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.

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.

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?

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.

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).

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.

Challenge # 2:

Sound advice from Roseann Roseanna Danna:

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.

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?