the “Pounds to Go” jar.

I sat myself down yesterday and took a good hard look at the decisions I’ve been making.  Just sitting down and looking this squarely in the face did me a world of good.  It helped me put some things in perspective.  Mainly:

– First, it’s only 7 pounds. I jumped right on the Coulda Woulda Shoulda train and started beating myself up at first.  Then I got a grip and remembered to be grateful that  I caught this when I did. Not too long ago, I wouldn’t have realized there was a problem until my pants wouldn’t zip…and then I’d just order pizza and give up.

– Second, the fault lies squarely on my shoulders and my shoulders only.  I got a little lazy in a lot of ways:

* I stopped logging my food.  When I finally do hit my goal weight, I’m not always going to log my food…but I think I stopped too soon. (And maybe I will always log it…who knows!)  Add to that the occasional margarita or two…a fork full of peanut butter as a quick snack…and that shit adds up.

* I started grazing.  We don’t keep junk food in the house anymore, so I guess I figured I’d be okay…but an unplanned handful of almonds is a lot of calories right before bed – and I’ve been guilty of that a lot lately.

* I fell back on “convenience eating” a little.  Most junk food and fast food doesn’t appeal to me anymore at all, but there are some places that still tempt me.  Whataburger is one, but that’s easy to avoid because it’s inconvenient for me to go there most days.  The local mom & pop pizza place that makes a delicious large pepperoni pie, however…that’s another thing.  Hot Mess Hubby and I have been too willing to just not cook lately.  Tsk tsk tsk!  I need to remember that I am worth all this trouble…and that includes cooking for myself.

In addition, I’ve been eating out more at work.  Not a huge deal, but if I’m going to eat out more I need to make better choices when I do.  Or work it off on the treadmill.  I’ve done neither.

* I have still not been successful at making exercise a habit.  Tick tock, tick tock…time’s a wasting!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So this is what’s been going on with me lately.  I’m not going to beat myself up over this, but I did give myself one good solid kick in the ass.  I deserve that.  Now I’m in “fix it mode”.  I can’t just beat myself up and do nothing else…I need to get moving in the right direction.

My solution:

I’m going to start weighing every day again.  See what happens when I don’t?  I get too complacent.  Too much bargaining goes on in my head.  I’m not saying this is what everyone should do, but this is what I have to do.  This is what works for me.  When I stop, this is what happens.

I’m back to logging my food.  I logged today and I have to be honest…I felt a little deprived.  I felt restricted.  I wasn’t happy to feel this way.  I’d been telling myself I was tougher than this.  In reality, I’ve been eating more calories than I need – and because I haven’t been logging my food and haven’t been getting on the scale, I didn’t see it.  I haven’t been using all the wonderful tools I have at my disposal.

No more grazing.  In fact, after dinner I’m going to start drinking hot tea again.  Sometimes I forget that my Keurig brews tea just as well as coffee (which I only have once in the morning).  When I’m hungry after dinner, hot tea is very soothing and helps me feel full.  Plus it’s herbal…and healthy.

Speaking of healthy, I went out and bought healthy food for my mini fridge at work.  I’m only going to eat lunch out once a week.  That’s it.  When I eat out, I’m going to lighten up on other meals and make sure I work out that day.

And finally…come hell or high water…I’m going to make exercise a healthy habit.  I’m going to do it…I just have to figure out what works for me.

Maybe I was being naive, but I really never thought I would have to move any marbles back to the “Pounds to Go” jar.  It was not a good feeling to move those marbles, but I had to.  I gained those pounds back.  It didn’t feel right to let them sit in the “Pounds Lost” jar when they didn’t stick.  If anything, it strengthened my resolve to plink them the hell back into the “Pounds to Go” jar.

This is hitting me at a bad time, but I am the only one to blame.  (And really…when is it a good time?)  I’ve got some extra stress in my life right now.  Our Saint Bernard, Kirby, has a cancerous growth on her back and has to have surgery on Thursday.

This girl…this 120 pound angel in fur…she is my heart & soul.  I’m having a hard time not obsessing about this.  We won’t know anything more until Thursday and I’m just trying to get through it as best I can.  I can’t lose my girl.

As if that wasn’t enough, I’m facing a medical scare myself.  (Is it weird that I’m more upset about my dog’s cancer than about my own medical scare?)  I will share what mine is about after I know what I’m dealing with…and after I’ve told my family & friends.  If there’s anything to tell.  It may be nothing.  That’s what I’m praying for. I have to be sure – and because I’m not feeling well, I’m skipping the treadmill today…and probably tomorrow.

There is a little good news in all this, though.  🙂  I’m attending my very first blogger conference this weekend.  I feel like a “big kid” now…sitting at the grown-up’s table. I’m going to have a great time meeting my fellow bloggers and learning how to produce a better blog!  I’m really looking forward to this weekend…and I’m hoping I’ll have good news from the vet and from my doctor so that I can just enjoy my learning experience.

As soon as I plinked those 7 marbles back in the “Pounds to Go” jar, I promised myself I would focus on the road ahead and stop focusing on my big screw-up – so that’s what I’m going to do.  I gained them back.  Okay.  But you know what?  I’ve lost them before.  They should be scared right now…because here I come again.

With a vengeance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have you screwed up?  Put down the pizza and just walk away from it, peeps.  Let’s go.  The only time we really fail is when we stop trying.  Don’t leave me standing on this road all alone. Tell me your story…let me hear from you.  Tell me how you’ve navigated over the setbacks.

Let’s get going…we have work to do.