Dreams

I'm on my sixth day of the NutriSystem plan, and I'm doing pretty good.  I feel a little slimmer, but I'll know the damage when I weigh in tomorrow morning. 

 

I've gotten used to the food, which is really very convenient, once you get the hang of it.  I did fall into my weekend munchies trap:  I have come to see every weekend like a vacation from dieting, which is pretty bad.  I snacked on some popcorn (97% fat free) on Saturday while catching up on my Netflixed Lost Season 2 DVDs.  I amped up my vegetable fajitas by adding some fat free refried beans and cheese.  But Sunday was the worst.

 

I ordered ribs.  I KNOW!  I'm PMS-ing, and I had a hankering for a mess o' ribs.  Sue me.  I figure a cheat day couldn't really hurt, if I excercise and don't let it throw me completely off track.  'Cause them ribs were good.  Tomorrow's judgment day, so we'll see...

 

So today I'm back on track, and pretty pumped up for my workout tonight.  I'm planning an hour on the elliptical, then a half hour treadmill walk to cool down.  I know it seems like a lot, but I really enjoy the time.  I'm reading a great book, so the time flies.  It's kind of like my quiet reading time. 

 

The book, you ask?  Candy Girl by Diablo Cody.  She's the chick who wrote Juno, and this is her story about stripping for a year in Minneapolis.  She was working as a copy writer, and decided to try stripping for extra cash and to perform a social experiment.  The result: an effing hilarious book.  I guffawed aloud - several times - reading this at the gym the other night.

 

Remember when I wrote about hurting my back?  I mentioned that I kept having these dreams where I couldn't lift my thighs and butt, because they hinged on the painful small of my back.  In the dream it's like my lumbar is too small to support my massive hamhocks, as if they are a big loose molar hanging by a thread of bloody flesh from my gums. 

 

I know it's gross, but it's the best way to describe it.

 

Anyway, I had more dreams like this for the last two nights.  I can remember last night's more clearly:  I was waiting for a Metra train wearing a big backpack, and I had to crawl onto the platform.  Nobody would let me borrow their cell phone because I left my purse behind.  And I didn't know how to get back to my apartment. 

 

That's all pretty messed up, but the crawling thing - in these dreams, it's like I'm crawling through sand and moving too slow for everybody around me.  Like I can't catch up with anything.  It's so scary to me.

 

I try not to read too much into dreams (mostly because I never remember them), but these are happening so much that they freak me out.  Have you had weird recurring dreams?

 

So there's that,

Laura

Junta?

You 'member Jan Jeffcoat?  The tanorexic news anchor on the Fox News Chicago morning broadcast?

 

Well, I was getting ready in my bathroom this morning, and I heard her talk about Myanmar's military junta.

 

But guess how she pronounced it?  Oh no, she didn't say "HOON-ta."  Bitch said "JUHN-ta."

 

Oh how the mighty orange have fallen!!!

 

So there's that,

Laura

Hate-On Friday: Tanorexics

I've decided that since I'm so bitter, I should devote one day of the week to hating on something.  John-Stossel it up over here. 

 

This week's topic:  TANOREXICS

 

A disease known to spread among teenage beauty queens, blossoming trixies, and homosexual men, research has shown that the affinity for tanorexia develops at an alarmingly early age, oftentimes in conjunction with the discovery of schnozzberries.

 

 

Oompa Loompa:  Gateway Tanorexic

 

Left unchecked, tanorexics develop a "leatherbound transsexual" appearance often accompanied by peroxide blonde hair, emaciated frame, skin-tight dresses, and stripper heels. 

 

 

   

Socialite:  Bottle Blondorexic (Note the Auschwitz clavicle.)

 

The addiction begins with a desire to simply "look healthy," but sadly many tanorexics abuse themselves in order to lure a man.  Some are unsuccessful (see above), while others end up with a financially enviable mate.  The boost in income often leads women to enhance other features, such as lips, eyes and cheekbones.

 

  

Trophy Wife:  American Dream or Collagen Nightmare?

 

Tanorexics aren't limited to night clubs, sprawling estates, or wonderous chocolate factories.  Tanorexics walk among us.

 

She's the creepy orange, vericose-veined woman in my gym's locker room.  The one that judges my thighs while I judge the blinding whites of her eyeballs. 

 

She's my mom, who's practically burgundy in December but swears she doesn't tan.  I see the lotion in your passenger seat, liar! 

 

She's the co-anchor on my local Fox News morning broadcast.  The chick they brought in from Texas who's skin tone hasn't changed in a year.  Is she the proper dermatological role model for our youth?

 

Jan Jeffcoat:  Everyday 'Rexic

 

Tanorexics are not freaks.  They're just really fucked up.

 

So there's that,

Laura

Fun at Work

I had a fun email exchange with Justin today about fun things we'd like to do on the phone at work, especially to people we will never see and have no bearing on our future success.  Like salespeople.

 

I started it:

 

Me:  Do you ever get the urge to, when you're on the phone with someone you don't know, mispronounce a word you know full well how to pronounce?  Just for kicks?  Example: tertiary.  "Well, reading off my records here, it looks like the, uh, ter-TIE-uh-ree? TURD-ee-air-ee?  What's that?  Oh!  TERSH-ee-air-ee.  Thank you...forgive me."

 

Justin:  Yes, or say things like "well, we've got ourselves a real humdinger with this case" or "it's been quite a kafuffle"

 

Me:  It's all better than saying "oh poop..."

 

Justin:  have you ever wanted to just go "hang on a second, let me look this....OW! OW! ow ow ow ow ow...man that hurt"

 

The last one made me pee a little.  I hope it makes you pee a little too.

 

Back when we didn't care about our jobs, Justin and I would scheme to crank call his lame coworkers.  I would call and pretend to be on my way to the church picnic, telling the unwitting employee that I would be there soon, and that I packed that chicken salad that Beth likes, but I didn't put grapes in it -- to be mindful Gary and his colon polyps.  When she would finally correct me that I had the wrong number, I would say, "Oh...I'm sawry!  Oh my!  Oh goodness...oh...sorry for taking up your time.  What do you sell?  Yard flags?  You got ones in the shapes of Easter baskets?  Oh that's nice..."

 

I would go on and on while the person on the other end tried to end the conversation.  On Justin's end, he would hear his coworker trying to gently let me go, saying, "Oh...uh huh...well that's....ok...uh huh...ooookay....no, it's all right....uh huh...well maybe 5...all right.  okay, well it was nice....uh huh....i...okay, gotta...ahhhhh...oookay...um, January...all right...goodbye...uh huh....

 

It was pretty fun.  Other times I would start to talk to them like a normal person, then end up making this long nasal roar and hang up.  I've ended some "normal" calls with "Tell 'em Large Marge sent ya!!!"  Then Justin would listen to his coworkers talk about the "strangest phone call."  What a blast.  Why don't we do that anymore?

 

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

 

In other news, I'm on day three of Nutrisystem.  It's going okay.  I didn't want to eat my fist in hunger last night like I wanted to on Tuesday night.  I guess, as Mom would say, my stomach's getting smaller.  Ha!

 

My lunch today was the best so far - Cheesy Mashed Potatoes.  They come dehydrated in a "Cup Ramen" style situation, where I just add hot water, stir and let stand for a few minutes.  I added some hot sauce to this business, and it was SO GOOD.  Seriously, if hadn't stopped to check email, I probably would have gulped this stuff down in 2 minutes.  I love rehydrated mashed potatoes!!!!!!!  I immediately went to my order page and put 2 more on there for my next shipment.  *Homer Simpson drooling sounds*  It was a moment of bliss.

 

Back in high school, my friend Sara Blunk and I were obsessed with dried potatoes.  She hosted a sleepover for her birthday once, and we made green mashed potatoes with food dye.  And gravy from a pouch mix.  Man!  That was so much fun!  Sara and I would talk about how we would grow up to be starving artists and live on nothing but boxes of Idahoan.  Ahh...the ignorance of youth:  Idahoan comes in bags, too.

 

 

 

Try yourself some dried mashed potatoes tonight.  And add some hawt sawce.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

Firewalled

My workplace just upped the ante by firewalling a large portion of my favorite sites - including my blog.  It's not like I surf all day, but I like to take a little break in the morning to read inspirational blogs, stream talk radio, and look up pictures of funny cats.  Is that so wrong?

 

But the good news is I can continue to write in my blog by emailing my posts, which is what I do anyway.  I never log on to blogger during the workday; I just like to cruise by my page and read your comments.  If you don't know, I FEED on your comments, so keep 'em coming.  I'll read them at home.

 

Day one of Nutrisystem was a success.  Though, after my 50 minutes on the elliptical machine, I felt very woozy.  I mowed down a Luna bar to hold me steady until dinner, but I was nonetheless dizzy, nauseous, and tingly all through my ride home.  I'mma call up a Nutrisystem counselor to talk about it tonight.

 

 

The meals on day one weren't bad at all.  My lunchtime pasta cup was in need of a pinch of salt and pepper, but my dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes was delightful.  I ended the night with a snack bag of pretzels dipped in dijon mustard - enjoyed while watching the cast of Hell's Kitchen suffer through cooking up a sweet sixteen party.  Brilliant.

 

26 more days...

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

It's Just Lunch

After a few months of waffling, and the long-awaited arrival of an economic stimulus check, I decided to start NutriSystem.

 

I never thought I'd do it, but I've just been thinking over the past few weeks about how I don't seem to making any progress in my weight loss - even with sensible diet and exercise.  I've reached the point where I need to just rethink food.  I need to stop seeing it as a reward, and start seeing it as something that's there to keep me alive.

 

My main concern with starting the program was that I would have to eat highly processed food on a regular basis - which isn't very appealing to me.  I like to identify my food components.  When I cook pasta, for example, the only processed food I use is the whole wheat pasta; then I add veggies, protein, and form a simple sauce out of broth, tomato juice, oil and/or cheese.  But now I'm committed to eating an amalgam of additives I can't just pick up on store shelves, which kind of creeps me out.  I mean, after a whole childhood and adolescence raised on Banquet dinners, I'm kind of done with packaged foods.

 

But the benefit is that these meals are portion-controlled (though I could get more for my calorie buck) and convenient.  The convenience is a huge plus considering that I tend to opt for Subway or Thai if I'm too tired to wash my dishes, let alone put together a mouth-watering menu.

 

Last night, as I unpacked my shipment of 28 breakfasts, 28 lunches, 28 dinners, and 28 "desserts," I was astounded at the amount of food - albeit portion-controlled - that comprised a month's worth of dining.  I had no space in my cabinets, so I had to move a lot of the food to 3 of the 4 shelves in my fridge.  Is this really how much I eat in a month?  No, it's much less.  Lesson Fucking One.

 

Today was my first day on plan, and it's fair to say that I spent the whole day obsessing about food.  When was I going to get to unwrap my next dry-canned product?  What fruits, veggies and dairy would I add, and when would I get it?  I checked the website meal planner all day to record my intake and plan for tonight.  It's not like I don't normally do these things, but rather my awareness of them was turned up to 11, if you will.  I did it more frequently, and I felt more crazy over it.

 

Example:  I went to Trader Joe's over lunch to pick up some yogurt and produce.  The nonfat yogurt was 120 calories for 6 oz, and I seriously debated over buying it.  "The manual says I should have 80 calorie yogurt.  What-do-I-do-what-do-I-do?"  I put 4 cups of it in my basket eventually, saying to my coworker, "This is making me think like a fucking anorexic."  Then a woman in a jogging suit looked over at me and into my basket, apparently judging the contents.  "Take a good look, bitch," I wanted to say.  

 

But I didn't.  I'm staying strong today, and looking forward to a workout and tonight's meal.  I got 27 days to go.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura 

Wilford Brimley

see more crazy cat pics

So there's that,

Laura