Ethiopians and Flies

You may have noticed flies walking around on my pages. That's because I am paying homage to BTM. He was telling me a couple nights ago how great and sexy he is because he has lost so much weight. Then he said "if you were as skinny as an Ethiopian and you had flies crawling all over your face, I wouldn't mind the flies." Really Fucker? And then when I added the flies he was all are you sure you want to add flies to a banner that talks about your butt? Because people might get the wrong message and think your butt stinks. And I was like, Shut up. What are you implying? And I must have given him a look that said I was going to rip his heart out of his chest which I tried to do once when I was pissed at him, and so now he knows the look and usually backs up a few steps when he sees it. But then he said it would make sense if I actually told the story about the Ethiopian comment instead of just putting flies on my banner and so I wondered why he would want people to know that he said that. Hence the flies. He probably just wants everyone to know he's sexy and thin. He is so self serving.

2 Cups of Coffee and A Bike

I got a new kind of coffee at the market yesterday. Because it was on sale. I don’t know the name of it, so don’t ask, and I am not going downstairs to find out. All you need to know is this; I drank it and this is what being on crack must feel like. Or maybe some other drug that makes you wired and shaky. Feel free to fill in this blank ______________________________ with whichever drug you feel appropriate. I love to drink 2 cups of coffee in the morning while I check stuff out on the web.
THIS coffee kicked in and now my hands are shaking and I’m irritable. Also, it feels like I want to go for a bike ride because I am super hyper right now, but I know better.
The last time I went for a bike ride, I was very impressed with myself. I had not been on a bike for a year. I got my iphone/ipod, put on my headphones, and donned BTM’s bike helmet, because I don’t have one. I should mention at this point that his helmet is too big for me but I wanted to be an example to other bikers. Because I’m like that. Always thinking of others.
I got on my bike, fully equipped for the ride. I was also wearing BTM’s bicycle shorts that had padding in them so my tender areas wouldn’t get bruised. I don’t have an arm strap for my phone, so I held it in my hand, and I brilliantly threaded the headphones through my shirt so they wouldn’t be dangling.
I set off out of my garage. There is a small hill from my house to the corner, only about 2 blocks to the T at the end of the street. For a few seconds I felt complete joy. YES! I missed this!
As luck would have it, my phone rang just as I was getting to the T and looking both ways for cars. I looked down to answer it, and as I did this, I somehow lost my balance. The bike wobbled, my too big helmet fell over my eyes and I went down.. Did I mention I was going DOWN a hill? I flew over the handle bars and did a little flip and landed on my back. My phone was in one direction and my bike in the other.
My very first thought was YOU’RE JOKING! My second thought was that the neighbors must be howling. Because you always have that neighbor that is looking out the window. (And I would be laughing wishing I had gotten it on video for you tube if it had been one of them) I stood up after gingerly assessing my injuries, straightened the helmet, picked up my phone, then the bike, and made the decision to keep riding anyway as my pride and ego were burning bright, and I would show that neighbor who was watching that I could not be shamed or denied my bike ride. I couldn’t get away fast enough. A few blocks away I stopped, got off the bike and sat on a little bench. I thought maybe if I sat there for an hour, my neighbors will have moved on to something else. Later I proudly rode my bike back home and put it in the garage and have not touched it since. Stupid bike.
Anyway. The point is, I am totally wired on 2 cups of morning joe, I won’t ride my bike and I won’t clean the house either. What’s the point of that? So the rest of the day is to be determined.

"What Do You Do All Day?"

I have been sitting here staring at this blank screen for about 30 minutes now. There is so much to tell...so much it seems overwhelming. So I made the decision to go downstairs and make myself some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. I'm not really hungry, but I know that the whole process from beginning to end, if I take my time, will stall me about 25 minutes. That includes the eating part. I can add a few more minutes to this 'break' if I do the dishes immediately afterward, which is what BTM would want. And I do really want to make him happy.
BTM and I had a knock down drag out verbal disagreement last week. You see, he works very hard. He is gone long hours and has a lot of pressure on him. So my job these days has been to take of myself, (LOL) our home (through the holidays, including all the gifts) and the family. (With a new addition of my oldest son's girlfriend who now lives with us)
Without going into the morbid details of his self righteous frustration, I will just say that last Friday while he was in the shower getting ready for work at 6:00 a.m. and I was downstairs assisting him with whatever he needed to get out the door, I suddenly heard this call for me. It wasn't the friendly honey-come-keep-me-company call. Nope. It was more of a direct get-your-ass-up-here-right-now sort of order.
Making my way up the stairs, I heard a little banging and muttering. Uh-oh. What had I done? Were we out of toilet paper? Out of soap? It couldn't be that we were out of hot water. The kids were not up. Curiously but cautiously rounding the corner, I put on my best happy face and asked,"yes, honey?" The shocking reply went something like this; "Listen, I don't know what you do around here all day, but I want you to get a pen and paper and make a list of what I want done today. Clearly you need a little guidance in this area."
I just looked at him, and then slowly turned and walked out of the bathroom. It took about 5 minutes for his words to sink in. I bought into it, and suddenly it was like putting my hand into a lit fire. I reacted in a way that probably woke up the neighbors. This disagreement lasted through the weekend. The nerve. After all, how very ungracious of him. But I have mentioned before that he is better than me.
In my defense, we had a party that took weeks of planning, and days to take down. I worked relentlessly tearing it down for 3 days before a minor stomach bug hit me thanks to the addition to the family. I shall call her 18 and in perfect shape.
In the commotion of the verbal brawl, BTM dug himself into a very deep hole, stating that surely things don't take as long to complete as I say they do. And to make his point he scooped up the little one's crayons and art projects that had transformed our living room into an art studio. It took him about about 10 seconds to gather it all up and put it on the kitchen island, announcing as he did this- "There. Done. How hard was that?"
"Well. I don't know," I countered. "Did you sort through everything and take out the most brilliant pieces to hang up? I'm sorry but moving the mess from one place to another doesn't make it go away." And so went the weekend. of course, we kissed and made up later. What would a marriage be without a good old fashioned argument once in a while? Especially around the holidays.
Yes it is the holiday season once again. The stress, the parties, the food, the endless gifts and tralalaling have entered our worlds with gusto.
I always hear about arguments, family dysfunction, and overall bah humbugging, and my family is not exempt. It wasn't all bad. We had a lovely Holiday after all and love has descended upon my home once more.
But what about me? What am I to do with me? It has been exactly a year since I swore to the whole world that I would lose weight. What a journey it has been. I can't wait to share it with you tomorrow.

The Broken Toe

Ok. Well, I guess you could say I have been gone for a while. Time sure seems to fly when you’re trying to avoid your life. Or at least some of the things in your life. Like being accountable and doing what you set out to do.
The truth is, I don’t write when I am not being responsible. I set out this year to lose weight. I announced it with pomp and circumstance, I started a blog, I got plenty of support, my life was on a roll, I started living my dream, and then BOOM! The insidious thought process that is self-destruction starts to descend into my very breath.
With that, I find every excuse I can to NOT bring it back around. I talk about getting back on track, and I commiserate with others when they talk about being off. For instance, April was filled with sun. I was helping my husband at his job, the weather was so nice and I was consumed with busy days. May came, and then I needed to get ready for my sons graduation from High school. I had family coming in, and I needed the house in complete order. I had no time to exercise and the last thing on my mind was dieting!
It is now June, and I have managed to lose only 8 pounds and keep it off this year. Now, here’s the rub.
Last week, after the festivities of Graduation were over, I made a decision to renew my weight loss vows.
I was out of excuses. I had talked about it until I was bored, I had avoided it, and now I made a schedule. I would get up early, do some early morning chores, get the little one off to school, and then hit the gym. I would stay at the gym until my workout was completed, about 2 hours, then I would finish out my day. I had a plan!
Here’s how it has played out so far.
Day one: A perfect day. Work out 2 hours, food, good.
Day two: I broke my little toe tripping on a rug in my house. See picture.
You see, all was going great. I cleaned up a little, I had my coffee, I was just straightening up this stupid rug in my loft upstairs before I left for the gym. Its this rug that for whatever reason seems to get a bump in it all the time. I pull it flat, I walk away, come back, and it’s bunched up again. So there I am, getting ready to put on my socks and shoes and get out the door, and I stopped to pull the rug flat. Somehow my little toe caught under the rug while I was in motion and I heard this little crack. I looked own, and there, to my absolute surprise, I saw my cute pinky toe jetting out at a peculiar angle from the rest of my toes.
I sat down abruptly and looked with utter despair at my little boy who asked me, “mommy, what are you doing?” I was surprisingly calm, I had not yelped with pain, and yet my toe was pounding.
I announced that I had broken my toe.
“But you’re not crying.”
“No, I’m not. Would you please go wake up your brother?”
“How did you break your toe?” He was very interested.
“I tripped on the rug. Would you get your brother?” I was incredibly patient, I thought.
“Did you trip on a toy?” He asked, wide-eyed.
“No.” I am now crawling military style on my elbows and belly to the door to my oldest sons bedroom to wake him up.
“What are you doing now? Can I play?” he asks as he gets down on his belly with me.
I sidle up to the door and I knock on it. “Honey? I need your help. Hurry!”
I hear a rustle.
“What do want?” comes the grumpy reply.
“I broke my toe and I need you to help me get your brother to school and get me to the emergency room.” I decide that I am a saint.
The door swooshes open, and my bleary eyed teenager steps out. “Seriously, mom? He moaned. “What’s next with you?!”
Ok. I definitely don’t need the attitude, I decide, my toe is broken for rice sakes. I take a picture and text it to Better Than Me, also known as my husband. I can’t wait to hear from him.

Girl Scout Cookies are the Devil

I was hanging out last night with some friends. We were at a book club, and there were a lot of people there. I looked great. My friend, who is a stylist, suggested to me that I look best in dresses, so I have been wearing theses great little numbers with the empire waist. I am always so comfortable in them, and last night I paired the dress with really awesome high heels.
So I’m walking around meeting folks, and I saw this woman whom I have met several times before. She is lovely, and she had her newborn baby with her. I am gaga for babies, so I approached her, and giggled with the baby, making small talk. A few minutes into the conversation, to my surprise, the woman gently reached out and stroked my tummy. Her face lit up, she was glowing. With that, she asked when I was due. Immediately, several people turned to look at me.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No…I’m not pregnant! I’m just fat! But thanks for that.”
Another woman to my left, who had turned when the mention of a pregnancy came up asked’ “you’re not pregnant?” This made me laugh harder, because, I am of course, mortified. The space then got awkward, and I walked back to my seat. “It’s the dress...” she called out to me as I walked away.
Well, it’s not the dress. It’s Girl Scout Cookies.
Girl Scout Cookies are the devil. Every March, little angelic looking girls dressed in prim uniforms descend upon my community. They are everywhere. At the market, at the post office, at Target, at the schools, at football games. You get it. You have seen them. Hair in ponytails, freshly scrubbed faces. When I walk by, they call out, “Would you like to buy some cookies?” At first, I resist. I smile, and nod, and mention that maybe on my way out I’ll pick up a box. While inside said establishment, the devil is tempting me. I am remembering my favorite cookies, the mint ones, and the coconut ones. Then I remember that I am dieting, but the little red guy on my shoulder reminds me that these cookies only come around once a year. I brush the devil off my shoulder, and refocus. I try to exit through another door, but they have that one set up too. The little girls call out again, and this time I walk by and say nothing, just trying to get to my car. I hear hissing behind me and I fear the devil is on my heels. I know it is really the mothers of the little girls talking about me, and trying to figure out who I am and where my kids go to school, so that they can have their revenge because I didn’t buy the $4.00 box of cookies.
After going through this scenario several times in one day, I start to break down. After all, these cookies do just come around one time a year. It will be a whole year before I see these again. My mouth waters as I think of the coconut cookies. What’s one box?
I will tell you what the problem is with one box. You can’t buy just one box. The cookies are everywhere. Temptation strikes me at every turn. Before I know it, I have justified 6 boxes of pure evil and sin.
So much for the no sugar rule. The devil got me and spun me around, adding back 2 of the pounds that I have worked so hard to take off.
Some people say that they buy a lot of boxes and put them in the freezer so that they can enjoy them a little every month. Not me. I eat one box in one sitting. I will not drag it out.
What’s the point? They are so delicious and they seem so innocent. They are little cookies. You can eat one whole cookie with just one bite. Add a little tea or coffee with them, and you have a meal.
So at the end of the day, I gain a little weight. Look a little pregnant. It doesn’t compare to the absolute joy I have when I taste that coconut cookie.

The Rescue and The Rip

I saved someone’s life last night. I wish I could say that this is the main story, but it’s not. The main story is that I ripped my pants when I saved his life. When I say ripped my pants, I mean right down the middle of my ass.

The Before:
The evening was planned; my girlfriends and I were going to meet, have dinner, and then watch our beloved Katya share her moving story of strength, hope and experience in front of a large audience.
I got ready. Hair, makeup, and the all too important outfit. It’s not easy to feel hot when you are fat, and so extra effort is needed to get over the ‘does my ass look fat in this.’ My butt looks big in everything. So I tried on a few different things, and finally settled for a pair of black slacks that had a little stretch to them, as well as being comfortable and not too tight. I felt good. I put on a long black blouse and a jacket with a little color, matching chartreuse scarf, boots, and away I went for an evening with the girls.

The During:
So after a dinner in which most of us talked about food and diet, we made our way to the assemblage. A lot of people, some good laughs, and then we settle in at the front of the room. Katya was introduced, and the rhythm of her talk was intoxicating. She was funny and sincere, and spoke from the heart. The room was quiet, as people were listening intently, when suddenly a man from the very back started gasping for air and clutching his chest. All eyes turned on him and people froze, except for Katya. She announced into the microphone, “someone call 911.” Instantly all 200 people took out their cell phones and began to dial. The room was eerily quiet except for the man’s wracked breathing.

The Rescue and the Rip:
Okay. Back in the day, I was trained as a paramedic. The training has come in handy over the years, as I have children and they have friends.
So in the silence of the room, I felt myself rise from my chair and march to the back of the room. I was calm, and I knew I could help him. My boots clipped on the floor, and the sound of them seemed as loud as the man’s struggle for air. Everyone watched as I shifted people out of the way and assessed the man. After a quick exam, I realized he was having an asthma attack. I knew he must have an inhaler, and asked someone to retrieve it from a bag as I lifted the man’s arms above his head.
With one fluid motion, I squatted in front of the man and placed the inhaler to his lips. That’s when it happened. The rip. I felt air rush up my ass as the material and thread gave way.
My mind went crazy. “OH MY GOD! NO WAY! YOU ARE KIDDING ME!”
I tried to focus on saving the man, but my ass was in someone’s face, and I was clearly sporting a double moon. How much had ripped? What thong had I worn? Everyone was watching, and everyone knew I had split my pants!
“FOCUS ON THE MAN” my mind screamed! I shifted my ass in an attempt to hide the now widening split. More wild thoughts went through my mind. ‘No one is looking at me, they are looking at Bill. They are not worried about my pants; they are worried about Bill dying. How self-centered could I be? What did I care if everyone saw my ass from a split? I was saving a man’s life, for crying out loud!’

The After:
At last Bill was breathing clearly, the ambulance was on the way, and the room was still strangely quiet. I looked towards the front of the room to my seat. I had to do the long walk back, with my ass hanging out and everyone looking at me. Just do it, I hissed at myself! I lifted my head, and walked with a slow pace, pulling my (thankfully) long shirt over my bottom. I took my seat. No one said anything. Within minutes, Katya picked up where she left off, and soon she had everyone laughing and distracted.
As I drove home I reviewed the night. I thought of Bill, and the life I had saved. My last thought was “If I was skinny and my pants split, I wouldn’t care who saw."

25 Random Things About Fat People

There is a game going around FaceBook called “25 Random Things About Me.” It is played by writing 25 random things about yourself, then posting them on the page. Then you pick friends on FaceBook and ‘tag’ them, in hopes that they will read your random facts, and in turn, write about themselves, and then tag others, etc.
I find it pretty interesting. For instance, I didn’t know my friend Erica went to Israel every summer, or that Kyrsha used to own a Sit N Spin. When I talked to my friend Angela, she was writing her 25 random things. I could jump on this bandwagon, and I think I will…but these random things of which I write will be about JUST fat people. And when I say fat people, I don’t mean just the morbidly obese, the borderline obese, or the really fat. I also mean regular fat people, the chubby people, and the girls who could lose a few. I am also generalizing, and they are facts that I have observed personally, so no one needs to get testy….

1. Fat people are not always jolly. But they are not always bitter either.
2. We do not want to be fat.
3. I am not lazy.
4. It is easier to maintain fatness than to lose weight.
5. We cook for our families, and eat what is easy and affordable. Sometimes its Macaroni and Cheese. Sometimes its not.
6. I do not hate skinny people, but admire their thinness.
7. I hate the attitude some skinny people have towards fat people.
7B. I hate the attitude some fat people have towards skinny people.
8. We want to dress cool.
9. There is only one major clothing chain that has some fashionable clothes for heavy women.
10. Designers tend to pick out ugly fabrics for fat peoples clothes. I don’t know why. I wouldn't buy most of the things offered for fatties as a skinny person either.
11. Some department stores have clothes for big women that are sort of cool.
12. Fatties don’t eat in public because someone will judge. Someone is already judging before we even sit down.
13. Fat people are clean.
14. Some fat people have medical disorders or take medicine that makes them fat.
15. We love our kids.
16. My kids are very lean, and very active.
17. We work really hard to look ‘hot.’
18. Even when we look hot, we mostly never feel like we are.
19. I rarely eat at McDonalds, and a lot of overweight people don’t eat there either.
20. I have feelings.
21. I can laugh at fat jokes.
22. We get cold. If we are older and are sweating it is because we are having a hot flash from menopause.
23. It hurts when we fall. We don’t bounce back up like rubber balls.
24. We do not float just because we are fat. Many of us know how to swim, however.
25A. You should not go jet skiing in the middle of the ocean when you are morbidly obese. Your jet ski will tip over and you will sink. I witnessed this.
25B. You must always be prepared to defend your fatness to others boldly and openly.

The truth is, there are so many people today that are overweight or nearing overweight, that it really comes down to choices, portions, education and exercise. Do something about it now is my motto.
By the way, I have joined Weight Watchers,(www.weightwatchers.com)and I LOVE it.