In Bad Taste

Fancy Was My Name

2010-06-15T13:45:00.001-06:00

I talked to my mom last night, and she wants to get me a Shake Weight:

The weight that makes you better at giving hand jobs.

She says to me, she says, "No, Laura...this woman I work with - she's probably 3 times bigger than you - she's been using it and it WORKS!"

Mom always talks about this 3xLaura coworker. I think she made her up to always have an example:

"This woman I work with - she's 3 times your size - she's been eating Slim Fast bars..."

"This woman I work with - she's like, 3 of you - she lost weight on shakes..."

"This woman I work with - she's a total land yacht - she's gonna die soon."

I think before surgery, mom told me this woman had surgery and failed. She was mom's cautionary tale. "If you do this, you better not fail it like 3XL did." Who knows? I just don't listen to her.

I told Mom that though I'm sure the shake weight does something useful, it's a total handjob trainer. Still, she offered to pick one up for me if she saw at Wal-Mart. I think she's trying to turn me out.

So there's that,

Laura

Fondled.

2010-05-09T12:00:00.002-06:00

Last Friday night I was lookin' fine.

I had on some black leggings, a zebra print dress with pockets, a short blazer, and red peep-toe flats. I was going on a date with myself - gonna see Avenue Q and follow that up with a Mediterranean dance party at a downtown club.

I was celebrating the point where I could really see and feel my weight loss. I ran out of all the skinny clothes I'd saved over the last 5 years, and I was gonna have to start building a temporary wardrobe. I found that zebra dress at Marshall's for a cool twenty bucks, and it was a size 18. I haven't been in a size 18 dress for 5 years, and that was a size enjoyed only briefly.

I'm starting to like the shape of my legs for the first time, ever. I still got some jelly curd thighs, but there's shape there, muscle tone. I don't feel thunder-thighed. I like my ass. I like my small waist and how my ass just BOOMS out from it. I feel attractive. Most importantly, I feel attracted to my own body. Girl Power! Zig-a-zig-ah!

So I'm lookin' fine, sitting on the bus on the way downtown to Avenue Q. I'm crossing my legs the way I couldn't 5 months ago. There are plenty of open seats, not many people on board. Which is why I was surprised when a guy sat next to me. He could have had a bench to himself, but he sat next to me. Even though my legs were crossed and my ankle was dangling over into his leg space.

Whatever. Free country and all that. I uncross my legs and skootch closer to the window. Look outside at the lake swimming by me. Avoid eye contact. Standard procedure.

My ass doesn't crossover into the other seat anymore, so I was a little disappointed when I felt the guy's thigh against mine. I thought that life was behind me - wait a minute! He's sitting on the outside seat; according to procedure, he should sit closer to the edge so we don't touch. Damn this guy. He's just trying to prove a point and take up all of the seat allotted to him.

I continue staring out the window. I feel a strange sensation on my thigh. Is he just sitting really close to me? I wait a few moments more, trying to determine - without looking - if I'm feeling movement down there. I'm tingling...there's definitely some movement going on.

I glance down, and see the guy's hand on the side of my thigh. I look back out the window and think, "Maybe he's just getting something out of his pocket. Don't overreact until you have visual confirmation!"

I look down again and it's confirmed: motherfucker's palm is turned out and he's not so subtly palming and massaging my thigh. I glance over at him, and he's looking straight ahead. I glance down and he's still going at it. It can't be denied; this chulo is outright molesting me.

Throughout this whole thing, my face is hot, my heart is racing, and I'm trying not to melt down. Once it's confirmed, I weigh my options: Get up and move to a new seat; call this motherfucker out, quietly; or call this motherfucker out by making a scene.

A few years ago, an old guy tried to feel me up on the bus. I lost my words and got up, crying, and moved to the back of the bus. I felt people looking at me like I was the freak. The old guy stared and smiled at me for the rest of the ride.

I wasn't gonna do that shit again. I got there first. This motherfucker was gonna get served.

I tightened my grip on the umbrella that was lying across my lap. In one quick movement, I snatched it up, aimed the handle at his crotch and said, "Get. Your hands. Off me."

His hand went straight to his mouth. He pretended to stroke his goatee. People turned and stared. I made eye contact with them as if to say, "Yeah, fuck this guy. If something happens now, you bitches better have my back."

He didn't change seats, and I refused to let this asshole eject me from mine. He kept his hands to himself for the rest of the ride, which seemed like an eternity. He got off at the first stop on Michigan. I was relieved and pissed and scared and shaken....so many feelings.

I didn't let this spoil the show for me. I enjoyed myself. But even though I started out the evening feeling and lookin' fine, I just felt insecure and exposed after that. I skipped the dance party (where I was hoping to dance with some hot Mediterranean men) because I didn't feel like being attractive to anyone anymore that night.

It sucked. But I feel like I won in this round, if only for bringing attention to that asshole. Next time it happens, I'll call the fucker out, and continue with my sexy-ass plans. But for now, baby steps.

So there's that,

Laura

The Girl with the Big Hips

2010-05-04T15:29:00.002-06:00

There's a rather loud, boisterous gentleman that works in our mailroom at work.

If you've met me in person, you'll know that this is a pot-calling-the-kettle statement, but bear with me.

But this guy, whom I'll call Martin Lawrence or ML for short, has been pulling me aside recently to tell me how good I look. Today he cornered me by the fax machine and told me again how good I look. He tried to make it look like he was taking me aside and talking to me in a hushed tone, but this guy's hushed tone is like...like...my metaphors suck now...well it's fucking loud. Everyone on my side of the floor heard what he was saying, and I couldn't stop it.

ML: "Laura, I just want to say that you are look-ing GOOOOOD! You change every time I see you. And you know what, girl? People are noticing! You're the talk of the College! They say, 'You know that girl with the big hips that works in education?' - That's how they know you - 'She's really losing weight!' There's one woman who says she wants to get down to your size. Do you know Jane Doe?"

Me: "No, I don't think so." (I actually did, but didn't feel comfortable talking about her.)

ML: "Well she says she would love to look like you. You could be the poster child for these big women here. They're talkin! They say, 'You know Laura?' and I say, 'Yeah what she do?' and they say you're lookin good! Now don't go making no videos..."

Me: "....?....!.....?"

ML: "You just keep doin' what you doin'."

It's flattering but pretty embarrassing to have coworkers talk to me about my weight. It's not that I don't appreciate it; but it's just uncomfortable knowing that people are talking about me and judging how I look. Right now it feels nice, since I look good, but to know that I was (and still am) seen as "The Girl with the Big Hips" is a little...saddening?

I know people make opinions and references about a person based on appearance. Hell, there's a girl on my floor I call Sour Boots because she's always scowling and wearing knee-high boots. There's a woman I internally refer to as Trudy Weigle because she looks like that chick from Reno 911.

I know I'm all bottom. I'm okay with that because I have to be. But somehow having other people think of me - and openly discuss me - as the big-hipped one does not make me feel better or spectacular.

If this were an after-school special, I should probably take away from this conversation a lesson on gossip. That you shouldn't judge a book by its cover or discuss the size of its ass, the sourness of its countenance, or its uncanny likeness to a desperate cat lady on a fake police show.

I won't. I'll just be reminded that just because you don't talk to people, doesn't mean they're not talking about you.

So there's that,

Laura

The Emperor's New Clothes

2010-05-04T08:45:00.001-06:00

These last few months have been quite...uneventful. I know my body is changing, but I feel as if other people can see it more than me. That's understandable; they see me less often than I see me in the mirror, so they're gonna notice the changes better than I do.

The scale doesn't move as quickly as I expected it to. I'm not complaining! The scale will do what it does, and the only thing that matters is how I feel. I weigh 85 pounds less than I did when I started on the path to surgery 2 years ago this month. I've lost 60 lbs since surgery. The benefit of a steady loss is that my body isn't covered in sharpei flesh. I've been exercising regularly to keep up that muscle tone. It's my hope that I won't have to resort to plastic surgery to remove arm and thigh flab. I would ONLY do that if there was an issue with chafing or discomfort, not because of appearance.

It's only now - in my 5th month post-op - that I've run out of the "skinny clothes" that I kept in my closet. I shouldn't say I've run out of them - they fit perfectly (=snugly), but I realize the styles are completely outdated. Right now I prefer ultra-dark denim, and my old skinny jeans are a little pale for my liking. Plus the cut is so 5 years ago, so "I'm 23 and livin' life!"

I have to be cautious in my purchase of new pants. As Sir Mix-a-Lot would say, my waist is small and my curves are kickin' - as a result, most pants fit me perfectly on the hips, but I got about 6 inches of excess fabric around the waist. (I'll post a tasteful pic of this phenomenon later to demonstrate.) So, I either need to get a belt or a good tailor. Problem is, last time I took pants to a tailor, it ran me $50/piece to take in and hem, etc. That's a lot of cash, girl!

I could just wear dresses and leggings for the rest of the summer, but leggings don't always look professional. Last time I wore them to work, I felt underdressed even though the women I work with wear them all the time. Maybe I just feel underdressed because something fits. In that case, I'll have to get over that and wurq my look.

I'm also small up top. Not boobwise, thank God, but rather I'm a 16 up top and a 20-22 on bottom. Lane Bryant shirts are starting to look too big on me, which is bittersweet; I love their shirts, and I find that other stores' shirts are too small/tight/short on me.

In short, I'm reaching the frustrating size phase of weight loss. It's not a bad place to be in, but still a nuisance.

In two weeks I'm going to go on a little shopping spree. I will shop at places other than Lane Bryant and see how their clothes fit. I will get pants that fit. Maybe some dresses. A belt. Get my haircut and colored. I'm going to do something positive to make this weight loss feel real(er) to me.

So there's that,

Laura

Answer to "Can I have coffee after surgery?"

2010-03-26T08:20:00.003-06:00

I think every doc is different.

Just an hour before I left the hospital, I lifted my doleful eyes to my surgeon and asked, "Doc, will I ever be able to drink coffee again?"

He looked at me like I was crazy, that out of all the questions I could ask during his final visit, this is what I posed.

"You can drink coffee today."

I wept openly. "Thank you! Thank you for saving my life."

He peeled his hand out of the tight husk of my own, and with shifting eyes excused himself. As I yelled after him - "I am forever in your debt! Thus are we inextricably linked through all time!" - he quickened his pace and broke into a jog down the hallway, out of my life.

I wiped the black streaks of mascara off my face and applied bright red lipstick thickly and forcefully around my lips, not caring about missing my lips entirely in some places.

So yeah, I can drink coffee.

So there's that,

Laura

Losing It

2010-03-10T14:52:00.001-06:00

I'm in a bad place.

I apologize in advance for the tone of this post, and in retrograde for the tone of recent posts.

I'm in a bad place.

The 3-month post-op mark is fast approaching, and I cannot avoid the "normal" era of depression that arrives with this anniversary. Other post-ops say this has happened to them. I thought I could avoid it by being positive about my surgery, positive about my loss, and remaining physically active. I've done all those things. I am still very VERY happy to have had this surgery, very proud of my 45 lb loss so far, and have been active since day two.

And still...there's a dark cloud around me. For the past two weeks I've felt sooooo tired and sluggish, I could have stayed in bed every day. I wanted to walk a few miles outside on Saturday, and I almost didn't go. I was up at 9:00 am, but I didn't get out the door until 2:00 pm. I told myself, "You've got to live today," and spent an hour putting my gear on piece by piece, during commercial breaks. I kept telling myself, "Put your pants on, put your pants on...then we'll deal with what's next." "Put your bra on...then we'll deal with what's next."

Once I got everything on, the next step was getting out of the house. I ended up walking around my apartment with my shoes on for about an hour, then took them off, thinking I would just stay in. I hung around for another hour and decided to put the shoes on again and get the eff out. I brought my phone with me; catching up on calls was a good excuse to keep me occupied outside.

I called my Aunt Paula to make plans to see my cousin in a play on Sunday. The wheels were turning in the back of my mind as to how I could finesse my way out of this commitment. Ultimately, I went. My cousin Cam is a special needs kid, and was doing an all special needs production of High School Musical. What kind of heartless person could pass that up? I had fun being with my family. As usual, it was worth it.

Back to the walk. I called my sister afterward and told her how I was feeling. She asked if maybe we got this kind of thing from Mom, who vascillates wildly between being overly social and anti-social, who spent many an afternoon, evening and weekend holed up in bed. We talked about how this feeling overcomes both of us sometimes and how it can be difficult to put ourselves out there. Manda, sorry if I'm speaking on your behalf - feel free to rip me in the comments. I think both of us are conscious of this and try to get around it, to not be like Mom.

I stayed home from work on Monday and Tuesday. I was feeling sick, but mostly I took it as an opportunity to get this funk out of my system. There's only so much daytime television I can withstand before craving fresh air and human contact again.

I slept for hours, ate lots of sugar free popsicles, took lots of baths, and let my hair build up 2.5 days worth of grease (which, with my thin hair, is like 5 days of grease in people days). Speaking of which, I'm losing hair - frequently. It's a result of surgery that I expected, and now's about the time for it to happen. I don't know whether to comb my hair or my sink, since most days it's hard to tell which is more hairy. Each week I can add another twist of the elastic to my shrinking ponytails. It'll grow back, but until it does, I might have to get a mom haircut.

I've taken to making lists to get through my day. Here's my after-work to-do list from the other day, seriously: take vitamin, do dishes, pack lunch, crossword, dinner, brush teeth, change, make bed, go to shelter, go see the show. What's funnier is that I actually made one list, started inserting things I forgot, then crossed it all out and started a new list. This was a special evening, since I was going to volunteer at the shelter, then see my friend's show. It was going to be a long night, and I had to list the little steps to get me out the door. Proudly, I made it to the shelter for my 8-10 pm shift, but I flaked on my friend's 10:30 pm show. I want to make the excuse that it was on a weeknight, and the show was too late. But dang it, I made the list so I could COMMIT. I guess I should be happy I made it as far as I did, but I was trying so hard to use that momentum to finish what I planned to do.

Well, this is another week, and I need to live it. Tonight, I promised I would scrub my floors - my hairy, hairy floors. Let's see if I can do this one right.

So there's that,

Laura

Run It

2010-02-28T19:13:00.001-06:00

I'm really thinking about doing the Soldier Field Ten Mile at the end of May. The only thing keeping me from signing up at this point is the probability that I might not finish within the 2:45 time limit. That's roughly a fifteen-minute mile. I'm a little slower than that when I'm walking, but I think I could work my way up to it.

I went to the gym yesterday and completed 5 miles in 1:25. Next week I'll add another mile, then another the following week, and so on. When the weather gets better, I'll take it to the streets.

What's notable is that I actually ran for 8 minutes! I plodded that shit nonstop for 8 whole minutes. I've never done that before. Maybe I can add more running minutes on to each week, too.

I think I could really do this, and I have two months to make it happen. Should I put cash on it and sign up for the race?

So there's that,

Laura

Hard Facts

2010-02-26T16:52:00.001-06:00

I've learned some hard facts about my diet and behavior since surgery.

Baked potato chips, while approved by my dietician, do not make me feel good. They feel sludgy in my stomach, I can feel the pulp gurgling around down there. It's nasty. I can't even look at chips ever again.
Packaged tuna and salmon are hit-or-miss with me. A month ago, I got some tuna stuck in my pouch, which caused much pain and dry heaving. Last week I decided to revisit packaged fish - the salmon salad went down really well for 3 days. It was the 4th day that destroyed me. I'm putting that shit back on the shelf for another time.
I love cheese. I fucking love cheese. I want cheese to get me pregnant. Thankfully, cheese is a high-protein essential in my post-op life. Praise cheese!
It's weird to go grocery shopping now. I want to make lots of different things for the week, but I won't be able to eat lots of things for the week. Case in point: I made meatballs 3 weeks ago. Last weekend I had to throw the final 3 out. I just couldn't eat them often enough. I've decided to really focus on the things I need (sugar-free popsicles and Activia Light yogurt), and buy other staples as needed. I don't want to be a hoarder.
I can't look at the scale between weigh ins. That shit fucks with your mind. Example: I looked at the scale today and am apparently up 5 lbs since Tuesday. No way. There's no possible way on this diet. Will see what the scale says next week. Bet it will be awesome. Bet it will be awesome.
I need a schedule at night to keep from going crazy. I'm a hermit. I live alone. I don't like going out on weekday nights. I could easily graze on cheese and sugar-free popsicles if I allowed it. Unfortunately, I'm bad about keeping schedules. This week's evening schedule was successful:

Go home.
Take multi-vitamin.
Turn on music.
Put on lounge-y clothes.
Make bed, clean apartment.
Do dishes.
Complete the L.A. Times crossword puzzle for the day.
Check on the interwebs.
Watch my stories.
Take a bath and read.
Go to bed.

From the list above, it's clear that I need a hobby/enriching activity. To that end, I began volunteering at a homeless shelter. Last night was the orientation, and next week I begin volunteering at their clinic on Tuesdays and their kitchen on Thursdays. I'm pretty pumped.(!)
I'm losing patience with people. It's not because I'm more confident and tired of being rolled over all the time; it's because I'm cranky...and tired of being rolled over all the time. I'm trying to keep my tact and manners in check.
I need to reach out to people more often. I'm a really shy person, and it's become so much worse after so many months in seclusion. I make a point to go to one social commitment per week, and try to call friends and family more often. It's difficult, but I just have to grit my teeth and get out there.

Have a good weekend, everyone! I'm going to try and make the best of it!

So there's that,

Laura

Lordy Lordy, Look Who Lost 40!

2010-02-23T19:05:00.001-06:00

That would be me.

I've lost 40 pounds since my surgery 9 weeks ago, 67 pounds since my highest weight at the end of 2008.

That's pretty fucking awesome.

It's weird, but I keep thinking I'm not losing enough WHICH IS CRAZYTALK AND I'LL NOT HAVE IT. Forty pounds in two months is nothing to pee on. That's an average of 4.5 pounds per week.

However, if I'd actually lost at that rate, I'd probably be more satisfied with it. Instead, I lost 20 pounds in the first 3 weeks, went through a stall, lost 10 more pounds, then went through another long stall during which my weight fluctuated. Suddenly I dropped 7 pounds over the weekend. Don't get me wrong, I'll take it; it's just so suspenseful.

The odds are in my favor that I'm gonna lose weight. Nevertheless, weekly weigh-ins are still nailbiters. I can tell I lost bunches of inches (though I haven't measured), but it's that number on the scale that means so much. That's always been the bottom line.

But then again, who the eff sees your scale, knows your weight? No one! That's why I'm going to focus on my body shape and clothing sizes when gauging my weight loss. That's the stuff that's out there in the world, not my number on the scale. I need to take satisfaction in how I look and feel.

So there's that,

Laura

Re: "How the G.O.P. Can Fix Health Care" (Op-Ed, 2/22/10)

2010-02-23T15:19:00.004-06:00

To the Editor:

James Pinkerton obviously isn't familiar with households like mine – those rural homes several miles off Main Street where the middle class dollars come from jobs in manufacturing, service and agriculture. On my State Road, when Americans think about health care, they think first of finance, not health.

At the age of 32, my mother discovered she had large - yet benign - breast tumors. After the biopsy, my father's 3-man plumbing company could no longer afford to offer insurance coverage to my family. Fortunately my mother was able to insure us through her factory, but we rationed health care in fear that too many visits to the doctor would result in loss of coverage or worse, the loss of her job. We suffered the opposite of hypochondria. Twenty years later, my parents still refuse to see the doctor for stitches and sprains, let alone preventative care such as mammograms and colonoscopies.

My parents put their faith in Republicans. Unfortunately, Republicans are doing nothing to help people like them.

So there's that,

Laura

Moreover...

2010-02-16T11:22:00.001-06:00

I've been talking to a guy for the past few weeks, and it was getting to the point that we were going to meet up for a date. I was g-chatting him this morning, and he said that he didn't want to mislead me; he started seeing someone that he was talking to before he met me, and he wanted to see where it would go. He likes talking to me, could we still be friends.

A big part of me wanted to say, "I got enough friends." But I didn't. I just said I don't know how we can be friends when the whole reason we started talking was to begin dating. I can't divide my feelings that easily. But...I could always use friends. We decided to keep the line of communication open.

Why did I do this? I don't want to invest myself emotionally in someone that I might never date. I don't want to be on the bench for this guy if it doesn't work out with this other chick. I will continue talking to other guys, don't get me wrong. It's just not my style to talk to more than one person at a time. I don't have the attention span, can't keep them straight. And I don't think it's fair.

Well, who said dating was fair?

So there's that,

Laura

The Presh.

2010-02-15T16:14:00.001-06:00

Recently I've been feeling very down.

Lots of people report feeling depressed in the weeks following surgery, and now it seems that mine has finally hit. I hoped to keep it at bay with excercise, but apparently that's not enough.

I went off my depression meds after surgery, so I guess that didn't help either. I've started taking them again in the past two weeks, and they've really helped me focus through the day.

But beyond pills and endorphins lies a deep sadness/rage/cynicism/hopelessness. I just haven't felt proper.

Right now I just want to cry. Maybe this is the aftereffect of yet another lonely Valentine's Day, but I just feel that I'll never have a successful romantic relationship. I don't want to spend my life without a good man. I know I shouldn't put so much pressure on myself, but I can't help it. I don't understand how it's so much easier for other people to meet their partners. What is there about me that's so unlovable?

Do I find myself unlovable? Is that it? I feel as successful as ever, with weight loss, work, mind. But do I love myself? Does anyone really love themselves? I think we develop self-love through the eyes of those who love us. I have a great family and a great group of friends; I feel loved and appreciated by them. But as far as intimate, personal love, there is nothing. There is no person that thinks of me first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Those who did are long gone, and I'm long forgotten.

It's bleak, and I try not to think about it. Am I doing myself a disservice by ignoring it? By trudging along? Some days it's hard to ignore.

I shouldn't say this, but it's true: I do find myself unlovable. I will until it's proven otherwise...or until I change.

So there's that,

Laura

Biding Time

2010-02-15T14:31:00.001-06:00

The habit of eating when bored is coming back to me. Fortunately, I've gotten through the rough patches by chowing on sugar-free popsicles. Unfortunately, I'm addicted to sugar-free popsicles.

I need to find ways to keep busy at home. It's too cold to walk at night after dinner, and too dark to walk right after work. I'm getting tired of taking baths, if that's even possible. For my benefit only, below is a list of ideas to keep myself busy at night:

Dance Dance Revolution. I got the PS2 for a reason...
Serious Housekeeping. I could spend an hour per night on some serious spot cleaning in my apartment. My bathroom and bookshelf could use some serious attention.
Drawing. I like doing it, and I'm pretty good at it when I focus. I bought a pad, some charcoal and pastels last week. Now I have to use them.
Blog. I could do it more, but I hate being on the computer when I'm home.
Write. See above.
Get a Life. Easier said than done. I hate going out on weeknights. Admittedly, this should be easier since I don't drink anymore, but still. I need to decompress after work, and I don't want to be around people or at a bar to do it.

The next step is managing the time I watch television. I never thought it would come to this, but I'm addicted to certain television shows: RuPaul's Drag Race, No Reservations, Lost, and Project Runway, to name the most important. When I'm not watching these shows, I'm watching stuff I've seen before. I'm wasting time. I need to cut back my television time to only include these shows. When I'm not watching TV I could be focusing on those other enriching activities.

Now I need to put the plan into action! I will report at the end of the week!

So there's that,

Laura

Set it and forget it.

2010-02-12T16:48:00.001-06:00

In the days after surgery, I told my sister that I was looking forward to the surgically imposed limits and losing the need to obsess over my weight loss because there's no possible chance I'll gain weight on such a tiny diet. I told her I didn't want to look at the scale anymore. At least, I didn't want to look at it every day.

I was at peace with the limitations. I didn't want to think about food anymore. As far as my stomach goes, I wanted to set it and forget it.

I'm learning that it's not that easy. I'm losing weight again after a 3-week stall. My body was shrinking, but the scale was staying the same. After losing 30 lbs in just a matter of weeks, my body was all, "Hey! Don't take these pounds off of me! I need to catch up! You're starving; I'mma hang on to this for as long as I can!"

And I was all, "It's okay, body, you'll get fed."

And my body was all, "I don't believe you."

But while I was going through the stall, I couldn't help but check that scale every day just to be able to slide the counterweight to the left. I don't want to obsess over how much weight I'm losing each day; I'm not that fucked up. I was just curious.

My appetite and cravings are coming back. It might have something to do with PMS, or it could just be in my nature. What's good is that I can't eat as much as I used to. What's bad - or at least inconvenient - is that I can't order out for a quick bite, or go out to eat alone without doing some serious thinking about how pointless it is.

I wanted pad Thai the other night, and I was thisclose to ordering when I finally said "fuck it" and scrambled an egg. It's not worth it. I can eat the chicken and the tofu, but I'd only be able to slurp down maybe two noodles. They'd probably get stuck or make me sleepy....it just wasn't worth the effort or the waste.

I can't go out of my way for carbs. Pasta, rice, potatoes just blow up in my stomach and take up room for vital protein. I love them, but they do nothing for me. I have to keep conscious of my limitations, as much as I love them.

The other day at lunch I had some lentil soup and splurged for some gluten free tortilla chips as a side. After my soup, I could only eat 2 chips before I started to get that sludgy stomach feeling. I told my friend Lyzz to food-check me if she ever saw me buying chips again. I normally don't abide food-checkers, but in this case it's good to have someone be like, "Hey, you don't like those, remember?"

So now comes the time to make conscious food boundaries, to know my limits and enforce them. Sure, the surgery helps me understand that bad food sucks, but I still have to be the policeman.

So there's that,

Laura

Herb of the Week!

2010-02-07T18:13:00.003-06:00

I'm only one person.

That's why I hate it when I buy a bunch of herbs in one shopping trip - basil, parsley, cilantro - but can't use them all before they start to slime up.

So Friday I decided to buy basil and do as much shit as I can to it before it goes bad and takes my fridge hostage, shooting the dijon mustard and raping the eggs.

Here's what I'll be making this week:

Prosciutto Bites: A strip of prosciutto topped with a basil leaf and wrapped around 1/2 of a ciliegine mozzarella ball and 1/2 a grape tomato.

Chicken Meatballs in Vodka Sauce: Trader Joe's chicken meatballs tossed in a slow cooker with a jar of vodka sauce and simmered for a few hours on low. I topped them with fresh ribbons of basil and shredded mozzarella and cranked it up to high for 15 minutes before eating.

Shrimp Salad: Chopped shrimp tossed with chopped banana peppers, basil, mayo, salt and pepper. Served on a rice cake.

Tomato-Mozzarella Salad: Halved tomatoes and ciliegine mozzarella balls tossed with basil, salt, pepper, olive oil and red wine vinegar.

Basil Scrambled Eggs: Scrambled eggs with basil and red bell pepper. I guess these are the basil-raped eggs.

Basil Cottage Cheese

I'm pretty sure I'll be sick of basil by the time I'm through with it.

So there's that,

Laura

Clean Closet

2010-02-07T17:43:00.007-06:00

Do you ever get the feeling that your stuff is taking over you life? Well I do.

Every few months I get a wild hair to purge my apartment of the things that I don't use or wear anymore. Since I've noticed a bunch of my pants are sagging, I decided to pull all the unnecessary things out of my closet - pants, shirts I can't or won't wear anymore, things I've only worn once because clearly they were bad purchases, mistakes.

Here's a look at the first closet raid:

Check out the yellow layer. That's a hideous sweater my mom got me for Christmas. I think it was meant for my grandma, but she mislabled it. I haven't even removed the tags:

Here are the orphaned hangers:

And the bags I took to the Brown Elephant:

It was a very productive day...and I still have a full closet. How can one person have so much stuff in such a tiny apartment? Further, how can one person need so much stuff?

One doesn't. This activity was a good exercise in understanding how much I can waste. To be fair, I haven't worn many of these pieces in years, or I've worn them so much that it became time to give up on them. I hope that I can manage my closet better in the future. Only buy things I need and not stupid, outrageous pieces that I won't have the confidence to wear outside the store.

Tim Gunn says a woman needs 10 essential wardrobe pieces. I'm going to keep that in mind when I'm rebuilding my wardrobe. And in general, keep essentials in mind when I'm rebuilding my life.

So there's that,

Laura

Bittersweet Wow Moment

2010-02-05T10:00:00.002-06:00

As you know, I've been losing my buttshelf over the past few weeks, allowing me to fit easily into auditorium seating and dining chairs.

Well...shit just got real.

Thanks to my missing buttshelf, I'm sitting farther back in my office chair. This means that I'm farther from my computer screen. That means I can't read good and stuff. I've taken to hunching over and resting my elbows on my desk, my face inches from the screen.

I don't think that's in my best interest. I'm really starting to regret this whole surgery thing...

PSYCHENAW! I'm just kidding!

Either I need to get a bolster for my chair, go see the eye doctor again for the first time since aught six, or adjust the view setting on my monitor to "geriatric." After much consideration, I've decided adjusting the screen is cheaper. And maybe I should see the doctor.

So there's that,

Laura

Re: How is it possible to be invisible at 300 lbs?

2010-01-30T12:05:00.001-06:00

I honestly don't see how I can get any more cynical. I lost 100 lbs a few years ago, and I remember well how much better people treated me. I was still positive and social during my regain, but it was difficult not to notice the positive attention - and any attention - toward me drift away. I know how the world chooses to ignore people; it drives you to becoming a caricature, a jester, a nursemaid - anything that would make you more likable than your outward appearance. I'm sick of fronting. I'm looking forward to finding out who I am going to be when I'm not fat.

So there's that,

Laura

Deep Seated

2010-01-26T20:27:00.000-06:00

I went to see Baby Wants Candy on Friday night, and barely noticed my new "wow" moment. I could sit in the auditorium seats without the arms crushing my thigh fat. I didn't have to "commit to a thigh" and sit with an unnatural leg cross all night. I fit in the seat! And I could use the arm rests! I didn't have to hold my arms across my chest to keep them from flopping onto the person next to me!

I would think there aren't many readers who know what this feels like. Just imagine if everything you currently do feels completely awkward, uncomfortable, painful...pretty much contrary to the way things should feel. Then imagine that you start gaining comfort one step at a time. The chair in your doctor's waiting room doesn't buckle beneath you. The elastic on your underwear doesn't dig into your thigh. You can cross your legs without going numb within a minute. It's pretty awesome, the freedom. You'd blog about it, too.

So there's that,

Laura

To the Hesitant Pre-Op

2010-01-24T14:33:00.001-06:00

I'm 28 years old, no comorbidities besides hypothyroidism, 47 BMI, family history of diabetes, and about 150 to lose. I'm six weeks out, and it's probably been the best 6 weeks of my life. No major pain after surgery that wasn't managed by good meds in the hospital. The day after surgery I felt sore, as if I'd done a bunch of sit-ups. I walked 2 miles worth of laps around my hospital floor that day, and I've been moving ever since.

I went back to work after 3 weeks, and had a hypoglycemic episode on the bus on the way to work. Totally my fault - I thought I could wait to eat until I got to work. Lesson learned - eat first thing in the morning! I've been fine ever since. I started hitting the gym again at 3 weeks, taking it easy on my upper body and core. Tomorrow I start working out full force. I haven't been tired or depressed since surgery.

Obviously not everybody can say their recovery was as good as mine. Everybody's different. My advice is start working out now; I credit my quick recovery to a regular workout regimen for the past 2 years. I work for surgeons, and that is always their advice. Do right by your body now. Also, don't be too "strong" for pain medication. They give it to you so that you can feel comfortable enough to live your life without the pain in the foreground. I took my meds regularly and was off them after 1.5 weeks. Haven't taken a pill since.

Most importantly, be positive. There's a good possibility that your recovery is gonna suck for at least a hot minute, but it will get better. Manage your expectations. I truly feel that this has been a gift for me, and I'm so happy to have done this now than to waste any more of my precious life worrying about my diet. This surgery has given me everything I need to move on and enjoy the things in my life that don't involve food!

So there's that,

Laura

Has Beans

2010-01-20T19:45:00.005-06:00

Today was bagel day at work, so I brought in a gluten free frozen waffle to give myself some normalcy. I can only eat half of the waffle with some peanut butter, but it's something.

For lunch I made a date with an old high school pal who just started a job near my office. He'd been in Chicago for a year and a half, and until now I hadn't made any effort to hang out with him. I was too much of a hermit.

Anyway, I knew he loved Popeye's chicken, so I suggested we eat there. I had a side of red beans and rice. It went down really well, but daaamn Gina! I could have slept for 5 hours when I got back to work. Carbs make me sleepy!

This brings me to another topic - smell. This sense is getting stronger.

I used to eat beans all the time. Now the smell of refried beans makes me want to hurl. The other night, I made a mini tortilla pizza with refried beans, chicken, cheese, and salsa, and I could barely stand it. Now there's 4/5 of a can of refried beans in my fridge, and even though it's sealed in Tupperware, I can smell it as soon as I open the door. I have to throw them out. It's so bad that I don't even want to open the Tupperware; I just want to throw it down the garbage chute and never deal with it again.

I used to love this herbed turkey breast from Trader Joe's, but now the smell of rosemary and sage makes me gag. It's too fragrant!

I can smell people's breath on the bus. I can smell their hair. I hated the smell of cologne before? Now I want to put anyone who wears too much cologne into "work" camps. Give them a "haircut" and a "shower." Is it so much to ask for a nation of olfactory purity?

So there's that,

Laura

That '70s Show

2010-01-19T09:43:00.002-06:00

I had a delightful weigh-in today, clocking in at 279. I probably haven't seen this number since 2006 when I was on the climb after my last big weight loss.

So far I've lost 29 lbs since my pre-op weigh-in, and 56 lbs since I began this process in May 2008. I feel awesome.

So there's that,

Laura

Wow Moment #2

2010-01-18T17:40:00.006-06:00

When I sit in a forward-facing bus seat, my knees aren't wedged against the back of the seat in front of me. I took a picture:

I've lost my butt shelf. I can now feel the entire length of my spine resting comfortably on the back of a chair, or against the back of the bathtub. It's a strange feeling, not having that gap between my butt and the center of my back when I sit down. I don't think the small of my back has had contact with anything other than my bed in a LONG time. My back feels better too!

So there's that,

Laura

The $25 Bite

2010-01-17T18:08:00.004-06:00

I was out window shopping yesterday afternoon, and it had been about 4 hours since I drank my morning protein shake. I needed a protein rich meal, stat.

I decided to stop by The Counter for their burger in a bowl. From what I remembered, the portion size wouldn't be too difficult to handle - you get just over 5 ounces of meat served over spring mix greens and your choice of garnishes. I figured I could get a serving of their fried pickles, too; in my pre-op days, the pickles were positively paltry.

You can see where I'm going with this. What arrived was an insurmountable obstacle of food. There were probably 20 thickly sliced fried pickles in front of me, and I could only deal with one before digging into my main course. I went for the monthly special - an easily digestible crab cake with bacon cole slaw. I should've asked the server to bring me the crab cake by itself; I couldn't even contemplate the lettuce and attendant condiments. I asked for a little plate so that I could dose out my crab cake, which was beautiful and full of lumpy crab and very little filler. I'm sure the server took one look at my untouched plates and thought I was some kind of freak.

It took me 90 minutes to eat the 5-ounce crab cake plus one more fried pickle. I passed the time enjoying this guy's book. With tip, my meal came out to $25.

I learned a few things. Don't go to a sit-down restaurant when I'm starving and by myself. Go someplace with soup. Go to the grocery store and get something at the deli. Get the right portions for a better price. If I do go somewhere, it's gotta be the best of the best; I don't mind shelling out cash for a once-in-a-lifetime meal. But a crab cake? Bitch you high.

Most importantly is that I was confronted with how I saw food portions before surgery. I used to think those fried pickles were a rip-off because I could still see the bottom of the plate when they arrived. Now they look Brobdingnagian, as if I could use one of them to slide down a snowy hill. I had to break down that crab cake and move it section by section to a smaller plate so it didn't look so bestial. Eating? Not as easy as it used to be. And that is good.

So there's that,

Laura

Wow Moment #1

2010-01-16T18:50:00.001-06:00

I was in the dentist's chair today, and noticed that my arms fit inside the arm rests! They rested comfortably on my waist and thighs, my elbows not buoyed by my FUPA and hip fat.

This is a pretty big event, as I normally have to hold my arms hoisted on top of my belly while I'm lying back in the chair. Otherwise, they would just flop out over the sides of the chair, knocking the drill out of my dentist's hands and into my eyes. Then I would be blind.

I was not blinded today. This is good.

So there's that,

Laura

Baby's First Dump

2010-01-14T15:55:00.001-06:00

Guh. I had my first episode of dumping syndrome today.

I went out to lunch with friends and chose the protein-rich chili at Potbelly Sandwiches. The chili went down quite well, but my mistake was to follow that up with a couple of Zapp's Creole Onion potato chips. Pretty soon, the flakes of potato swelled and queued up in my esophagus like Netflix.

I spent the rest of my lunch time trying to comfortably wait out the push through my Mini Fridge. After the walk back to work, the Fridge started to defrost: I spent the next half hour hovering over the toilet, sweating, dry heaving and spitting up foam. Blech.

It's not pretty, but it passes. This was yet another lesson - ease up on the carbs, stop eating when you feel the pressure. You can't ride a bike without having training wheels first, and even then you're bound to get some scraped knees.

Tonight's my first RNY Support Group meeting at the hospital. I'm pretty pumped to meet all the other people who've had the procedure, and I'll be sure to submit a full report in my next post.

So there's that,

Laura

Stuck in the Middle

2010-01-13T15:52:00.001-06:00

When food gets stuck on the way to or from my Mini-Fridge, it feels like a heart attack. The only thing that makes it better than a heart attack is that I know stuck food will pass.

Yesterday rice was the culprit. I had a cup of jambalaya soup from Whole Foods, and the combination of swelling rice, chicken and broth made my stomach say "fuck you" to my body. When it happens, I have to take a few laps around the office or find a quiet corner of the handicapped bathroom stall and have a silent freak-out session against the wall, my arms stretched overhead. Last week it was tuna that made me re-enact my own version of The Crying Game. No matter how moist tuna, rice or chicken is, it's never moist enough. That's what she said.

Lesson learned. I'm watching for the signs of stuck food so I can stop it before it starts. The signs: pressure underneath the left ribcage, lower back pain, tightness in the chest as a morsel of food raises its middle finger to me. Well joke's on you, stuck food - I can't see your middle fnger.

But I can feel it.

So there's that,

Laura

Thoughts on Why

2010-01-06T21:03:00.003-06:00

I think there are a few reasons behind my obesity. I've always been overweight - as a kid I had an adorable layer of dimples and baby fat, and that turned into cellulite and stretch marks in my teens. I had a great childhood, but there was trauma. I think what's most influential is that food has always been associated with love and family. Every one of our big family events were centered around food and the kitchen. I spent time in my grandma's kitchen every day, and I remember watching her cook and helping her, eating little dough balls that she'd give me from the dumpling tray, helping her whip egg whites for cream pies and make bear-shaped pancakes. She always had treats for us - gum, sugar cereal, ice cream.

At home my mom was diet crazy, for my sake. She was thin, my sister was thin, my dad was big and muscular, but I was chubby. I associated her lame corn flakes with punishment and my grandma's Lucky Charms with reward. My grandma died when I was 9, so the food shackles went on full force after that. When I got my first job at 15, I used the first paycheck to buy Cookie Crisp cereal and Fruit Roll-Ups...all my long lost treats.

I guess I started to feel entitled, too. When I kicked ass, I would reward myself with food. Unfortunately, I kicked ass all the time. So what do you do?

So there's that,

Laura

Wurq It!

2010-01-05T18:03:00.003-06:00

I started my day off with a cool glass of skim milk and a few tablespoons of thick Greek yogurt.

(Hey 'Mantha, doesn't "skim milk" and "thick Greek" make you laugh like the old Boardman days?)

I scored a seat on the bus, and I didn't sweat my makeup off during a Shelby attack, strangers hovering over me yelling for juice. Cooperate please!

Today was my first day back to the gym after 3.5 weeks! I fell back into the routine with no problems, taking it easy on the elliptical machine for 30 minutes. I felt good afterward, and I hope regular aerobic exercise will help me have more energy. Lots of post-ops report feeling fatigued after the first month, some saying it lasts until the 6th month. Someone said she started feeling more energy in her 6th month only because she started exercising. I figured it wouldn't hurt me to start early.

Of course, I don't plan to over-exert myself until I'm fully cleared for exercise at the end of the month. The doc and nutritionist told me that elliptical machines are fine for now, as long as I don't do too much with my arms.

I truly believe my physical fitness played a huge part in my easy recovery. It's a blessing that I adopted healthy habits years ago; I can't imagine going through this surgery without some idea of what good nutrition and physical fitness is. I'm not repulsed by the protein drinks and high-protein foods I have to eat. The only thing I don't like so much is that all my fruits and veggies have to be cooked until they're soft. You better believe that when I'm cleared for all foods, I'mma head out for a salad, first thing.

I get to be creative with food, and Lord knows how much I love that! I must include protein-rich foods at every meal, with a goal of 60-80 grams per day. Tomorrow's menu excites me:

Breakfast/mid-morning Snack (This is my office bagel day splurge):

1 gluten-free apple-cinnamon waffle, toasted

1 pack Justin's Cinnamon Peanut Butter, spread on waffle

1 c skim milk

Lunch/mid-afternoon snack:

2 chicken/bean burritos - refried beans and cheese rolled up in deli-sliced chipotle chicken breast and topped with salsa verde and cheese

1 applesauce cup

Dinner:

Salmon croquettes (recipe later)

2 oz canned peaches, baked with Splenda, cinnamon and cracker crust

As the post-ops say, I'm "working my tool," and having a fun time doing it. I'm packing the "Mini-Fridge" with good treats, and I be up in the gym wurqin' on my fitness!

So there's that,

Laura

Passed Out

2010-01-04T17:24:00.003-06:00

Today was my first day back to work in 3 weeks. I thought it would be difficult to get up in the morning after 21 days of sweatpants and unscheduled sleep. Instead, I popped out of bed like it was the first day of school.

Against my better judgment, I left the house with barely a cup of water and some essential meds in my belly. I hadn't had anything in my stomach (henceforth, the "Mini-Fridge") in 12 hours. That's not good.

I figured I could make it to work before needing a protein shake. Hell, I'd lounged around for over an hour before eating on other mornings. Surely this wouldn't affect me.

Oh, it did.

I got on a crowded bus this morning, even though an empty one was right behind it. I wanted to get to work early on my first day, packed bus be damned. I was doing all right for awhile, standing in the aisle, bothered only by the unnecessary closeness of the guy behind me.

Then I got that spotty sparkly feeling that I get just before I pass out. I remember thinking, "Okay, I should probably ask someone for a seat. Nah, I'll just concentrate really hard on not passing out." Instead of concentrating, I ended up having a pleasant dream about singing the song Breathe from the hit musical In the Heights.

I came to, a blurry vision of my purple coat lapels splayed before me, a woman's voice, hands unbuttoning my coat and untying my scarf. A guy said, very sweetly, that I could have his seat. People in the front of the bus told the driver I was awake; the bus had been stopped on the shoulder of Lake Shore Drive, and once my safety was confirmed, he slowly merged back into traffic. "Are you diabetic?" No - just low blood sugar. "Are you okay?" Yeah, I just need to breathe. I breathed, shallow panting. I realized a woman's foot was stuck under my ass, and she was kind enough not to say anything about it or attempt to move it out from under me. After some breathing, I crawled into a seat.

We reached my stop a few minutes later, and the same nice lady that helped me asked me again if I was all right. I told her I was, thanks so much. I was still too shaky to feel embarrassed yet. I hustled the block to my office, and thankfully an empty elevator was open to rocket me to the 25th floor. I went straight to the bathroom and continued to shiver, sweat and shake. By this point, my shirt and sweater was drenched with sweat, and my long hair was soaked through.

It took all my strength to get my phone and call my friend/coworker Lyzz. She saw me come in, and asked me where I was. I told her, and asked if she could bring me some milk. She did, and she brought KH, one of the nurses who works in our office. KH was very nice, asked Lyzz to bring some sugar packets dissolved in a little water. I slowly downed the milk and sugar and began to feel better. KH took my pulse and blood pressure, and after a half hour or so, I felt good enough to get to my desk and deal with emails.

I learned my first post-op lesson: Always eat something FIRST thing in the morning! It's not worth spending the day wondering how many fellow commuters you crashed into on the way down to a dirty bus floor.

So there's that,

Laura

It's Not You, It's Me

2010-01-03T16:12:00.004-06:00

I'm breaking up with my boyfriend of 7 months today. Give me strength.

I drafted a pansy-ass email to him, but I don't really want to be the kind of person that breaks up over email. I've decided to call him tonight.

I'm not hurt or upset; I'm just very ready to end this. There's no passion there, and I feel like we're both holding out for the BBD - the bigger better deal. Neither of us deserve to be placeholders. I think we'll both be relieved at the end of the day, honestly.

This ends the civil tone of this transmission. Begin the bitchy tone: Two subs do not make a dom. He's too shy to make any moves, and so the hell am I. We even talked about this, THREE MONTHS AGO. Nothing. I'm just done with him. The guy's 36, and I completely understand why he's still single. He's not unattractive; he just has no MOVES. In that HE DOESN'T MAKE THEM. I never thought I would dislike someone who was so nonthreatening. Gah!

I know what it feels like to be desired, and to desire in return. I deserve to be desired. There's nothing - nothing - I crave about this man. Plus, he puts up this front all the time, that he's so blase about everything that nothing affects him. He acts like he's the authority on every subject. I've had very few real and frank conversations with him. I like him when he's honestly himself, but that's only 5-10% of the time. He's honest, but not genuine.

So, I guess it's time to break up.

So there's that,

Laura

UPDATE: He hasn't responded to the email yet. I take that to mean he's amenable to the terms...but he's not getting his book back.

A New Year

2010-01-02T11:26:00.005-06:00

Well hello!

These last few months have been a whirlwind of activity. I've worked, eaten, slept, watched endless hours of TV, slept some more, avoided people, and worked. I've been a sad little crab, content only in the shell she'd been living in for 3 years.

Oh...and I had gastric bypass surgery.

This was a fairly recent event. I went in on the morning of December 14th, awoke from the anesthesia in pain, slept until the next morning, and woke up feeling pretty ducky. It just felt like I'd come out of a three-hour ab class, sore from too many sit-ups.

My dad stayed with me that week, and my recovery went perfectly. The surgeon said I was the first patient he considered releasing on the day after surgery. The only issue was that I couldn't pee on my own after they removed the catheter. I didn't pee for 24 hours - until the morning of the 16th - then they said I was free to go.

The day after surgery, my dad and I walked laps around my hospital floor. This was so easy, we worked out 2 full miles throughout the day, and I went FAST! The only thing that held me back was the IV cart I had to drag around with me. The nurses were pretty stunned by my progress. The next day I did 2 more miles before I peed and was released, then dad and I walked around Michigan Avenue and the Apple Store before getting a bus home. It was pretty punk rock. That is, they didn't make me leave in a wheelchair, and we didn't go straight home to rest. I guess that's about as punk rock as you can get after surgery.

Dad and I did 3+ miles of walking and browsing the next day. After he left on Friday I did more of the same. My sister and nephew came up on Sunday, and we spent a few days together before driving home to Indiana on the 22nd. I had a follow up appointment that day - I dropped 7 lbs since surgery, and I was moved from liquid diet to soft foods. Lunchmeat, bitches!

I got back to Chicago on the 28th, and since then I've been experimenting with new ways to get protein into my diet. I have to eat 60-80 grams of protein everyday, and drink at least 64 oz of water. I've had no pain, no stuck food; I haven't overeaten. I can drink water like a mofo. I don't miss food; what I eat is limited to what I need. My whole day is an uncomplicated equation. I love it.

The last few nights I haven't been able to fall asleep until 1 or 2 am, only to wake up at 8 the next morning. That kind of sucks. And I've been grinding my teeth - that's not new, I hold stress in my jaw. I'll be sure to address that at my next dentist appointment in a couple weeks. I'm tired, but still active.

As of 12/28, I'm down 20 lbs since before surgery. I haven't seen "288" on the scale in probably 3.5 years. What's amazing is that I'll never have to see it again.

To say that I'm looking forward to what's ahead is an understatement. Never in my life have I been normal, and I know I never will be. It'll be interesting to see how I'm both looked at - and overlooked - as a thinner person. As usual, I'm not going to have high expectations about it. I just want to take it one day at a time and chew through this new life as slowly and completely as I have to with every bite of food.

So there's that,

Laura

Two Big Tig Ole Bitties

2009-10-16T14:56:00.001-06:00

Guess who's back in the em effin' house?

This one!

I have officially crossed the seemingly endless bridge of work that has kept my writing life at bay for the past 3ish months. I've missed you. I've missed me. There are plenty of good posts ahead. More to come.

So there's that,

Laura

Simple Joys

2009-09-08T20:43:00.002-06:00

All I want right now is rice pudding, a hot shower and a cold bed. So finished with this day.

So there's that,

Laura

Reboot Universe

2009-09-07T20:24:00.003-06:00

"Today, I came up to a cross walk. Right before pressing the button I noticed the sign above it said 'Reboot Universe.' I was too afraid to push it, so I went the long way. You're welcome, Universe."

My Life Is Average #449895

So yeah, no posts in a while. The blame is threefold:

Busy work schedule
General funkiness
PopCap Games

This is my busiest time of year at work. I won't bore you with the details, but I'm pretty much effed against a wall until October 16. I go to Indy next week to staff a continuing education course, and I come right back to work on more stuff for our organization's annual conference next month. Don't use these links against me; I worked very hard on them.

By the time I get home, I'm tired and stressed enough to binge eat. I've been good about not giving in, but I must admit there were a couple nights I came home to a dinner of Chunky Monkey.

I don't want to get on the computer when I come home, but I do anyway. I login to my work computer from home and do the mindless stuff while I watch TV. I don't have time to paginate a 700 page, 26 chapter PDF when I'm trying to explain my work to a new boss and juggling calls regarding the above-mentioned programs.

But that's work, and I saw it coming. I'm just trying to visualize how life will be on October 16th. I know it's a gross analogy, but I imagine it will be like coming down from a big orgasm, except the stuff leading up to it isn't as fun. And I promise never to type "orgasm" again. Henceforth, I shall call it an "OG Readmore."

And when I get done with work-from-home, I spend a few hours watching mrsa infection videos and then warping my brain playing Bejeweled, Zuma, or Atomica on popcap.com. I don't know how it started, but now when I close my eyes I imagine rows of gems that I have to sort by color in groups of three or more. It's completely effed up.

I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I like my job, I like where I live, but there are so many opportunities I know I'm missing. I'm doing the improv thing, but I feel like I can't really connect with it anymore. Taking two years off really screwed things up; there's new blood, and though I've been where they've been, I feel out of touch. Like I'm thisclose to being one of those weird older people taking improv classes. I'm 27, and I feel like I'm doomed to be the cougar taking classes at IO just to branch out away from work and get in touch with the hip young crowd. Makeup caking in my wrinkles and flouncing about onstage in my open-toe sandals and my age-inappropriate Lane Bryants smelling like powdery Estee Lauder eau de toilette.

Harsh, no?

This is the stuff of my general funkiness. I want to go to grad school, but I just don't know what the point is anymore. If I stay in my division at work, I can't really get above my pay grade if I don't have a masters...in anything. And I want a masters; I just don't know if I have the guts to plunge into more debt and spend three years of my life as a working student. Which is stupid - I know it's hard work, I know I can do it, and I know the time will fly; but I already feel like my life's been on hold forever. How can I start living if I have to work doubletime?

My life being on hold? Totally my fault. My confidence has taken a nosedive in the nearly five years since I've moved here. It's not the city, it's not the people; it's my own effing pisspoor attitude about myself, my weight and my relationships. I've said this a million times on this blog, but I've been living like a 40something divorcee all my life. Comethefuckon already Laura! Get your shit togets!

Every night I go to bed thinking I'll hit the reset button, but every morning turns into the same afternoon into the same evening. I go by barely noticed in my daily life. I'm at the same time disturbed and thrilled when I get into random polite exchanges with cashiers and commuters. I'm practically 5 cats and a crossword book away from menopause.

The pistons just aren't firing lately. Should I make them?

So there's that,

Laura

Miss You

2009-09-02T10:14:00.001-06:00

This is the best spam email subject line I've had all month:

Your penis is too dear to your heart not to do anything for it! Right on!

So there's that,

Laura

I hope you get fat.

2009-07-27T19:35:00.006-06:00

I got on the bus this morning to find 3 remaining seats: seats 2 and 4 on the 5-seater row in the back, and one in the 2-seater sitting perpendicular to the back bench.

I took the one in the 2-seater for a few reasons:

I couldn't take seats 2 or 4 because it's a tight squeeze and it's the public transit equivalent of riding "bitch."

The first seat has a little more "hangover" space, so the occupant can skooch over to accommodate a larger bum.

If I take the second seat, it looks like tight squeeze, but the person in seat 1 has the opportunity to take advantage of the "hangover" zone if he or she is uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, seat one was taken by an Aryan blonde man, so I took seat two. Because he had the opportunity to skooch, I felt like I was doing him a favor. I had that smug sense of satisfaction that comes with doing something right, like recycling, taking reusable bags to the grocery store, and throwing styrofoam cups at Greenpeace activists.

Plus, I fit in the seat. The guy didn't even have to skooch.

But what did he do? After doing the obligatory huffing and sulking after a fat person invites herself to sit next to a person, he sat there for a moment. And then he bolted. He stood up, moved 2 feet forward, and stood for the rest of the 10 minute ride.

Bitch do what?

I was kind of put off by this. A little pissed, a little hurt. I moved into his vacated position and skooched as far as possible. There was plenty of room for a person of normal BMI, especially a no-hipped male. As you can guess, I spent the entire ride thinking of shit to say to this guy:

Fine.

Fine. More room for my bags.

(Meekly) There's room for you now...

(Haughtily) There's room for you now.

Dick.

A bit spoiled as a Hitler Youth, weren't you?

Finally I settled on the best response:

I hope you get fat.

So simple. So true. So raw. What better punishment for someone who doesn't like fat people? I hope he gets fat so that he can see how much it sucks to choose a seat. To see how it feels to be imposing. To feel guilty for taking up space. To feel bitter when people choose not to sit with you. To start wishing it on other people.

I hope your partner gets fat. I hope you still love her/him anyway, but if you don't, I hope that you have an affair, get a venereal disease, get a divorce, lose your money, end up alone. The possibilities are endless!

I was getting so charged up that when Britney Spears' Slave 4 U popped up on the iPod, I started changing the lyrics to suit my needs:

All you people look at me like I'm no little girl

But did you ever think it would be okay to eat Karamel Sutra Swirl?

Always saying tubby girl don't step into Sam's Club

Well I'm just trying to find out why cuz eatin's what I love

eat it eat it eat it eat it oooh, eat it eat it eat it eat it oooh

I'm a slave 4 food...

He was still standing when I got off the bus, and I sooooooo wanted to whisper my zinger to him. How ballsy would that be? How antagonizing? How useless.

Instead I offered a curt excuse me as I brushed past him.

So there's that,

Laura

Stumped

2009-07-26T10:57:00.002-06:00

Hey everybody,

Sorry for the absence as of late, but I've been stumped on how to move forward. I've been obsessing over gluten-free food, and I actually love it. I've been coming up with some really creative recipes that I hope to post here in the coming days. I find myself strolling the grocery stores, reading labels, and putting everything that's interesting and gluten-free into my cart. OVERSHOPPING! I have to put a cap on that this week. One of my goals.

Until then, I have this hilarious gif to share:

So there's that,

Laura

Put Down the Knife!

2009-07-09T16:29:00.001-06:00

This morning I had to go in for a biopsy on my upper GI tract.

When I did my pre-op testing a few weeks ago, they found I was anemic and had low iron stores on top of that. The doc put me on a high dose of iron supplements and ordered another blood test last Friday to see if celiac disease was the culprit for my iron absorption issues. I tested positive, so they set up a biopsy this morning.

This involved shoving a camera down my throat. As I've had practice with long things in my throat before, the procedure was not altogether unpleasant. I got some good sedatives and a nice midmorning nap. Plus juice and graham crackers! Hello again, kindergarten!

I just got a call from the surgeon's office, and he, the gastroenterologist, and the physician who oversaw my pre-op labs all agreed that surgery should be postponed.

Because celiac disease requires a major diet overhaul (no gluten forever, no milk for awhile), they wanted me to get a handle on those changes before throwing new ones at me. Plus, treating the celiac would help my iron situation immensely. It was better for me to go into surgery with as much iron in my stores as possible.

I know it's all for the best, but this has truly broken my heart. I sat at my desk and cried for a good ten minutes. I was so ready for this! Now I have to keep waiting.

I know that weight loss will occur in the interim, especially with these new changes to my diet. But damnit, I've been visualizing this for so long.

Gah, I'm just bummed. More to come.

So there's that,

Laura

Cleaning Out My Closet

2009-07-05T12:44:00.003-06:00

I don't know how to write about this surgery, and that's why I haven't posted very much in the past month.

I want to write about it, but I'm hampered by some things. I think it's time for a list of what's on my mind.

I've been writing about non-surgical weight loss for some time. Do I look like the biggest a-hole in the world to suddenly come out about my surgery? I can't care about that. This is a journey I started over a year ago with a medical team. It's been on my mind for the past 3 years, to be honest. I just couldn't take the plunge and start the process. When I started the process, I couldn't let myself rely on the possibility of surgery.
It's sad to admit, but I go through life with the idea that things rarely work in my favor. That way when they do, I appreciate it even more. I figured I wouldn't get approved for surgery, but I should try anyway. Who knows? After 6 months of constant consultation with a nutritionist, a psych, and my doctor, I was rejected for surgery in November 08. We did a little more work getting my weight history and reapplied. I didn't hold out any hopes. I was approved in May, and things progressed quickly from there.
I was still on the fence about surgery. I'd lost weight through diet and exercise before; I should be able to do it again, right? Would having surgery be an admission of some kind of defeat? Some kind of weakness? I figured I would make the decision when I had the option. When I got approved, it was pretty easy to make the choice.

I am defeated. I do have a weakness. I have been obese all my life, and if that's not a sign of failure then I don't know what is.

It's sad that my identity has always been tied to my weight, even since I was a kid. How do you turn around 20 years of beliefs, especially when they've been with you since your formative years?

Short answer: You can't. I can't.

I've accepted long ago that I will never have a normal life when it comes to food or my weight. Since that's the case, why put off surgery? Sure I may lose weight through dubdub over the next few years, but I can't say that it will stay off. Well, I can say that, but who the eff knows, right? I thought I'd keep my weight off last time, but that was a bust. Time gives you all kinds of drama to deal with: love, death, wealth, poverty, babies. Any of that can drag me out of control.

I want control. Everybody with an eating disorder wants control: fat people want it over food and choices about their lifestyle, anorexics and bulimics want it over food and choices about their lifestyle. Our bodies are ours alone, and we want to control it any way we can.

I don't like being told what to do. That started long ago with food, with being told I can't have this or that, sugar cereals or cakes. That I can't have clothes or toys until I lost weight. When I became a big girl who could make her own choices, guess what I did? I bought a box of Cookie Crisp and had dessert with every meal. I got fat, I got thinner, I got fat again when I couldn't control my emotional situation. I know my history. I don't want to keep repeating it.

I have this chance to have a new tool - one that restricts the amount and types of food I can eat. It's not going to tell me what to do, but it's going to pre-empt any of that crazy behavior. I will have to deal with my food issues head on, instead of bingeing and hating myself later.

And really? I'm done with food. In revisiting favorite foods last week, I realized that food's not as good as it's cracked up to be. Last week was a chore, and each meal was lackluster, to be honest. I got fish and chips Thursday night, and it was bland and soggy. I didn't even finish it. I'm over this slavery to food.

I work well within boundaries. I'll find ways to make any restriction flavorful and enjoyable.

This post seems full of contradictions: I don't like being told what to do, but I work well within boundaries. It's true, and I stand by it all.

The only difference is, this surgery is MY choice. This is not my mom lecturing me on my food choices; this is me going into a situation as a fully-informed adult. This is my decision and I am proud of it.

I'm tired of defending it. I will gladly talk about health, diet, fitness, but from here on out I will only talk about my body on my terms. I'm not anyone's property. Everybody has an opinion about what I'm going to do, but the only one that matters is mine. My body is not up for debate anymore. I am not my disease.

This is my new mantra. Now is the time when I have to stop looking at myself as a body and start seeing myself as a person. I need to cultivate my interests because I've thrown so many to the wayside over the past 3 years. I don't want to lose my personality, because I do have one, and I know it's more than being a bitter fat girl.

Which brings me to another pondering - when I lose weight, will I stop bitching? I hope so. I mean, from this day forth I will not be hard on my body. But I will bitch about people who drive me crazy.

Back to the surgery: I hopped on this opportunity because I don't want to be 45 and obese, pissed at myself for not taking this chance. I want to start living my life. Like I said, I've pissed away my twenties, I wasn't a normal teenager; I live like a divorcee, for Christ's sake. Done! I'm done with it!

I shouldn't care about this, but the friends I've told about this surgery have not been so excited about it. It's scary, I know, but for me the benefits outweigh the risks. I hope they can accept my decision and my new lifestyle. I don't think they can really see or understand how I feel at this point in my life right now. I've been asked why I care so much about what other people think. The misconception is that I'm doing this for other people. No...I'm doing it for me. What I'm doing is not living. I need to build up myself before I can be any good to others.

And yeah, other people do come into play. I'd be lying if I said they didn't. Truth is, I don't care what people think so much as I don't want to be invisible anymore. To both men and women. People don't treat me seriously at the gym, at a sports store, at any stores that aren't Lane Bryant. I've been out to bars with married women who - acting as my wingmen - get hit on by the guys they're trying to introduce me to. I can be as tricked-out and present and engaging as a muhfucker, but guys go after the hot women. It's a fact. And while I don't want to go out with the kind of guy that hits on married women, I would so love the opportunity to break their hearts and blue their balls.

Surgery isn't magic, it isn't going to cure me over night, and it's going to really suck for a while, but goddamn it, I'm ready.

And it's not up for debate.

So there's that,

Laura

So long, farewell

2009-07-01T13:00:00.001-06:00

Goodbye, Pulled Pork Sandwich with Cole Slaw.

See ya, Corn on the Cob!

Auf Wiedersehen, Banana Nut Bread.

Sayonara, Bagel with Veggie Cream Cheese.

Hello Disgusting Sense of Fullness. I've been expecting you all morning.

Seriously, there is no pleasure in this eating. It's like a frickin' death march - not that I'm mourning these foods, but that I feel obligated to eat them while I can. I'm not enjoying it, so why don't I stop?

In a way, I feel like if these last meals make me feel like crap, I will have no craving for these foods again. I'll remember how greasy I felt after downing that pad Thai last night. How unappetizing the cookie dough ice cream tasted on top of a full stomach at 9:30 pm. I'll remember the embarrassment of wiping corncob spray off of my cubicle walls just now.

Gross. I keep saying for the next 36 hours, I'll be Ms. Why Not. At time like this, when my stomach's distended so much that the stretch marks - slack two weeks ago - have now accordioned out again to contain my girth, I need to be Ms. Why.

At the very least, Ms. What Am I Doing?!

So there's that,

Laura

How bad can that be?

2009-06-30T18:53:00.003-06:00

Remember when I said I was gonna push all that "last dinner" mentality away from me?

Yeah...no.

My low carb, high protein pre-op diet starts Friday, and it's really hit me that the clock is ticking on my time with food. I have 2 days to do this:

Eat one more box of Strawberry Fruit-Roll-Ups
Get some fish and chips
Have a caramel pecan sundae
Eat a really good cupcake

Right now I'm full up on Thai food, but there's a pint of choc chip cookie dough ice cream in the freezer puttin' the spurs to my imagination. I'm FULL! But I have to eat this ice cream!

This is crazy this is crazy this is crazy!

I keep telling myself that after Friday, it's just food. But now it's freedom! Or actually, it's not; I'm making myself a slave to this shit until Friday. How free is that?

If I abstain, will I always think of this as the food that got away?

So there's that,

Laura

UGGly

2009-06-30T18:47:00.001-06:00

I saw a girl today walking around in a skirt and UGG boots. This made me worry that I'd time-traveled back to 2004, until I looked down and realized I wasn't 40 pounds thinner.

Seriously? Why are people wearing these shoes? IT'S SUMMERTIME AND YOU'RE WEARING SHERPA WOOL. FUCK YOU.

These shoes make even the thinnest hoochie look like she got lymphoedema:

Am I right?

So there's that,

Laura

Let It Be Done

2009-06-14T20:02:00.004-06:00

I've been thinking about that earlier post on Last Meals all weekend. And I've decided I'm over it.

I'm not going to plan the next month around all those foods that I won't be able to eat for a long time; that just gives power to the food. Once I put that plan out there, I realized how crazy it really sounds.

I've been working for years on not making such a big deal out of food. By making that list, I put a deadline on my indulgences. Not good. That's like saying I'll never have those foods again, which leads to an obsession over them, which leads to resentment post-surgery when I can't eat them with the abandon to which I've become accustomed.

By planning last meals, I'm undoing what's really a lifetime of work. I already learned the hard way the lesson that banning foods will only make me crave them more. Planning meals over this next month, celebrating our last dance, will only make them more difficult to ban. That will lead me to resent the fact that I have to ban them in the first place.

Fuck that. If I come across the opportunity to enjoy these foods over the next month, then I'll take it. But for me to go out of my way for them will cost more than money.

I'm done paying those dues.

So there's that,

Laura

I Just Got It...

2009-06-13T16:24:00.003-06:00

When Legally Blonde came out, I was all, "Where did they get that title? Is that a play on words? A pun? Is it a play on legal bonds? Can a blonde be only so blonde to be legal, like fruit cocktail has to contain a certain percentage of fruits and syrup to be legally considered 'cocktail' by the FDA? She's a certified blonde?"

I'm serious. Shamefully serious.

I'm catching up on blogs just now, and truTV is on in the background. I was watching Forensic Files, but now one of those police footage clip shows is on. I just heard a guy say "legally blind," and it clicked.

Legally Blonde is a very clever play on the phrase legally blind. It works! Her blonde-ness led to blindness - to others, to life, to reality. She had to learn to see!

Talk about a headslapper. Jesus Christ, what a relief. Apparently the only blonde here is me.

So there's that,

Laura

PS - It was this kind of realization that led me to hate the phrase "Daddy's little squirt." Gross. It's semen. They're saying that a kid is its father's squirt of semen. Shiver. That kind of stuff belongs on a consenting adult's face and chest, not near children.

Last Supper Syndrome

2009-06-09T17:32:00.002-06:00

I've lost 2 lbs in the past month, bringing my total loss so far to 35 lbs.

Just for the record, I'm not going to use my upcoming surgery as an excuse to quit eating right and excercising. I could very easily do that, but I like to think that once I see a number on the scale, I never want to see it again.

So today will be the last day I see 291.

My goals in the next month are two-fold: continue to eat healthy and excercise, and eat those favorite meals one last time. I know those are seemingly disparate goals, but I want to be able to say goodbye to those foods that I've taken for granted over the years - all while sticking to my daily POINTS allowance and keeping in shape. I'm not going to binge...

I've realized how much I've grown in the past year. I've addressed all those binge- and secret-eating habits that have kept me down; I just don't feel like doing that anymore. It was very easy for me to down a pint of Ben & Jerry's (as single-girl cliche that is), a whole Tombstone supreme pizza, a bag of salt and vinegar chips with dip, a bag of microwaved popcorn with Tostitos queso dip, a box of Fruit Roll-Ups, and a sleeve of Strawberry Sour Straws...in one afternoon. I'm not kidding. That was a regular full-on binge for me before I started walking for hours every weekend. I'd wake up on Sunday morning with puffy eyes and thick mouth, and I'd drink only water the rest of the day. I think that's what they call an eating disorder.

Now I can't even think of it. For one, I get full. I've learned to read my body's hunger signals, and I've had a little help from Meridia in that regard. Binges - as huge as they were - never made me feel sick because I was ALWAYS hungry. That's the ultimate reason why I'm having this surgery; to physically limit my food intake. Something's pretty wrong with you if you can eat and never feel full or sick and still continue to crave. I had to change my behavior, and now I'm going one step further and changing my body.

Surgery is the last tool in my box. After 20 chubby years of successful and unsucessful weight loss, I know my body and my mind. I couldn't have done this 10 years ago, or 6 years ago, or even one year ago. I can do this now, and I'm ready for it.

I'm in training for July 13. I want to be in the best physical condition possible before I go into that operating room. I want my recovery to go smoothly, and I can't do that if my body and my mind aren't prepared. Plus, I want the surgical team to be all, "Wow, this is the fittest fatass we've ever seen!"

I also want to have those favorite meals that I won't be able to enjoy in the same way again. I want to enjoy them, to remember them for the lovers they once were. They are as follows:

Mussels in wine broth from the Atwood Cafe, Hopleaf, or Bistro Margot. I can only pick one.
Shrimp Pad Thai and cucumber salad from Thai Aroma
Chicken Pad Thai, Crispy Rolls, Tom Yum Soup, Tom Ka Kai Soup from Penny's Noodle Shop
Kung Pao Shrimp, Chicken in Lettuce Cups from PF Changs
Sunday rib special from Art of Pizza
Whole Grain Pancakes from Golden Nugget Pancake House
Lemon Meringue and Red Velvet Cupcakes from Molly's Cupcakes
Mini BBQ Chicken Plate Lunch from Aloha Grill
Chicken Fajita Bol from Chipotle
Fish and Chips from Wilde
Arugula Pizza from Quartino
White Wine, sharp cheese, apples and bread
Something with Asian Slaw on the side from Bandera
DIET COKE WITH LEMON!
FRESCA!
STRAWBERRY FRUIT ROLL-UPS!

I think that's it. As you can see, I'm very serious about my Diet Coke, Fresca, and Roll-Ups. My stomach will soon be a no carbonation zone. After I've healed, I hope I'll still be able to tolerate spicy food. I think I'll miss that the most.

For the record, I won't die if I don't have these foods before the surgery, but it'd be nice to try them one last time. I know that I can't let a last supper turn into a last binge.

So there's that,

Laura

a comment on single life after college

2009-06-04T19:02:00.001-06:00

welcome to our parents' reality - only we ain't working for our kids.

i don't think our generation will ever be satisfied. we're all snowflakes until we melt in the heat of the realworld. then we get selfish and shut down. it sucks. i guess it pays to have something to always improve - love, religion, weight, body, home, soul. it's all a distraction from the pain of being notspecial since school.

so there's that,

laura

The Gayest Man on Earth Would Call This Over the Top

2009-06-03T20:06:00.004-06:00

Here's a bit of random fun:

The literal version of the Total Eclipse of the Heart video. Love it. Live it.

So there's that,

Laura

Redacted

2009-05-31T13:47:00.002-06:00

While conversations with her are hurtful and confusing, Mom eventually shows a better side. It's not an ideal mother-daughter relationship, but what is?

After I posted the last blog, I called Mom back and left her a voicemail. I said I didn't put all the blame on her; there were lots of factors involved in my obesity, but I have very strong memories of her expectations and the way she managed them. I told her I couldn't do this without her, but she needs to see that I am an adult, I made this decision on my own, and I don't want her to undermine my confidence in it.

She called back Friday afternoon and apologized. "I'm sorry for being so concerned. It's just my job. I know you are an adult, and I will be there for you always. I love you more than anything."

We continued making plans for my surgery on July 13. I'm getting a redacted stomach.

So let it be written. So let it be done.

So there's that,

Laura

Editing the History of Blame

2009-05-28T19:17:00.003-06:00

Mom sounded loose with whiskey when she answered the phone tonight. On any ordinary night I would have tried to end the call quickly, but we had to make plans.

Note to self: Call early in the evening to talk to a sober mom.

Now my face is hot and stung with tears, and my lips and tongue are sticky from sobbing.

She told me she loved me and she would be there for me on the big day. She told me she'd take care of me while I convalesced.

"But Laura, you will stick to the letter of the law. You will follow every rule they give you..."

I know Mom; I've been working on this for months now.

"Laura, listen to me. You...you have to do whatever they tell you..."

Mom, I made this decision after a lot of thought. I -

"No - Laura...No. I'm saying you can't quit this -

I know! I didn't enter into this lightly -

"Laura..."

I faced down a lot of guilt and apprehension -

"Laura..."

To come to this decision. I'm an adult -

"What I'm saying is, you better do everything they tell you to do..."

You could hear the finger-wagging in her voice, the lush wisdom of a woman who's confident her daughter will fuck this all up somehow...because she's so immature and has an attachment to food.

"Laura, what does food mean to you? Is it comfort?"

Uh yeah, it's comfort for everyone. When you give kids snacks and sweets for being "good" then they associate it with reward. I got a lot of rewards.

"I never brought snacks into our house."

You'd come home with a can of potato sticks or a Reese's egg in your hands and hide them behind your back and tell us to pick an arm. Manda and I would each get one. You came in one morning before work and left each of us a bag of pick-a-mix candy.

"Oh it's my fault?"

Not exactly...Gram gave us treats, family gatherings revolve around food...it's all comfort and family.

"SO IT'S MY FAULT! I got news for you little girl, I'm not to blame for what you did to your body."

I had a part in it, yeah, but you were the one who put me on diets.

"You wanted to!"

I didn't ask; you suggested and I went along with it to make you happy and to make me skinny. I believed everything you did.

"Laura you wanted to do those things, you asked!"

I asked for dolls and clothes, and you always told me if I lost weight I could have whatever I wanted.

"You better think about that, little girl. You better take another look."

Mom, it's not all your fault...I don't put all the blame on you. This is what I remember. And now that I've made this decision on my own, you're trying to suggest that I can't cut it. I'm in control of this choice.

"You are something else. You came crying home when kids picked on you. What was I supposed to do? It was your heart, your lungs..."

My heart and lungs are perfectly fine. I don't blame you...I'm just saying what I remember.

"You remembered wrong. You had a horrible childhood? Am I such a bad mother? You couldn't even trust me with Charlie -"

Off limits. This conversation is ending in 5 seconds if you don't cut it out."

"Oh this is off limits?"

Click.

I knew going into it that this was a bad idea. I should have just let her speak her condescending wisdom and just nod. I shouldn't give my counterpoint when she's drunk, when she's on a mission. Though if I just say "yeah," and let her make her point, she'll think I'm not serious. She'll keep saying the same things over and over again. Can't I defend myself?

I thought we were reaching the point where we could have honest conversation. I guess we both have to be adults before that can happen. Trouble is, I don't think either of us are.

So there's that,

Laura

Confesh

2009-05-26T19:08:00.003-06:00

I have to make a confession.

This is very shameful to admit...

I fucking mean it.

I spent 2 hours on Sunday watching YouTube vids of people popping zits, cysts and boils.

I KNOW! HOW?! WHY?! BISCUITS?!

I got my monthly PMS chin zits, and I learned long ago (read: last month) that I shouldn't try to pop them because I'll go all crazy and gouge a patch out of my face. To prove it, I have 3 scars on my chin the size of cigarette burns.

Not to brag, but zits are pretty rare for me. Yeah, I get chinzits every month, but none big enough to write home about. So when I do get a real juicy one, I want to pop it and dig at it until I see bone or Jesus, whichever comes first.

It's such a rush! You KNOW IT IS! Zit-popping and scab-picking are one of life's nastiest guilty pleasures and don'tpretendyou'rebetterthanME!

So yeah, I want to pop my zits but I can't because of the aforementioned scarring. I had some free time on Sunday - obvies - and decided that instead of going to town on my face, I should see if YouTube had anything to offer.

...BOY DID IT EVER!

I started out with zits, but when I wasn't satisfied I moved onto sebacious cysts on men's backs. That was good for 45 minutes or so, but I still wasn't fulfilled. I moved onto boils and skin infections. Of particular delight were MRSA wounds being drained. (That link is tame - just a description.) MRSA is a particularly nasty staph infection that can cause huge abscesses that are often confused with spider bites (I watched drainage of those, too). I watched baseball-sized holes being drained of fluid, leaving behind a hollow hole in the skin. It's fucking disgusting...and glorious.

Then I watched video blogs about how entire MRSE abscesses had to be completely excised from the body, leaving deep trenches in the tissue. Many people found hard lumps of puss (or something...I'll call it puss) in the drainage and photographed it.

Obviously, I'm not very squeamish about this stuff, and I'm sorry if you are. I would probably get sick if I was in the same room and had to smell it, but I can handle watching surgeries with some suspension of disgust. It's just soooo cool to see what the human body does to fight infection!

Sad to say, I don't think I'm done. I went back to watch more yesterday, and I'll probably go back tonight.

What have I learned? Zits are just a gateway blemish.

So there's that,

Laura

Eat the Cookie!

2009-05-18T21:00:00.005-06:00

I caught Flowers in the Attic on TV this afternoon, which is a blessing because I got to see this long-forgotten awkward/hilarious scene.

A little background first: A woman goes against her father's wishes and marries her uncle (that's in the book). 15 years later, the couple is happily married with 2 teens - a girl and boy - and two 2 young children - a girl and boy. They're too precious. Her husband dies suddenly, and, destitute, she is forced to return to her father's mansion/compound to beg forgiveness..and for money. Dad doesn't know that she had kids with her uncle, and if he ever does, she'll never get paid. So she does the obvious thing and - with the help of her bitchdog mother - hides the kids in the mansion's attic while she tries to weasel her way into the will.

The kids are there for years, their mother telling them that very soon her father will die and they can come out. Bullshit. The kids get all pale and dress up in the old timey attic clothes and decorate the place with paper flowers and imagination. Bitchdog grandma thinks they're fornicating (like their mom did with the uncle) and so keeps her stinkeye on them all the time. She chops off the older girl's hair in one scene.

(In the book, the older daughter and son have sex. Actually he rapes her, which is really really really weird. Weirder because he does it after seeing his mom making out with a new beau...)

Anyway... the young boy dies after eating cookies powdered with arsenic, and the oldest son decides that they need to bust out in front of everybody. It looks like Mom's getting remarried, so they're gonna bust their move on her big day. In doing so, they happen upon grampa's will which states that if it's proven that Mom had kids with her uncle, she'd be disinherited. The jig is up!

The kids get all piossed and barge in on mom's big day. Before you watch, please note the wonderful/bad acting, and my favorite line of the movie starting at 0:47. EAT THE COOKIE! Let's join them, shall we?

That's gotta be worse than getting your period on your wedding day. At least there were cookies.

So there's that,

Laura

Hot Fish Pasta

2009-05-18T18:06:00.003-06:00

It doesn't sound good, but I swear it's the most delicious thing in my life today.

Hot Fish Pasta
Serves One

2 oz dry shaped pasta (penne, bowtie, shells, etc.)
3 oz (1 small can) light tuna packed in olive oil
1 clove garlic
2 tsp olive oil
1 Tbsp parmesan cheese
salt
red pepper flakes
black pepper
red wine vinegar or lemon juice

Boil the pasta until al dente in heavily salted boiling water.

Peel the garlic clove and roughly chop. Sprinkle a little salt on the chopped garlic and and use the flat side of your knife to smash the garlic into a paste. You'll have to make several passes of your knife and just sweep and spread the garlic on your cutting board. The salt helps grind the garlic.

Drain pasta and return it to the pan. Off of the heat, add the tuna, garlic, olive oil, red and black pepper and parmesan. Toss gently until combined. Return the pan to low heat and warm the contents while continuing to gently toss. Finish with a dash of vinegar or lemon juice (you'll need it).

I know it sounds crazy, but it's so delicious. The key is using tuna in olive oil; it doesn't taste as dry as water-packed and it melts in your mouf. This dish probably cost me $3 to pull together. And it's sooooooo gooood. I want more now.

I got the idea when I was walking around an Italian deli today. I saw the cans of imported oil packed tuna, and remembered that my boyfriend Alton Brown was in love with it. Then I saw the eggy looking homemade dried pasta and an idea was born. I was originally going to go with a cold pasta-tuna salad with some capers, dijon mustard and a little mayonnaise or vinaigrette. That would have worked, but I didn't want to mask the flavor of this tuna. I'm serious, it is good shit.

If this dish had herpes, I'd go on Valtrex for it.

So there's that,

Laura

Querulicious

2009-05-16T12:39:00.004-06:00

Yesterday's word of the day from dictionary.com was querulous.

quer⋅u⋅lous
[kwer-uh-luhs, kwer-yuh-] –adjective

1. full of complaints; complaining.
2. characterized by or uttered in complaint; peevish: a querulous tone; constant querulous reminders of things to be done.

Doesn't weight loss begin with a complaint about your body? If that's the case, I've been complaining for a long time. Way before this blog.

If you go back and read all the stuff I've posted here, you'll probably find that 75% of it is complaints. Complaints about my body, my mom, my local Subway. Hell, even yesterday I complained about my pants being too big.

Bitch say what?

So I'd like to turn this around on my own querulous ass and file some complaints against my personality. If spending all this time on energy overhauling my exterior, I better take a hard look at my interior. Lord knows I don't want to be one of those skinny girls with nothing to offer!

I play devil's advocate too much. When my friends are facing problems, complaining about others or their situations, I always try to look at it from the other side. I make excuses for the offending party, I try to put my friend in her enemy's shoes, and I pretty much argue against my friend's position. That's just awful, isn't it? If somebody pulled that shit on me, I'd get pretty defensive. And guess what? That's what my friends do. I need to stop and think: a good friend listens and empathizes; she doesn't "well, maybe..." I've got to get over my opinion, and get into her heart. I'm not Spock; I don't need to be so goddamned logical.
I give unsolicited parenting advice. Guess what? I ain't never birthed no babies before. Who the fuck am I to tell you to get your kids dirty so they can build up immunity to germs? Whe the fuck am I to tell you that "you can't control what happens when you're not there." How am I gonna sit up here and offer advice when I ain't been in your place? I'm going off what I know about how I was raised and how I saw other children raised around me. Considering how fucked up a portion of my upbringing was, maybe I'm not the best person to weigh in on how you raise your child.
I will find a negative side to your greatest pleasures. "Oh, you got that fabulous shirt at Marshall's? You're lucky you're not fat; it's so hard to find decent clothes at closeout prices. We have to buy premium from Lane Bryant if we want to look good, can't just pop into H&M for a shirt. Did you know Old Navy doesn't even sell women's plus in stores? Oh yeah, it's only available online now..." "Oh, you like Starbucks coffee? I like their espresso drinks, but most of their regular coffee tastes like ashtray to me. I love Metropolis coffee, only it's so hard to find..." "Oh, you like to run? I'll try again after I lose 100 lbs, but if I did it now my thighfat and tits would get pulled like taffy..." Girl, shut up. Find the positive. And if you can't? Shut the fuck up.
I have to hear what I missed. The reason is two-fold. I'm as good as deaf, especially in places with lots of background noise...like a movie theater. Secondly, I don't trust people; this bitch wants to be in the loop. I need to understand that I'm not interesting enough for it to be all about me. I need to trust that people aren't keeping secrets from me. I need to trust that if I don't hear what that one guy with the black hair said, I'll figure it out eventually if I shut up and pay attention to the rest of the movie.
I don't trust women. With the exception of a few awesome women in my life, I am very VERY distrusting of other women. I've always had more guy friends than girlfriends, which is a shame. Growing up as a fat girl, I got shit from a lot of other girls. Mostly though, I think it's because I envied so many more girls. If they didn't have a FUPA, I didn't want to like them, I didn't want them to have winning personalities, I didn't want them to be happy. If they did have a FUPA, I wanted to be seen as better looking than them. Other fat girls were my competition in The Least Ugly Fat Girl competition that takes place in every school. In truth, I was just as vapid as I assumed all the other girls were. This is sad. Not only do men tear us up for not being perfect, but women tear each other up for both being perfect and not perfect. You can't fucking win. I decided to support fabulous women everywhere. No more competition.

So yeah, I can turn it back on myself. I won't say that this is my last blog of complaint because let's face it, the world runs on bitchin' and moanin'.

So there's that,

Laura

A Humbling Moment in the History of Fashion

2009-05-15T09:40:00.001-06:00

I'm pissed off.

But a good kind of pissed off...I guess.

I bought a pair of kickass trouser jeans 2.5 years ago, and I was only able to wear them once before I FUPA'd and muffin-topped my way out of them. Hell, they were a little tight in the ole fupe when i bought them, but I'd hoped the wide legs and a little weight loss would make them more comfortable.

Wrong. I wore them once, and I remember the day very well because the pants were so tight as to make me feel self-conscious, and I had on a pair of new, ill-advised shoes that so brutalized my feet that my bunions could have pressed charges. The fashion police should have arrested the shoes on color alone: lime green is not for everything.

Add to that a romantic banana yellow top, and you've got a recipe for Laura's ultimate discomfort: an ensemble with too much going on. I mean, I like attention and all, but when I wear something that just tries too hard, I feel like the biggest trendwhore in town - literally. Nothing makes me feel more fat and exposed than an overly ambitious ahn-SAMB.

So I put the pants away on the top shelf of my closet, hoping for a day when I could wear them the way they deserved to be worn - comfortably fitted. I took them out maybe 3 times over the next year, but it was no use; I was growing 25 pounds heavier than the day I bought them. I tucked them away on a sweater shelf, with the fear/understanding that I'd eventually throw them out in one of my semi-annual freakout clutter sweeps.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw them on the sweater shelf and decided to put them on my denim pile. I didn't try them on because I was just beginning to fit into other 2-years-old-and-never-worn pants, and I couldn't handle the disappointment if this pair should continue to pinch my FUPA.

Last night I was in bed considering the next day's wardrobe. Friday is cazh/denim day, and I realized all 3 pairs of jeans in my current rotation were dirty and stretched. I took note of the old pile of jeans on my shelf, and decided to try them on when I woke up.

This morning I pulled out 3 pairs of old jeans, and decided to try the trousers on first since they looked so clean and new. There was no struggle to pull them up over my hips, no struggle to button and zip. I had forgotten the pants were "low-rise" (which is all relative when you're plus shopping; a 7" zipper is still better than a 14" momjeans zipper, but not by much), and now they were struggling to sit on my hips. There was a gap at the back where my ass/back fat should have been. Instead of clinging to my hips/upper thighs before falling straight to the hem, the outseam looked deflated around the largest part of my body. It caved around my knees. With no ass to fill it, the seat was empty and sagging. With no dumptruck to hold it up, the wide hem dragged on the floor.

It was a sorry sight to behold - watching a pair of structured jeans, once magnificent and untouchable in its constant disapproval, flop lifelessly around my shrunken legs. It's gratifying and at the same time disappointing, like seeing your 8th grade English teacher buying tampons. Like selling a Hustler magazine to a respected town cop. Like hearing a bitchy coworker take a fierce dump in the stall next to you. It's an equalizer, to see something so superior brought down to a human level...but at what cost?

Still, I'm wearing the pants today if only as a bleak reminder of how the masters can become mastered. And because they're really fucking comfortable.

So there's that,

Laura

X Divided by Ten Equals Thirty Three

2009-05-13T17:44:00.001-06:00

Lots of big things have happened since I've last written, but I've just found it difficult to put into words.

First this:

I know I write too much about the mundane details of my life (what I ate, how I feel about living creatures, epic BMs), and I hate doing that just to write something. But I started this blog not just to talk about fatness, but as a reminder to write more. A poet/songwriter I knew a long time ago told me, "A writer writes, no matter what." It's a widely understood sentiment among "artists", and since it came from a particularly expressive hippie, I took it with a grain of salt and some hand sanitizer.

When I write about even the mundane shit (pun intended), it gets my brain juices flowing onto broader topics. I may not always write about the broad stuff, but I think about it...and that's therapeutic.

Also, I don't edit my writings (or myself). I probably should, but then I would fritter way too much time away on my masturbatory musings when I could be searching for free porn and literally masturbating. I put a limit on my home computing time, so it is rare and precious.

Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is I'll keep writing mundane crap just to write. Feel free to gloss over it and see if it goes anywhere. Feel free to call me out on it.

*************************************************

BIG NEWS!

I lost 5 lbs this week, which brings me to a total loss of 33 pounds. It's a significant number for a few reasons:

33 was Jesus Christ's age when he died for our sins.
It's 1/3 of the first 100 lbs i need to lose.
It's 10% of my starting body weight.

So yeah...you can do the algebra. When you do, you'll see I've got more than 100 lbs to lose. At this point, I'd like to lose 120 more, but I'll just focus on the next 33.

What this means is that I get my first big ticket pampering reward: a botanical skin resurfacing facial from the Aveda Institute. I had it done last November during my staycation, and let me tell you if I had a penis, I'd totally jizz over it. Not only do you get a facial, but you also get a decent hand/arm/leg/foot massage. Hot stones are involved. Music is played. Happy endings are had.

I shal post more big news later, but now I have to put on my adult diaper in preparation for 3 straight hours of LOST.

So there's that,

Laura

Time's Up

2009-05-05T14:05:00.001-06:00

Time is officially up on my one month 10 pound challenge, and I didn't make it. What can I say?

I didn't gain or lose this week, and I'm proud of that. Also to my credit, I'm on my BIG P and I still bit the bullet and weighed in. Hopefully next week I'll show a big loss; that's how it always goes when I'm free of my gyno-shackles.

So this month I lost 6.6 pounds, and that's not bad at all. I am exactly 5 lbs away from my first goal, so that will be my main focus in the next two weeks. I promised myself a massage, and by golly I'mma get a massage. It's long overdue.

Spring weather has finally hit Chicago like the dumb bitch it is, so now I can step up my exercise routine. I'm already working the elliptical 4 days/week over lunch. On the aerobic setting at level 15 for 35 minutes, I can burn 800 calories. I'm gross and drippy when it's all done, but man is it the highlight of my day! Now that the weather's nice, I plan to walk home (5 miles) at least two nights/week. And because my weekend schedule prevents me from going on marathon walks for the timebeing, I still get in at least 5 miles every weekend. The lap pool will open soon at the park district, so I'll get to swim. I'm so excited for all the new ways I can get active!

There is nothing like spring in Chicago. The winters are so brutal that it cracks the skin on your eyelids, you can't find parking, and you ruin countless shoes until you decide to wear rubber boots everywhere. But when spring comes, everybody stops complaining and steps outside. The sidewalks flood with smiling people, and you don't even want to punch them for getting in your way. The attitude of the whole city changes.

Sigh... I want to drink a beer and make out with someone I don't care about.

So there's that,

Laura

In Bad Taste

2009-04-30T15:46:00.010-06:00

We were watching the nonstop news coverage over lunch in the Franklin College cafeteria. It had been a pretty solemn morning; I remember walking across campus with my friend Kelley, the sun bright white on the concrete steps as they spilled out between Old Main and Shirk Hall, stunned that something like this happened in the 3 hours I napped after returning from work at 6 am.

I wrote an essay a year earlier for my freshman composition class, in which I pondered our culture's lack of awareness. My generation and the generations that bookended it really had no desire, energy, or reason to follow current events. We were wound up in our worlds of needing, wanting and having. Everything came so easy for us. I said we needed a wake-up call, a tragedy, a pinion that would make us form opinions.

And it happened. We got our Pearl Harbor, our Vietnam, our Berlin Wall. We got 9/11.

I got over the initial shock after seeing other people, after talking about it, after seeing a few hours of smoking towers and speculation on TV. It was during lunch when I began to see this from a broader perspective. It didn't just stop time, stop our breaths, and stop our perception of the world as we knew it; it started a circus.

Jump back to 4:00 that morning, when I was alone working at the coffee shop, baking pastries and brewing coffee in the few hours before opening. On the radio was a local morning talk show, and the hosts discussed how Reese Witherspoon signed on for a sequel to Legally Blonde, how the Bush twins were out of control socialite party girls, and how George W. Bush was a spit-bubble-blowing, helmet-wearing, monkey-faced retard in general.

By noon, George W. Bush was a Capital L Leader, a gracious, conscientious, iconic dignitary who would bring us through this crisis with aplomb. That's how fast the national opinion changed.

And that's when I knew this situation would turn into a jingoistic porno.

Within the week, factories were pumping out American flags in plastic, polyester, muslin, magnets, lapel pins. Screenprinters designed t-shirts with crying eagles, "In Memoriam" in front of two smoking towers, Osama bin Laden with a bullethole in his forehead. People forwarded emails showing Afghanistan's weather forecast (which was nuclear or "hot as hell" as signified by the mushroom cloud over a cartoon sunburst with a surprised face and melting sunglasses), or emails with crying eagle .gifs, or bin Laden being sodomized, or GW Bush walking along a beach, one set of footprints in the sand behind him...

September 11th was the biggest marketing boon for tchotchke companies the world over. And people ate. it. up. A national tragedy, the deaths of thousands of people - including hundreds of firemen - was turned into the biggest "at least I got the t-shirt" joke in recent history.

Before any of this happened, however, I was having lunch with my friends and watching the news. Scrolling underneath the constant national coverage was the local news...the Jimmy Buffet concert in Indianapolis would be cancelled. No news yet if they will schedule a raincheck performance in light of the circumstances.

That's when I wondered how 9/11 would impact our precious pop culture. So I said, "Guess they should make plans for the next season of Survivor. Survivor: World Trade Center."

Yep. I made my first 9/11 joke on 9/11. And we laughed. We laughed that it's-so-fattening-but-I'll-have-two-anyway laugh. My future boyfriend was at the next table, and he laughed. That's when we met.

I guess you can say that was in bad taste, but considering how the events in pop culture did unfold: people kept ragged American flags on their car windows without retiring them respectfully; people wore their "patriotic" WTC shirts while doing light yard work; the sudden rise of the president from buffoon to Son of God; the racial profiling of M. Night Shyamalan...I think I made the most tasteful joke, if only because it was intentional.

Post-9/11 "patriotism" became a parody of the tragedy itself. Popular opinion has a way of doing that - without any help from my snarky, tasteless comment.

And again, I said it because I saw it coming.

NOW FOR THE PART I HOPE YOU'LL REALLY LIKE:

Elizabeth Smart was kidnapped at a time when a LOT of girls were being kidnapped - or at least that's what the hot topic was at the time. Magazines were publishing all these horror stories about the recent kidnappings, with stories from survivors on how they got through their ordeals. Kidnapping pretty white girls was the Caylee Anthony or Swine Flu of its day. I'd like to point out that girls/boys are kidnapped all the time; so maybe this wasn't a "rash" of kidnappings so much as a spotlight on missing jailbait during a slow news month.

The joke isn't that Elizabeth Smart was kidnapped, raped and tortured by a madman and his wife just a few blocks away from her home for a year. The joke isn't that she was so brainwashed that she walked around her hometown in a veil without saying a word. The joke isn't the miracle that she was found and is back home with her family.

THE JOKE is that the media blitz surrounding this case was just as sick and voyeuristic as her ordeal. Am I wrong?

What happened to her was unconscionable. What's worse is that every ABCNNBCBS network morning show had to get the exclusive interview. As soon as she was home, they had to bring her back in the spotlight to describe the horror of her experience. But because she wouldn't talk about it, they did the next best thing: describe it right in front of her. Describe the findings of the police, show pictures of the "campsite" where she remained a sex slave. She sat with her parents as the reporters painted a shitty, Bob-Ross portrait from secondhand details and assumptions. That's the real tragedy - to see your singularly tragic story thru someone else's sadistic telescope, and in front of your Mormon parents who didn't want this for you. And the parents could only say, "We love hearing her harp music fill our home again."

"And we're just gonna paint a happylittlehouse right over here..."

MOREOVER, the public wanted to know more. In a way, when we read an article with her name in it, we were all hoping to share her experience. Our Special-Victims-United, Forensic Filin' public wanted to know more true crime details. How dare she choose to remain quiet about it?

And my comment was in bad taste?

You, anonymous commenter, certainly devoured a lot of details about her case. You subscribed to the manufactured, manicured, Katie-Couricked and Matt Lauered production of the very real drama of her experience. And you're on a high horse about my tasteless joke?

We two are very similar; it just seems our bad taste is manifested in different ways.

The main point is, my joke comes from the perspective of that not-so-rare breed of stupid, overdramatic emo girls who would kill to have that kind of press coverage. Who wants so much to have her lame existence sensationalized that she doesn't care what she has to go through, just as long as people see her as a hero, feel sorry for her, talk about her, talk to her. And you know those girls are out there.

That's the joke. Get it?

The girl who wants to kill herself just to get a two-page photo spread in the yearbook like that pretty, popular girl 2 grades ahead who shocked everyone by hanging herself in her basement last year. It would be even better if her class built a memorial rock garden for her, too.

The homely classmate who was on the same class trip to Aruba when Natalee Holloway was kidnapped. Only while pretty Miss Holloway was partying at a bar, uglybritches was in her hotel room lancing the watery blisters off her feet while her roommate with the short grandma perm wrote postcards to her parents (whom she'd see before the cards even got there) and snacked on 100 calorie packs of Teddy Grahams. That homely, blistered classmate that smelled of stale sweat? She's thinking what's the use? Even if I did get kidnapped, possibly raped, and abandoned, nobody outside of my immediate family would make a big deal out of it. I wouldn't get a Lifetime movie. I probably wouldn't even get picked up by a Dutch party boy...just some Mexican from the kitchen staff. He'd probably just finger me, tell me I'm gross and then I'd cry, get lost and drown. I never get a break...

JonBenet's pageant rival's bookish sister? Who's older? Whose parents didn't have enough money to put her in pageants when she was a kid, but nowtheyhaveallthemoneyintheworldforBrittany'sstylist,hairandmakeup,andGlamourShots? If IIIIIIIIIII was molested and murdered in my basement on Christmas, that would show them.

Girls are fucked up like that. You know it. Or you wouldn't know it if you had enough self-esteem to never look at things from that perspective. If so, lucky you.

A final note on Elizabeth Smart: I don't feel so bad for her. Yes, what she went through was beyond words, but you have to admit the girl turned lemons into lemonade. She's got a book deal, People Magazine "checks in" with her and her family every year on the anniversary of her kidnapping, she's making cash as a public speaker and and advisor to the government on publications for survivors and tools for law enforcement. And I bet she's pretty happy to have more people at her lame harp concerts than just her parents.

Remember that essay I mentioned way back at the beginning of this epic post? The one about my generation needing to get knocked off its block? Allow me this: Elizabeth Smart was raised a Mormon, with utopian beliefs that her purity, good acts and utter obeisance to God will bring her prosperity and happiness. (I think that's a load of shit, but that's another post.) If this hadn't happened to her, what would her mind look like? Would she have knowledge of the world as cutthroat and challenging as it really is, or would she just easily float through the manufactured mist of an adjunct culture? Is that so bad? Or was this an experience that reinforced her Mormon beliefs - outsiders know not the true way of the Lord and that is why we don't let them into our church now let's find you a husband? Either way, she's turned lemons into lemonade.

And you know what? Maybe I - the writer, not the character - am a little jealous. At least she's got a good network of people that can get her a date.

Me? I'm damaged goods, too, only I didn't get any press coverage or book deals out of it.

Such is the fount of dark humor. The spring of my discontent.

So there's that,

Laura

Sister-Wife Bound

2009-04-27T19:06:00.001-06:00

In spite of my "Don't Let Go" flash of faith on Friday, I resumed monching all weekend long. Popcorn, Haribo gummi bears, Jelly Bellies, and Tostitos Nacho Cheese were mainstays on the menu.

And there was that pound of Hawaiian grilled chicken over cabbage with side of macaroni salad from Aloha Grill.

And the lemon meringue cupcake (filled with lemon curd and topped with light meringue) from Molly's Cupcakes next door.

Bah...

I figure I can let those 3 days be my shameless PMS binge days. I've resumed normal consumption and excercise, and I'm happy to be back on schedule.

Perhaps it's serendipitous that I won't get to weigh in tomorrow. I'm going to Salt Lake City for the night to make sure this surgical education reception I've been planning goes off sans hitch. I leave tomorrow morning and return Wednesday night. I have a few hours on Wednesday to take in some sights.

Who knows? Maybe I'll become some Mormon's Sister-Wife. Maybe I'll get kidnapped by some crazybeard a la Elizabeth Smart.

But things like that don't happen to girls like me. One can dream...

So there's that,

Laura

Don't Let Go

2009-04-25T07:21:00.002-06:00

I'm having a little crisis - I made a big plate of nachos last night.

Chips
Cheese Sauce
Black Beans
Jalapenos

And I feel so guilty. Now's the time of the month when I'm super hungry, and to my credit, a binge like this in the past would have set me over the edge. I'd have made some microwave popcorn to dip in the remaining cheese sauce. Then to end all that salt on a sweet note, I'd have gone straight to some ben and jerry's. I'd look for their fro-yo first, but if they didn't have any, I'd go full out butter pecan or half baked.

I often get songs in my head based on the situation at hand. I've been talking to a guy for the last few days, and the song in my head was I Got My Mind Set on You. Yesterday because the weather was warm, I had Summer Lovin' from Grease. Last night during my binge, it was En Vogue:

What's it gonna be?
Cuz I can't pretend, NO!

then some relationship stuff about being more than friends

Have the right to lose control
Don't let go.

So yeah, En Vogue spoke to me last night. I have the right to lose control.

But don't let go.

So there's that,

Laura

Shenanigans

2009-04-21T18:01:00.002-06:00

Justin posted a great story on his blog today about some of our best shenanigans. I'm copying some of it here, J, because I haven't shared any decent fun stories in some whiles.

Trying to sell me peaches
Justin Thompson

...It takes me back to my summer job throughout college where somehow I was lucky enough to land a gig in a flags & silk florals company in Milford, Ohio.

There were interesting characters at that joint. My grrlllzz, Shanti & Yvonne. The predatory sex starved grandmother who, one day, was dressed in a tiger print dress and walked by and said, “Justin…I’m not wearing any panties…” and then growled and drug her feline-fingernail down my cheek. It was awful, yet wonderul in that it was such a hilarious moment to live through. She did walk back by with her coffee and said, “Just kidding!” and snapper the elastic of her underwear through her dress. Yep, total class. This is the same woman who I think got in trouble because they put a suction-cupped dildo on her monitor and the box around it, before “Dick in the Box” was ever a music sensation.

That was also the job where my boss’ last name was Bosse and she loved Evanescence and didn’t have kids, but was like a modern-day Carol Brady, but if she never had kids. So sassy and spunky. Loved her.

Then there were a slew of other folks that worked there of various social degrees and palatability. People with hunches, fake limbs, grody teeth, et al.

One of my favorite characters was a woman who was quite literally a bit crazy. Just really weird, quiet, kept to herself. Imagine if Carrie hadn’t died and went to work in a call center. Yep, that’s this woman. Stringy long grey hair, glasses, horrible clothing with lots of shoulder pads. I sat back to back with her in a quad with two other ladies. One of the other gals from another quad had a beta fish and this woman loved it. When the other gal, we’ll call her Fancy cause she was, went on vacation, everyone was looking after the beta fish - but it died. ‘Carrie’ cried at her desk when she learned the fish had died. It’s a fucking 83 cent fish from Wal-Mart, which is like their hospice. I mean, the tiny plastic hummus containers they live in there is God’s fishy waiting room. So it was no shock that the fish died.

Well, because she was so devastated, the manager of the call center bought her a beta to call her own. The next day, bitch rolled up to her desk with about 4 bags from PetSmart. Big ass tank with filter, gravel, plants, toys, etc. And the worst part of it was, I would hear her constantly tapping the glass in a whispery, obnoxious voice, “Here fishy! Here fishy!”
Those were moments where I wanted to scream. But instead, I got my revenge for all the foul people I had to work with. I resorted to some old-school trickery with my pal Laura: prank-calling.

At the time Laura worked for DONA, which is something about birthing babies and is usually ran by a bunch of lezzers (Laura, clarify if I’m wrong, ha ha), and she had down time so we would be chatting back and forth at work and I’d hear certain folks hang up and tell her to call in and it was the goal to make the call the most uncomfortable, unproductive, aggravating and silly phone call that these people would ever live through.

Laura would call in and usually go, “Hello so & so, how are you? Good. How’s the weather? Great. Well, here it’s just spitting out, not doing much of one thing or another…” and she would keep talking about the dumbest things. Making pointless conversations, like an old woman who hasn’t spoken to a soul in weeks, with that kind of desperation in hearing another human voice. That was how she went into these calls. Perfect.

Sometimes she’d call and in the middle of her normal, “Well, can I get some catalogues or something…you said ya’ll have flowers too? Huh…uh huh….oh, wait, TELL ‘EM LARGE MARGE SENT YA!” (this comes from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, clip available here).

Honestly, it was so damn funny because I would tell her to call and not know what she was saying but I would hear the people on my end trying to work their way out of the call or answering these silly questions she was asking them. One woman, a victim of the prank above, walked over and leaned over the half-way on my cube and said, with a grimace, “I just got the weirdest phone call. Some woman called in and was talking and then screamed in my ear [at this point she lifts the post-it note that she had transcribed the message onto, as if it weren't memorable enough to last the 2 feet from her desk to mine; and reads in pure dead-pan voice] ‘Tell them ‘Large Marge’ sent ya?’ I mean, what’s that about? She hurt my ear.”

I’ve never bitten my tongue so hard in my life or had to swallow guttural laughter than so needed to be released.

And I can’t even do the moose mating call noise justice by describing it here, but one person thought it was a coworker calling to ask if they wanted to pick them up something for lunch and had a wreck. That’s how amazing this noise is that Laura can make.

Laura actually got to prank ‘Carrie’ at one point and just talked her ear off about having the wrong number, about how her new cell phone was confusing her, how she was trying to reach her friend Beth about the slaw for the church picnic but needed to use melons so as to avoid flaring up George’s colon polyps. I mean, this was the craziest conversation ever. After about 7 minutes on the phone, which is an eternity in the call center, she got of the phone and a co-worker goes, “What was that all about?” and ‘Carrie’ responds, “I’m not sure, but I think she was trying to sell me peaches.”

I had to walk the fuck away from my desk and out to my car in the parking lot to scream. Literally, scream.

Oh, the tears of laughter I cried at that job were amazing. Fun, fun, fun.

At my last job, Laura got a couple of pranks in on our dumb as shit receptionist via Betty Shively.

Some days I get the urge to prank the call center here.

There’s just something so dumb about doing it that makes it the most enjoyable way to waste away 8 hours of your day in a concrete box.

*******

To be fair, DONA wasn't all lezzers, but it's easy to blur the line.

If I had to spell the dying moose noise, it would be this:

“INGYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAA!”

Just say a word ending in -ing, hold your tongue against your palate at the end of the word, and produce a high pitched yawp. Easy as that.

Oh...the Lord God made them all...

So there's that,

Laura

Why So Serious?

2009-04-21T12:48:00.002-06:00

I've been thinking about my last post for a few days now. It just sounds really awful to say, "Fuck 'em, let them screw up."

Who am I to judge? I'm such a hypocrite.

If you've read anything here, you know that I've gone down my share of unhealthy weight loss paths in the past. I'm not just talking about the stuff that Mom put me on, I'm talking November 2007 when I went on a "doctor" supervised liquid diet. Or later that year when I went to shady nutrition clinic. I knew better, but I was desperate. I reached a point where I would do ANYTHING to just slice off this weight. These were foolish ways to relieve my worst burden; if I'm so smart, why did I think it would be so easy?

I've been on the losing team before - the good kind - and I was high on myself then, too. I can't think that just because I'm doing well now I won't fall back to old habits in the future; that's already happened to me in the worst way. I need to remain vigilant about my own body and not pick on people who are trying to do the same thing.

But I still worry about friends who subscribe dangerous weight loss tactics. That's what that feeling is - worry. It's not anger, but frustration that I can't call their shots.

So yeah, I'm not really an a-hole. I'm trying to be more positive.

**********

On that note, guess who lost another 3 lbs this week? This one, right here! I'm down a total of 28 libbers. That leaves only 3.4 lbs left in my May 5 challenge, and I'm almost at my first goal weight! Skidoo!

I'm getting a new Chuck Palahniuk book to celebrate. Any fans of his out there with any suggestions?

So there's that,

Laura

I don't want to be THAT guy, but...

2009-04-16T11:10:00.001-06:00

You know that skinny friend who has to preface an appetizer or dessert order with, "Let's be bad..."?

Or the guy who lost a bunch of weight on Atkins and palpitates at the mere thought of a carb?

Or the chick who thinks five potato chips are a splurge?

I worry that I'm headed down that path. A few weeks ago I wrote about having a panic attack over pasta back in 2003. I don't think I'm at that point yet, but I caught myself doing and saying some things in the past week that are so that guy.

During a discussion about the nastiness of Red Bull, my dad said that he preferred another energy drink called FOS. He went into his recycling bin to produce the visual aide - a crinkled 16 oz. can. I checked out the nutrition label, and not surprisingly, the two-serving can packed a total of 280 calories. So I says to him, I says, "There are 280 calories in this thing! There's no nutritional value to this drink!"

Dad: "So? What? Well, it gives you energy..."

Me: "But you could eat four eggs for the same number of calories. You could have a sandwich."

Dad: "Yeah, but then I'd feel nasty...after four eggs."

Me: "That's not the point. You could have something in your stomach, that takes time to digest, that makes you feel fuller longer."

Dad: "Well, it's just for energy...I don't need to be full..."

Gah!

It then went on with me saying if you need an energy drink, just get a sugar free Red Bull and choke it back. That's what I do before my improv shows. I hate the taste too, but so what? I'd rather eat my calories than drink them.

I felt like such an A-hole. Who am I? Fucking Susan Powter? He's a growed man, he can make his own decisions. And while it was a lighthearted conversation and I didn't really chastise him, he could have been embarrassed. Who knows? Who gives an ess what I think?

I just know I don't want to be that person. I don't want to lecture people on what goes into their mouths because I've been lectured all my life. Stay tuned for the Bad Advice series of posts.

Conversely, I don't want to judge people that I perceive are extreme dieters. Not because I feel sorry for them, but just because...fuck 'em. They'll make their mistakes and come around, or they'll just keep living in fear of every bite they take. They're big kids. Fuck 'em. I can't waste my time or energy worrying about people who act like fools. I don't want them pushing their fads on me, so I shan't push mine on them.

So there's that,

Laura

Poetic Spam

2009-04-14T14:04:00.001-06:00

I had to share this:

My spam filter blocked one of many emails that alluded to the improvement of male stamina. I counted the syllables, and this one is actually a pretty decent haiku.

Your little friend will grow

Like mushrooms after the rain

Bigger and bigger

Okay, I just checked it again, and the first line has 6 syllables. But if you read "little" as "li'l" it works. It's kind of beautiful...in a porny way.

So there's that,

Laura

Stayin' Alive at Twenty Five!

2009-04-14T13:33:00.001-06:00

I went home for four days this weekend, and I was a bit worried at how I'd get through the trip On Plan. When I'm home, it feels like there's got to be some event everyday that focuses on food - whether it's going out to restaurants with friends, making dinner with family, and extended family holidays.

Luckily, I didn't have to eat at any restaurants this weekend. Dubois County is home to many a fine Mexican restaurant, and let me tell you, Los Bravos is my undoing.

I did, however, attend 4 major family gatherings: our 2nd annual Good Friday tapas party with the Meyers, my niece's 3rd birthday party on Saturday, Easter lunch with my immediate family, and Easter dinner with the Meyers. I had plenty of opportunity to go buckwild all weekend, and I was pretty sure that I did.

I didn't count points, but I tried to listen to my satiety levels and stick to lean-ish foods where possible. I stuck to salads and bruschetta (with multiple spreads) on Friday night, and made exception for a small reuben, tiramisu, some French onion soup, and...chocolate covered bacon and chocolate covered potato chips. The last two items were my idea after seeing them repeatedly on Food Network. Sometimes I think that channel is broadcast live from hell - especially when I see Giada's flesh-eating teeth.

Exhibit A

I made small pieces of the bacon and chips, and you know? The combination isn't half bad. You can't eat it everyday, but bacon and chocolate? Is good to try once in your lifetime.

Saturday was pretty decent. I had some sugar free Peeps, and made a tuna/egg salad at my sister's house. Then we made a chicken tortilla bake, and I had a good deal of birthday cake.

Since I was cooking lunch on Saturday, I got to control a lot of the ingredients. I made mustard-parsley roasted potatoes (I'll post the recipe later), asparagus, Caesar salad, macerated strawberries, and Dad grilled salmon and steak. I also snuck some Easter candy from my niece's basket. Manda? You're welcome.

That evening I was with the Meyer clan again and ate on some ham, turkey, and way too much dirt pudding. It was worth it. I ate light on Monday, and arrived back in Chicago last night, too late for dinner.

Why am I sharing my food diary with all y'all? Because it shocks the hell out of me.

I lost 3.6 lbs this week for a total loss of 25 POUNDS! Woooooooooo! I did okay! They gave me a little 25 lb token and everything. It's hanging on the end of my paperclip string.

I haven't forgotten my goal to lose 10 lbs in the next 3 weeks. I'mma put the smack down and demolish those remaining 6.4 pounds. Mark my words!

Count on more frequent posting, too. I'm coming out of my writing funk.

So there's that,

Laura

More Things

2009-04-07T13:35:00.001-06:00

It's worth noting that while I haven't lost, I've had some non-scale victories in the past 2 weeks. I can fit into yet another pair of my toddler-aged pants. I'm wearing them right now! Wew! I can set aside the black pants and merge colors and textures back into my wardrobe. In the words of Barefoot Contessa, how bad can that be?

I've also been busting my ass at the gym and on the streets. I'm headed home for four days this weekend, and I'm a bit worried about getting in some decent activity. I might just have to live without it and keep on guard with my points.

Also, I think I deserve major snaps for not going apeshit over this old rich lady who keeps bringing her dog to DubDub. She brings. Her. White. Cocker. Spaniel. To each meeting and lets it wander around. NOT COOL. I have half a mind to bring in a big boa constrictor (and dress up like Britney in the Slave4U video), and be like, "Oh this? This my boa. I need it around my neck to keep me warm." And when it wanders I'll say, "Don't mind her...she can't go anywhere without her mommy."

Then I'll feed her a juicy rat and remind her to count her Points.

So there's that,

Laura

Miss Me

2009-04-07T13:19:00.001-06:00

Hey Everybody - sorry for the delay in posting. I've had a wonky two weeks. Nothing bad, but I just haven't been feeling like myself, haven't been feeling very driven.

I skipped weigh-in last week because I was due for my p-rod, and my toddler pants were still fitting. I weighed in today, and I'm still the same as I was 3 weeks ago. I'm not upset or bothered by it. I mean, at least I'm not 22 lbs heavier! If anything, I'm pissed at myself for slacking off - not counting every point, purchasing little treats that I thought I could handle, munching on said treats, then pouring water on remaining treats and throwing them away.

Seriously. I used to be able to keep a box of chocolate tea biscuits or thin cookies or biscotti in the high cabinet and take two months to finish them. I could keep baked chips, too, and not down the whole bag. Now it's all changed and they're calling to me. They want me to idly devour them while I wash dishes or clean the apartment. They want to sit on my lap while I catch up on Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

Sidebar: I never EVER thought I would like BTVS, and I made fun of all my friends who did. Then my pal Lyzz enticed me with her complete collection of DVDs. I didn't have to pay to see the show or clog up my Netflix queue, so why not? Let me tell ya, it's an unexpected delight. I don't take it seriously, but it's campy out the ass and I do get into the romances and relationships. When I finish one season, I immediately crave the next. These are my confessions.

So I'm banning all snackysmores from my apartment until such time as I can get my monching under control. I don't need you, treats!

This time around, I vowed not to set time limits on my progress. But I've decided that in order to bust through this plateau, I need to focus on losing ten pounds within the next month. I need to cut the crap, not give myself any freebs, and go back to calculated splurges that get me out of the house and not into my cabinets.

I vow to you that I will reach this goal on or before my Tuesday, May 5 weigh in. So let it be written. So let it be done!

So there's that,

Laura

PS - Thank you guys for reading and leaving your email addresses. If I haven't written you yet, I'm on it. If you ever want to write me outside of the blog, here's my email: laurainharmony@gmail.com.

Chow.

Ants In The Pants

2009-03-23T15:10:00.001-06:00

Good News!

Back in September 2007, I bought a couple of suits for my new (now current) job. Sad to say, I never got to wear them to work because I grew out of them by the time I started the job 2 weeks later. I shouldn't say "grew out" - I gained 10 lbs. It's funny, because I didn't remember them being snug when I tried them on at the store.

Weight gain goes directly to my legs, thighs, butt and FUPA. I can still wear the shirts I bought then, but the pants were relegated to the left side of my closet to gather dust.

Well, for the past couple of Mondays, I've pulled out the pairs of "new" pants to see if they could be moved into the rotation. I wanted to ease the burden on the 2 pairs of black fat dress pants that have been working overtime for over a year.

This morning was a success! I pulled out a pair of dark denim/gold weave trousers and nearly farted with glee as I buttoned them with ease. How groundbreaking is this event? The tags were still on the pants.

I have pants as old as toddlers, and the tags have never been removed. That's pretty unfortunate.

But today is a new day! Henceforth, let March 23 be known as Closeted Pants Day. Because mine? Are officially OUT.*

So there's that,

Laura

*See what I did there? I likened my pants to closeted homosexuals. I know!

The Glass of Milk

2009-03-18T17:10:00.001-06:00

About a month ago, I was standing in my kitchen talking to Mom on the phone. I told her I'd been working with a hospital wellness program for almost a year, aiming to lose weight through frequent consultation with my doctor, a nutritionist, and a therapist. They were recommending me for weight loss surgery so that in the event of insurance approval, I will have that option.

I was having a bad day, and I needed to cut through the small talk bullshit and tell my mom how I felt. Even after everything I've said here about her issues and toxicity, she does have a mother's heart and can listen to me with sober ears when I tell her I'm hurting. She may not always give the best advice, but she does empathize and share her love.

I might be approved for surgery, and it freaks me out. A year and a half ago, my self-esteem was in such a bad place that I would have jumped at the opportunity; honestly, even the slight possibilities of malnourishment and death would have been better than the life I was not living. But now there are so many factors that come into play.

Is it fiscally responsible? Our economy is in the toilet, and I want to have surgery to quickly fix what a lifestyle change can improve over time? Corporate insurance plans are higher than ever, and this procedure would put another burden on my own organization. I love my job, and I don't want to negatively impact this group. My doctor told me that the complications from obesity would do more damage to insurance rates – and my body – over time. That's true, but…
I don't plan on being obese forever. Not only is my weight on a downward slope, but I eat wholesome foods and exercise. I got fat over the last 4 years because I ate right, but I just ate too much of it. I have good blood pressure, no signs of diabetes, a strong heart. I'm healthy, just fat. It's the latter that needs to change.
Would I be happy with myself if I lost weight this way? Right now I am thrilled by my successes, however small, because they are proof of the good choices I make. Success from weight loss surgery doesn't come from the choices made every day, but from the necessity of consuming small bits of food so that I don't rupture. Plus, I must eat all day to meet protein and nutrient requirements that aren't met with supplements. I can't fathom eating all day, and I can't see how I can work that into a normal social life. It's the gastronomic equivalent of having an iPhone – both useful tools that become mindless habits, keeping you from full participation in a meaningful life full of other people.
After a few months of rapid weight loss, even with regular exercise, I will have excess skin. I've come to see that as an inevitability, seeing as how my elasticity is shot from so many years of yo-yo dieting. Hell, my thighs didn't have elasticity to begin with; they were always curdled with fat. The point is will I just be trading one body issue for another? I'm afraid it's just going to start an endless cycle of body dysmorphia, and that's how the cat lady got started. If you give a mouse a bypass, she's going to want a brachioplasty.

I started the conversation by telling Mom I was, as usual, upset with my body and myself for gaining back all of the weight I worked so hard to lose in the first place. I told her I was ashamed of myself for falling off track after moving to Chicago. Then I told her about the possibility of surgery and the above reasons for not doing it.

I said I've never been happy with myself, my body, and I don't think surgery is going to cure that. But then again, is that too much to expect, to be happy with myself? Is anybody really ever happy with themselves?

Mom said she wasn't. She admitted she made a lot of mistakes in the way she dealt with certain things, with her role as a mother. I thought I would appreciate hearing that, but I just felt sorry for her. Yeah, she fucked up on some major things, but she always loved us. We were always hugged and kissed and told we were loved. She didn't think twice to report school bullies to the principal. She made up some pretty awesome traditions for someone who wasn't raised with much herself. For a teenage mother who didn't have the best examples of motherhood in her past, she kicked ass.

For her to say she wasn't happy with herself broke my heart. I don't think she'd ever said anything like that before. Mom doesn't really have a friend; she doesn't let anybody close enough to her. She's never really admitted she was wrong to any of us, so she has some guilt and negative feelings that really eat at her. It drives her to drink, to depression, to isolation, to more erratic behavior. As mad as I get at her, as hurt as I feel about the things she does, there are moments like this that make me realize how much she's suffering. She can't open herself up to anyone because she's too bully, too proud, too scared. It's easy to say that it's a monster of her own making, but I think there's a lot more to it. If I have my bad Mom memories, and my sister has more of her own, imagine what Mom is holding on to. To whom do you admit your most shameful failures as a parent?

It was one of the best conversations I've ever had with her. I got to talk about weight on my terms, and she got to open up to another person.

I don't know what will happen if I'm approved for surgery. My current successes are girding me against the decision, but I know full well the feelings and the history that drove me to research surgery in the first place. Can I deal with another regain? Can I manage my future? More importantly, can I be happy with myself?

If you give a mouse her dream, she's going to want another.

So there's that,

Laura

To Those Who Wait

2009-03-17T14:10:00.001-06:00

Last week I told you that I wasn't going to weigh in because I feared that a gain or plateau would tempt me to give up. I know my body, and I know even better how my brain responds to a stall in progress. Staying away from the scale was a good decision.

Well, I didn't really stay away from the scale; I weigh myself in the lunchroom on Tuesday mornings to get a sneak peek at my progress. Last week I showed no loss, and I didn't want to put that on paper.

So guess who strolled into dubdub with complete confidence this afternoon? This one right here! I'm down 5.6 lbs, for a grand total of 22 lbs!!! That's huge!

I haven't lost enough for anyone to really notice. I mean, nobody's come up to me and asked about it - not that they should or that I expect it. Outside of this blog, I don't advertise my meeting attendance or tell people about my weigh-ins; I'm not expecting a prize. But I'm sure at some point people will notice, even if they don't say anything about it. Until then, losing is my little (big) secret.

The last time I was losing, I got more response than I expected. It encouraged me to talk about my numbers, to celebrate successes...until one of my friends knocked me down a couple pegs.

Before we parted for the summer of 2003, I made a deal with Justin that I would lose 50 lbs before we got back to school or I would have to pay him $100. I went away to work at Yellowstone, and when I came back three months later it was clear that I won the challenge.

I hit my -65 lb mark over a month later when we were in dress rehearsal for Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and mentioned it in the dressing room. A couple of people commended me for it, but Justin snapped out of nowhere. "So what? Do you want a prize? It's not like you lost a hundred pounds."

I know you're reading this, J, and it fucking hurt my feelings. I've never told you this before, but I will never forget what you said.

I think it was Lindsay O. who, taken aback by his comment, pressed on in my defense (hard to imagine) that it was a huge milestone. Justin said, "Well good for you, but I don't know why you need me to be happy for you. Why does it matter what I think?"

I remember sitting in front of the makeup mirror in my wig and costume, getting hot in the face and trying to hold back tears. The dressing room was full of quiet tension - Mom and Dad were fighting. My best friend and biggest champion just pulled the net out from under me. These kind of mood swings were hardly uncommon with him, but I never thought I'd be bearing the brunt of one like this. It sucked.

I kept losing after that, but the memory of that comment never left me. I shouldn't expect anyone to care that I'm losing weight, but I kind of expected the support of the guy who challenged me to it in the first place. I would expect the support of my friends.

Now that I've had to start all over again, this success is my secret. It's that compass in me that I won't let anybody else demagnetize with their comments, "tips," and judgment about what goes on my plate. This is mine.

So there's that,

Laura

No Weigh

2009-03-10T10:51:00.001-06:00

I'm not weighing in today, but I will attend the meeting. I'm up about a pound, and I just can't bear to see it written on my card. That will send me into a shame spiral that may set me back a couple of weeks. It's the sad truth. Success makes me get lazy about counting points; failure makes me want to chuck it all for some fish 'n chips.

This gain doesn't count - it's all due to PMS bloat and water weight - but still, it will screw with my head. I'll look forward instead to a decent loss next week!

It definitely helps that my Tootsie Roll cravings have passed.

So there's that,

Laura

So Close!

2009-03-03T13:17:00.001-06:00

Bolstered by my recent chain of losses, I've been playing fast-and-loose with food tracking. I splurged a little, failing to count a few points here and there in hopes they would be sopped up by the 35 extra points we're allowed each week. I skipped a workout. I lazed in bed all weekend to stave off a cold and the PMS blues. I ate a generous serving of No Pudge brownies while watching LOST with some friends. I boiled an abundance of whole wheat pasta without measuring it. Then I ate it with cheese and oil.

Yeah, I knew I was playing a dangerous game. I tend to push my limits to see how much freedom I can actually get away with before there are consequences to be had.

I did show a loss this week - 0.8 pounds - but I didn't deserve it. I should have gained, forcing myself to see how I've lost my way. But you know what? I happy I didn't gain. I'm not gonna rest on my success and gain weight out of ignorance. I'mma let that meager loss be the darkest part of my journey...at least for this month.

The better news is that I got to add a new paperclip to my chain, because my total loss is now 16.4 lbs.

I have four more weigh-ins this month, and I'm determined to lose 10 more pounds by the 31st. JT Money - that's going to be my birthday present to you. Maybe I'll get you a card, too.

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

So there's that,

Laura

The Hawker

2009-03-02T21:51:00.001-06:00

The first diet product I ever had was Slim-Fast. I was nine years old.

Mom bought a drum of the strawberry powder and put it within my reach on the first shelf in the cabinet to the right of the microwave. To this day, I internally refer to this as the Slim-Fast cabinet. She told me to come here first when I was hungry.

Together we read the directions and mixed my first shake: gritty and grayish pink, salty and metallic, oversweet with a taste faintly echoing strawberry. Mom counted on the elixir to be both kid-friendly and miraculous. I counted the days until she forgot about it.

Until then, I would have to bear with her filling my pink ballet slipper canteen with the stuff and urging me to go play in the heat. To bear her waking me at 4 am before she left for work, reminding me to take a canned shake for school lunch. She'll be counting them to make sure.

It only added to my shyness at school. I was already a subject for scrutiny – in my eyes at least – and to bring a diet shake to school would only further stigmatize me as the hopeless fat girl. I either poured the shake down the sink, burying the can in the trash, or I took it to school only to throw it away as soon as I could. I made damn sure that no one knew my secret shame as a dieter.

I was an anxious kid, shy with very dark thoughts. I remember playing with kids at the park where Dad played softball, standing on the bridge and asking what they would do if I jumped. It was just a ten-foot drop onto soft grass, but still. I remember telling my great aunt Ellie at a family reunion that I didn't think I'd live to see my 11th birthday. I was emo before it had a haircut.

But the part of me that shined through the most was friendly, silly, imaginative. I only let the dark stuff slip through when I was feeling hurt or ignored by other kids. Those feelings were very real; the manifestation of them I can blame on soap operas.

Dieting played a huge role in creating that attitude. After Slim-Fast came Dexatrim, then another over-the-counter appetite suppressant that Mom fed me in the early morning before she started her day. It spawned a ritual of lather, rinse, repeat with a whole new gimmick.

In fifth grade, we went to Jenny Craig. Since I was so young, they required a doctor's note. I took a blood test and got the release, only for Mom to balk at the cost of food at sign-up. We never started the plan.

Mom got a bottle of T-Lite. The pill left a muddy aftertaste, and for three consecutive days I had to follow a strict eating plan, but could eat normally for the remaining four days of the week. The product still exists, and after searching the internet for the menu, I remember that my favorite was the 2nd day:

Breakfast: 1 egg (hard boiled or poached), ½ banana, 1 slice of toast
Lunch: 1 cup of cottage cheese, 5 saltine crackers
Dinner: 1 skinless chicken breast (3ozs. total), 1 cup broccoli, ½ cup carrots, ½ banana, ½ cup lowfat frozen yogurt.

Honestly? After 4 months of this, I came to see the cheese and crackers as a treat. That's how bad this menu was. Lunch was always tuna or egg with dry toast. But I could drink all the coffee and tea I wanted, and you can bet that I packed as much fro-yo into that ½ cup as possible.

When I wasn't showing much progress, Mom had me call their customer service line to ask for tips and support. The guy on the other end just kept saying, "You have to drink a LOT of water. Just keep drinking and those pounds will come off!" And I drank so much water that my electric green pee turned clear by bedtime.

We toyed with making grapefruit my staple diet food. She bought me my own Thermos, and we made batches of "Magic" cabbage soup that I ate at every meal. She brought home what looked like a 'roided up shampoo bottle full of liquid protein and I gagged down two tablespoons prior to each meal to prevent overeating. It was kept under the sink next to detergents, bleach, and cleaning chemicals. I think that's about right.

I read the Atkins book while lounging on my floral print comforter, special-issue Barbies and porcelain dolls watching from their perch on my wicker bookshelf. I learned about carbs and ketosis before I even knew about algebra.

The main event came in junior high, when Mom took me to this new clinic in Newburgh, Indiana – 50 miles from my hometown. In order to make it there before closing, I had the special privilege of leaving school early every Wednesday afternoon.

In all my months of going to this clinic, I never saw the doctor. This place was run by nurses, and every visit was the same: weigh-in, take blood pressure, pick up pills. These "prescriptions" were filled in the office and they came in little white paper boxes with instructions stamped on one side. Who needs Walgreens?

Three pills: a small white tablet, a small orange tablet, and a gray and yellow capsule. The white pill helped me shed water weight, and it was to be taken first each day. The orange pill had to be taken at 10 am, the capsule was to follow at 2 pm and no sooner. I couldn't tell the school nurse about them, so I kept them in my pencil pouch and snuck them when I had the chance. Those two pills suppressed my appetite, and they were called Fen Phen. I took them for nearly a year. I was 13.

At first, this was our thing, our three hours of uninterrupted time together, where I could tell her about school and hint at things I wanted. Mom was impressed with my progress during those first weeks, but of course those losses petered out to 1-2 lbs per week, which was encouraged. It didn't encourage Mom. The number on the scale predicted the tension inside the car during the drive home. If I showed a loss of less than 1 lb, the nurse would congratulate me, Mom would smile, and my face grew hotter as we waited for the pills and Mom signed another check for $90.

Her smile faded on the walk to the car. Inside, she accused me of cheating, not trying hard enough, and wasting her time and money. My tears were already spilling as we walked through the gravel parking lot, and through them I would plead to her, beg her to believe that I was doing my best, and I hadn't had a soft drink in months. Those drives home were the worst hours of my life. I had to look out the window the whole time so she wouldn't see me cry. If I dared to look at her, I would just cry harder; if she saw it, she would command me to stop.

On school outing to Homestead Pizza, I drank Diet Coke and pressed napkins on my slice of pepperoni pizza to soak up the orange grease. A popular girl looked at me like I was crazy, and I told her I didn't need the oil. I didn't tell her that I wished I was her for one day.

It was in Mr. Klein's AP algebra class when I told Tabitha that I didn't feel right. While I was getting ready that morning, I became dizzy and broke out into a full sweat. I was nauseous, my eyesight was spotty and I had to sit down on the toilet for ten minutes just to steady myself. I told Tabby about it because she was new and nice, and she didn't judge; her mom was anorexic and could reportedly eat for a day on one small bag of Doritos. She suggested I tell the nurse and stop taking the pills. I said I'd think about it.

It wasn't long after that when the Fen-Phennery was abuzz with activity. They surprised us one visit by making me take an EKG. They said the drugs aren't normally prescribed to teens under 16, and this test was just a precaution.

The funny thing about precaution is you normally show it before taking action. They acted like they never knew how old I was. It's okay; I looked big for my age – especially when I was wearing men's jeans and "career wear" tops made for the larger woman. It was all that would fit.

The machine spit out a long receipt of erratic peaks and valleys that the nurses nervously examined. They told my mother that our family physician should take another test – just to make sure the outcome wasn't a fluke. They gave the original readout to Mom without making copies for their records. Mom put it in her car's armrest and it remained there, unexamined by our doctor.

Mom was worried about my heart, but she dealt with it the best way she knew how: ignoring it in hopes that it wouldn't exist anymore. That was our last visit to the hawker's office.

It wasn't too long after when we saw the office on the local news. It shut down after questions arose about the "doctor" behind it, its under-the-table practices, and the FDA's growing concerns about the dangerous implications of the fen phen cocktail.

Mom eased up on me after that. The house remained snack free, and birthday cakes were still discouraged. She made comments about my weight and suggestions about my food choices, but there were no more fads. I was left my very own dysfunction, to do with as I pleased.

It would be a cop-out to blame Mom for my relationship with food, to play the victim. I didn't ask to go through all these fads, but I chose to eat in rebellion. I became conscious of it at some point. I'm fat because I was angry, because I wanted control, because I was helpless in the face of high expectations. I played the biggest part in all of this – the ingenue in my own soap opera.

It's time to get a new storyline.

So there's that,

Laura

The Band Best Not Play Me Off...

2009-02-24T18:38:00.004-06:00

I'm down 1.4 lbs this week, which brings me to a total loss of 15.2 lbs since Christmas!

Thank you, thank you!

I didn't prepare a speech...I don't know what to say! Ummm...I'd like to thank my weekly allowance of 35 extra dubdub Points for letting me eat tacos on Thursday night without guilt. I'd like to thank the elliptical machine at the gym - you know which one you are (LifeFitness on the left with a built-in TV). OH, and I can't forget the high-protein dinner last night that didn't sit in my stomach like a sack of quarters.

But most importantly, I'd like to thank my bowels for surprising me with an unprecedented a.m. movement. You...your love and respect is insurmountable.

I'm suffering an embarrassment of riches.

So there's that,

Laura

The Thing I Hate About Weight Watchers

2009-02-17T13:49:00.002-06:00

Is this business:

Please note: Although it's normal to lose over 2 lbs in 1 week, a safe rate of weight loss is no more than an average of 2 lbs per week after your first 3 weeks. If you lose too quickly, it could pose health risks, such as heart irregularities, anemia or loss of muscle mass. If you're losing too quickly, please slow your weight loss; your doctor can help you do this if you're not sure how.

How about:

Note this, bitch: Way to lose 3.2 pounds this week, fat ass!
You know how to excercise, eat right, and work the program - keep up the good work.
Here are some tips on staying motivated:

Keep a food journal.
Don't be ignorant.
Don't eat this stuff.

I mean jeez Weight Watchers. Way to be all, "Lose weight and feel good! Tanya lost 157 pounds* (*resultsnottypical)," in one breath, and all, "Ummm don't lose too much weight," in the other. Eff you, em-effers.

Plus, my leader is an old cooz. Old = 70s. All the old people like her and think she's really motivating, but she's actually kind of messed up. She uses all this 1980s Scarsdale and Atkins diet lingo in the meetings, and I get the vibe that she's more "diet" than "lifestyle change." That's totally not what WW (from here on out it shall be called "dub-dub") is all about. But she has been a lifetime member for 23 years, so I guess she knows something. Even so, I get the vibe that she still hangs on to old dieting lore.

I really want to be a leader. I mean, it's kind of hard to be inspired by some of these leaders who've only had to lose 20 lbs to be happy/at goal. A loss is a loss blahblahblah, and if it means something significant to you to be back at your cheerleading weight then hoo-rah. But I need someone who's been in the stinky, sweaty folds of obesity - preferably all their lives and a couple of times over - who can really inspire me. And I wanna be that person. I wanna be all, "Oh, you want to lose 23 pounds? That's great!...mmmmmiiiiilostonefifty."

Nah, that's a touch passive aggressive. I couldn't do that, could I? Um, but speaking of passive-aggressive, how about this line from the dub-dub "note" above: "Please slow your weight loss; your doctor can help you do this if you're not sure how." Mmmmm...I'm pretty sure I know how to slow my weight loss, thankyouverymuch; I've been doing nothing but that for 20 years. Ack! Ack! Ack!

Oh! And I effing love how the dub-dub's healthy living section of the site identifies only 4 different life stages for women: Bride-to-Be, College Student, New Mom, and 40+. Uh? How about Disenchanted Twentysomething? How about Quarterlife Crisis? How about Cathy Cartoon? College Student I can handle because I was there, but not all of us go from college to matrimony to baby-havin' (or reverse) to menopause. Some of us are a little more pathetic than that. I swear to God if I hear someone bitch about their 20 lbs of baby weight, I'm gonna throttle her. How about you "intercourse it off" youknowwhatimeanjustuseprotection? Same with brides-to-be. Forty Plus? I guess you and I are in the same boat...only I can still menstruate.

Not fair. I wanna be a leader and I wanna make a big impact on this program.

But pretty much the point of this whole post is to note that I lost 3.2 pounds this week. More paperclips, please!

So there's that,

Laura

Go Here

2009-02-17T09:46:00.001-06:00

ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmyGOD!

Justin posted about this site and I love it so much. It's astounding. It's disgusting. It's inspirational.

It's totally deep-fried.

This is why you're fat.

Go there now.

So there's that,

Laura

Another Minus!

2009-02-10T12:13:00.001-06:00

Down another 2 lbs this week! Well, 1.6, but the total weight loss number went up two whole integers. Fetch me two paperclips, bitches!

So there's that,

Laura

Better Every Day

2009-02-09T16:40:00.001-06:00

I think I lost more weight this week, and that makes me happy. I can achieve something out of all this nothing.

Hung out with some friends on Saturday night, allowed myself to eat without worry. It wasn't bad stuff, though - light brie, pork tenderloin, salad with apples and feta, roasted potatoes. I don't eat a lot on the weekends in general because my days aren't structured. I don't really make a habit of using my extra 35 Points for the week, either, so I figure by the time Saturday night comes and all I've had is cereal and a latte? It's okay for me to eat without counting. The 35 points are for "fudges" - in case I underestimate my daily points somehow.

I've also made it a habit to fast on Sundays. Again, because of the structure thing. I'll probably have coffee and something small, if I'm feeling it, otherwise I'll probably just eat something light for dinner. I'm not depriving myself; I'm just not forcing myself to eat if I'm not hungry. I don't do much on Sundays anyway, so it's not like I'm denying energy from my body. Yesterday I had cereal for breakfast, and a baked potato with salsa and cheese for dinner. Carbs. Yum.

I'm not eating sugar is the thing. That is, I'm not going out of my way for it. That's one good thing about not being with Steven anymore - boy was addicted to sweets. Dessert all the time. And he wasn't fat! I was exposed to more sweets during my time with him than I had been in all of 2008. I swear!

So yeah, things are getting better every day. I thought about him for a bit last night, thought about when I should start dating again, but I don't think I can do it yet. I don't think I can rehash all those life stories one more time, answer more questions, submit to the interviews, ask my own questions. I'm dating myself for the foreseeable future.

So there's that,

Laura

The Shield

2009-02-04T12:27:00.001-06:00

I hold on to my fat to keep people at a distance.

Fat has always been my thing. I'm sure many people out there will say that it's my personality, my sense of humor, or some talent that makes me unique, and that may be true. But to me, all of these things came out of my fat.

I have to have a good personality, a can-do attitude, and strong resolve; I've developed them all to compensate for my size. Even as a kid, I knew that people wouldn't take a second look at me if I didn't have a positive quality to offer. I didn't want to be on the bottom because of my weight, so I made sure that it couldn't keep me down. I strived to be the best at everything - grades, school organizations, singing...even spelling. As nerdy as it is, I even wanted to be good at spelling.

It worked. I got a scholarship to college by writing an essay and ponying up the personality at the interview. I was the most active student in my college major program. I got involved in a sorority so I could have a normal college girl experience in spite of my size.

My fat put me out there. My personality got me through.

My dark sense of humor comes from the fat, right out of the unfairness of having to sit on the periphery. Yeah, even though I was "out there" I was still on the margin. I got to see my peers navigate their relationships, got to give them advice because I was an onlooker. I got to see the strong friendships form in my social groups, but I was never in one. I still don't think I've ever had a best friend in that sense.

I was close with Sara in high school, but it seemed like she was closer to Nicole, closer to her boyfriend Wilson. I was always a third wheel. My cousin Dusty had his friend Nick. Rita had her friends; I felt like an annoying hanger-on. In college I had Kelley, and we were very close, but a strange schism happened my senior year that makes me question our friendship. There was Matt and Justin, and while they were there for me through the roughest, there were times that their behavior toward me bordered on the cruel. I was always outside.

Now as an adult, I have many acquaintances, some close friends, but I still feel cheated out of some grand human relationship. I should have formed a bond with someone in my past, but it never happened.

But out here on the periphery, I can point and laugh. I can see others screw up and find humor in it, in the simple life lessons of failure. I can take notes so I don't make the same mistakes. I can guard myself against the needless scrapes and bruises of stumbling through love. When it happens to me, it will be forever.

When it happens. That's the thing - it's always a when, never a will. I make damn sure of that. I plan my life around things that will happen when I'm good enough, when I get my life together, when I reach a certain weight, when I'm thin enough. If I really want these things, why am I not gunning for them now?

Because it's easy. It's easy to say I shouldn't do something because I'm fat. It's easy to blame people for not liking me because I'm fat. My relationships with friends and lovers all end because I'm fat. Even my parents - there's something in me that says my mom is unhinged because I'm fat, because she feels like she failed at me, at everything. That in spite of every success of mine, my parents won't really be proud of me until I'm not fat.

It's so stupid, but it's how I feel. It's so much easier to assign reasons to people instead of myself. I stay fat so that I can have this excuse, so that I can give a reason why nobody likes me or should like me. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of living like this, and I want out of the only lasting relationship I've ever had: the one with my body.

I'm 27 years old, and I've only lived in the future. I haven't lived my past; I've guest-starred.

So there's that,

Laura

More Loss

2009-02-03T15:36:00.001-06:00

Down 2 lbs. Paperclips all around!

So there's that,

Laura

Living in Clip

2009-02-03T09:45:00.001-06:00

I keep a chain of paperclips hanging from the corkboard at my desk, and every Tuesday morning I look at them in anticipation.

Each clip represents a lost pound. I can't stop checking them out with some anxiety and excitement - will I add to them today?

I'm worried. I've cut back on calories dramatically this week, mostly because I'm rarely hungry. I've been eating 3 meals a day with no snacks. I've had no desire for more. Because I've consumed less than my Points allowance each day, will I still show a loss?

I feel smaller.

I've been excercising regularly.

I know it sounds obvious that I'll lose, but I'm never sure. The number on the scale is never low enough, so even if I lose, will I still be happy with myself?

I don't know the point of this post. Much of what I think doesn't make sense these days. I do know that I'm beginning to enter that mindframe that helped me lose 100 lbs a few years ago. In a way that's good, but it's also very bad. I easily feel guilty and resentful of the things on my plate, especially if I'm at a restaurant where I can't control my food.

A story:

When I worked in Yellowstone over the summer of 2003, my aunt and uncle and their kids came out for there vacation and to visit me. I lost over 30 lbs at the time of their visit, and that was due to counting Points, a regimented eating schedule, and my work in a sweatshop. They took me to dinner one night at one of the park's historic hotels. I ordered pasta primavera.

Big mistake.

Pasta portions are out of control in restaurants, and I knew that, but I honestly thought it would be a pretty small plate. This was a gourmet restaurant after all. Instead I got a huge bowl of pasta - easily four servings - in an oily marinara sauce. And? It was wayyyyy overpriced at around 18 bucks. So I spent my meal not fully invested in the conversation with the relatives I rarely see, but near tears as I tried to figure out how to politely clean my plate.

I ate slowly, taking in what I considered to be one portion of pasta. There was still close to a pound of food left, and I thought it would be rude to leave so much of a gratis meal behind. I moved it around in the bowl, trying to make it look smaller. I put some in my mouth, chewed, and spit it into my napkin. I dropped the masticated wads on the floor to make room for more of them.

Crazy? Yes. A tad anorexy? Uh-DOY!

Flash forward to this past Friday. The work gals and I went over to Grand Lux to celebrate Shana's 27th birthday. If you don't know about the Lux, it's known for it's outRAGEOUS portion sizes. The only other time I went there I got Chicken Piccata, which was easily 6 portions of food: four whole chicken breasts over a full pound of angel hair pasta in a caper cream sauce. It's insane.

I went to their online menu to make my plan of attack, deciding on an egg white omelet with asparagus, mushrooms, ham and a little cheese, alongside a green salad. I ordered it with confidence, without looking back. They brought out a whole-egg omelet, and like the picky customer I hate, I sent it back (praying that nobody put semen in it as revenge). When I got what I wanted, I immediately microscoped in on its major fault: GREASE. The veggies were fresh, yet greasy. The eggs were covered in grease. When I moved the food around, the plate had droplets of yellow grease all over it. I wanted to dab at it with a paper napkin, but I was in mixed company, and we only had cloth linens.

I ate the veggies and the ham. I had the small amount of cheese, which is the only thing they really got right. I only ate half of the egg whites. And there was the salad. Afterward, we split beignets, which was my only splurge of the week.

The guilt, though, was what I left the table with. I felt guilty over egg whites. That's insane.

I can't change this mindset. I have to commit to a downward trend. I have to make this my final effort. I have to live like this the rest of my life.

I have to get more paperclips.

So there's that,

Laura

Cold Snap

2009-01-29T11:41:00.001-06:00

I've been in a deep haze over the past few days, and I'd like to thank Zoloft.

After taking it for a year and a half, I stopped taking it in September, when I felt that my life was going better and it had done it's job. I was really fine; I wasn't crying at the drop of a hat, chewing my nails, or anxious about things I couldn't change.

But I realized this weekend that I am not equipped to handle my emotions, the ones that have swung me with hurricane force all through my overly-sensitive life. I can't bring myself to care right now.

And thankfully, the drug is dulling me. It shuts off my inner monologue. I don't have the ability to entertain thoughts of him when I'm focused on another activity. I can fall asleep without thinking of everything I might have done or should have said. I wake up in the morning ready to go; no happy snoozing and barely getting to work on time.

No tears.

No compulsion to eat, no hunger. I went to the grocery store last night to restock my proteins, freezer, and pantry. I have never felt more nothing. I didn't care what went into my cart, didn't care to choose. I stared at the shelves for a long while, with no stress over the people who were around me or rushing me. I couldn't help thinking that I could stand there forever and still feel comfortable. Eventually I put in stuff that was on sale, that I could prepare without too much thought. I don't have the energy or interest to cook anymore.

It sounds bleak, but it feels good. Like I've let go of a part of me I can't control, that I've sent it off to a school where it could learn to behave. Meanwhile I'm at rest and productive, holding for a time when I can allow myself to care again.

So there's that,

Laura

Down

2009-01-27T12:40:00.001-06:00

I'm down 4.4 pounds this week. Sadness becomes me.

So there's that,

Laura

Tell Me On A Sunday...Please.

2009-01-26T09:27:00.001-06:00

Hey Sis,

Steven and I broke up last night. He thought we were reaching a turning point in our relationship where it was going to get really serious, and he decided he just couldn't see himself with me in the long term. He thought he would break it off now before I got too attached and wasted more of my time. I'm hurt, Manda, among the confusion and sadness, I'm hurt.

I know I have to accept it and move on. There's no use in loving someone who doesn't have a heart for me. I respect his feelings, but I'm having a hard time reconciling this with some of the things he's said to me, done for me, the things we said to each other. Even one week ago today we seemed unbreakable.

I'm not fooling myself - this wasn't a one-sided relationship with me carrying the weight. I know enough from that. We were balanced and loving. There were no games; this was too easy and comfortable to be true. We were passionate in a way that wasn't simply fueled by lust. I wanted to give myself to him, and I guess I'm happy I didn't. I thought I found someone who loved me for me. Is there anyway to retrieve my many calls of happiness from the rooftops?

I can't eat. I can't sleep without seeing his face next to mine, his head on my stomach, his conspirator's smile as our foreheads touch. Where do I put these feelings and memories so that I never have to see them again? How do I rebuild? How do I trust my feelings and my stories to someone again when I always end up abandoned?

I haven't been working on me. I need to do that again. I need to write again. I won't let this shelter me from the everyday things that make me happy. One thing - I cannot look for love right now. I feel too delicate to hold, and I fear that the next person will just be a repository for resentment and my continued bitterness. I'll probably be the same for him...lord knows I'm not good enough for the long term.

I deserve the best, and I thought I had it. If I can't bring myself to search again, I might as well redefine "best."

So there's that,

Laura

Don't run off in the pouring rain,

Don't call me as they call your plane,

Take the hurt out of all the pain.

Take me to a park that's covered with trees.

Tell me on a Sunday please.

Celebrated Too Much

2009-01-06T14:21:00.001-06:00

I was pretty proud of myself.

I could barely button my pants when I was coming back to Chicago on the 30th, so I made an effort to lose a chunk of that excess weight before today's meeting. I got back on track, excercised, and I came back to work yesterday wearing my skinny pants. That's good, right?

I knew I probably wouldn't show weight loss this week consdering that this is also my woman week, so I counted on seeing a gain of at most 2 pounds, if I didn't at least stay weight stable. And the outcome was right there in the range I set for myself: I showed a gain of 1.5 pounds since December 16.

I think...that's pretty frickin' awesome!

But the lady who logged my weight really harshed my buzz. In her sassy old black woman drawl, she said, "You celebrated too much."

I'm thinking: I know that. But I'm happy with this weigh-in; it could have been much worse.

She's lecturing: "Yes you celebrated too much and you need to get your head in the game."

I'm thinking: I do have my head in the...wait a minute - what did this bitch just say to me?

I'm saying: "Oh I know! I was much higher than this one week ago. These are good numbers to me."

She's saying: "Yeah, but you still celebrated too much. You gotta work them numbers, not let them work you."

I'm thinking: Uh, bitch? Who the fuck do you think you are? You're job isn't to say shit. Your job is not to judge me. Your job is to read the scale and write my weight down on my card. Your job is to go fuck yourself.

I'm saying: "This is a good number for me. I'm quite happy with myself, THANK you." I grabbed my purse and snapped my card out of her hand.

She finally looked up, caught the tartness of my tone, and happily said, "Well good job then!"

I walked away with my heart racing, and I could have cried. And I wasn't overreacting. I went in there pretty happy, so I couldn't have (in my imagination) assigned that shitty tone to her voice. She just kept her head down and scolded me for poor behavior.

Again - not her job. Never in my history of Weight Watchers have I experienced something like this. That's because you're not supposed to make crappy comments to people about their weigh-ins. The point of attending meetings is to hold ourselves accountable. I'm doing my job by showing my face no matter if I gain or lose. If I gain, I can beat myself up about it, then use my meeting time to get over myself, examine my mistakes and recharge. If I lose, I use the meeting time to get new insights and reevaluate my goals. I don't go to be coddled, but I don't go to be berated either. If I wanted that, I'd exclusively weigh-in at the doctor's office.

I calmed down about it as the meeting progressed. I wanted to take her aside after the meeting to let her know that she was out of line, but she was still weighing people in. There's another meeting tonight, so I may go in after my workout to talk to our leader about it. I really don't want this to ruin my experience at this meeting location.

This is the kind of thing that can keep people from coming to meetings. But not me.

*************************

On another note:

When I was sitting listening to our leader, I decided that's what I want to do. I want to lose my weight for a variety of reasons, but now one of them is to become a lifetime member and down the road, an inspiring leader. Who better than someone who's knocked herself down so often only to come back up fighting?

To quote Liz Lemon: I want to go to there.

So there's that,

Laura

Back to Life, Back to Reality

2009-01-05T13:46:00.001-06:00

Surprisingly enough, I'm happy to be back to work after a long period of rest and relaxation.

Seriously? It was like the first day of school - I was so punched up that I couldn't fall asleep until 1:00 am. I guess that could also be due to the fact that I decided to start watching the last six episodes of Veronical Mars Season Two at 8:00 pm. In hindsight that was pretty stupid, but I had to get that monkey off my back...

Now I'm all excited to get moving on some work projects, and a happy bonus is that the structure of my work day allows me to eat better and keep to my workout schedule.

I haven't weighed in since 12/16, yet I'm confident that if I have gained, it hasn't been too much. If the scale at my gym is anywhere close to the WW scale, I'd only be up about 2 lbs. I can live with that...for now.

I'm going to WW tonight with my friend Megan, who is considering membership. If she decides to join I'll probably permanently change my weigh-in day to Monday. It's nice to have a buddy!

Thanks Michelle for the title!

So there's that,

Laura

Going Down

2008-12-16T14:14:00.001-06:00

Today was the third weigh-in:

I'm down 2.8 pounds!!!!

I was really worried about how this week would pan out. I went out with Steven on Friday and Saturday nights, and we indulged in fish & chips, fajitas, cookies, and bread pudding. I tracked my points, though, and I kept it under control. I also worked out regularly. It's very promising to know that I can date and eat!

It's getting better all the time.

So there's that,

Laura

Everything's Coming Up Laura

2008-12-16T11:33:00.001-06:00

I'm feeling pretty good right now.

I'm officially dating an incredible man - that rare mix of kindness, affection, intelligence, good looks, and great career. He lets me set the pace, he wants to spend time with me, and he doesn't freak out about the time we spend apart. I don't know what I did to deserve this, or how I lucked out manwise for probably the first time in my life.

I went to an audition for the first time in over 2 years, and I just found out that I got it. I got into a music improv program that accepts only a few people, and only holds auditions about once a year. I'm excited to start working with people again, to start singing again after so long. Too long.

I get to go home for 10 days this year, and I want to get the most out of it. I miss seeing my family, and now I finally get the chance to spend more than 4 days with them.

I'm losing weight again after a LONG bout of negative outcomes and negative emotions. I have yet to weigh in today, but I'm optimistic that I lost at least a pound. I must have. And if I didn't? I'm not going to get discouraged. My clothes fit great, and I know that I CAN lose. I know I'm not completely fucked up.

I feel like my life is heaving a big sigh.

So there's that,

Laura

Add This to Your Holiday Repertoire

2008-12-10T21:38:00.001-06:00

There are many reasons I love John Malkovich, and this is a new one:

So there's that,

Laura

Pomato Frittata

2008-12-10T11:23:00.001-06:00

I had a little red potato sitting on top of my microwave, a pint of untouched grape tomatoes, and some goat cheese that was doomed for spoilage if I didn't eat it, stat. So I put it all in in some eggs!

Pomato Frittata

Serves 1, 6 Points

1 c Egg Substitute

1 Small Red Potato, diced small

1 c Grape Tomatoes, halved diagonally

1-2 oz Goat Cheese

1 Small Clove Garlic, minced

Salt, Pepper, Parsley

Cooking Spray or Olive Oil

Water or Chicken Broth

Heat a nonstick skillet over medium heat. Spray with cooking spray or add a tsp of olive oil. When oil is hot, throw in the minced garlic and potatoes. Saute until potatoes have browned. Add a few tablespoons of water or chicken broth to the pan and cover to cook the potatoes through. Toss in tomatoes and stir for a minute. Add eggs and stir until everything is coated. Season with salt, pepper and parsley. Crumble the cheese over the top of the eggs and cover the pan. Turn the heat to low and allow to cook for 5 to 10 minutes or until eggs have puffed up and cooked through in the center. Remove, slice and enjoy.

I recommend making all your leftovers into frittatas - it's such a lazy weekend treat!

So there's that,

Laura

Way In

2008-12-09T13:43:00.001-06:00

I had my first weigh-in since starting Weight Watchers again last week. I'm down 3.4 pounds! I admit I was a little disappointed at first. I excercised 5 days this week, I ate mostly portion-controlled meals, and there were 4 days that I couldn't eat enough to meet my Points goal.

But still...that's a good deal of weight. And I think it's worth noting that I am wearing black pants that are a size smaller than the black pants I wore last week. It's always a good sign when I can step over to the skinny clothes side of the closet.

Here are the things that made my food life easy this week:

Healthy Choice meals kick ass. Sooooo much better than when they first came out. Now I can get protein, starch, veg, and dessert for 7 Points or less.
Thank God Yoplait Light yogurt was on sale this week, because I've fallen in love with it all over again. New favorites: Pineapple Upside Down Cake, the Light Thick and Creamy line, and Lemon Meringue Pie. I put a little bit of Honey Bunches of Oats Just Bunches on top for a little crunch.
Clementines = jewels of pleasure.
Frozen veggies. Nuff said.
No substitutions, just compromise. I could eat my Wednesday bagel and schmear, I just had to cut back the rest of the day.
Sharing food. A cupcake is bad news. A half cupcake? Just a bit better.
Support from friends. It's so much easier to work out with buddies.
A new BEAU. He's much more interesting than food.

So...I'mma stick with the portion-controlled meals for just a few more weeks so I can readjust my satiety levels. It's steered me right so far. In my next post I'll publish my new frittata recipe!

So there's that,

Laura

DoomsDay

2008-12-04T14:46:00.001-06:00

Dear Dairy (sic),

Tell me old friend, as I lie here on my bed, on my stomach, with my legs kicked up behind me, sporting a side ponytail and waterfall bangs, listening to Debbie Gibson...

Why does my life, like, totally suck????

I mean, I totally understand that life should challenge me. I get that like DJ Tanner got tickets to the Beach Boys.

But why oh why, on the week that I start Weight Watchers - AGAIN, FOR LIKE THE HUNDREDTH TIIIIIIIME - did a Dunkin Donuts have to open just a block from home?

ARGH!

I guess I need to change my path. Put it out of my mind. Or maybe, just maybe, I can go ONCE every few weekends, for a cup of coffee and an eggy crueller. I can handle that, right? It's just 3 points...

Oh cruellers, you are cruel. As cruel as those kids were to that fat girl on that one episode of Highway to Heaven.

Well, bye. I'm off to watch Dr. Quinn. I think she and Sully will make eye contact this week. Squeal!

So there's that,

Laura

Back to Basics

2008-12-01T10:31:00.001-06:00

Inspired by Michelle, Toot, Dusty and Rita, I've decided to put my Weight Watchers hat back on. Renewed my monthly pass. Measuring portions again. I'm a bit excited!

So there's that,

Laura

HEY!

2008-11-18T21:59:00.001-06:00

IT SMELLS LIKE FISH IN HERE!

So there's that,

Laura

Road Maps

2008-11-13T11:39:00.001-06:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about stretch marks.

Though I may not post about it as often, I am still on a path toward wellness and weight loss. I guess it got harder to talk about here because I haven't seen much progress on the latter. I have, however, kept up my rigorous walking schedule on Saturdays, and I keep my dates at the gym. I feel firmer, but I'm still awkwardly large and the scale hasn't budged.

I am okay with that. I have to be.

Every night as I fall asleep, I take inventory of my abdomen and thigh muscles, running my hands over them to see if there's new smoothness, new tone, a bone that presses against the surface more prominently before. I feel for the soft cellulite to give way to lean meat.

I can also feel the rivers of stretch marks that have carved through my thick hills of flesh.

On my hips, they run deeper than my skin. On my stomach, they are raised ridges more akin to scar tissue. They are the strongest evidence that my body is breaking and I'm always healing.

These silvery marks aren't new to me; they appeared before I became a teenager. I thought they were a normal part of growing up – these were the growing pains giving the title to that sitcom.

My mom saw them once and told me what they really were. She said only women who've been pregnant get them, and the tone of her voice implied she had no hope for me. There was a tinge of shame revealing it was another disappointment, that I was not the kind of girl she wanted.

I know that's not true; she does and always has loved me. But with her constant dieting schemes, girdling, and promises of new toys and clothes after I lost weight, how could I feel like anything but an eyesore? With that pressure, I could only feel betrayed and alone. No amount of personal success outside weight loss – grades, contests, music, scholarships, work – could overshadow my constant failure to be thin.

I don't want to make this an entry about blame, but these feelings are there. This is part of the history coursing through the tiny blood vessels in my fat, keeping it alive: stretching until it builds new seams.

Last night my thigh was smooth, the layer of cellulite was thinner, pliable. I pressed the skin taut between vertical lines of stretch marks on my hips, a feeling reminiscent of a round paper lantern. There is always something new. No matter how much I change, these marks will say everything. Braille documentation left behind by the blind author of my past.

These scars are unique. This is red; this is white. This is damaged; this is healed. This is my body. This is my story.

So there's that,

Laura

I am SICK!

2008-11-07T11:22:00.004-06:00

Why is this so damn funny to me?

Because I am tuh-wisted. Happy Friday mothahfuckahs!

So there's that,

Laura

Goddang It

2008-11-06T18:45:00.001-06:00

I begrudgingly started reading Twilight this morning, because it seems to be the hot book/movie sensation of the moment. Normally when people get all culty about books, I shut down and refuse to read them until I'm good and ready. Then I love them.

Did it with Da Vinci Code.

Did it with Harry Potter.

Now I'm 70 pages into this emo teen sensation, and I'm already watching the trailer and film clips online. I need to see this movie. I can't explain it. The book's written for kids in its 13-point font, and I'm all, "Damn, this is great!"

I guess I need to loosen up about swimming with the school. Because let's face it - refusing to get on the bandwagon for the principle of it? Is just as bad as posing. Especially if you're gonna like the shit anyway.

Oh, and I feel oddly pedophilic for finding a teen novel sexy. But can you blame me?

So there's that,

Laura

No More Drama

2008-11-05T13:14:00.001-06:00

Last night was probably the most amazing I've ever experienced in this city.

No pushing. No fights. No worries.

Happy Faces

Horses' Asses

Baby Fists

Swarm of Bliss

Good People

Hooty Hoo

Tree Huggers

My Kind of Town

Wew!

After, my group parted ways. I walked north on Michigan Avenue, consuming the entire thoroughfare with my fellow rioters, alone yet alive. The city burst into cheers every ten feet. The foreign-tongued posed for pictures next to the police horses. We shook hands with the police officers who stood to the side this whole night as the people pulsed through them, toward the heart. Shiny faces teemed over balconies, stood towering on the medians, and hooting from car windows.

I walked till the streets emptied, where couples held hands and stopped to kiss. Where people sat on benches, gathered in doorways, and waited for buses - talking and laughing with strangers. Somewhere in all this, I sloughed off my bitterness and let the crowds and kisses fly all around me, wanting only to stay awake forever.

It is summer in the city.

So there's that,

Laura

I Voted. Can you smell it?

2008-11-04T10:08:00.001-06:00

I was gonna wake up at 6:00 this morning, crawl over to my polling place, then come back home to get ready for work.

Instead, I woke up before the alarm at 5:00, tossed restlessly in bed while watching the news and decided to just get living. Got over to the polling place at 6:30 and was surprised at the "short" line. I was all, "Man, I could get to work by 7:30! Go me!"

Little did I know the line snaked around every wall and elevator in this high-rise condominium lobby. There was length of line that I didn't know existed until I turned a corner. This line was intestinal.

But resourceful bitch that I am, I brought a book, and the time just flew by. When the old lady at the registration table pulled my slip, I had to remind her that I needed to sign it before she filed it. I was all, "I need to sign that, right?" And she was all, "Oh...yes you do."

I was hoping for a little more passion on her part, but I guess she'd seen enough already today.

I checked over the president section on my ballot 5 times, making sure I voted for my guy. I did. I ran the card through the scanner, got a receipt, and the deed was done.

I was out of there at 8:15, and at work by 8:30. It was a long wait for sure, but I figure I can give an hour and forty-five minutes of my time for the country.

But only once every four years.

So there's that,

Laura

Don't Tell Dad

2008-11-03T13:18:00.001-06:00

I don't like getting political because - at this point, at least, I hope - people know who they're going to vote for. I can't change their decision, I don't want to. I don't care to tear down the guy I'm not voting for because...I'm not voting for him. What does it matter? The only thing I can do is vote, then it's out of my hands. If the other guy becomes president, I just have to deal with it. And I have a feeling whoever is chosen - as radical as the campaigns may seem - that guy will be pretty moderate, considering the nation is half-torn, in debt, and in war.

So, I don't lose my head about the election. My dad, however, gets pretty steamed up about it. He's conservative. During the 8 years of Bill Clinton, the channel had to change as soon as his white mane and tippler's nose came on screen, for dad's eyes would bulge out of his head in rage. Which is funny because Dad's pretty peaceful otherwise. Shy. Cool-headed. Non-violent. Just don't get a democrat in his field of view.

Now when he talks about Obama and his Chicago-style politics, repeating Fox News talking points about how terrible this guy is, he gets just as tense. I tell him to cool off, make him promise me that he won't go apeshit if Obama becomes president. It's not good for him.

So this is why I feel kind of bad that I'm voting Obama - because if he wins, my dad's gonna have 4 years of pure hatred for the government. Sigh.

But on the other hand, I'm really excited about my vote. Even if he doesn't win, I'm gonna be happy to have been part of such an historic election. I got a ticket to Obama's election night party in Chicago's Grant Park. I'm going to be in the mix of it all, in the same room as the man who could be the next president, when he gets the news! It's a great time to live in Chicago!

So wish me luck - at least pray this guy gets the presidency so I don't get killed in an angry riot. I'm too cheap for pepper spray, so I'm packing Binaca just in case!

So there's that,

Laura