I've never been one of those girls who worries and panics about her weight. In fact, I used to make fun of girls like that.
But I just landed in Los Angeles and even though I'm still in my flight clothes, I can feel the self consciousness creeping in.
It's been a while since I was last on here, and a lot has changed. I won't get into all of it, but it's been enough to stop my workouts and subsequent weight loss.
Laying on this hotel bed, where there's a scale just inside the front door, I'm reminded of just what I was doing it all for: me.
I started saying things like "I don't have time to run today" and instead of making the time I just went on with my day.
And yeah, it's always packed full of things to do, but I'm back to being the heaviest I've ever been in my life.
I'm tired of this yo-yo crap. I need to make a lifestyle change if I ever want to get anything accomplished.
Damn does that depress me.
28 May 2011
04 March 2011
Rotten to the core
My sister has moved her wedding date.
There is no longer a rush for me to fit into a tiny sheath of a dress, at least not for another 10 months, but I have a gym membership, and I might as well use it.
I met a friend at the gym yesterday, and she and I worked her circuit together: 30 minutes on the Tredmill (because running on an elliptical actually weakens your core muscles), 30 minutes on a bike climbing Mt. Kilamanjaro, then 30 minutes doing various weight training.
Today I met up with her again and hit the Tredmill, but skipped the rest of the workout in favor of a class called Bikini Bootcamp - otherwise known as Kickboxing from Hell.
I am Sore, emphasis on the capital S. My quads are screaming at me, and every time I attempt to lower myself into a seat I give up a quarter of the way down and just fall.
There's also an inevitable groan.
I know these are just the twinges of a new workout, but damn.
But I like the change. My other workout was getting boring, and at least now I can watch a pre-season Sox game while I run on that blasted machine for 30 damn minutes.
What kills me the most is that in a gym, on a machine, I'm excellent. I run a decent mile and I don't feel the need to stop.
On a trail, however, it feels like every four feet I need to stop and catch my breath.
I did find my new favorite machine, though I suppose it isn't so much a machine as it is a padded piece of metal.
It's a piece that allows you to drape over it, almost like an immersion table for your back. You hook your feet in the bottom and bend at the waist over the edge, allowing your back to stretch out. It's also perfect for doing upside-down crunches, and if you have a medicine ball handy, the workout really burns your core muscles.
(My core muscles suck. If I were ever asked to perform a sobriety test I would fail it -- not because I'd be drunk, but simply because my core muscles are so weak I can't walk a straight line.
It's a rotten core.)
What's awesome is that it burns those muscles above your ovaries, too, so the stronger you make them the less likely they are to cramp during your less-than-favorite time of the month.
It's my newest favorite thing to do at the gym, and it burns and it sucks, but at the end I feel like I've attacked a love handle/spare tire with some serious devotion and any previous workout almost doesn't compare.
I highly suggest adding it to your workout regimen.
xo
There is no longer a rush for me to fit into a tiny sheath of a dress, at least not for another 10 months, but I have a gym membership, and I might as well use it.
I met a friend at the gym yesterday, and she and I worked her circuit together: 30 minutes on the Tredmill (because running on an elliptical actually weakens your core muscles), 30 minutes on a bike climbing Mt. Kilamanjaro, then 30 minutes doing various weight training.
Today I met up with her again and hit the Tredmill, but skipped the rest of the workout in favor of a class called Bikini Bootcamp - otherwise known as Kickboxing from Hell.
I am Sore, emphasis on the capital S. My quads are screaming at me, and every time I attempt to lower myself into a seat I give up a quarter of the way down and just fall.
There's also an inevitable groan.
I know these are just the twinges of a new workout, but damn.
But I like the change. My other workout was getting boring, and at least now I can watch a pre-season Sox game while I run on that blasted machine for 30 damn minutes.
What kills me the most is that in a gym, on a machine, I'm excellent. I run a decent mile and I don't feel the need to stop.
On a trail, however, it feels like every four feet I need to stop and catch my breath.
I did find my new favorite machine, though I suppose it isn't so much a machine as it is a padded piece of metal.
It's a piece that allows you to drape over it, almost like an immersion table for your back. You hook your feet in the bottom and bend at the waist over the edge, allowing your back to stretch out. It's also perfect for doing upside-down crunches, and if you have a medicine ball handy, the workout really burns your core muscles.
(My core muscles suck. If I were ever asked to perform a sobriety test I would fail it -- not because I'd be drunk, but simply because my core muscles are so weak I can't walk a straight line.
It's a rotten core.)
What's awesome is that it burns those muscles above your ovaries, too, so the stronger you make them the less likely they are to cramp during your less-than-favorite time of the month.
It's my newest favorite thing to do at the gym, and it burns and it sucks, but at the end I feel like I've attacked a love handle/spare tire with some serious devotion and any previous workout almost doesn't compare.
I highly suggest adding it to your workout regimen.
•••
In other news, my gal pal Jen is joining a gym near her home and is planning on picking up a schedule that will allow her to work off some of the stress from work.
This girl has not only a highly stressful job, but also a highly stressful commute, so having a release for that tension is not only something she needs to relax, it's also something she needs to get back to herself.
So here's a shout out to my peep and a note of confidence for her - I'm proud of you for taking this step and have utter and complete faith in you.xo
22 February 2011
Drop it like it's hot
If you're female, you understand what kind of havoc a date will wreak on your brain and your body. If it's one you really want to end well, usually you don't eat for four days beforehand, you have to slap yourself out of daydreams a few times an hour and you're constantly figuring out ways to check if you've got something in your teeth without yanking out your hand mirror.
But, if that date goes well, suddenly your entire eating habits change, mostly because you're so happy there's no need to eat more than necessary. Food becomes fuel, not a source of comfort for your lonely, pitiful life.
The last time I started dating somoene I dropped 10 pounds just from worrying about stupid things, like eating in front of him. (It's me at my most nerve-wracked.)
But then you're there and he's not a prince. He's just a guy, and you have to remind yourself that you've handled foreign countries single-handedly; he's just a guy. You've got this.
And then WHAM! The next day you're back to being a bottomless pit.
The good part about my situation is that not only did Date 1 go well, but the day after is gym day. So no matter how much I want him to text me today, at the end of the workday I get to throw on skin-tight pants and hit the proverbial pavement to keep my mind off my phone.
The bad part is that I have to wait until this weekend to see him again, and in between now and then I have to appear aloof, and undecided, because a woman who knows what she wants simply isn't done.
And no, that's not bad grammar.
I know how foolish that is; I know I shouldn't do it, but I'm a little ruined on relationship-instinct, thanks to one giant douchebag.
In any case, I went to buy a new pair of jeans for this date, mainly because "the pair" are old and need a belt cinched 5 holes to stay up. I got to the store, tried on a slew and had to go back to the racks because the ones I tried on were all too big.
Yes, there's still a big, shit-eating grin on my face.
(I never understood that description. Why smile while you're eating shit? Why eat shit?)
I ended up buying a pair of jeans TWO sizes smaller than my normal!
I think it's partly weight loss and partly finding a designer who sizes a tad larger than most. But in any case my svelte ass is now encased in a pair of 8s that I haven't taken off since I bought them.
I started going the gym mainly for my sister's wedding, but also, I think, because I knew it was my time. My time to date and to buy smaller jeans for those dates.
I said I wouldn't use a scale, and I still haven't stepped on one yet.
But seeing results in the form of smaller pants is the best reward for my success.
That, and Date No. 2.
 |
| "Do I have something in my teeth?" |
The last time I started dating somoene I dropped 10 pounds just from worrying about stupid things, like eating in front of him. (It's me at my most nerve-wracked.)
But then you're there and he's not a prince. He's just a guy, and you have to remind yourself that you've handled foreign countries single-handedly; he's just a guy. You've got this.
 |
| I look good with long hair. |
The good part about my situation is that not only did Date 1 go well, but the day after is gym day. So no matter how much I want him to text me today, at the end of the workday I get to throw on skin-tight pants and hit the proverbial pavement to keep my mind off my phone.
The bad part is that I have to wait until this weekend to see him again, and in between now and then I have to appear aloof, and undecided, because a woman who knows what she wants simply isn't done.
And no, that's not bad grammar.
I know how foolish that is; I know I shouldn't do it, but I'm a little ruined on relationship-instinct, thanks to one giant douchebag.
In any case, I went to buy a new pair of jeans for this date, mainly because "the pair" are old and need a belt cinched 5 holes to stay up. I got to the store, tried on a slew and had to go back to the racks because the ones I tried on were all too big.
Yes, there's still a big, shit-eating grin on my face.
(I never understood that description. Why smile while you're eating shit? Why eat shit?)
I ended up buying a pair of jeans TWO sizes smaller than my normal!
I think it's partly weight loss and partly finding a designer who sizes a tad larger than most. But in any case my svelte ass is now encased in a pair of 8s that I haven't taken off since I bought them.
I started going the gym mainly for my sister's wedding, but also, I think, because I knew it was my time. My time to date and to buy smaller jeans for those dates.
I said I wouldn't use a scale, and I still haven't stepped on one yet.
But seeing results in the form of smaller pants is the best reward for my success.
That, and Date No. 2.
17 February 2011
Ice Ice Baby
I was reading a Shape magazine earlier today and found out an interesting fact: Ice water is actually a negative calorie drink, which means when you drink it your body actually burns calories.
Our bodies can't do anything with cold water - all of our functions require the water to be warm. Which is why they tell you to drink tea when your stomach is upset - because your body doesn't need to do any work to make the water ready, which gets your tired system the liquids it needs to feel better.
But we actually need to heat up ice water, so drinking a tall, cool glass of water (hello Josh Holloway) actually helps you lose weight.
Yeah, I'd have no problem adding a little Holloway to my exercise program.
$10 says I'll look at this post about 15 times today. Le sigh.
Our bodies can't do anything with cold water - all of our functions require the water to be warm. Which is why they tell you to drink tea when your stomach is upset - because your body doesn't need to do any work to make the water ready, which gets your tired system the liquids it needs to feel better.
But we actually need to heat up ice water, so drinking a tall, cool glass of water (hello Josh Holloway) actually helps you lose weight.
 |
| Tall, cool ... yep. Bring on the ice. |
Yeah, I'd have no problem adding a little Holloway to my exercise program.
$10 says I'll look at this post about 15 times today. Le sigh.
13 February 2011
The compass points to what you want
It's been a few days — nay, weeks — since my last post. I suppose you could say this is a slump, and expect to hear me blather on about how I've spent the last howevermany days becoming a permanent fixture on my couch and consuming entire bags of Doritos.
This is not the case.
At least, not this time.
I haven't been to the gym for the past few weeks because I've been busy buying a car. My new ride is scheduled to arrive tomorrow, however, so I can start going back to the gym after work.
Buying a car is a pain in the ass. Not only do you have to deal with every salesman under the sun trying to sell you the most expensive car on his lot, they're all intentionally thick too. It takes you about two hours to get them to even start speaking in reasonable figures and then at least another hour to get them down to a price you want.
I did that on Saturday at Keene Chrysler Jeep Dodge, and my brand-spanking new 2011 Jeep Compass is making its way from Connecticut tomorrow.I've never bought a car before; my dad has always done it for me. He helped me find my first car (A 1985 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme) and sold me my second, which I paid off and just traded in for my new Jeep.
Suffice it to say that I am tired. I am tired of car dealers, I am tired of researching vehicles and I am tired of test driving.
And, if all goes according to plan, I will be able to drive home in this tomorrow:
 |
| Aye, it's the Black Pearl! |
•••
A hospital in California has recently done a study proving that IBS symptoms are relieved when a patient is on a course of antibiotics. I have been on a course of antibiotics recently, so I have had zero digestive issues.
Though for the past two days, what with the stress of buying my car and all, I have neglected to take it, which means when I ate an english muffin pizza for lunch today I paid for it.
So it's back to the gluten-free diet for me, which sucks and is good for both of the same reasons.
1.) My diet is limited and no longer involves wheat of any kind, meaning breads, pastas, most sweets and, surprisingly, soy sauce.
2.) My diet is limited and no longer involves wheat of any kind, meaning breads, pastas, most sweets and, surprisingly, soy sauce.
So it looks like my little trip to Food Heaven is nearing a close, and I will soon be back to fish and vegetables.
To be honest, I'm kind of looking forward to it.
And who knows? Perhaps I'll even post some of my fabulous gluten-free dishes.
To be honest, I'm kind of looking forward to it.
And who knows? Perhaps I'll even post some of my fabulous gluten-free dishes.
08 February 2011
For me
I make light of a lot of things, mostly because if you can't laugh at yourself who can you laugh at?
Also, much like the Bennets, I love to laugh.
But sometimes my laughter is just a coping mechanism for my open-mouth-insert-thumb-and-curl-into-the-fetal-position moments.
Mostly this happens when I start to feel like a chameleon; that no matter what I do nobody sees me and I'll end up fading into the background.
I'm not a drama queen. At least, I hope I'm not a drama queen. I don't enjoy being in situations where everything is not copacetic, though I'd be an idiot if I didn't appreciate some amount of flair.
I guess that makes me a Drama Duchess.
Today I yammered nonstop about something that isn't important. It was just something to talk about; something to give me a solid connection to real people. Because if I don't, there isn't any reason for anyone to pay attention to me.
And yes, I understand how childish and dramatic that is.
I do me all by myself, and I do it well, but sometimes it gets lonely.
"One is the loneliest number" and all that.
I know this sounds very "Woe is Me" and, as my mother would say, "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I'll go eat worms."
Except I don't really want to eat any worms today.
Instead what I'd like to do is apologize to those two people I bugged the most today: Jen and Kelly.
I'm sorry that I yammered on about crap today.
I'm an interesting person five days of the week. Today was not one of them.
Also, much like the Bennets, I love to laugh.
 |
| Let me show off: From left, Mrs. Blossom Bennet, Misses Jane, Catherine "Kitty", Mary, Elizabeth and Lydia Bennet. |
Mostly this happens when I start to feel like a chameleon; that no matter what I do nobody sees me and I'll end up fading into the background.
I'm not a drama queen. At least, I hope I'm not a drama queen. I don't enjoy being in situations where everything is not copacetic, though I'd be an idiot if I didn't appreciate some amount of flair.
I guess that makes me a Drama Duchess.
 |
| Wow. Apparently I'm in a Kiera Knightly mood tonight. |
And yes, I understand how childish and dramatic that is.
I do me all by myself, and I do it well, but sometimes it gets lonely.
"One is the loneliest number" and all that.
I know this sounds very "Woe is Me" and, as my mother would say, "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I'll go eat worms."
Except I don't really want to eat any worms today.
Instead what I'd like to do is apologize to those two people I bugged the most today: Jen and Kelly.
I'm sorry that I yammered on about crap today.
I'm an interesting person five days of the week. Today was not one of them.
•••
In other news, I hopped on the elliptical at the gym today that was positioned right near a mirror, so not only was my inner Narcissus fed but I also noticed that my beautiful ass is looking prettier than it did two weeks ago.
Throughout this weight loss process I refuse to step on a scale, mostly because I'm afraid of the number. But knowing a number doesn't help motivate me to lose weight, it only stresses me out when I plan my meals.
So this go-round I'm doing something different and refuse to step on a scale. I'm measuring my weight loss in pant size.
So far, so good. I have no idea what I weighed to begin with, but I do know that my favorite pair of jeans now need the assistance of a belt to stay in place.
I also know that Fritz is still here, and if you're down on your luck and need some good fortune in the form of a belly rub, I do accept PayPal.
07 February 2011
"Bad dates"
You know that scene in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Arc when Sallah slaps the poisoned date out of Indy's hand and says, "Bad dates."?
And you can't pick a date for a wedding in another state without discussing all of your options (and ideas) with your fiance.
I understand this, and I know my sister and her soon-to-be husband will have their date picked by tomorrow, but I just can't wait!
Having a date means that the planning will begin in earnest, and instead of talking about dresses and flowers and DJs and tuxes and center pieces with my sister, I can actually help her make the selections that will give her the perfect wedding.
Now, she and I do NOT have the same taste, so this will be a challenge for me but I'm ready for it.
She created her Save the Dates last week, and all except for filling in the actual date, they're ready to mail, which is a huge step for her. In fact, they're so cute she put them up for bid on Etsy.com, and you can view them here. Since no one in my family reads this blog, I feel quite alright posting the link.
She's super creative, my little sister.
 |
| That poor monkey. This scene is similar to picking a wedding date; if you get the wrong one, or if both players aren't aware of what's going on you can get a bad date, and from there a tidal wave of horrible things will flush out the happiness of planning and executing your wedding.  Run little dude, run! At least, that's what I understand from my sister. If you've never planned a wedding before, know this: you can't do anything without a date. |
I understand this, and I know my sister and her soon-to-be husband will have their date picked by tomorrow, but I just can't wait!
Having a date means that the planning will begin in earnest, and instead of talking about dresses and flowers and DJs and tuxes and center pieces with my sister, I can actually help her make the selections that will give her the perfect wedding.
Now, she and I do NOT have the same taste, so this will be a challenge for me but I'm ready for it.
She created her Save the Dates last week, and all except for filling in the actual date, they're ready to mail, which is a huge step for her. In fact, they're so cute she put them up for bid on Etsy.com, and you can view them here. Since no one in my family reads this blog, I feel quite alright posting the link.
She's super creative, my little sister.
Food + beer + buffalo wings + football = love
They say that baseball is the national past time, but it's arguable that if you don't watch the Superbowl, somehow you're less of an American.
Not only is it a tradition in my house to spend the day cooking finger food, discussing politics and watching the 8-hour pregame, but also for us to divide so half of us cheer on one team and half the other. Unless the Cowboys are playing, in which case we all deck out in silver and blue and swish our pompoms. |
| We love the Cowboys, but I can't stand Romo the Homo. |
 |
| Spicy Buffalo wings, a la Pete. |
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| My homemade spinach and artichoke dip. |
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| The main dish: slow cooked pulled pork sandwiches. |
But it's halftime and we all take turns running to the bathroom and I'm up in 2.
03 February 2011
Kill, kill, kill
I am not obese. I'm not at a risk for any health issues and I don't have to shop at special stores to buy the clothes I want to wear. I'm that girl who gets death glares from the people who would "kill to be" my size.
My problem is that I know that.
So, like today, when my lunch just plain doesn't satisfy me, I walk down the stairs to the pizza parlor below my office (I know, bummer right?) and add a giant slice of 'roni to my caloric intake.
And while I know I'm not faced with a "lose weight or die" option, this is very often my downfall.
I don't need to lose weight, but I should. Diabetes is prevelant in my family, and I have problems digesting just about everything. My energy level has dropped drastically in the last year and my intestines are encased in this spare tire that probably hinders their ability to function at the primo level.
I joined my gym and started this blog with the determination to get rid of my flab and my unhealthy habits, but there's this part of me that just sits back some days and says, "Why? So I enjoy food, so what? It's not like it's killing me."
And then there are the days when I get up and go to the gym, with visions of a slim, willowy me walking down the aisle ahead of my sister and being proud of the work I did to get there.
This is my second problem.
My expectations of this gym-going and weight loss are that at the end of it all, I'll transform into this Bond girl and have my outer shell perfectly reflect the willowy and graceful woman that lives inside of me.
Which is completely unrealistic. Enter the "Why?" attitude and all of a sudden I don't even feel the need to go to the gym.
And even though I don't need to, I should. Because if I keep eating pizza when I feel like it and not working the excess off, someday very soon that will reverse, and I'll be listening to the doctor tell me to lose weight or die.
I have good reasons for wanting to lose this weight, and even though they're aren't life-threatening they are important to me, and I need to work on remembering that. Because nobody's going to push me out the door and say "Go work off that pizza." I have to be the one to say it, and I have to be the one to mean it.
Holy hell. Challenge No. 2 is a lot harder than it sounds.
My problem is that I know that.
So, like today, when my lunch just plain doesn't satisfy me, I walk down the stairs to the pizza parlor below my office (I know, bummer right?) and add a giant slice of 'roni to my caloric intake.
 |
| Mmmm.... 'Roni goodness. |
I don't need to lose weight, but I should. Diabetes is prevelant in my family, and I have problems digesting just about everything. My energy level has dropped drastically in the last year and my intestines are encased in this spare tire that probably hinders their ability to function at the primo level.
I joined my gym and started this blog with the determination to get rid of my flab and my unhealthy habits, but there's this part of me that just sits back some days and says, "Why? So I enjoy food, so what? It's not like it's killing me."
And then there are the days when I get up and go to the gym, with visions of a slim, willowy me walking down the aisle ahead of my sister and being proud of the work I did to get there.
This is my second problem.
My expectations of this gym-going and weight loss are that at the end of it all, I'll transform into this Bond girl and have my outer shell perfectly reflect the willowy and graceful woman that lives inside of me.
 |
| Vesper I am not. |
And even though I don't need to, I should. Because if I keep eating pizza when I feel like it and not working the excess off, someday very soon that will reverse, and I'll be listening to the doctor tell me to lose weight or die.
I have good reasons for wanting to lose this weight, and even though they're aren't life-threatening they are important to me, and I need to work on remembering that. Because nobody's going to push me out the door and say "Go work off that pizza." I have to be the one to say it, and I have to be the one to mean it.
Holy hell. Challenge No. 2 is a lot harder than it sounds.
01 February 2011
Solid excuse No. 2: lack of vitamin D
Today marks three days in a row that I did not go to the gym, but obviously I don't feel all that bad about it.
My excuse?
Lack of vitamin D with a side of Seasonal Affective Disorder and a bat-crazy grandmother.
My grandmother is half Italian, and I not only inherited their beautiful olive skin tone, but I also inherited their uncanny ability to turn into Powder without year-round tanning availability.
So my trip to Mamby-Pamby Land is half due to a serious lack of sunlight and half due to way too much stress at home. For most people, that would mean delaying getting home any way possible, possibly by spending umpteen hours at the gym. But my dad is on duty all day long with my grandmother, and by the time my 45-minute workout is up, my conscience won't let me stay any longer, because it knows he needs a break.
So even though we're supposed to get 8 inches of snow tomorrow, I'll be hauling my ass off to the gym after work and calling dibs on one of the ellipticals.
The difficult part won't be tomorrow, but Wednesday, when we're supposed to get anywhere from 12-20 inches. I'll be the girl in her pajamas working from home while 'Lord of the Rings' is playing in the background. And probably eating Macaroni & Cheese for lunch.
My excuse?
Lack of vitamin D with a side of Seasonal Affective Disorder and a bat-crazy grandmother.
 |
| Shit, I forgot what I.... What did I forget? |
 |
| Not Sean Patrick Flanery's greatest achievement. |
So even though we're supposed to get 8 inches of snow tomorrow, I'll be hauling my ass off to the gym after work and calling dibs on one of the ellipticals.
 |
| Dammit John Hammond! (And holy crap Tim! You were in 'The Social Network'?!?) |
The difficult part won't be tomorrow, but Wednesday, when we're supposed to get anywhere from 12-20 inches. I'll be the girl in her pajamas working from home while 'Lord of the Rings' is playing in the background. And probably eating Macaroni & Cheese for lunch.
 |
| M-m-m good! |
31 January 2011
Macaroni & Cheese for the soul
At 9 last night, I'd had enough. My weekend was literally like a black hole sucking the fun and kick out of my life, and the panic set in. So what did this tubber do? She walked to her kitchen and cooked herself a box of Mac 'n Cheese spirals.
Because that is the comfiest of comfort foods.
My soul needed to feel that cheesy goodness coursing through my system. And yes, that is the lamest excuse in the book, but I don't care.
I promised myself I'd add an extra 10 minutes to my workout, but now I'm thinking that will turn into 20 by the time I actually get to the gym.
Because this blog is quickly turning into a bitch-outlet, I refuse to get into why my weekend was so stressful. Suffice it to say that my grandmother has the beginning of Alzheimer's, and it ain't fun.
But it says something about my eating habits that comfort food means Mac n Cheese.
It was the first thing I learned how to cook, and the first thing my parents trusted me to cook on my own (well, that's a tie with Ramen Noodles). I like it several different ways, but the best is with a spoonful of salsa. Just a little extra kick.
It's bad for you. Incredibly bad for you. Most pastas are, but because the cheese is actually a powder until you mix it with milk, it's even worse.
I think I've had a little SAD this winter, and even though I always feel awesome after going to the gym, I haven't yet hit the guilt stage. I think that's because my life feels like it's a hole right now.
But even now, a day later, I have no guilt over eating a whole box of Mac n Cheese at 9 p.m. on a Sunday. None. Not even a flinch.
I ate better today, and I plan on having a super healthy dinner, but I still don't feel bad about that box.
Maybe it takes a few days for it to set in.
Because that is the comfiest of comfort foods.
My soul needed to feel that cheesy goodness coursing through my system. And yes, that is the lamest excuse in the book, but I don't care.
I promised myself I'd add an extra 10 minutes to my workout, but now I'm thinking that will turn into 20 by the time I actually get to the gym.
Because this blog is quickly turning into a bitch-outlet, I refuse to get into why my weekend was so stressful. Suffice it to say that my grandmother has the beginning of Alzheimer's, and it ain't fun.
But it says something about my eating habits that comfort food means Mac n Cheese.
It was the first thing I learned how to cook, and the first thing my parents trusted me to cook on my own (well, that's a tie with Ramen Noodles). I like it several different ways, but the best is with a spoonful of salsa. Just a little extra kick.
It's bad for you. Incredibly bad for you. Most pastas are, but because the cheese is actually a powder until you mix it with milk, it's even worse.
I think I've had a little SAD this winter, and even though I always feel awesome after going to the gym, I haven't yet hit the guilt stage. I think that's because my life feels like it's a hole right now.
But even now, a day later, I have no guilt over eating a whole box of Mac n Cheese at 9 p.m. on a Sunday. None. Not even a flinch.
I ate better today, and I plan on having a super healthy dinner, but I still don't feel bad about that box.
Maybe it takes a few days for it to set in.
26 January 2011
Stress is a four-letter word
My family doesn't handle stress well. We get bitchy, we say things we don't mean, we cry and yell at intervals and if none of that works, we have heart attacks.
My grandmother is in the hospital and is slated to return home today, but sadly, it hasn't been her little stay-cation that's stressed us out so much as the impending return home. My nanna, like most elderly people who have lived life to the fullest, is losing her memory, and because of that is depressed. Her living arrangements are not working, so she is moving in with us on a permanent basis.
At some point in our lives it becomes our duty to care for our elders. Native Americans used to bestow more honor and attention on the elderly in their tribes because those people had earned it.
That doesn't happen in my family. My nanna is lucky if she gets to see all of her children in the same room for more than five minutes a year.
When my grandfather was alive we were all much better about staying in touch and visiting. Now we all have responsibilities and babies and no desire to visit. I hate that the most.
In any case, this is just one more facet of an already stressed out person, and right now - when I can't quite move out yet - I don't want to talk weddings, and I don't want to exercise because I have to fit in a dress. Right now, and for the foreseeable future, I need the exercise to de-stress.
Or I'll be the one in the hospital.
My grandmother is in the hospital and is slated to return home today, but sadly, it hasn't been her little stay-cation that's stressed us out so much as the impending return home. My nanna, like most elderly people who have lived life to the fullest, is losing her memory, and because of that is depressed. Her living arrangements are not working, so she is moving in with us on a permanent basis.
At some point in our lives it becomes our duty to care for our elders. Native Americans used to bestow more honor and attention on the elderly in their tribes because those people had earned it.
That doesn't happen in my family. My nanna is lucky if she gets to see all of her children in the same room for more than five minutes a year.
When my grandfather was alive we were all much better about staying in touch and visiting. Now we all have responsibilities and babies and no desire to visit. I hate that the most.
In any case, this is just one more facet of an already stressed out person, and right now - when I can't quite move out yet - I don't want to talk weddings, and I don't want to exercise because I have to fit in a dress. Right now, and for the foreseeable future, I need the exercise to de-stress.
Or I'll be the one in the hospital.
25 January 2011
Warning: I am about to bitch
I love my sister, and I love my mother. Let me just get that out there first.
Having said that, I am so aggravated with the two of them I can't even sit in the same room as them.
I realize this is my sister's wedding, and what she wants is what she will get. I also realize this is not my wedding.
But I am sick-and-fucking-tired of being treated like the single sister who is headed for the nunnery and therefore knows JACK SHIT about anything having to do with a relationship.
Believe it or not, I know a few things about asking questions, which makes up 80 percent of planning a wedding. The other 20 is making a decision based on the answers to those questions.
I used to be a reporter, so let me be quite plain:
IT DOES NOT HURT TO ASK QUESTIONS!!
Twice now I have been blasted by my beloved sister and mother after suggesting she/they ask a question at a venue. First, I told the bride to ask about their Sunday rates, because it doesn't hurt to at least have the information.
"No. That's not even an option so I'm not even going to ask."
Today, I suggested she ask about a kitchen at one of her next appointments, an opera house, and was thereby blasted by the mother-of-the-bride.
"We don't need a fucking kitchen. We're not doing anything that includes a kitchen" Nevermind the fact you'll be hiring an outside caterer for that event and they'll likely charge you more to wash them off site.
But again, I have this burning rationality: what harm is there in asking a question?!?
I know she's the bride and it's the first time she's planned a wedding. But it's the first time I've been a Maid of Honor and this constant bitching about how any idea or suggestion I come up with is just not good enough or fucking retarded is seriously starting to piss me off.
And my Bridesmaid Handbook says I have to shut up and take it. I also have choice in the dress I have to pay for, have to somehow be the middle man between the bride and whoever is pissing her off, I have to hold her dress when she pees and calm her down when she freaks out, which is daily. And I have to do all of this with a smile on my face and I'm supposed to be honored.
Don't get me wrong; I am honored. I am happy she trusts me the most, but right this moment, with all the shit I've gotten in the past two days, I feel like she chose me for this spot because she had to, not because she wanted to. It seems like an opinion from anybody else would be thought on, if not agreed with. Especially if it came from my cousin Sarah, who Robin believes the sun shines out of her ass.
I'm not doing anything right and it's stressing me out because apparently I can't tell what she wants, which makes me feel like a selfish cow. I don't understand what she wants because she keeps flipping her decisions and she doesn't even have a date yet.
I had to work today, so I couldn't join her on her venue tour. But she also didn't text me about any of them, and she got pissed off when I went to the gym after work, which I'm doing FOR HER WEDDING!!
I can't win. And right now I have to play nice. But I seriously don't know what to do, and I can't keep this up. I'm getting frustrated and upset and even the sound of her laughter is grating on my nerves.
But how do I hide this? I can't keep getting frustrated with her and my mom, but it's too like me to fight back. I have to figure out a way to listen without hearing. And just nod and say, "uh-huh."
Right?
Having said that, I am so aggravated with the two of them I can't even sit in the same room as them.
I realize this is my sister's wedding, and what she wants is what she will get. I also realize this is not my wedding.
But I am sick-and-fucking-tired of being treated like the single sister who is headed for the nunnery and therefore knows JACK SHIT about anything having to do with a relationship.
Believe it or not, I know a few things about asking questions, which makes up 80 percent of planning a wedding. The other 20 is making a decision based on the answers to those questions.
I used to be a reporter, so let me be quite plain:
IT DOES NOT HURT TO ASK QUESTIONS!!
Twice now I have been blasted by my beloved sister and mother after suggesting she/they ask a question at a venue. First, I told the bride to ask about their Sunday rates, because it doesn't hurt to at least have the information.
"No. That's not even an option so I'm not even going to ask."
Today, I suggested she ask about a kitchen at one of her next appointments, an opera house, and was thereby blasted by the mother-of-the-bride.
"We don't need a fucking kitchen. We're not doing anything that includes a kitchen" Nevermind the fact you'll be hiring an outside caterer for that event and they'll likely charge you more to wash them off site.
But again, I have this burning rationality: what harm is there in asking a question?!?
I know she's the bride and it's the first time she's planned a wedding. But it's the first time I've been a Maid of Honor and this constant bitching about how any idea or suggestion I come up with is just not good enough or fucking retarded is seriously starting to piss me off.
And my Bridesmaid Handbook says I have to shut up and take it. I also have choice in the dress I have to pay for, have to somehow be the middle man between the bride and whoever is pissing her off, I have to hold her dress when she pees and calm her down when she freaks out, which is daily. And I have to do all of this with a smile on my face and I'm supposed to be honored.
Don't get me wrong; I am honored. I am happy she trusts me the most, but right this moment, with all the shit I've gotten in the past two days, I feel like she chose me for this spot because she had to, not because she wanted to. It seems like an opinion from anybody else would be thought on, if not agreed with. Especially if it came from my cousin Sarah, who Robin believes the sun shines out of her ass.
I'm not doing anything right and it's stressing me out because apparently I can't tell what she wants, which makes me feel like a selfish cow. I don't understand what she wants because she keeps flipping her decisions and she doesn't even have a date yet.
I had to work today, so I couldn't join her on her venue tour. But she also didn't text me about any of them, and she got pissed off when I went to the gym after work, which I'm doing FOR HER WEDDING!!
I can't win. And right now I have to play nice. But I seriously don't know what to do, and I can't keep this up. I'm getting frustrated and upset and even the sound of her laughter is grating on my nerves.
But how do I hide this? I can't keep getting frustrated with her and my mom, but it's too like me to fight back. I have to figure out a way to listen without hearing. And just nod and say, "uh-huh."
Right?
24 January 2011
Newest crave: Heavy
This past weekend a new show premiered on A&E, one of my very favorite channels because of such shows as The First 48, etc. This new show is called "Heavy" and it's about folks who are morbidly obese and need help or they will die.
These people are then sent to a retreat to get back to being themselves, to learn how to properly handle food as fuel and not as an emotional stimulant, and to work with a personal trainer to lose weight.
Let me be clear: this show is amazing and illuminating and horrifying all at once, and they don't say it on the show but I'm sure all of these people need to be seeing therapists for PTSD (occupational hazard on my part).
I cried within the first five minutes.
Here's the link to the first part of the pilot episode, and the story begins with Tom and Jodi .
I'm rooting for both of them, because their stories are amazing and their challenges are real.
And compared to mine, they're heroes, and I really hope they both succeed.
Because if they can do it, so can I.
These people are then sent to a retreat to get back to being themselves, to learn how to properly handle food as fuel and not as an emotional stimulant, and to work with a personal trainer to lose weight.
Let me be clear: this show is amazing and illuminating and horrifying all at once, and they don't say it on the show but I'm sure all of these people need to be seeing therapists for PTSD (occupational hazard on my part).
I cried within the first five minutes.
Here's the link to the first part of the pilot episode, and the story begins with Tom and Jodi .
I'm rooting for both of them, because their stories are amazing and their challenges are real.
And compared to mine, they're heroes, and I really hope they both succeed.
Because if they can do it, so can I.
21 January 2011
No soup for you!
I just love my handy-dandy soup cup!
It came with a lid and is made out of ceramic, so I can heat it in the microwave without fear of then eating plastic (which wasn't ever really a fear).
It came with a lid and is made out of ceramic, so I can heat it in the microwave without fear of then eating plastic (which wasn't ever really a fear).
Shoulders over tea kettle
I think my sister should let me wear a dress like this:
Unfortunately, my sister seems adamant about hating every suggestion I have about her wedding, and with good cause: it's not my wedding.
But would it kill the girl to let me try them on?! I didn't think so.
Anyway, since I'm planning on schmoozing her into at least letting me try one of these on, I decided my shoulders need work, so today's focus at the gym was on strength training.
In other news, I made whoopee pies for work today, but I made them small and I only ate one.
AND I still have time to catch up on some NCIS.
20 January 2011
Yogging
Veronica and I trying this new fad called uh, jogging. I believe it's jogging or yogging. it might be a soft j. I'm not sure but apparently you just run for an extended period of time. It's supposed to be wild.Today I jogged a 13-minute mile. That's kind of pathetic, BUT I did it without stopping. And I didn't tear any muscles trying to traverse a woodland path covered in snow and acting as a racecourse for snowmobiles (which I did last weekend).
In high school, when we had to run the mile (I realize I'm dating myself here) I never did it under 12 minutes. I'm a slow jogger.
I've tried running with Zoe, but it's nearly impossible ... she's just too damn fast. I actually clocked her at 23 mph once.
Food-wise I did OK today. Oatmeal for breakfast because the fiber in it keeps you fuller longer, and chicken and vegetable soup for lunch, with a handful of nuts in between. Dinner was a little more adventurous: pizza was already made when I got home.
I really like going to the gym. I used to go all the time back in college, mostly because it was free, but also because I've always been conscious of my health.
Stepping off a Tredmill brings this wonderful feeling of accomplishment and even though I only jogged a mile today it was good to have that feeling again.
I have a very outgoing personality, and until this past summer I had never once doubted myself. Something happened this summer that made me, though, and it was a feeling I am almost afraid of experiencing again.
So stepping off that Tredmill today was a great way to kick this whole shebang off. That feeling reminded me of who I am and why I'm so confident and cocky: because I am OK with me.
I'm just not OK with Fritz anymore.
16 January 2011
Say hello to Fritz
On my last trip to Amsterdam I apparently named my belly Fritz. I don't remember it that way; I remember discussing how the name Fritz came to be, especially as the Dutch word for fries, frites, sounds so very much like Fritz. And at that moment in time, I seriously wanted some frites in my belly.
Thus, my spare tire had a name.
A few weeks later, we were in Venice and an old woman - I kid you not, she was at least 80 - offered me her seat on the bus and asked if she could touch my belly.
I am not pregnant.
But I look like I am.
When I came home I started a new job, which I love, but which has led me to snacking at my desk and slowly grazing until I'm pretty sure Fritz has a twin.
More than my vanity, this is a problem because my baby sister is getting married in 10 months, and the dress I have to wear as her Maid of Honor is rather... tight. It will show off my every asset, which to be honest can be a good thing - I have a fabulous ass - but for the front of me, this is no good.
I enjoy exercise, and since I have an apparent intolerance for gluten, I generally eat fairly healthy. It's portions I have a problem with. In the warmer months I like to be outside, and I'll run for five miles with my dog, Zoe.
I've told myself all winter that I would exercise at home with free weights and crunches, but so far all I've done when I get home from work is plop my delicious ass down on the sofa and catch up on the NCIS marathon I missed while I was at work (I'm rooting for Tony and Ziva to just hook up already and forget Rule No. 12). My dog is depressed because I ignore her, which is part of the reason I have avoided getting a gym membership, which would mean being away from her for longer. But let's be honest here: how much am I really paying attention to her when Gibbs takes up all of my attention? None.
I'm also exceedingly lucky because my health insurance pays me back for going to the gym, so long as I go twice a week for 12 weeks out of 20. Not a bad deal. So why don't I get off the couch?
The other night I was cleaning my room and happened to catch a glimpse of myself in my bedroom mirror. I was not happy.
So I decided to cut out the daily NCIS and budding obsession with Criminal Minds (love me some Agent Morgan), and go to the gym after work for an hour of cardio, strength training and sauna sitting. Every day I go to work is a day I go to the gym afterwards. So I started this blog with one of my bffs (and am intending on sucking my sister in as well) to have a support system while I do my best to forget about Tony and Ziva.
Both of them are getting married in October (possibly November for my sister), so I have 9 months to get rid of Fritz.
Kind of ironic, eh?
Thus, my spare tire had a name.
A few weeks later, we were in Venice and an old woman - I kid you not, she was at least 80 - offered me her seat on the bus and asked if she could touch my belly.
I am not pregnant.
But I look like I am.
When I came home I started a new job, which I love, but which has led me to snacking at my desk and slowly grazing until I'm pretty sure Fritz has a twin.
More than my vanity, this is a problem because my baby sister is getting married in 10 months, and the dress I have to wear as her Maid of Honor is rather... tight. It will show off my every asset, which to be honest can be a good thing - I have a fabulous ass - but for the front of me, this is no good.
I enjoy exercise, and since I have an apparent intolerance for gluten, I generally eat fairly healthy. It's portions I have a problem with. In the warmer months I like to be outside, and I'll run for five miles with my dog, Zoe.
I've told myself all winter that I would exercise at home with free weights and crunches, but so far all I've done when I get home from work is plop my delicious ass down on the sofa and catch up on the NCIS marathon I missed while I was at work (I'm rooting for Tony and Ziva to just hook up already and forget Rule No. 12). My dog is depressed because I ignore her, which is part of the reason I have avoided getting a gym membership, which would mean being away from her for longer. But let's be honest here: how much am I really paying attention to her when Gibbs takes up all of my attention? None.
I'm also exceedingly lucky because my health insurance pays me back for going to the gym, so long as I go twice a week for 12 weeks out of 20. Not a bad deal. So why don't I get off the couch?
The other night I was cleaning my room and happened to catch a glimpse of myself in my bedroom mirror. I was not happy.
So I decided to cut out the daily NCIS and budding obsession with Criminal Minds (love me some Agent Morgan), and go to the gym after work for an hour of cardio, strength training and sauna sitting. Every day I go to work is a day I go to the gym afterwards. So I started this blog with one of my bffs (and am intending on sucking my sister in as well) to have a support system while I do my best to forget about Tony and Ziva.
Both of them are getting married in October (possibly November for my sister), so I have 9 months to get rid of Fritz.
Kind of ironic, eh?
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