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.

A Little Something Sexy

My husband was flirting with me the other morning. He got a little frisky and suggested we knock it out on our new island counter top. With that, he started to lift me up in a sexy move that we often see in the movies, and ten years ago would not have been a problem for either one of us. I would just like to say at this point that my husband is a strapping man; he is not clumsy and he’s had a lot of experience. He could not, however lift me up. “Gah!” he exclaimed, and started laughing.
“You think it’s funny?” I ask, annoyed and amused all at once, making him laugh even harder. Needless to say, we did NOT ‘knock it out.’
To make matters worse, in his attempt to lift me, my ass hit the corner of the counter, producing a bruise that looks a little bit like Italy, but bigger. Since we wont be ‘knocking it out’ for at least two weeks after his little laughing stint, there is no need for me to ice it.
Sex is a little discussed topic in the fat world. I read all sorts of articles in women’s magazines about how to turn your man on, how to keep things spicy, how to achieve more from less. Whatever that means. But upon doing a Google search for sex when you are fat, I found only one somewhat scientific article. You can see it at www.dimensionsmagazine.com These were some of the goodies from that article and I have CAPITALIZED the area I found most delightful:


When the woman is fat, Abraham Friedman recommends that she lie on her back, "her legs bent at the hips, her thighs open as wide as possible, and her knees fully bent, thus completely exposing her vulva and vagina." IF SHE HAS A BIG TUMMY, SHE CAN LIFT IT AWAY FROM HER PUBIC REGION WITH BOTH HANDS, at least until the man gets himself positioned between her thighs. If penetration is still difficult, it can help to put one or more pillows under her buttocks. "Considerable variety is available to you through the simple expediency of changing the position of your legs," writes Marvin Grosswirth. "If you use a pillow, your vagina becomes elevated and entry is easier. If you use two pillows, entry will not only be easy, it will be different. If you raise your legs to a certain height, the angle of penetration and the points of friction will be different than if you raise your legs to another height, or if you do not raise them at all. You would be amazed at the variations three inches up or down can create."

Note that it says BOTH hands. Now, I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a real mood killer to me. I imagine it goes like this… “honey, do want me to move the fat, or do you want to do it?” Is it part of foreplay, or is it just preparation?

I have personally found that face down ass up works the best. That way ‘if she has a fat tummy’ the fat is not seen. To keep the fat from flapping around down under while in this position, shove a pillow under your tummy. Make sure there is one candle lit in the furthest corner of the room. Wear a cover up on top, and get under the blankets. Then let all hell break loose. He is damn lucky to get anything is my attitude.

The good news is, BTM really does understand. He has recently just lost 45 pounds himself, and is very encouraging and understanding. I would just like to add at this point, you should have seen our escapades when we were both fat. Now that was something. There is no article out there that could have described that.

Sugar Withdrawal

I fell again today. My hair distracted me, and I tripped over a car seat that was in the middle of my driveway. Let me explain.
I am on day three of this lifestyle change. (not a diet) It occurs to me that I may be having some sort of sugar and carbohydrate withdrawal symptoms. Is it possible? According to studies done at Princeton University, there is such a thing. At least in Rats. So my symptoms include lack of ambition, lack of energy, and general disorientation and clumsiness. I find myself dropping almost everything, bumping into walls, and now, finally, the trip.
Let me backtrack a little bit. The little guy was sick last weekend. As we were on our way to the dog park he announced he was going to throw up. But if you have kids, you know that by the time they announce it they are already in the process of head turning exorcism. I've also noticed that they throw up 3 times their body weight. So home we went, and when we got there, I took out the child seat, setting it in the driveway to be hosed off. That was Sunday. It is now Wednesday, and I guess I keep hoping for the Vomit Fairy to come clean it up, because heaven forbid I should get the gagger (also known as btm) or my oldest son to clean it. So, there it has sat.
Well, this morning, as I am running out the door to get the little guy to school, my hair, which I left down, (I rarely leave it down) whipped around my face in the wind. I tossed my head back to get it out of my eyes, and when I did that, I felt my neck spasm. When my neck spasmed, I instantly and instinctively turned it in the opposite direction. All this in the blink of an eye, and all why I was still walking. So in the course of this, there was the car seat, and my toe caught it, and I propelled forward in a midair spin that I was sort of impressed by for a fleeting second. I laid there with my eyes closed for a moment before looking up to see the little guy standing over me in horrified silence. I tried to be reassuring when I called out to him "I'm okay, honey!" He refused to meet my eyes, but instead was looking at the amazing amount of 'stuff' that had flown out of my hands and purse. As I lay there, still not getting up, he silently walked around the car to get the can of soda that was still making its way down the driveway. I sat up and looked around at my neighbors’ windows to see if they had been witness to the incident. I was sure my across the street neighbor had seen me, as I know she is prone to standing in her upstairs window spying on the rest of us with her binoculars.
Cautiously I stood up and gimped around picking up my 'stuff.' I managed to walk around the car and help the little guy get in. He still had not said anything to me, but was instead casting long wary looks at me; I think inwardly hoping I would not cause any more embarrassing scenes.
I absolutely refused to dwell on the fall, and instead got busy thinking about how I would reward myself for surviving it. I decide the best option was to go get a pedicure. I called the nail salon, and they told me it would be half an hour. Since I was blowing off the gym one more day, (what’s one more day?) I congratulated myself for thinking how productive I would be in that half hour by going to get my car washed. I despise going to the car washes where you have to sit for an hour and do nothing but wait until the guys finish my car, so instead I decided to go to the do it yourself place. All was going fine until I had to use the bathroom. I really had to go and I hurried down the hallway of the service area only to discover that the girls’ bathroom was closed. I was running out of time. I needed the bathroom and I needed to be on time for my pedi. I looked over my shoulder and saw the mens bathroom. Hmmm. I know it can be a scary place. Did it have stalls, or just icky urinals? Was it clean? I didn't care anymore, and I pushed the door open and was relieved to see stalls with doors on them. I chose the bigger stall with the assist bar in it, as I was going to use the bar as a brace to hold myself up. I was not going to sit down, even with that tissue paper disposable 'sanitary-keep-a-barrier-between-my-ass-and-the-bacteria' thing. So as I squatted over the bowl, using the assist bar as a brace, I started going. Whew! Ok, are you ready for this? You know how men in bathrooms are less than sanitary? Well…I don’t know why these things happen to me, but the next thing I knew, my foot had slipped out from under me because there was a puddle of urine all around the bottom of the toilet and somehow I had overlooked it. My ass fell right down onto the rim that had God only knew what on it. EEEWWWW. I couldn’t jump up, because I was in midstream. I didn't want to push back up onto the bar, because my feet were now scrambling to get out of the puddle that I wish I had seen before I went...
Anyway, my theory is that I am having sugar withdrawal symptoms, thus the poor powers of observation, the lack of co-ordination, the shaking hands…At least I have someone to back me up on my theory.
Thank You Princeton University and your studies.

Retail Secrets, Diet Pills and Day One

Total goal weight to lose: 50 pounds Lost to date: 0

Are you aware that Target has already displayed their swimsuit line? For those of you paying attention…it is JANUARY. I am convinced (after giving it quite a lot of thought) that it is a marketing ploy in order to raise sales. Follow me here;
Target knows that we have all made resolutions to lose weight, get fit, get healthy, whatever. Target also knows that many of us women will go buy clothes smaller than we can fit into for ‘inspiration.’ So, we go buy these swimsuits swearing that by swim season we WILL fit into it. Only to find out, when swim season comes around (and I am speaking for the majority)that we DO NOT fit into said swimsuit. We question our sanity one more time, then go back to Target to purchase a new suit that fits. Having lost or filed the original receipt from the suit purchased in January, we simply just spend the extra money and call the whole thing a wash. Target is Brilliant!
The dieting industry is huge. We are inundated by ads that promise quick results, or ads that offer exercise equipment that will magically and easily burn fat right off your ass. I have researched and tried a great many of them, spending thousands for results that I did not achieve.
Diet pills are not for me. There are over the counter, famous oldies, like Dexatrim, and new ones like Thermlean and Venom Hyperdrive. There are prescription diet pills in varying doses that I do not qualify for, my pharmacist informing me of the potential side effects such as death if taken with the current medication I am on.
The FDA has recently released the former prescription Orlistat on the over the counter market, also know as Alli. Taking this in combination with fatty foods will have you running to the bathroom with the trots!
We are then given ‘program choices,’ all of which work if you are diligent enough to stay with them. You got Nutrisystem, Jenny Craig, And Lindora. Medifast, The Cookie Diet, ands South Beach, not forgetting the make-your-breath-foul Atkins. Foregoing good tasting foods for prepackaged processed cardboard-like yummies was all the rage for the last couple of years. Gaining ground on these ‘diets’ is the really incredible, change your lifestyle weight watchers, which encourages you to eat real foods within reason, teaching you not overindulge, but not denying you the foods you love and crave.
If you need help staying on a good eating regime, there are 12 step programs which help you to check in with others and realize why you eat for emotional comfort. HOW and Overeaters Anonymous have helped thousands shed pounds and keep them off, all while balancing your emotional and spiritual psyches.
Oh yes, the choices are limitless, and I am exhausted. That is why I hired a nutritionist. A pro. Someone who can tell me what foods work with my body, and will teach me how to eat. I am not looking forward to it, but I am looking forward to the results. I am on my own move-more-eat-less-crap lifestyle changing regiment that I hope will result in in a new, svelte mind and body combination.
Thanks for the show of support , the loving lectures, the recipes, and the open forum that has been created by you all.
In the name of not setting myself up for disappointment, I will NOT be buying a swimsuit before it is time. I have however started my eating plan today. Wish me luck and willpower.