Tag Archives: diet

Let’s have some geeky FUN!

Battle of the Butt, Tools, , , , , , ,

You non-techy, video game haters are just going to have to trust me…this post really does wind back to my 2013 goal of moving more. Stick with me.

Ever since Mario bounced on that first magic mushroom, I’ve loved video games.  I am a bit of a geek.  Not to the Uber Dork level of Tron Man here, but still a geek.

All hail Tron Man!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ms. Pacman was my first pixelated gal pal. Back in the day when Atari ruled the world, however, video games were for boys…not girls – so it was my little brother who got the Atari for Christmas. (He cried like a pussy when he got it, by the way. I still tease him.) I think I got a sweater or something equally cool that year. Not!

Even when I was all grown up with my own job and everything, I saved up to buy a Nintendo gaming system. I still get a warm and fuzzy feeling whenever I see one of those game controllers. I spent so many hours earning coins and badges and leveling up in so many different games. It was a fun distraction from the drudge of the everyday for me – back in a time when I was overwhelmed by the emotional damage The King had caused.  After working a full time job, taking classes at the local college, and hashing out my problems with a therapist, it was welcome and much needed down time.

Then computer games came out. Technology was starting to compound on itself and there was more and more fun to be had. I still remember playing DOOM on our first home computer. It scared the crap out of me. All the demons and monsters, their guts exploding everywhere. So gross and so terrifying. And then my brother got an addition to it that made the halls of hell look like the ship in the second Aliens movie…and changed the demons to those hideous monsters that terrorized poor Sigourney Weaver. I remember playing late into the night, hunched over our giant computer monitor (some of you will remember when computer monitors weighed 100 pounds and generated enough heat to fry an egg). I would wear headphones so Mom didn’t get upset about the sounds of my awesome alien blaster gun at 1 am, but the problem was I would be so engrossed in what I was doing that I didn’t notice anything else.

So there I was one night, hunched over the computer with my headphones on, slowly walking down the hall of this space ship…looking for aliens on the motion detector. I could hear one breathing close by and it was such a creepy feeling (if you’ve ever seen those movies, you’ll understand). I didn’t even notice my brother’s headlights in the window when he pulled into the driveway and, as I carefully moved my character forward down the hallway, my brother crept into the room…came up behind me…and poked me in the ribs.

JAYZIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I nearly peed all over myself. I definitely screamed. Our mom bolted out of her bedroom yelling at us, but we were already laughing. We apologized profusely, of course…and after the initial scare, I’m sure she had a chuckle on her way back to her bedroom.

More computer games followed after that – even after I got my first apartment. Sure, I went out with my girlfriends and had a social life…but there was always room for pixelated fun…which led to a second, pixelated social life. Back when we were just good friends, Hot Mess Hubby talked me into buying one of the first really great online games: Asheron’s Call. All the other characters running around the make believe world of Dereth were actually other human beings who were sitting at their computers in their homes…doing the same lame shit we were doing: playing a game. I was in awe.  Playing computer games AND chatting with people?  Hell yeah!

Many times you couldn’t get a task done without help, so you would have to team up with other people on the internet to take down a bad guy…and afterwards there would be chat conversations that ensued.

“I’m in California, where are you from?”

“I need the Monkey Island quest, do you? Can you help me later tonight because I have to go to work right now.”

“Oh really? What kind of job do you have?”

I know it probably seems incredibly lame to those of you who would never play such games (and technically you’re right), but I made friendships back in those early days that I treasure even now. Hubby and I have actually met several online friends from that game in person as they’ve visited the DFW area for one reason or another. Do I need to spend any more time convincing you of my geekness? I hope not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gaming is a fun escape for both hubby and me, although I no longer play like I used to. I honor my adult responsibilities first…unlike some people around here. Personally, I find it difficult to relax and enjoy my time if every dish in the house is dirty and the carpet has chunks on it…but that’s just me. Not so much for the hubby.  I once came home from a weekend trip and found him eating soup from the gravy boat while he played on the Playstation, the sink and counters piled high with dishes that were not as important as completing the next mission on Call of Duty.

Don’t get me started.

I also love social media (if you’ve LIKEd my Facebook fan page and you see the crap I put up there every day, you already know this). Foursquare is fun as well because I get coupons and rewards for shopping and eating out…and I earn badges. Oh, I love to earn badges! I have no idea why, but I do. Something in my psyche is hard coded to respond to this kind of meaningless crap. Instead of trying to “fix” it, I’m just going to embrace it.

When Little Big Planet came out for Playstation 3, Hot Mess Hubby would tease me relentlessly because allegedly I had a “dopey smile” on my face every time I played.  (I still insist it’s my “game face” and not just a regular dopey smile.)  I really loved making Sack Boy run and jump through the make believe world of Little Big Planet, earning amazing goodies and prizes as I went through each level. Seriously, that’s what they’re called in Little Big Planet.  Doesn’t that sound like so much fun? Who doesn’t love goodies and prizes?

In yesterday’s blog, I shared with you that 2013 is going to be the year that I move more and tackle my exercise demons. As always, my process involves me doing this my way. I hate gyms, so that’s not an option. In fact, anything that requires me to drive to it…ain’t gonna happen.  I’m too good at talking myself out of it and it’s just not a battle I’m going to fight with myself right now.  I feel confident that things will change later.

Jazzercise and Zumba are also not options for me at this time. I would love to go bike riding, but I fear that any bike I buy will have to come with a discount card to a local proctologist so that I can have the seat removed from my ass when I’m done with my ride for the day. You’re welcome for that mental image, by the way.

I’m going to be creative about my exercise tasks in 2013 – especially in the beginning because mentally I’ll be screaming like a little baby every time I have to bend at the waist. I hate exercise. What I need is something fun and distracting to get me through the beginning until it becomes more of a habit. I need social media. I need to earn pixelated badges that ultimately mean nothing but put a smile on my face nonetheless. I need to level up. I need quests and challenges – especially if I get more badges and trophies for completing them!

Fellow Hot Messes, I present to you….Fitocracy.

Fitocracy is an online social media platform centered around living a fit lifestyle…one in which you level up and earn badges for logging your healthy activities. WHAT??? Badges??? I am there!

I’ve been messing around with it for the past week or so and I have to tell you…it’s cute. And fun. It’s free to sign up and use…so there’s no financial burden. There is a paid membership available with a few extra benefits, but nothing that wow’d my pants off.  (Unlimited work outs to save on your profile, etc.)  At my fitness level, unlimited workouts don’t really concern me.  I’d be ecstatic just making exercise a consistent habit, so let’s not get all fancy just yet.

A word: when you first sign up, Fitocracy takes the liberty of putting you in a few groups and giving you some friends so you’re not all lonely and loser-ish. One of the groups I was put in was for strength training/weight lifting enthusiasts…and when I logged in one day, I saw this comment by someone:

“Lost weight over the holiday…totally not happy about that, but what can I do?”

Yeah, I left that group with a quickness. I need to be around people I can relate to.  But if they don’t hook you up with anyone, your “wall” is going to be blank…so they’re trying to help and I give them props for that. Click around and see what you like or don’t like…leave groups you’re not interested in and join the ones that tickle your fancy.

One of the coolest features? I was able to create a group for us!!! Hot Mess Princess fans UNITE!!!  But first you have to sign up for your free account. If you can, please use the link below to join because guess what? I get a special badge for that! I also get a free month of Fitocracy “Hero”, which is their paid version…but honestly, I don’t see that it would be of much use to me. I just want the eff’in badge. Seriously. If you don’t want to click my link, then I’ll forgive you…and I still hope you come and play with us.

Here’s the link I would like you to click when you’re ready to join:  Fitocracy

Clicking that link and joining will get me a fabulous HERO badge.  Do it, do it!

Once you’re signed up then go ahead and join the Hot Mess Princess group here:  Hot Mess Princess Blog Fans

Once you’re all done, comment here with your user name so that the friend requests can start flying. My user name is, of course, HotMessPrincess.  No spaces.

Members can start duels with each other and we can have group challenges.  This actually sounds fun to me…and I hope it sounds fun to you.  I’m really looking forward to using Fitocracy to motivate myself AND you to move more. I hope this turns out to be as much fun as it seems! Come play with me!!

Now…want to see what a Fitbit is like? Watch for tomorrow’s post. I bought mine today and I’m test driving it now!  So far, I’ve climbed the world’s tallest pencil.

I’ll explain tomorrow.

The picture below is a little something sweet to end my geek sermon with…back before Hot Mess Hubby and I were married, he gave this item to me in the first game we ever played together.  It was a time in his life when he was wondering whether he should stop procrastinating and just ask me out.  One of his rare romantic moments.  Sometimes pixelated moments are precious too.

Hubby’s character was named Deadhead. He’s not extremely creative, but he can be very sweet.

2013: The Year of Moving More

Battle of the Butt, Milestones, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Last year at this time, I was strutting around my living room like Mick Jagger’s fat sister…adamantly proclaiming that 2012 was going to be my year. Take no prisoners, batten down the hatches, I was going to forge through 2012 and make it my bitch.

I feel like I did that, but not in the “In yo face, chump!” way I thought I would. Sometimes when I get very excited I turn into Richard Simmons…and that shit’s not good for anybody. Then I calm down and remember that I’m just me: a former snack cake guzzler who has seen the light.

2012 was my year. (I have a whole “2012 was awesome” post coming on New Year’s Eve. Sort of a snarky retrospective on all things Hot Mess. You’re welcome.) It was the year that I created a bunch of motivational tools to help me hit my goals. It was the year that I realized this is a war of tiny battles…and that if I just focus on the little steps and map out a plan for myself, I can get there from here. And it was the first year that I have ever lost weight (45 pounds) and kept it off. Ever.

True enough, a year ago I imagined that I would plow through the year at full speed and kick major scale ass for the entire year. I imagined celebrating 100 pounds lost sometime around the end of the summer, victoriously donating box after box after box of fat pants to the Goodwill. That did not happen. I hit a plateau on the scale and then I hit a plateau in my brain. I had to fight the urge to take my frustrations out on Twinkies. I won that fight (sorry about that whole bankruptcy thing, Hostess, but I’ve moved on). In fact, Little Debbie is probably getting her affairs in order as well…because I have successfully avoided Nutty Bars for a year. Take that, you little bitch!

2012 was the year I kicked my food demons in the ass. Looking back at it now, I can clearly see that was the lesson I was supposed to learn this year: finally getting control over my food demons. I feel good about it. I feel victorious. And sure, there are a lot of fatty haters out there who would say I’ve failed because I didn’t keep losing…and I don’t care about them. This is not their life and it’s not their process. In over 20 years of being obese I have ended every year weighing more than I did at the start of the year. I have never lost weight and kept it off. I will proudly stand on top of my plus sized mountain and proclaim victory for losing 45 pounds and not gaining it back. I’ve earned that right.

Another victory to celebrate is the fact that my outlook on food has significantly changed. Even when I’m famished, steering my car towards a drive-thru is not an option for me. I don’t even consider it. I’m done with fast food. There have been a few times when I’ve been out with the hubby and we’ve stopped for fast food because that’s what he wanted. He would catch me making a face every time and I’d just shake my head and explain that it doesn’t taste like I remember it. At all. Fast food tastes terrible to me now. And sugar? A little sugar goes a long way with me. We went out to dinner the other night and our waiter asked if we would like dessert. I immediately said “Oh, no thank you…I’m full!” After he left, hubby smiled at me and said “You’ve changed so much, babe. You used to always get dessert no matter what. I’m proud of you for how well you’ve done this year.” There’s nothing like someone you love being proud of you. Nothing.

He’s right, too: whenever we went out to dinner before I got on a healthier road, my heart would race just looking at the dessert menu. If the waiter brought the check and didn’t ask us if we’d like dessert, I was downright pissed.

“Are you trying to say that you think I’ve had enough dessert, Mr. Waiter? Is that it? Because I’ll tell you what: I haven’t! I’d like to pack a few more asses into these here fat pants, Mister, so get your skinny ass into that kitchen and bring me some mud pie!”

Yeah. I’ve changed.

So what about 2013? It’s nearly upon us. Is 2013 going to be the year that I celebrate 100 pounds lost? Oooh! Maybe I’ll lose 150!!! Or maybe I’ll even get to my entire goal of 219 pounds lost by next year! OMG yes! And I’ll do it all by drinking organic smoothies and eating nuts I find in the yard.

Okay, seriously. No.

My 2013 is going to be about moving more. Part of me cringes every time I say it, but it’s true. 2013 is going to be about me moving more. A lot more. Why am I cringing? Because I fucking hate exercise. I hate it!!! That’s something else 2012 taught me – but unlike all the positive results and wonderful lessons I learned in 2012, I know that my attitude towards exercise is unhealthy…so it’s time for me to do something about it. If you’d like a mental image of what that’s going to be like, imagine being shoved into a tiny cage with an angry badger while someone pokes said badger with a very sharp stick. There will be a lot of screaming and probably a lot of bleeding, but I’ll get through it. I will tame the badger.

When it comes to my goal of moving more, 2012 taught me that my treadmill is a wonderful convenience that gets boring if I don’t mix it up. I learned that doing dance and exercise games on our Playstation 3 makes me feel like the 9 year old little girl who didn’t measure up at the dance studio. It brings a lot of issues up for me that need to rest in peace, so I’m not likely to do that kind of exercise for a while. I love dancing, I just need less junk in my trunk when I get down with the funk. And I learned that the task of bringing exercise back into my life is going to require a lot of careful thought, some trial and error, and a high level of motivation from a lot of different sources. One of those sources is electronic gadgetry. 

In addition to being a handbag ho, I’m also a gadget geek and a bit of a gamer. So, in these last few days before 2013 is upon us, I’ve decided to buy myself a Fit Bit activity tracker. I’ve heard tons of good reviews from many of you here on the blog and on my Facebook fan page. Tomorrow is payday and I’m going for it.


Fitbit One Wireless Activity Plus Sleep Tracker, Black

Why Fit Bit? Well, I had a BodyBug once. I saw the contestants on the Biggest Loser using them (back when I used to watch) and I loved the idea of having real time data telling me whether I was moving enough in order to hit my calorie deficit each day. I actually bought one and I loved it. I miss that. What sucks about the BodyBug is that it comes with a monthly fee for their online service…and we don’t need another monthly expense in the Hot Mess Household. No way. Fit Bit doesn’t require a monthly fee.

If you’ve never heard of these gadgets before, I encourage you to get all Google-y and check it out. You strap these little gadgets to yourself (they’re small enough to conceal) and they tell you how much you’re moving and how well you’re doing in relation to the goals you’ve set for yourself. I’ll give you a real world example to compare this to: a shitty job I had a long time ago.

I had a boss who was a complete jackass…and every month he would call me to his office for our “one on one” meeting. Every month he would tell me that I didn’t hit my productivity goal. He would make suggestions like “work faster” or “don’t take a break every day”. You know…douchebag advice. He was a real piece of work. And every month I would work really hard, trying to get to my productivity goal, and every month I would fail.

Then he went off to do something else (I think they actually created a douche bag department and put him in charge) and I got a new boss. In our first meeting together, my new boss asked me how I was monitoring my productivity. I explained to him that I had no tools to do that. Douche bag boss would not allow us to even use the printer that all the reports came off of, nor would he allow us access to print any…or even know what was available. New boss says to me, “Well, how are you supposed to hit a monthly productivity goal if you can’t tell how you’re doing during the month? Would it help you to have access to that information sooner so that you can make changes accordingly?”

Hell yes!

New boss gave me access to the reports, explained to me what kind of reports I could run, gave me some suggestions about what to look for, and set me loose. I hit my productivity goal well before the month was over. By the end of the year, I had increased my productivity so much that they didn’t hire a replacement for my co-worker when she transferred to another department.

The lesson here? Information and the right tools are more valuable than cigarettes in prison, peeps. The thing I loved most about my BodyBug (and hope to love about my Fit Bit) is that it will give me real time info so that I don’t have to wait to get on the scale to find out I wasn’t trying hard enough. If you’re still shaking your head at me, don’t worry…I’ll be blogging a lot about this over the next several weeks and you’ll get to see it in action. I promise.

Tomorrow we’re going to talk about another cool tool…one that I hope you’ll join me on. It’s free and I’m enjoying it so far. I have a Hot Mess Princess group all set up for us, which I’ll tell you all about in tomorrow’s post. Maybe if enough of us are having fun, I won’t be so grumpy about having to move below the waist.

I’ll be posting pics here and on my Facebook fan page as I go along.

See y’all tomorrow…

 

 

Don’t be a sheep

Attitude Adjustment, Battle of the Butt, Motivation, , , , , , , , , , ,

Just a note: at first, this is going to seem like a lot of whining about the mechanics of writing a blog and the politics of being married to a man who is occasionally right…but trust me, I have a point…and it’s a good one. You may proceed with reading about the amazing realization I had last night…

I started having one of my “famous meltdowns” last night. They usually start with me staring at the wall with a far off look in my eyes…and when hubby asks me what’s wrong, my usual reply is “I’m so overwhelmed….”  And then I launch into a near hysterical venting session in which he’s tasked with calming me down while successfully managing to not roll his eyes at any of the bat shit crazy crap that comes out of my yap. For the record, he (once again) talked me down off the mental ledge I had put myself on and all is well.

I’ve known married couples who were so alike they were scary, but that’s not the case with the hubs and I. We are polar opposites. I’m very talky, very animated, very silly and snarky…and always doing something. He’s very untalky (it’s a totally a word, trust me), very calm/almost dead, with a touch of sarcasm and is quite talented at the art of making an ass print in his chair. We compliment each other perfectly. He calms me down, I rev him up – unless there’s a crisis, then it’s reversed. For example, when our neighbor “Mr. Underpants” loaned his car to his elderly mother and she crashed it into hubby’s truck so hard that she pushed it through our garage door…I was the calm that kept hubby together. He even told me so when we went back inside after it was over. Then I got all excited because he was so sweet to say that…and was bouncing around and hugging him and being silly…and then he had to calm me down. What can I say…

Whenever I have an extended weekend looming close, my head fills with plans and I start to schedule every minute of every day so that I can feel like I truly accomplished something. My “to do” lists are a mile long. I have one for organizing the house and another for this blog. Last night, they were both freaking me out – but when the hubby asked me what was wrong I jumped into bloggy things first. See, I went to my first ever blogger’s conference last September and I came home with a list of things to do that was four pages long. Since then, I’ve been trying to get control over everything I’ve been told I should be doing and I just can’t seem to get a grip on it.

The blogger’s conference was hella fun, but there was quite a bit of it that was geared towards “Mommy bloggers” and crafting bloggers, coupon sites, and travel related blogs. All of those folks run their blogs for money. Only two of us were blogging our way through a huge weight loss goal – and I never even met the other weight loss blogger.

In fact, I sort of fell into this whole blogging thing ass-backwards. Sorry, asses-backwards. There are things that seasoned, professional bloggers know…like SEO and page ranking. They do HTML coding on their blogs, have editorial calendars for their content, and manage all their social media. They know how to read analytics reports that tell them how much traffic they’re getting. I can barely read my electric bill. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Matt the Webmaster Ninja, this blog would have a solid white background with black type on it and maybe a picture of my dogs…because that shit’s just cute. But now Matt has moved on and is no longer managing the HTML-analytical-hoogy-doogy crazy shit that keeps all this together…and I’m left feeling like a big fat muggle at Hogwart’s.

So there I was, venting frantically to the hubby about HTML and Facebook “likes” and editorial calendars when he has the balls to look right at me and say “Why do you need an editorial calendar? Stop treating your blog like it’s a business. You’re doing this for you.”

That moment when you’re passionately whining about something you know you’re absolutely 100% right about…and then someone pulls your entire argument out from under you and beats you on the head with it? Yeah…there it was.

I sat there for a minute, feeling my meltdown washing away and wondering what to do about it…kind of like the first time I took Ambien and I was torn between going to bed and eating all the dry soup mix in the pantry. It’s confusing and terrifying, but if you sit still long enough the right path becomes clear.

This all started from that blogger’s conference – which was a day well spent, to be sure – however, since then I’ve snapped back into the role of a brainless little sheep and that’s not who I want to be. Once I realized that, the light bulbs really started to go back on…and I think I terrified the hubs a little bit with the wide-eyed expression on my face.

“Are you okay or do you have to fart? I can’t tell…”

He’s charming, isn’t he?

I didn’t have to fart…I was having a major epiphany. I was thinking about the fact that I was 13 years old when my Mom put me on my first diet because The King said I was fat. It was the Scarsdale Diet, I remember…and back then, a healthy diet dinner consisted of a hamburger patty, a few slices of tomato, and a big plop of cottage cheese. Yep. Healthy, huh?

It launched me into a loop of dieting and binging that lasted over 20 years. Scarsdale, Atkins, South Beach, Yogurt, Milkshake diets. Phen Fen, Meridia, Prozac, 5-HTP…I tried everything. I ran with all the other sheep. Every time the diet industry announced another “solution” to my fat problem, I lined up with the rest of the sheep and handed over my money…and failed. Just like all the other sheep.

Baaah! BAAAAAAH!!

Let’s get jiggy with individuality!

When I finally decided I’d had enough of listening to people who were making money off of me and capitalizing on my failures, I realized that I had to stop being a sheep. I had to be diligent and spend some time on myself. I had to find out what really works for me long term…and then do it. That’s what this past year has been about: finding real, sustainable change that doesn’t come from a special diet, a magic pill, or surgery. The result? I’ve lost 45 pounds and kept it off for an entire year. I have never kept weight off for this long. Ever. This Princess is on the right track. Finally.

As much as it pains me to admit when he’s right during one of my meltdowns, the hubs was dead on this time. When he asked me why I needed an editorial calendar, I’m ashamed to say that my reply was “Because they said so…” At the blogger’s conference. They said I should have one and, because I have no real idea what I’m doing, I jumped into my sheep suit and ran with the other sheep…never thinking for a minute that editorial calendars make a lot of sense for the mommy and craft bloggers out there and not a lot of sense for me. I’m blogging about a very real, very personal experience. You can’t schedule that shit.

My point? The sheep mentality is dangerous. Don’t let other people make important decisions for you. Don’t follow any plan without examining every detail first and figuring out whether it actually works for YOU or not. And don’t let your husband know he’s right too much or there’ll be hell to pay. Trust me – every time I try to argue a point for the next few months, he’s going to resurrect that moment last night when I realized he was right. Bastard. In fact, as I was spewing out the “Oh my God, you’re right!” of it all last night and he sat there with a self-satisfied smile on his face he had another brilliant idea.

“You know what, babe? This is a blog post right here…what we’re talking about…what you’re realizing.”

Oh shut up already! (He says you’re welcome, by the way…for suggesting that I write about this.) I was tempted to post his cell phone number so that y’all could personally thank him…but I won’t. This time.

We are a perfect match. Total opposites, meant to be. He’s a keeper. Sure, he doesn’t understand that taking out the trash is a two step process…but that just means he’s not perfect.

Step one: take out the trash.
Step two: put a new bag in the fucking trash can…how hard is it!!!

I’m sorry, I was talking about the wonder of marriage and my amazing realization. Yes. Marriage is full of wonder. And also remember not to be a sheep. Finding your own way is the most rewarding thing you can do in the process of embarcing a healthier lifestyle. You only have to answer to yourself. And maybe your doctor. And possibly a spouse who gets a little too happy when you’re wrong and risks getting kicked in the man-snatch.

Perhaps I should put a protective cup in the hubby’s stocking this year. He might need it.

I think I’m being punked…

Battle of the Butt, Motivation, , , , , , , , , , ,

I meant to write a blog post about my big anniversary this past week…one that was chock full of the wordly wisdom I’ve earned over the past year…but that just didn’t happen.  Instead, I had to settle for proudly proclaiming the news on my Facebook fan page last Sunday:  it’s been a year since I gave up sugar.  Go, me!

When we had out of town visitors last week, I brought one of my all time weaknesses into the house:  Blue Bell ice cream.  It’s a southern thing, trust me.  After the pecan pie was served and the goodbyes were said, there was still ice cream in my freezer.  Talking to me.  Whispering to me at night.  I’ve been tempted a few times, but honestly I’ve really enjoyed seeing that container in my freezer every day…knowing that I haven’t indulged in it.  Feeling stronger every day I resist it.

The Gods of Christmas Fudge and Holiday Treats are not amused with my resolve.  Now I’m being tested.  Or punked.  I can’t decide which.

On any normal day, I can resist the occasional sugar temptation just fine – but the 7 Dwarfs of the Menstrual Apocalypse are on me.  I’m crampy, I’m bloated, I’m bitchy…and I’m vulnerable.  I know it’s hard to imagine that I don’t always have all my shit together (especially with a name like Hot Mess Princess), but I’m not perfect…and during the week when Mother Nature is dumping all her anger on me, anything can happen.

Today, my boss brought me a large box of chocolates as a Christmas gift.  Oh, wait…sorry.  I work in a corporate office.  It was a HOLIDAY gift.  (insert eye roll here).  Don’t get me started on the whole happy holidays thing.  Except this:  if you wish me a Happy Hanukkah, I will smile and say thank you.  I’m not Jewish.  I understand it for the sentiment that it is.  I’m not offended because I don’t celebrate Hanukkah. So, by all means, feel free to wish me a Merry Christmas because that’s the shit I celebrate!!!  And happy Festivus to you as well.

Anyway…the giant box o’ hell was meant as a thank you for all the work I’ve done during the hellish re-org my company has gone through and that’s exactly how I took it.  I’m grateful for the gesture.  This isn’t about complaining about someone giving me a gift.  This is just me wondering aloud to the universe…WTF!

Seriously!! Men, you may want to close your eyes and scroll down a few lines.  Fair warning.  I’m a fat girl who’s given up sugar and is on her period…and someone walks up and hands me a half pound box of chocolate???  Hey, universe!!!  Cut me some frigg’in slack!!!!

After my boss left I turned back to my computer and made a grumpy face for a few minutes.  I felt tempted.  I felt guilty.  You know…because I’m not a tall, leggy super model who can eat pizza rolls all day and still lose weight.  I carry a large burden on these pale freckled shoulders, my friends.

And then I felt it:  a part of me that I love dearly…and I never say shit like that, but this is part of the new me that’s grown over the past year.  It welled up inside me and flooded my head and my heart with 100% bad-ass determination.  I looked at that box of chocolates…and I smiled.  Kind of a cool, “bring it” Clint Eastwood smile.  And I knew.  I knew I wasn’t going to open that box for all the cramps in the universe. I knew it and I felt it.  Up yours, box o’ chocolates!  My inner badass was loose.  I love her!

Then I got home and found this on the porch:

The Anti-BadAss Fairy is knock’in at my door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swiss Fuck’in Colony.

My mother-in-law, bless her heart, sends us treats from Swiss Colony every year.  Two years ago I had lost some weight and asked her not to send me anything and, to her credit, she didn’t.  Of course, I gained it all back the following year and therefore didn’t give a shit when she went me a box of coconut petit fours and a huge tin of chocolate covered butter toffee last year.  In fact, making myself sick on that butter toffee was what prompted me to walk away from sugar for good.

I sort of assumed she would know not to send me anything this year, given the fact that she’s seen all the positive change going on here at Casa de Hot Mess.  It appears I was mistaken.  Four boxes:  two for hubby, two for me.  After facing down a box of chocolates today, I decided that I had the balls to open my boxes and see exactly what I was dealing with.  Coconut petit fours and coconut fudge.  (Are you sensing a theme?  Yeah…I love coconut.)

My first instinct was to open up both boxes and toss the goodies directly into the trash.  Yes, I know it’s wasteful – but I would rather immediately remove all temptation than risk what I have painstakingly earned over the past year.  Just the sight of those boxes sent me whirling into a flashback and I remembered vividly the absolute loss of control I had last year as I stood in my kitchen, eating chocolate covered butter toffee like potato chips.  One…after another…after another…until I was sick.  I never ever want to go back there.

And then I felt it again:  my inner badass rising up.  It swelled in my heart and filled me up…and suddenly those boxes were just boxes.  Fuck yeah.

These boxes can’t hurt me because the girl who stood in my kitchen a year ago is no longer calling the shots.  She’s been made weak and feeble by a year of healthy eating.  In fact, she’s almost gone.  I’d love to say she’s completely gone, but the little bitch still keeps me off the treadmill consistently.  For now.

These sugary treats can’t hurt me.  Only my behavior can hurt me.  A year ago, I would have already been halfway through the petit fours.  That’s no small thing.

I never say this, but I’m proud.  I’m proud of myself and all that I’ve done this year.  The results of all my hard work this year don’t show as much on the outside (or on the scale) as much as I would like, but I know that’s coming.  Today I’ve really connected with the fact that I have plenty to be thankful for and proud of.

Tonight I’ll go to sleep with a big fat smile on my face and a heart full of pride.  I have changed.  I continue to change.  I am a force to be reckoned with…and the growing pile of unopened temptation on my kitchen counter says so.  I’m going to let it sit there for a while.  My own tribute to my inner badass.  Alive, well, and growing stronger every day.

Thank you all for your amazing support this year.  I’m so glad you’re here.

Merry Christmas.  🙂

 

Dear Santa…just skip my house this year, m’kay?

General Hoo-Hah, , , , , ,

I’m sorry I haven’t been extremely bloggy lately and, judging from the quiet messages I’m getting from some of you (which I’m grateful for), I feel like I should poke my head up long enough to assure y’all that I’m doing just fine. I promise you that the recent declaration of bankruptcy by Hostess, the makers of the Twinkie, did not send me over the edge. You can send the producers from Hoarders on over if you like…you’ll find no partially-hydrogenated stockpile here.

The truth is that I’m busy with holiday hoo-hah, including overnight guests and socializing with friends (which includes forcing Hot Mess Hubby to socialize as well…always a good time). As we get further into December, I’m freshly reminded of the absolute Hot Mess I was this time last year…how much I’ve grown…and how far I’ve come. I have a sort of funky, new-found pride about it. I’m proud, but this feeling is new to me and I resist allowing myself to celebrate the victory that 2012 has been for me. I’ll touch more on that later (probably tomorrow, actually).

Today is about Santa. The nine year old who still lives in my heart absolutely loves Santa. I admit, even though Hot Mess Hubby and I were not blessed with children of our own, I watch NORAD’s Santa tracker on Christmas Eve with all the thrill and wonderment I had back in the days of footed jammies and hot cocoa before bed. I love this time of year.

As an adult, however, I also have to deal with all the grown-up chores that my chronological age has saddled me with – leaving precious little time for believing in jolly fat men and flying reindeer. Hot Mess Hubby and I don’t buy each other lots of presents at Christmas time. It isn’t because we don’t care or we don’t love each other…we’re just the kind of people who don’t wait for a special occasion to give each other presents. For example, he’s been absolutely drooling over some grilling/smoking monstrosity that’s supposed to be particularly badass and he bought it for himself. We were also recently able to replace the hideous piece of crap refrigerator we had for a brand new shiny one. As far as we’re concerned, we don’t need anything else right now. Except for stocking stuffers…because some Christmas traditions should never be messed with. Ever.

Me & Santa. This encounter lasted exactly 12 seconds before I started wailing like a banshee and peed in his lap. That shit happened.

I have a special place in my heart for stocking stuffers. When my brother and I were little, we would wake up super early on Christmas morning and sit at the edge of the hallway and stare at all the presents while we waited for the rest of the family to wake up. It was torturous to wait, but we sat there like the good kids we were and we whispered to each other about what we thought was in all those packages. Santa never wrapped his gifts, so of course we drooled over the site of new toys we couldn’t touch yet. New bikes…a new doll for me…or, one year in particular, a brand new Millennium Falcon for my brother. He nearly cried.

Then everything would happen so quickly. Our family would wake up…one of our older siblings would play Santa and pass out the presents while we all took turns opening them. It was always so wonderful and always over so quickly. By late morning, our home was filled with the smells of Mom in the kitchen making Christmas dinner. We would sit around the living room watching tv and playing with our new toys…and just as I would begin to really feel sorry that it was over till next year, something would make me look up towards the fireplace. The stockings!!!! We have to look in our stockings!!!!!

Those stockings were always like having a little bonus surprise after all the hoopla was over (like we needed a bonus). I was always overjoyed when I realized we weren’t quite done yet – and even when I got into my teenage years and it was no longer cool for me to believe in Santa, I was never too cool to turn my nose up at the fun of a loaded Christmas stocking. (For the record, I was 100% the opposite of cool.)

Me and my little bro demonstrating the amazing Stretch Armstrong. That’s not a really big maxi-pad on my leg…I had a quack of a doctor tell me I had some weird growing disease so I had to lurch around in that thing for 6 months because, ya know, my teenage years weren’t frightening enough.

That’s why I have such a special place in my heart for Christmas stockings…and that’s why, even now, I insist that the hubby and I fill each other’s stockings up with little trinkets and baubles…and no candy in mine, thank you. Why poke a dragon with a sharp stick, ya know?

This year has been all about healthy changes for me and, as such, I have seen an awful lot of crazy shit out there. Crazy shit that’s manufactured in the name of health, fitness, or just look’in goooood. Unless it’s jewelry, Hot Mess Hubby’s not extremely talented at gift giving – and we can’t afford jewelry. I’d kill him. He knows not to put any candy in my stocking…and my stocking is too small to fit a Dooney & Bourke in…so I run the risk of getting some absolutely nightmarish gadget in my stocking. I’m a little scared.

Here are a few of my least favorites.

Wonder Sauna Hot Pants!  For those days when I don’t feel like I’m quite blown up enough:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This puts the pole in North Pole, baby:

Okay, I know it’s the latest fitness craze but I just can’t see it that way. I’m all for sex’in it up for my man, but I have to draw the line at rubbing Crisco on my ass and gett’in jiggy by wrapping my tree trunk legs around a tiny little pole. Unless they make them in titanium and it comes with a free 5 gallon drum of margaritas.

The Sauna Suit.

Ooh! One size fits all! Really? I’m pretty much think’in if I shove myself in those plastic pantaloons my ass is bust’in out the back like a jumbo pizza box rips through a dollar store trash bag. Pretty damn quick.

The waist trimmer.

I’m pretty sure I’d need two or three of these suckers velcro’d together to cover me. Really, it’s just going make all my extra bits and pieces squeeze out so that I look like a giant chubby hourglass. No thanks. I prefer that my body shrinks proportionately. 🙂

Booty Pop panties. For when your ass isn’t big enough. I have literally never had this problem.

 

Diet Books.

 

No. Just no. This is where all our crazy shit starts. Well, first it starts with a donut…or a pizza…but it always comes around to some diet book that we’re going to follow and get thin. And it never happens. Why? Because what works for some will not work for others and we have to stop attacking this problem with a cookie cutter mentality. Find what works for you. YOU. Don’t listen to all these people (who are making money off our inability to lose weight, by the way). Don’t listen. Find your own path.

So yeah, Santa…please don’t bless my house with your sack (snicker) if you’re pack’in any of this hoo-hah. I’m enough of a Hot Mess without it. Instead of a plus sized titanium pole or a pair of undies that makes my booty pop, I’ll settle for peace on Earth and goodwill for all mankind. If you could pull that out of your sleigh, I’d surely appreciate it.