Reflecting ...

I spent the 22-29th at my parents' house. It was a pretty good time, complete with sister drama, Bodie peeing on the floor and great quality time with mom and aunts and grama. I got to see my brother for the first time in ages, and get a look into what my family's life is day-to-day. Spent time with old friends, and lots of carbs and napping.

It was great :)

But then I came back, to the reality of a stack of bills and no money to pay them. I am trying to be patient about not having a job, but the stress it is putting on me and on Craig makes it hard not to lose it. Lose my mind, lose my motivation, lose my faith.

In many ways, I am in the same place I was a year ago: jobless and fretting. But the in-between of Jan 1 and Dec 31 is what matters. The big things like finishing my masters', our honeymoon, Craig's accident and adding Bo to the family ... and the little things, from grocery shopping and watching The Wire and learning day-to-day how to keep going.

Our relationship certainly had some transition this year, for the better - we are better at talking to each other, at being partners. Marriage is certainly a forever work-in-progress, but we put a lot of work into ours in 2008. I'm sure it will mean a better 09 and thereafter.

These last two days, I've barely been awake. I'm overwhelmed with what I think qualifies as hopelessness, and I retreat to the safety of slumber. It feels like a waste of life, but when I'm awake *I* feel like a waste of life. I did leave the house today - took CL to work, went to Off the Leaf - and tonight we are making dinner and watching movies to ring in the new year. I'm not feeling well, and neither of us very festive. But having each other, and kissing at any time (midnight or not) is reason to celebrate.

Craig told me last year that in 09, he hopes that we can expect goodness by being good to others, ourselves. That hating is a waste of energy and stunts our growth, not that of the one we are focuing our emotions on. And while yes, 09 will likely also feature the financial struggle that most people in our class are experiencing, that needs to take back burner to joy and celebration and enjoying our lives.

We only get one life, one year at a time.

Karma and Christmas Tradition

This is the second year I've lost my job just before Christmas. It's a Christmas tradition I hope we never experience again.

We were talking about non-violence and karma this morning, and in the aftermath and anger of this job loss, it's tempting to wish horrible things on my former employers. But I figure that's not my job - karma will pay them back with a taste of their own medicine, perhaps. And if not, then I'll just trust the Universe has my best interests in mind with current unemployment.

It could be so much worse ...

9-5 by Dolly Parton is one of my favorite songs, so when I saw the movie for sale for $5.99 at Target I just had to have it. I've never seen it but figured anything featuring a mix of Dolly Parton and Lily Tomlin would be pretty great.

Last night Craig and I watched it, and all that working women have endured made my recent plight seem pretty harmless. My boss never called me "girl," or tried to pinch me or spread rumors of an affair. The faults were much less overt; nonetheless, I wouldn't mind figuring a way to ruin him or at least cause much pain (imagine being zipped up by a garage door opener!)

I was so disgusted by F. Hart, but in the end the girls got their way and were running the place. It may not be my story book ending, but those heroes (fiction and real) give me hope.

I couldn't have said it better myself

“I will not live an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less
afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a
promise. I chose to risk my significance; to live so that which came to me as a
seed goes to the next as a blossom and that which came to me blossom,
goes on as fruit.” – Dawna Markova

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas


"Well-behaved women rarely make history" Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

"Never Never Never Give Up" Winston Churchill

Nightmare Dreams

All night - three or four times, at least - I had a variation on the same dream: work called, they made a mistake and wanted me to come back to the agency.

I remember being so pissed, and their consolation gift was allowing me to write greivance on my former boss. The form was a carbon copy, as so many there are, and I struggled to write in the small box provided.

Before falling asleep I wondered if I'd dream they wanted me back, the same way I would with boyfriends after splitting up. So I wasn't surprised the situation bubbled up in my subconcious but not really very pleased - it poses the question, would I go back? Could I?

I think ultimately, I would. And then work like crazy to get the hell out of there. I need the paycheck, and dignity and standards are small dice when compared with student loans. I would likely hate it, and myself, but at least I might numb this feeling of embarassment, shame and failure.

At one point in the night, the dogs needed to go out and when I got back inside, tore open the newspaper that had been waiting outside. The "Work for You" section couldn't wait til daylight, I decided. There was so little there, not a single job that speaks to my soul.

Will I be sacrificing my dreams in my next job? Most likely. But honestly, I'd sweep floors if I enjoyed my coworkers. A friend told me once, while I complained about work, that she doesn't love her job so much, but her coworkers make her laugh before 9, making the worst day tolerable. I couldn't help but be jealous.

On her facebook last night, a good friend and former coworker wrote about what happened to me, and she hoped I'd wear my refusal to back down and accept the status quo as a badge of courage. Right now I am allowing myself to be put in that place of "women should be seen and not heard", somewhat as penance but also thinking it's a lesson I should take from this ... strong women were not celebrated by my boss, and the misogynistic culture of working in corrections did not really mesh well with my not-gonna-take-it attitude. But I know that I couldn't have kept my mouth shut, it's not in my nature.

And when I asked Craig, who warned me to not rock the boat, if he was angry with me for having done so and ultimately being fired, he said to wish my fight and energy for justice to be eliminated would be to wish part of what he fell in love with gone, and he wouldn't want to do that anymore than for me to wipe away the silliness of his personality. I'm glad that is his attitude, because the truth is I've never been able to go with the flow if something was wrong about a situation - not in high school, not in college or former jobs. It's what led me into journalism, a passion for rightness, and when I saw I wouldn't find it in that field, I moved into mental health where helping others make sense of their lives would meet my own need to breed goodness in the world.

That is the characteristic I most hope my own children might have, though I hope to teach them how to use it and cultivate it to bring fulfillment in their own lives. My parents, I think, were so astonished by my passion and empathy they just backed off to see where it would take me. So far, it's been four firings, periods of loneliness and despair, but the eventual placement of a gay pastor at Holden, and passing a healthcare bill for kids. Those successes are so much more alive in me than the faults.

So even though I certainly wish I hadn't lost my job, I also know that I didn't lose the part of me that's most important. Maybe the dreams were a reminder of that.

I've had a bad day ...

My head is throbbing and my eyes ache to the back of my head. When I woke from my nap today, I had a couple peaceful seconds before I remembered, then I'd crawl back under the covers, fighting tears. I've felt like throwing up all day and forgot my glasses cleaning cloth in the desk.

Today, I was fired.

No reason was provided, other than I'm in my probationary period and it didn't work out. I've been dumped before, and it hurt, but it was never 8 days before Christmas with gifts yet to buy. My pleas to my boss for further explanation was met with "you're looking for an event and there wasn't one". So no matter how many times I replay the arguments with residents, refusal to use blue pen or various missteps on my part, I'm not able to see what might have been the button that pushed me out the door. The truth is, I was not well-liked by the administration, and someone just decided it was time.

So tomorrow, I'm applying for jobs.

I have several applications filled out, a couple emailed off already. I'm joining Molly at a temp service tomorrow and could likely start answering phones somewhere next week. There will be no sleeping in, no napping and more cooking, cleaning and working out. My job is to get a job, but the off hours will allow for plenty activity that doesn't including moping.

Tonight though, I get to mope. I intermittently cried throughout the evening, avoiding phone calls while watching bad television. Dinner was buttery popcorn with chocolate, washed down with a bottle of wine (husband said I could only have one). With each piece of Dove chocolate I unwrapped, I'd try to decipher the "promise" by the light of the tv, hoping for some clue to my future. "Be a role model," one said; "Take a minute to unwind" was the advice of another. But the one that is perhaps most easily forgotten and most important to remember is this: Dream as if you'll live forever, Live as if you'll die tomorrow.
It's corny on all sorts of levels - including the fact it was my graduation motto in high school - but I think the message is clear. I was unhappy at work for 4 months. That's 640 hours of not enjoying life, of wishing it away, of not really even liking who I was. So while I'm unemployed, I'm going to try to at least enjoy the extra time with Craig, the personal reflection and the character growth I'm sure to someday appreciate. Because to have wasted 640 hours was too many. In the next days, and in my next job, I hope to waste none.

Wisdom

Most of life is pretty average. We take out the dogs, go to work, exercise and eat. Early to bed and do it again. On weekends, there may be more sleeping and eating, or some time with friends and such thrown in there.

But this week, somehow, is less than average. It has, in a word, sucked. I don't know if I'm crabby - the first one to suggest PMS will have his head ripped off immediately before I explain that I got that one 'taken care of' - or if I'm just sick of the drama, but I have written something like 6 IRs this week. I HATE writing IRs. I think that mistakes can be made and learned from without being punished, but the lying and manipulation and blatant disregard for the rules have me entirely fed up. It's not that hard to NOT break the law - millions of people do it every day. Somehow, several of the 25 men in my charge don't quite get that.

To add to the misery, my trainer was fired from the Y this week. I think it was mostly a personality conflict - she is 110% over the top, on the go, wild. And it works. Her workouts are awesome and her motivation is irreplacable. I understand it might intimidate some people but for others its just what is needed. I can run a full minute at 5 miles an hour, and that is possible only because Gera kicked my ass twice a week for two months.

So after the establishment so unfairly fired her, I agreed to try someone else. There is no other Gera, but this lady is VA-NIL-LA. She gave me a good core work out but had me doing stuff I consider 'beginner,' what I learned during Activate America. Let's get something straight - I may be fat but I'm also damn strong. I'm going to give her one more chance, then do something else. Basically, I want the training manager to train me. And if she won't, refund my money so I can go to Anytime Fitness. Which I will likely do at the beginning of the year anyway.

But I did learn something important this week, as a result of last week. I didnt go to the gym at all bc I was working crazy hours. So when I got back there on Monday, it was NOT fun. In fact, that week 'off' was SOOO not worth it. Because the truth is, I like my body most when I'm feeling strong, and capable, and it doesn't matter so much then that my butt is big or my arms flabby. Because I am a woman who is, in general, more than average.

Grama

I got to spend a whole day with my grama, not easy considering both our jobs, busy schedules (hers, mostly) and the 300 miles between us. But as the first grandchild in our family, our bond generally cuts through all that and our closeness is one of the greatest gifts in my life.

Grama's getting old, never more evident than her decreased ability to 'shop til we drop'. Rather, her drop comes quicker than before. She is shorter than I remember, and she can't hear unless I talk in a playground voice. But she is also my favorite woman, one whose life is among the greatest stories I've ever heard.

Grama and I have always been close. My first 8 years of life were spent within two miles of her house, and most of my childhood days were spent with her. I remember checking the rising bread, reading Little Bear and Big Max, staying the night and getting hugs whenever I wanted. When I was little - she remembers it as 2 or 3 - I woke up early one morning before mom was awake. I was bored (requiring stimulation at even that young age) so put my jelly shoes on and started walking down the road in my Rainbow Brite nightgown. It was late fall or early summer, and the school bus came down the road behind me. The driver was a friend of grampa's and said he'd give me ride to the house. So I showed up at grama's, 7 a.m., before my parents knew I was gone. Apparently I couldn't wait to hang out with her.

Because I grew up in the country, there were no kids my age to play with. So I played with grama. She has figured into many of my decisions - to study Norwegian and travel to the country, to return to MT. I could never learn all her wisdom, but I got a lesson in making dumplings - my favorite - tonight. She even measured out the flour so I'd have a recipe to follow. She probly hasn't had to do that since she was a teenager.

Grama grew up without a dad, and her mom was gone a lot. She lived in Portland for part of the war, and was one of the first telephone operators in the county. She lived with her inlaws, and hated it. She cooked and raised children and loved her husband. Her adventures of youth make my sheltered existence pale as boring, and her fantastic ability to form and keep relationships is one I hope to emulate my entire life.

Every story I write is the best she's read. I am beautiful to her, and even my terrible houskeeping and cooking skills are forgiven. She doesn't mind that I'm not Lutheran (or Craig's not) and is realistic about just how irritating our family members can be. She continues to work at a cafe and I spent many afternoons after school helping her clean up the bakery she worked out until I was in college. She's been a widow for most of the time I've known her, so I know her as my grama more than her roles of wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend. Well that's not true I guess. She's my friend.

Grama turns 80 next year and I know she won't be in my life forever. That terrifies me, because who will I call for directions to make jello or tell a funny story? Two years ago I made Craig call her to tell me I had to take off the blankets in spite of my high fever and terrible chills because I wouldn't believe it otherwise. She will always be part of me and I will love her forever. I can't wait to tell my grandkids how great a grama I had, and hope she'll think I'm good at it too.

Happy Birthday, friend

Today is the 28th birthday of the first boy I ever loved. Today, he is one of the few men I currently love. Through it all, he's been a friend, distant, my partner in crime, and a total stranger. I'm so thankful for every moment.

Mike currently lives in California, but every Christmas for most of our adult lives we've gathered at the Hotel Albert in Fairview to escape family and drink and smoke. Cigarettes have been eliminated, and partners added to the equation. No matter how long since we've talked, Mike and I can reconnect somehow. We're lucky like that.

In high school, he was my confidante, a duty he didn't always like having. I stayed the night at his house, and it was his basement where I retreated to after basketball games. His mother remains one of my heroes, and his home one where I still forget to knock.

Mike has welcomed Craig into the dynamic of our relationship and I hope to someday extend his partner the same. We've evolved as people and friends, and grown closer in ways we couldn't have fathomed as children - politically, spiritually, artistically.

Mike plays a major part in my history, and remembering him always makes me smile. It's a joy to talk to him on the phone, and has been amazing to see him 'grow up' (a later bloomer, eh ;) ). No one besides my husband has ever been able to make me so furious and so ecstatic at the same time. I'd do pretty much anything for him, even not tease him about being older than me.

Happy Birthday Mike. I love you.

Never Give Up

It is Nov. 7, and the election of my lifetime was decided three days ago. I thought it would never come. And it couldn't get over soon enough.

My entire adult life has featured the fear and oppression of the Bush administration. I read Obama's "Audacity of Hope" nearly two years ago, just before (or maybe after) he declared his candidacy. His words shook something in me that I didn't know existed.

Our country is broken. And Obama will not fix it. Not on his own. It will take the work of Democrats, Liberals, anarcharists, Republicans and members of each political party. It will take the believers and atheists, Muslims and Jews, all Americans regardless of sex, orientation, language, education or color to stand together for something we believe in: a country where dreams are nourished, where everyone gets an equal say (whether they feel that way or not) and where we get back up after every fall.

We said "Yes We Can" to get the man elected. Now, with the economy, war, and climate, we have an even bigger job in front of us.

Yes, We Can.

A Finely Woven Mat of dog hair

According to dachshund experts, the breed is blessed with a lack of shedding. This is mostly true, I've always thought, because altough Zu sheds a bit, her black hair stands out and it's not a lot.

Well, Bodie proves me, and those damn experts, wrong.

My sweet, sweet boy is a Piebald doxie. I think the 'bald' part is because he sheds so fucking much it's a miracle he has any hair left. His soft, white hair is on EVERYTHING. Our rugs and floors look like we haven't vacuumed in years, not the seven days it's really been. My brown comforter appears to have flecks of white splattered on it. And the couches and recliner feature a thin coating of his silky as snow hair. When he rides along to take me to work, I have to de-fur with the sticky roller before going inside. I tend to wear dark colors, and they nearly always feature a little extra white somethin'-somethin'.

My only wish is that his dog hair were worth about $10 a metric ton. Because we'd be MILLIONAIRES tomorrow. He is so soft and sweet, I mentioned I'd like a Bodie blanket. A friend laughed and said we could skin him but really, it would just be a matter of weaving together all his leftovers covering my house. Gross.

As I've vacuumed, swept and washed all the linens and clothes today, I've become ever more aware of just what a problem we have on our hands. He doesn't have a thick coat, so how the hell can he spare so much hair? Craig says our only options are to shave him, spray him down with a fine mist of lacquer, or deal. I guess I'll deal, but don't expect me to like it. White just doesn't look that good on me.

PS I bitch, but Bo is the greatest little boy. I love him and his damn fur a whole lot.

When Hubbie's Away ....

Wooo! Bachelorette weekend!

That's right. Craig was away for the weekend, joining the North Richland Hills Class of 88 to celebrate that they haven't seen each other for 20 years. Par-tay! He got to see his family, too. I'm nearly certain his mom wanted to hold him on her lap the whole time.

So, since back in the day I was quite the wild child, I reinstated the tradition for my weekend of singledom. I got home around 430 on Friday and ... stripped! And right into bed I went. About 10 minutes into my reading session, old friend AnnDee called me. And we talked for two hours, updating each other about our lives. Since by then the dogs were done with sleep and wanted to pee, I got dressed for the occasion and began planning out the night ahead.

Clad in my 07 MT Womens Run shirt and the running pants I've had on for three days now, the dogs and I rebelled against The Man and sat in his chair. ALL NIGHT. I couldn't find anyone to go have sushi with me, and Wendy's doesn't deliver. We were out of milk so cereal couldn't be my dinner. So with a bowl of popcorn (preceded by WW frozen lasagna) the dogs and I switched back and forth between chick flicks on our too-many-channels-to-choose-from cable. ESPN? Not tonight, baby!

Saturday I slept in. Til 8. Got all spruced up and took my pancake griddle to the Obama HQ for a breakfast. At which I was the youngest eligible voter there. I sat with some old people, and left quietly since I didn't know a soul and no one was actually talking about Obama. I can wax poetic about Biden's Planned Parenthood rating and Obama's vet policy. But gumbo and PTA? Clueless.

I figured since Craig was out caurosing, shelling out $22 for three drinks (why, back in Montaana, that'd just cost 8 bucks!), I should throw around a little dough too. I went down the street to the Academy of Skin, Hair and Nails (white trash beauty school) and had my eyelashes and eyebrows colored. Since my face looks featureless without brow crayon and mascara, I thought this would be a quick fix. Well, it wasn't quick. An hour after my arrival, I was finally finished and flourished my checkbook to assess the damage - All Ten Dollars of it. Quite the wild weekend, eh?

I bailed out on registering voters at the park (rain. icky) and grabbed a latte to head out to Miles City. Mom, Dad and I were meeting for lunch (four hours of driving for a BBQ pork sandwich. I recognize the foolishness) at 2 and I was ready to hit the road. So I did exactly what I wanted to the whole way and alternated between listening to NPR and singing Dolly and Cher at the top of my lungs. No Joe Pernice on this trip, no sir! Plus, I even went to WalMart in Miles City, where I saw the most amazing mullet since 1982. Cowboy hats and mullets go hand in hand apparently. Who knew?

When I got back to town, I got the ok from Pops to keep the pups while I went out with the girls. I meet RaeLeigh and Marlene at the pottery shop and went to town! I painted a plate for a friend and picked out a project for my next visit. Girls gone wild, I tell you!

We followed up the session at Chameleon with a trip to Barnes and Noble, where I had my first pumpkin spice latte of the season. Full sugar even! No stopping me now!

Either I've transitioned to the point where I sweat while reading or it was really hot in there, so I just stayed a little more than an hour. I bought lots of books, mostly on the clearance table. All sorts of supposed gems, including "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". See? I haven't read that yet and its supposedly required reading for the Liberal Set. Talk about rule breaker!

Hefting my sack of books outside, I had to pat myself on the back. I was ready for several weekends to come of reading, armed with 60-dollars worth of books. Girls gotta party, y'know?! I came home, took the dogs out, and popped my nightly bag of popcorn (94% fat free is key, although I will admit to gleefully pouring butter and salt on). The dogs and I watched Instant Beauty Pageant (trash) and Legally Blonde (classic) before hitting the hay with four of the new books. After three whole minutes of reading, I was conked.

This morning I woke up at 630 or so. Yuck. I started the day's chores, since Craig will be home around midnight tonite. Our relationship features a healthy dose of fear. Mine, mostly regarding his lectures about cleaning, so I started the day with making a bigger mess. Pumpkin bread was on the morning menu, but I didn't have baking soda or spices, so I went to the store and then back to City Brew for ANOTHER pumpkin pie latte. I'm a lush, what can I say?

After feeding Pops and starting laundry and doing dishes, I decided to take a break and nap for a couple hours. I woke up to the bang of a BB gun and checked my messages. I had one from old friend Mike, and we gossiped and commiserated like the old biddies we are. I love that man and even admitted to him that - gasp! - I have a scent. So if Craig asks, yes, I did spend a considerable amount of time with another man. It just so happened we were separated by 1800 miles. God Bless the Towers of Verizon.

I'm currently almost caught up on laundry, the kitchen is acceptable, the bathroom mostly sanitary. I figure if I can sweep and vacuum, I'll have more than met my responsibilities. Because you know I'm a rebel, but even a rebel's gotta have clean digs.

Whiny Week

I've had sort of a rough week. I interviewed for a job that I didn't get (I should be used to it, right?), and pretty tired, and have not felt good a single day (cold/cough, headache, stuffy). So I gave myself a pass from the gym and haven't graced its elliptical machines all week.

So now there's something else to feel guilty about.

I continue to search for the balance between work and life. It's one that I've never mastered very well. So while it's not a surprise that this is something I'm struggling with, I am disappointed with myself that my personal health is the first thing to go.

Here's to next week.

Just a little tickle

We are sick.

Craig has been coughing for days. (he is currently narrating over my shoulder so he may soon be screaming for his life) It's one of those deep rattly coughs that they BEGGED him to produce in the hospital, but noooo. He's having no trouble with it now, doc.

I was all concerned-wifey, making sure he had Robitussin (even going to WalMart to get it, dear God!), sharing my Mucinex, and doling out Ambien nightly.

But now that I'm sick, bitch is on his own.

I got up this morning (after listening to him cough ALL NIGHT) and noticed a bit of a tickle in my throat. I took the dogs out, put on my workout clothes ... and went back to bed. The tickle moved into my chest, producing a patented Ang-cough, the likes of which causes coworkers to run and movie patrons to offer me cough drops.

At one point - 9ish, we'll say - Craig came in to the bedroom (he's taken to sleeping in the chair again. It's like his crib, little baby) and said he didn't know I was home until I started coughing.

"Oh baby, I got you sick," he said.
"Mmphmmfft," I replied.
"Do you still love me?" he asked.
"A little bit," I answered.

Because dammit he got me sick! And in each of our winters together, this is what happens: he gets sick, and is over it in three days. I get sick and cough for the next six weeks. Seems a little unfair.

Anyway, I didn't go to the gym because it is the second to last place I need to be, what with all the people and germs. The very last place I need to be is work, what with all its people and killer germs (I live for a squirt of hand sanitizer after each client). Alas, I shall go. Because I can guarantee it's only going to get worse.

In other news: wah wah wah.

THINGS CRAIG IS TEACHING HIS PRODIGY (AKA BODIE and ZULA): If you can have a steak first thing in the morning, you should.

Craig was making a zerbert noise to entertain the dogs. Rather than entertain, Zu was immensely bored (as is her way) and Bodie freaked the fuck out. Jumping, barking, I think he even deepened his bark in an effort to get Craig to stop. Which he did. 10 minutes later.

Hey Big Spender!

There is a plus to being a subscriber to a plus-size store's website: $10 PANTS!

This order will likely arrive before the $150 order I purchased a couple weeks ago. I spend more on a week's worth of lattes! Hurrah!

In other news ... football season - or as I like to refer to it, Barnes and Noble season - started yesterday. Craig had two of our friends over. The female of the pair brought the MOST FANTASTIC FOOD. Her twice-baked potatoes are scrumptious. That's why I am having my second right now.

Must go parent ... The dogs spent the day in their rooms. Which may be why Bo just pooped on the floor. Never piss off a weiner dog.

Boy Gets Girl

There's this really crappy feeling I get sometimes when, walking along, I meet a member of the opposite sex.

Fear.

It's something that I try to avoid as often as I can, and not just by refusing to leave the house. I generally refuse to believe that every single man walking in my vicinity is plotting a way to rape, maim and/or kill me. After all, I've got my weiner dogs.

But today, the fear reared. And won. I walking through Coulson Park near the river. Pretty desolate, not a lot of traffic. The husband - or anyone - didnt know where I was. And there are LOTS of great places to hide bodies around there (yes I have thought about it).

I was about 500 feet from the third bridge on the way back to the car. I had the dogs in tight and they didn't even so much as sniff toward this passerby. But the man just sorta creeped me out. I felt sexist, or classist, or something about it after, but his semi-ratty clothes, mullet, 'stache and baseball cap just didn't sit right. I hate judging people by their appearance, but I hate even more having to look over my shoulder to make sure that he's not following me.

This isn't a feeling that men can understand. But as a woman, one of the liabilities of my gender is always being ultra-aware of my surroundings and the people in them, an escape route or having a way to protect myself. I bought Mace about a month ago, and though I rarely remember to carry it I've had several instances I wished I had it.

I'm hoping that as this world becomes more of equality and respect and less about taking what you want from whom you want it as you want it ... that I won't have to feel this way. But even moreso, that my daughters won't.

Yes I Am/Yes We Can

I am a community organizer.

I have spent months in the sun and rain, waiting for someone new to walk by. I have spent hours talking about childrens' health insurance, and why it's important. I have give brochures to women and men who can't afford the $25 co-pay to immunize their children, and even more who make just a little too much to qualify for assistance.

So their children go without.

I have spent days counting signatures, sending emails, making phone calls. I have been positive when the battle looked bleak, and celebrated every new supporter. I have explained the difference in levels of poverty and argued that $50,000 a year isn't enough to support a family of four.

I have gone without.

The morning after my honeymoon I worked a crowd at the political rally of a presidential candidate. Without sleep, without energy, I energized others to support our initiative. And thanked everyone who stood up for what is right.

I have argued and lost, and changed minds that were closed. I have joined forces with others of my kind, fighting for their causes as hard as they fight for mine. I have worried about getting on the ballot, it's always about getting on the ballot.

I have talked a million miles a minute, drove thousands of miles and been parched to a lisp. I have sacrificed family time, study time and personal time.

And it is not about me.
It is not about you.

It is about the 30,000 Montana kids without health insurance. It is about each of those that will be covered by the passage of the Healthy Montana Kids campaign. It is about Montana being among the last in the country for providing health care covereage for our children, and believing we can do better. It is about making sure our next generation is healthier, to make up for our own mistakes.

It is about children.
It is about women.
It is about the GLBT community.
It is about Blacks, Hispanics, Asians and Native Americans.
It is about immigrants.
It is about people living in poverty, without affordable housing or healthcare.

It is about believing America can be better.
It is about believing we can be better.

Taste Bust

On Sunday, the most glorious thing happened: I had Oreos.

These were my first Oreos of the year. We didn't have them growing up as a kid (grama's house featured the off-brand vanilla variety) so there were too many nights as a depressed young woman I'd eat a whole package of the mint kind. With a glass of milk, of course.

I was buying gauze at the pharmacy on Sunday when they caught my eye. There was a snack stand, and among the carb- and calorie-laden options was a four pack of mint oreos, dipped in chocolate. They were the very definition of where heaven and hell combine.

I wasn't particularly hungry but bought them with a note of forgiveness and apology. I knew that they would take alot longer to work off than they would to eat, but my self-indulgence said it was ok.

So in the car, I ripped open the package. And .... mmm .... they were gone.

My first Oreos of the year and they were gone without me realizing it.

I do this sometimes. Ok, a lot of times. I eat so fast or so mindlessly that I barely taste something. I look down and it's all gone - how did that happen? Oh yeah, I'm a pig.

The same sort of thing happened tonight. I got home from work at 10 and since I'd not eaten (no groceries + dumb = dumb and hungry Ang). I had two bowls of cereal, scooping the yum in my mouth with nary a pause. One bowl gone, I poured another. I figured it was my caloric right.

Well, I'm paying for it. It's 430, I've been awake for an hour and Craig just groaned at me. I dont know that I wouldn't have woken if I'd eaten the cereal and actually REALIZED what I was putting in my mouth at the speed of light, but maybe it would have been worth it.

Mind Control

For the past two weekends, it's become glaringly obvious how much I let others control my feelings. Not like a zombie or anything, and I'm not talking about the evil media (although the ShamWow guy has me convinced). Rather, it's likely someone I know. And they don't always use that power for good rather than evil.

Yesterday Craig and I had a fight after lunch because he wanted to go home and I wanted to do errands. My aversion to making two trips to the west end is so that I would rather he stay in the car and moan. After one stop, I took him home since he was feeling so icky, because the guilt was making me feel icky too. But because of that fight, I took my sweet time doing errands. Usually I want to spend every spare second of our Sundays together, but this time I wandered around Target, spending 20 minutes in the floss aisle.

And because I was upset and guilty and angry, I decided to REALLY show him and buy a bar of Cadbury dairy milk. And Eat. The whole. Thing.

Ha! Now I can be bitchy AND fat!!

It's like I should assign myself Thinking Error Reports.

Another example of this, also an issue on Sundays, is church. We used to LOVE our church and we went every week. But after I got fired from my youth ministry job (no fault of my own), we just haven't been able to go back. We've made amends with pretty much everyone involved. I took the complaint to the staff comittee. And we even went back a few times. But it just doesn't feel the same anymore.

So because of someone else's asshat behavior, we no longer worship where we married. We don't really go to church at all, actually. And the place I nurtured my spirituality is gone, along with it, my feeling of connection to the Spirit.

It sucks, really.

You'd think as someone who knows so much about OTHER people's minds, I'd be able to at least control my own. And yeah, I'm working on it. But it's a goal much harder to measure than 'lose five pounds'. I think the first step, no more fight chocolate. The first rule of fight chocolate is to not have fight chocolate.

sacrifice

So I made Craig read my most-recent blog posts earlier. When he was finished, I asked him what he thought.

"Very good honey. You are quite dedicated."

This, from the man who NYT begged to run their copy desk (that's my version of the story at least). I know I'm a good writer. I know I'm a bit funny. Why doesn't anyone else know it? And better yet, why doesn't anyone else know it and offer me a book deal and lots of money to do it?

I'm just as good as all the other fat-chick writers. My last name includes Lancaster, which I'd like to consider puts me on the same level as Jen. And I swear, the tales of me sweating all over the gym and mentally hating the gym rat next to me are HIlarious.

Actually, I think I already know what I'm missing.

Alcohol.

See, a couple summers back Craig and I included microbrews, liquor, and over-priced pretty drinks from various restaurant decks among our very own food pyramid (filled out by nachos, fried chicken and burgers. Hey, the nachos had lettuce!). And at the end of the summer, when I realized in a flash of brilliance, "hmm, I think I'm gaining weight," evenings at the three-pint max brewery were the first of the food groups to go. And since then, I've just not gotten back into the habit of drinking. Grad school was in the way, and I don't have that many hard-drinking friends anymore. And to be honest, since I quit smoking the stench of bars make me want to vomit prior to a single drop (in the good old days, I only threw up to drink more).

As it is, we have a wine fridge full of goodies we brought back from California. Three months ago. The best wine in the country, bought at the vineyard, and we haven't tapped it. My former self would be so disappointed. My current self just begs me to be in bed by 9.

But in the effort of accomplishing the life long dream of being a writer who gets paid for it (and doesn't ever have to cover a 4H cat show), I have decided I can do it. I will work out. I will write. I will explore food and self-esteem issues via the world wide web, allowing whoever would chance upon my blog to point and laugh or commiserate and champion.

And, I will drink.

Hey, it's all the name of having my chubby, double-chinned, beaming (and soon to be drunk) face on the jacket of a book. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

I'm Number One

I am officially the fattest person in my family.

Oh fuck.

Now, I'm used to being the smartest, cutest and funniest. But those are titles I'm proud to claim. Fattest, though I've been in the running for the top spot for about 7years, I actually tried to avoid.

You've seen that Craig is quickly joining the ranks of the anorectics. And mom, in her own battle of the bulge, hit the 206 mark this week. At this point, I'd just be happy with 246.

So in addition to fattest, I need to make hay to gain the titles of 'healthiest eating' and 'works out the most'. Craig has agreed to purchase me some training sessions for my combined anniversary-Christmas-VDay gift. And my schedule shall continue to permit water aerobics two days a week. Fall is quickly approaching but weekend walks are certainly in the cards for another month or two. And now that I know I can handle the hellish-est of Ultimate Fitness, let's see what an easy day there looks like, shall we?

Because this is one area in which I wanted to be the biggest loser instead of the reining champ.

Fruit Fracas

I really like fruit. What a bold, out-there statement, huh? But the thing is, I don't actually eat all that much of it. Because as much as I may long for the cool, sweet, citrus of summer, I really hate cutting it.

And yes, I'm aware this could be classified as 'lazy'.

I have a decent knife or two, gifts from the nuptials last year. But I have so many bad memories of trying to SAW through melons with my parents' dull blades that I forget it doesn't have to be that bad in my kitchen.

So last week, I bought a cantaloupe, watermelon and strawberries with the full intention of including them in lunches throughout the week. But between the nightly exhaustion and morning-ly rush, it didn't happen. Last night though, enjoying a night home with the pups, I had time to spare. So I selected a sharp knife and prepared for a mess.

Mess, averted. The whole ordeal took me less than five minutes. And in less than another hour, I ate the whole colorful spread.

So see, even if pulling out a knife is too daunting a task, when I put my mind to it, I can do anything. Even eat an entire watermelon (small!), cantaloupe and quart of strawberries in one sitting. That's easier than actually putting the bowl in the fridge, after all.

"It's Water Weight"

Man, I wish that I could assign the water-weight label to 80 pounds or so. But since it's not possible, I am using the water to my benefit.

I am EXERCISING in it.

I went to a couple bad-ass classes this week. Monday was Ultimate Fitness, featuring a workout that made even the instructor beg for mercy. Tuesday's was advertised as a 'gentle' workout, titled 'Mind-Body Connection'. It was actually a beginner's Pilates class that resulted in me sweating all over the Y-provided mat.

Wednesdays at work are what I affectionately refer to as 'hell day'. The day starts with a meeting from 9-11:30 a.m. There's another at 1:30, which lasts til about 3. At 3 or 3:15 (depending on if it's training or just a staff meeting), we meet until 4 when a lot of people go home. It is also a day at which I arrive to work at 8 a.m. after working until 9 p.m. the previous night. Now, my work may not be physical but my mind is sure flexing muscle. And after a summer of unemployment, let me just say it's HARD.

So on Wednesday, instead of collapsing at home at 5 p.m. like a sane person, I went to the pool. There is a water exercise class (apparently the term 'aerobics' is dated, who knew?) that starts at 5:30, just enough time for me to hang up on the computer-help tech and ride bike the three blocks to the Y. Normally, I would rather swim in hot lava than put on a swimsuit in public, but since the other people in this class are actually bigger and more out of shape than me, I can actually pull it off (or pull it on, if you will - ha! fat girl in a swimsuit joke!).

As I walked into the water, the stress melted away. My brow unfurrowed. My breathing returned to a normal range.

I even frolicked.

I grew up in the pool, riding my bike the two miles into town to jump in at noon then pedaling up the hill and around the cemetary home around 8 p.m. Northeastern Montana summer features sunshine until about 9 from the time school is out until the bells ring for return. I loved every freckly, chlorinated minute of it. I lifeguarded a summer after high school, which remains among the few selected as 'best summer EVER'. So, I have an affinity for the pool.

Rather than wear a belt, I chose to work my core extra hard and just work it without the floatation device. I may have waterboarded myself during the crunches, and I think the ladies who wear towels on their heads may have been less than amused at my twisty-turny splashing, but I was as happy as a fish.

I vowed to remember how much I enjoyed it on Friday as well, when I would have two more fatiguing days. So I returned tonight. It's not that hard of a workout, although my heart rate rises and the resistance is certainly working my muscles better than my preferred activity of reading.

And as long as I'm the youngest in the class, I'm going to bust my ass like I'm Michael Phelps.

Not Fair Fatty

As you're aware, my husband was in a horrific motorcycle accident a month ago. A deer jumped in front of him on the interstate, he wiped out, broke his ribs, got road rash, collapsed his lung and lacerated his spleen. He continues to be in pain, and suffering side effects we weren't counting on (apparently he left his sense of humor on the highway with most of his arm skin).

But thank God, he is doing better and I have him around still. I mean, I am getting all sorts of excuse-mileage out of this one!

But I have to admit, my sympathy for him has greatly diminished of late. You see, when one's internal organs are all buggered up, apparently the stomach doesn't want anything in it. The first week in the hospital, I had to force him to eat anything. I was thrilled when he had three or four spoonfuls of mac and cheese. He didn't even want carrot cake, which he would salivate on command for previously.

It didn't change much when we got home. He would have a nibble of one of the various fab meals brought to us by his coworkers (see: the time Ang ate a whole pan of homemade mac and cheese). He threw away a milk shake. And when he made his fabulously famous chicken and dumplings, he was done before I was back for a second helping.

A couple weeks ago my aunt was visiting. We don't see her often since she lives in the middle of nowhere. She immediately commented on how much weight he's lost. God Bless her, she didn't comment on how much weight I have NOT lost.

Today, Craig posted these photos on facebook:


They are the 'before' and 'after' shots of Craig. In so many ways, our life has turned been divided into 'before' and 'after' the accident. Now, for Craig, it coincides with 'before' and 'after' he lost 20+ pounds in a month without running a step.

For the record, he doesn't recommend this as a weight loss solution. In addition to the $35K medical-bill pricetag, I guess it hurts.

Street Walker

I have to admit, the gym is not my favorite place to be. It's full of people. And they're sweaty. Ewwww....

So instead of the Y, I have adopted the south side neighborhood as my personal playground. Wednesday morning I was up early, meeting the sun as I pounded pavement. This morning, between an unscheduled puppy pee and rain, I opted for another hour of sleep and made my rounds tonight.

I can't help but feeling that walking, regardless of how much I enjoy it, how far I go or how much I sweat, is an inferior workout to lifting or intense cardio. Incredible shrinking husband (down 20-or-so pounds since losing his appetitie on I94, along with a few layers of skin), back in his four-mile days, basically REFUSED to walk with me, saying it wasn't "enough" for him. But I can still get the tingly, muscle-lengthening feeling from a longer walk that I do when I go hardcore on the elliptical.

The pups accompanied me tonight, and my route is not dog-friendly. Not only are there lots of other dogs to bark at them, but the traffic on State Street is such that I have to stay very alert and keep them close. I prefer my walks to be mindless, nothing more tasking than singing along to Dolly and Cher, breathing in and out like an alligator. Plus, the pooches got stickers in their feet. It was a good workout for all of us although about halfway through they were ready to get back on the couch with dad.

I downloaded some new songs to entertain me in the morning (Welcome to the Jungle, some Lil Mama and When I Grow Up) and organized my favorite songs into a "Going Fast" playlist. That way I won't come across any relaxing tunes when I'm trying to walk my heart into gear.

I feel like these walks are a step in the right direction. It doesn't necessarily matter what I am doing as long as I enjoy it, since that is the key to continuation. Maybe as I get in better shape - hopefully before snow flies, as that will end my street walking days - I'll be more open to lifting and running again.

But for now, these shoes are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do.

I've got a big butt and I cannot lie

So at the gym where I work out, there is a wall of mirrors across from the weight machines. It figures that when people who are in great shape are working on getting into better shape, they want to watch themselves doing so.

I use the mirrors to check out my ass.

Now this isn't just for vanity's sake. When I am passing those machines, I want to avert my eyes so as to not be cursed by their bone crushing power. See, I am basically scared of lifting weights, at least when it comes to upper body. I have had so many shoulder problems, and now that it's mostly under control I don't want to fuck anything up. Makes sense right? So yeah, the ass.

It was a little more than a year ago when I noticed that my booty was becoming bigger. I even likely remarked to Craig something along the lines of "hmm, I think I'm getting a big butt." Chances are, he'd already noticed.

I'd like to say that my ass enlarged as a result of muscle turning to fat. But really, I don't know that there was enough muscle there to blame. Apparently, around the age of 25 my love of carbs started depositing on my butt and thighs. Up until that point, I had a tummy but the rest of me was acceptable. More acceptable anyway.

Last year when I was working with a trainer, he had me squat, lunge and glute-push all in the efforts of having a tight bum under my wedding dress. The sight of Reese shaking his booty motivated me through many sets of the hateful exercises.

On one of my mirror walks recently, it was confirmed that indeed, my ass has not reduced in size. In fact, my ass seems to have taken on a life of its own. You know how women's hips sort of sway when they walk? Well nowadays, my ass sways too. After the hips. Like a one-two, one-two to a very, very bad song.

So at this point, it seems that my ass has taken on a life of its own. There's the increased size, the fleshier flesh, and the ripply cellulite. And now, its own little dance. To a very, very bad cha-cha.

Domino Effect

Ever have one of those days when EVERYTHING sucks? You wake up late, have bad hair, can't find any clothes, the boss is crappy, the clients crappier, fight with your spouse and the dog pees on the bed?

Well I had the OPPOSITE kind of day.

I was up in plenty of time for work. Had a good breakfast and a pleasant-enough husband. My outfit was a cute one and I had on new shoes. My two-minute commute was uneventful, and the HR lady at the new job was a Cowboys fan. So far, so good.

The second half of my work day consisted of meeting my wonderful coworkers, whom I'm already excited to be working with. My mentor was very reassuring and answered all the questions and quelled my insecurities. My supervisor sang my praises to other case managers, based entirely on my interview. The man who is going to be training me for the next few days grew up in Ft. Worth, so we had an instant connection. At the end of the day, he encouraged me to ease into work and not let it be another stress in my life. Can you believe it? Someone in leadership, at a new job, telling me to take it easy?!

I got home to a husband who was in a great mood and had a freshly brushed mouth. He planted a big ol' smooch on me before we took the pups up to have dinner with Pops (father in law). BBQ ribs are good the second day too! The gentlemen watched a fb game while I made update phone calls to mom, grama and auntie. I was happy to report I have the best feeling I've ever had about starting a new job with this one.

I took off for the gym and while making my way through the building, another woman asked if I WORK there?! So apparently, I looked like I belonged there! I beat out 30 minutes on the elliptical, a soundtrack of fave tunes on the iPod. Off to the grocery store, where my great energy, great day and great mood culminated in making great choices. Got some protein drinks for Craig and I, and we're even going to try a mango!!!

Watch out world, Here I Am!!!

"Be one of those women that when your feet hit the floor in the morning, the devil says 'oh shit'."

Fashion Fast

I have been reading Scales from the Tale, a collection of blog posts written by women trying to lose weight. So basically, other blogs like this one. Only they make money from it.

Anyway, there are several essays about the state of woe Fat Chicks find themselves in when trying to shop for clothes. I add "for clothes" because as a people Fat Chicks tends to have the best shoes, purses, jewelry, and various accessories known to man. Some, like me, store warehouses worth of body, hair and makeup products in their bathrooms. We can shop, oh yes we can. It just so happens that the fashion industry in general doesn't really want us to.

Or at least that is how it seems. These Fat Chicks were bemoaning the fact that they have to rely on Lane Bryant or Avenue to do their shopping. As a small-town girl turned to midsize-town girl, I have to say: I do not pity them.

Growing up a size 14 Fairview, I wore a lot of XLs and Silvertab jeans (everyone was doing it). There was no such thing at Torrid, Maurices' extended line or even online shopping at that point. The JCPenney in Sidney had nothing for me then, and it doesn't now either.

So now I live in the city, right? Well JCPenney is still my only option. And their plus clothes have the styles for old and young mingled together, blended in with maternity clothes. A woman there today (need black pants for work ... no success) was bitching that everything looked maternity. Could be, she was IN the Maternity department.

A trip to Lane Bryant, for me, costs about $200 hands down. Their jeans still don't fit me (I wonder what it's like to have jeans actually fit?) but I can find slacks, tops, jackets and hell yes even PANTIES that fit me. I have never left that store (the nearest is in Fargo, so it's not like I have a lot shopping opportunity) without feeling like it might just be possible for me to look as hot as the friends I shop with.

A trip to Dress Barn in June (oh god, I just admitted it) actually resulted in some pretty cute clothes. Crop pants that I've worn on every interview this summer, denim capris with a matching jacket that is going to be adorable come fall, and even plain old tshirts that I dared purchase in pink! and orange! There are now two splashes of color on my side of the closet. Miraculous.

So until some hot designer (how pathetic, I can't even think of a name) comes up with clothes that will FIT me, you can find me in my "uniform" - tank top, capri work out pants, running shoes. Let me rephrase that - that's what you can find me in until I replace it with a uniform two sizes smaller.

It Could Be Worse

There are worse things than being fat.

Like your husband crashing his motorcycle and being in the hospital for a week. Like watching your husband crash his motorcycle. Like your husband having broken ribs and a collapsed lung. Like your husband being in pain every day.

On July 21, Craig bought a motorcycle in Sidney. At 9:30 that night, just a few miles east of Pompey's Pillar, a deer jumped in front of him and he put the bike down. The bike got a dent. Craig got road rash, and those broken ribs and collapsed lung I mentioned. It was the worst thing that either of us have been through.

And the best thing. We've been more honest with each other these last few weeks than all summer. We have new perspective on life and our priorities. We are taking action about his health, my health, our relationship health. Our finances are being addressed. We've made new connection with God, expressing gratitude each day that Craig is alive, and his injuries weren't more severe.

We've had great support from friends and family. That includes daily meals from coworkers at the Gazette. So while I certainly have weight and exercise and nutrition on my mind, it's not the most important thing. In fact, it takes a back burner. I'm just happy if I remember to eat, let alone get us both showered, dressed and out of the house in a day.

I start a new job next week, and it's hard to be excited. Right now I'm just allowing myself grace and forgiving myself for finding comfort in brownies. It's gotta stop soon, I know, but there are moments when it's all just too much.

So hopefully I'll be more active on here starting next week. But for right now, I just am happy to be a wife with a husband. At any size.

Poor fat kids

I have worked in social services for a little more than two years, and the one trend that crosses all agencies is this: crap food.

People in poverty tend to focus on meeting their needs and surviving more than getting in five fruits and veggies each day. In fact, for those using food stamps and relying on commodities, fruits and veggies are basically the greatest luxury in the fridge. Instead, noodles, rice, boxed meals and starches tend to fill their stomachs from childhood to adulthood. These trends are passed on to each generation, just like alcoholism. So now, we are facing a nation of fat people who don't know how to eat. Thanks, government!

I was working at SCH last week when the food bank order arrived. The food was split amongst three houses, feeding about 12 kids and 7 women. I helped carry in and put away the food distributed to the main house.

We had a lot of sugar and flour; pancake mix and boxes of mac and cheese; hamburger helper galore (except no one can afford the hamburger) and a shelf of white rice. Ritz crackers and boxes of brownie mix, tubs of frosting and cans of salty soups. No veggies in a can, or fruit in a can (ok, maybe there were a few). The yogurt in the fridge was paid for by each of the women individually, and they share responsibility for picking up milk. The four tubs of cottage cheese in the fridge - well, they don't like it. Off-brand Chex cereal is the morning meal. The ladies have been admonished to stop drinking pop, so now they'll do it out of the house and make their smoking cessation/drug and alcohol recovery even harder to manage without a shot of Pepsi. Although it's a good idea, there's just so much someone can handle at at time, right?

So next time you read something about how fat all the poor people is, remember it's not because they choose to eat junk food. Considering a bag of grapes is $3 and Big Mac is $1, they are just making sure their food dollars stretch through the day.

A Screeching Halt

This week has not been a pretty one. And by not pretty I mean "filled with high-calorie, low-nutrition food."

I felt pretty crappy about myself all weekend, which meant I ate what I wanted when I wanted. In particular, cereal. I have an addiction to Special K Red Berries. And though there are worse things to binge on, I found out today that just a cup of the stuff is about 160 calories rather than the advertised 110. So my 3+ cups cost alot more than I even realized as I stuffed my face.

Last night I went to DQ and picked a brownie earthquake sundae from the list 'o treats. But here's the thing: it sucked. Rather than an ooey gooey chocolately good mess, it was more like a blah brownie, some crumbled oreos and soft serve. There was just a little of the fudge, so that didn't even make up for it. I need to just stick with what I know I like I guess.

We have been eating out a lot, which doesn't bode well for the waistline. Today I had a burger and fries for lunch, and sweet potato fries and some nachos for dinner. Not a vegetable in sight. We are going home for the weekend, and fried food and beer are the staples of Festival weekend so I don't intend on making any big progress then. But on Tuesday, upon our arrival, I will have a no-sugar no-flour grocery list, menu and PLAN. Add that to the workouts I have included in my daily schedule - heart-exploding cardio AND muscle-tearing weights - and I hope to at least make up for the damage I did this week.

The fact of the matter is that I need to lose weight. It will improve every facet of my physical health. A couple asthma attacks had gotten me serious about it, so I'll be doing whatever it takes to keep focused in the next couple weeks. Including absolutely nothing. If I feel a binge coming on, I'll go to bed. If someone invites me for drinks, I'll pass for a book and iced tea. And if husband suggests we go out for dinner, I'll incorporate a salad into the day's cuisine.

I believe that God gave us each a body that He created with utmost care. So destroying my body doesn't just hurt me, it's rather disrespectful to the Big Man. There are people who rely on nothing more than prayer to lose weight, and while I don't want to test my faith (because even Lutheran guilt doesn't make a cookie unappetizing) I can certainly ask for strength in this fight.

So, I'm going to enjoy the next few days. Find joy in starting a new book and add a chapter to the story in my head before closing my eyes, throw myself into the work of finding work and make sure I'm at the gym each day. And then I'm going to have a big change in my diet, and I'm going to keep on enjoying life. Because cookies or no, it's a good one.

Make Myself Sick

Really, I do. I am feeling totally gross right now.

It's no secret I try to soothe myself with food. Lately I've done well with substituting exercise with food, or at least working out enough to not need the sugar/carb highs. But I am pissed at myself, for losing my wallet and phone, so I dealt with it how I know. I ate.

I had hotdogs at work tonight. I hate them but was soo hungry and that's what they had for dinner. Then Craig, darling that he is, brought me a sandwich and some chips. That was nice. I got home and ate two bowls of cereal.

I didn't sleep last night because I was mad at myself for losing stuff. Tonight I won't sleep because I'm mad at myself for eating because I was mad at myself for losing stuff. Totally sick.

Food Victory

I attended a PFLAG meeting tonight under the auspices of registering voters and signing up volunteers for the Obama campaign. Seeing as the PFLAG community makes up 10 percent of Montana's liberals, they had it covered.

It was still a good time, and I met some very dynamic women. The purpose of the event was "ice cream social," so as soon as I walked in the door I got a sticky label with my name and was pushed toward the ice cream.

No, I don't eat ice cream, I told the nice lady. Well, there's sherbert, she says. Mmm, no thanks, from me. How about the yogurt then? she asked? None for me, thanks, I respond. Well I am sure you can find a healthy choice over there, someone tells me.

Um, it's four gallons of ice cream with various sauces and syrups. Healthy is not an option.

It's hard enough to decline something that I find to be among God's greatest gifts to humankind without someone pushing it on me. I eventually said something to that effect - as passively as possible - and they left me alone. But man! I have a Diet Coke here people, let me savor the sweetness of NOT having ice cream.

I have to admit, passing up ice cream is not something I've had a lot of success with. I credit the strawberry-pudding smoothie and fabulous turkey (plus swiss, avocado and tomato) sandwich I had for dinner prior to going for my ability to just relaly not feel like having any. It's true what they say - eat before a function and you won't eat at it. Of course, since I tend to eat before AND at it, it's not something that I usually have a lot of luck with.

Another food victory tonight went to the dogs. We had a nice walk late this evening, intending to go to the playground for them to frolic amongst the slides. But as there were children (I guess for whom the playground is actually INTENDED for) we kept walking. Eventually we crossed paths with another man and his dog, and as our pooches sniffed each other out we got to talking. Usually in this situation Zula annoys the other dog to all hell and barks at the stranger like someone's life is in danger. It's especially obnoxious when the stranger is a man. But there was nary a peep from her, and since Bodie listened and was his general good-natured self, I was praising them as we walked home. "You can even have a whole treat tonight!" I promised, since they usually each get 1/2-1/3 of a treat. Then I realized - the dogs don't care how much treat they get. It could be a pound or an ounce and they would just be thrilled to have the goodness chicken jerky provides their little tastebuds. But in my world, doing well means a treat - a cookie or frappe, ice cream or candy bar. And I am just messed up enough to pass this terrible habit to my children, er, dogs.

Marlene brought me over a book and some fitness mags tonight. She is doing the Body for Life program, which combines nutrition, cardio and weights to transform the most out of shape among us into hotties in twelve weeks. She is really pumped about it, and her enthusiasm is catching. She asked me to join with her, and I said I'd think about it. The truth is, I'm scared. What if I can't do it, and this is just another thing I fail at? What if it's hard, or I get tired and start slacking off? What if I miss out on my favorite foods and hate going to the gym six days a week? The other option, being fat, apparently isn't frightening enough to make all that worth it.

Valuable information

Your body=
10% genetics+
10% exercise+
80% what you eat.

Gives those potato chips a lot of power, eh?

In the battle of good versus evil ...

Lives are often judged in terms of good vs. bad - our behavior, our relationships, our educations and personalities. For someone like me - actually, just me - good and bad applies to food too.

Cookies - bad. Carrots - good. Cheesecake - bad. Apple - good. The list goes on, as I am basically able to applie this judgement to everything in the grocery store, everything in the pantry, everything I put in my mouth.

This makes my recent 'rating' system of my daily food intake difficult. Although the 'super', 'ok,' 'not ok' symbols are as kind as they can be, I'm having problems how to actually rate my day based on what I eat. Because in my world, too often the bad outweighs the good.

Here's where I'm stumped: Yesterday, I ate really well. Omelet for breakfast and sandwich for lunch. Smoothie before work and I took a variety of snacks to have at work so I'd be able to eat what I wanted and not just what was made at the house (Warning! control issues!). I had them all eaten by around 8:30, and figured I'd just power through any hunger that I experienced in the next three hours.

But I got off at 9 instead of the scheduled 11. When I got home, pizza boxes greeted me from the counter. Husband and Father in Law ordered pizza and breadsticks for their dinner. And they left some for me.

Now, pizza is a food that I try to just keep neutral, like Switzerland. There are nutritional elements to pizza, it's the avoidance of binging that is most important. Plus, my therapist worked on this concept with me for AGES and dammit if I don't want to wint this battle.

Even though I wasn't hungry, I attacked the pizza. I had cinnamon breadsticks with frosting, thin crust pepperoni. Never mind the breadsticks were hard and the pizza cold. Never mind it wasn't even my favorite kind. I dove right in.

And when I was done, I had the 'uhoh, bad girl' vibes. I felt like I imagine Zula does when she is scolded for peeing on the floor or something. Even though my day to that point had been plus worthy, did the pizza undo all my good doing?

What do you think? Are 3 slices and 3 breadsticks the evil in this battle? Do I deserve a minus sign for yesterday, or was it plus worthy?

*NOTE* I just had a mini bag of Doritos at work bc I'm rather hungry - despite my snacks. Again, I wrestle with good vs. bad.

Considering these are my own effed-up rules, you'd think I'd have some sort of definition for the game.

Exercise Excused

I like to exercise. Really, I do. Walking with my dogs is one of my favorite things. When I have a trainer, there is nothing like the feeling of pushing myself to make me know that I can do anything. And finally, dragging myself out of the Y, sweaty and weak, red and messy, I feel like I just did something that no one else could have done for me.

That said, it's really hard for me to exercise. I'll get in a groove and go-go-go for a few months. But if I get busy or some other life element creeps in, the gym is the first thing on my to-do list to get cut. And once I stop working out, getting started again is harder than the last time I walked in. Because I know it's hard. I know that I won't feel good the first time around. And I know that I shouldn't have stopped in the first place.

I did a group training class at the beginning of the year. I felt AWESOME. Twice a week for an hour each, I got in cardio, stretching and weights. I did each move right and used muscles I didn't know I had. I lost inches, my clothes got looser, I could go longer without losing my breath and even felt stronger. But after class ended, so did my time at the gym. So when I went back this summer and discovered just how out of shape I'd become in a couple months, was I ever disappointed. All that work, gone. And no one to blame but myself.

So, next time you want to skip the gym, or are too tired to walk, here's an excuse proof guide from Weight Watchers. Now get to the gym!


Wall to Wall Mirrors
In a study published in Psychology and Health recently, researchers from Canada compared how unfit women coped in one of four conditions: to cycle for 20 minutes on an exercise bike alone with no mirror; to cycle alone in front of a mirror; to cycle with two to four other women with no mirror; or to cycle with two to four other women in front of a mirror.

The women who exercised with others in front of a mirror appeared to suffer the most— they felt less revitalized afterwards, more exhausted and more self-conscious.

Solution:
You can shut your eyes and just focus on your movements on machines like cross trainers or bikes. Or focus on watching TV or someone across the room and not yourself.

Muscle Men Hogging the Weights Space
“Gyms are often dominated by cliques and really narcissistic types only interested in their own reflection in the mirror,” says Ian Turrell, a personal trainer from Newcastle upon Tyne and Wear, England. "There are more and more gyms which are starting to have a private workout area, away from the normally bustling free weights area, which is encouraging for first time or new users."

Solution:
Find a gym, which has separate areas for weights and stretching. Go at quieter times when there aren't crowds dominating the area.

Not Many People My Age/Size/Weight Go
Shop around your area to find a gym that does cater for your age group or fitness level. Going to classes is another option.

Solution:
Many gyms will offer a free trial period or charge a small fee for a pass that gives you access to their gym for anywhere from one day to a week. Use this time to scope out the scene and see how you feel about the environment, employees and other members. If you're not happy with that gym, sample another one.

It’s hopeless: I still don’t know what to do while I'm here.
Ask questions. Be assertive: The gym staff are there to help you, so find a friendly- looking one and ask them to explain what the machines are for and let them know what you find tricky.

Solution:
Having a personal relationship with a friendly face there will really help.

I hate the music.
The cheesy dance stuff churned out in most gyms is often cited as a reason people don’t like spending too long there.

Solution:
Wear an iPod or MP3 player with your choice of music.

I just don’t feel like a gym user.
Fake it—buying some cool fitness clothes and dressing up to go to the gym will start to build an association of feel-good feelings with the place.

Solution:
You don’t need to lay out a fortune. Just some nicely coordinated outfits that flatter your shape will make the association of feeling good with looking good.

Remember, exercise has to be enjoyable if you are going to stick at it. Don't forget to start slowly and give yourself time to get used to this new active lifestyle.

And if you need motivation, call me for some. Because motivating others makes me want to move it too. It's all about support!

Independence Day

I found this online at Weight Watchers, and it's a great exercise. It goes along the line of declaring why you're on this journey.

Start from scratch.
Decide what you want to change about your life right now. Are you feeling overextended by family and work commitments? Stressed by recent life changes? Tired of not feeling good about yourself? All of these circumstances can impact your weight loss.

Write down what you're struggling with and how you want those things to change. Include your Winning Outcome (a subscribers-only tool from Weight Watchers Tools for Living). Declare your weight goal, and say how your think your life will be different when you reach it.

2. Use the declaration below as a guide.
Copy and paste the text into a document of your own, replacing the underlined words with your own struggles, goals and strategies. Print it out and post it somewhere prominent (like on your refrigerator). Refer to it whenever you feel you need a boost.

3. Post your declaration on our Message Boards.
Use our example below as a guideline, or make up your own. Try it now.

My Declaration of Independence
When, in the course of my life, it becomes necessary for me to change how I handle certain aspects of my life, I know that I have enough strength to do that.

After all, I have a right to feel healthy, live to a ripe old age and enjoy myself.

I shouldn't have to feel tired, depressed and unattractive, and I refuse to feel that way anymore.

I know losing weight is hard. When it comes to food, I have an especially hard time with chocolate, pizza and food lying around the office.

But it's worth it to me to dedicate myself to the task of losing weight, and I will do what it takes to meet my weight goal of 140 pounds.

I am dedicated to my plan for weight loss, and to get there, I will exercise three times a week. And I will make time for myself without feeling guilty about it.

Now is my time, and I WILL make it happen. This is my Declaration of Independence from the obstacles I struggle with daily. Let the fireworks begin!

My declaration would look like this:

When the going gets rough, the tough get going. I am a strong, beautiful woman. I want to know that every time I look in the mirror.

I have the right to health and happiness, and don't want to drag around needing naps. I want to have energy that helps me make every day a good one.

I will not feel unattractive, depressed, ugly or tired anymore. I have just a short time on this earth and I am going to live it as the best me I can.

Losing weight is hard. I will not be perfect but persist, starting over after each mistake. I binge when I'm upset, and eat more than I want to at barbeques and restaurants. I am weak in the face of chocolate but know that nothing is off-limits when eaten in appropriate portions.

I am worth this hard work. Nothing tastes as good as feeling good feels. And so I will work every day on improving myself and loving myself, making myself and my health a priority.

I am dedicated to losing weight. I will exercise at least every other day. I will track what I eat, assess proper portion sizes and rate my daily food intake.

There is no time like the present. I can do this. I have success in other areas of my life and this will be no different.

What the?

So I weighed in yesterday ... and gained. I honestly don't know how that happened. I have eaten better and worked out more in the last week than in the last three MONTHS. It's like gaining is the worst thing that could happen, so why do I bother getting on the scale each week? I am thinking of cutting back to bimonthly - make sure that I don't go up, but not have to deal with the weekly fluctuations.

I had lunch with my folks today, and the faulty thinking habits were in full force. We were at DQ in Lockwood, and to prove that I'm a big girl and can do what I want - I ate. An Ultimate cheeseburger, fries and an enormous cone. I wouldn't eat that stuff normally, but when my folks are around all my good habits seem to disappear. Take this example - at their house, I eat Pop Tarts. I haven't eaten Pop Tarts in years. Haven't bought them since I moved to Billings, at least. And when they have cookies and chips in the house, I will take handfuls, then hide them until I get somewhere I can eat them alone. I remember doing this as a kid - walking into the kitchen like it was no big thing, getting as much junk food as I could stash, and walk back to my room like I wasn't up to mischief. I don't know if I ever fooled anyone, but the feeling of getting away with something was always so laced with guilt that I don't think I even got any satisfaction from it. And just like Adolescent Angie, today I was awash in self-loathing and guilt after the meal. I can't begin to number the times I've detailed this experience with my therapist, who encourages me to think of food as fuel. Food hasn't been fuel at all, ever, in my life. I have to work very hard to change that thinking now. It must be like languages - healthy habits are easier to learn when you're a kid. Please know that this isn't in any way pointing blame or faulting my family. I am the one who chooses to do this. I'm just saying that sometimes I make really lousy choices.


*NOTE* I have now tried to post this three times. Funny how life gets in the way?
(Sunday)
I started my new workout routine today. Or what I hope becomes a routine. I did 10 mins. walk, 10 bike, 10 elliptical. I would like to do that circuit once, then twice, then three times, as in every other day. Walk or lift or swim on off-days according to soreness and time. I have only missed the "every other day" rule once, and that was on the Fourth when temps hovered at 104. Napping seemed to be a better health choice that day.

I have also started rating my food intake. I get a star, plus or minus according to the day's eating patterns. I had a couple minus days in a row, but now a star and yesterday a plus. I am hoping that I can determine if there are patterns or routines that I can prepare for. And, if I see more minuses than plusses at the end of the month, try to be more concious about it in the next 30 days.

Craig and I went to the movies twice this week. Earlier in the week we went to Hancock. It was 10 pm, I had just gotten off work. Was very hungry ... so proceeded to eat half of a large popcorn, bag of twizzlers and pop. When my weight was up the next morning, I couldn't help but think that had something to do with it. Today, I took my own snacks. Had a Fiber One bar, bag of grapes, and I took in a pop and water bottle. I didn't drink anything. I left feeling ... ok. Not like I'd binged. Not heavy and engorged. Not disgusted or guilty. I just felt fine. Much better than the other option.

My most-recent message from "The Secret" (I subscribe via email) was about Request-Believe-Receive. I suffer from self-doubt and cynicism. Well, maybe I don't suffer but it certainly influences my life. I sold Mary Kay once, for a nanosecond. And the whole time the director was convincing me this was going to be the best thing I ever did, I was thinking "bullshit." I didn't want to do it, didn't think I'd be good at it, didn't believe my personal success was possible via that route, and basically set myself up for failure. And guess what - I did. The same thing goes with my weight loss and to some extent, my job search. If I think "I'll never lose weight" or "I'll never find a job" I probably won't. It's similar to the saying "whether you can or you can't, you're right". I even caught myself, as I was reading Secret success stories, thinking "this is all hooey". Well, I believe that the people who had success attributable to the Secret don't think so, or they would have never gotten there! The Law of Attraction is certainly powerful - think about when you really want something and it just somehow comes into your life. It's applicable to a lot of things, but part of the law comes from working it. You can't just sit around thinking "I believe I'll lose weight". You have to *show* you believe. We don't walk around saying we believe in God but never acting on it. We incorporate thanksgiving, prayer and worship in our lives. The more we look for God in our lives, the more she/he is evident. Faith begets faith.

I found an exercise on line that has the reader write the five top reasons they are going to lose weight. They can be anything as long as it is something important to , not family, friends, or the latest designer's vision. Here are mine:

1. More energy!!! I would love to be able to move and walk and run and get through a whole day without being tired or wanting (needing?) a nap.
2. My family. I want to be around a long time to spend my life with Craig, and someday even have kids. I don't want to be a mom that drags around.
3. My health. Heart disease is the number one killer of women in the US. Diabetes is a real concern for anyone with a BMI as high as mine. I already have back problems and breathing problems, and those aren't going to get better as I age unless I have less of myself to haul around. And finally, there are some very real scientific connections between the cell mutation that brings on cancer and obesity. I quit smoking for me, and now I'm going to be healthy for me.
4. CLOTHES. That's right. I am that superficial. I want to walk into a store and buy anything I want. I want to look good regardless of how old a tshirt is (Last summer's clothes are NOT this summer's clothes, for example). And I want to go shopping with my friends and not need to separate to go to the Fat Girls' section.
5. To love me more. I look at my body, I see my reflection, and I don't like it. I see pictures of myself and think 'my god is that what I've become?'. I am self-concious to the point of wondering if others are judging me, and with that comes a loss of self-confidence. A strong Ang is my favorite kind, but that Ang is hard to get to come out and play when she is overpowered by thinks-she-is-ugly-and-fat Ang.

Try it. Think about it. If you're on a weight loss journey, why? If it's not about you, reassess. Because this is a really hard project and if you're not going to be the one getting satisfaction out of it why would you bother?

Start your engines!

Today starts the 'family weight loss challenge'. I'm not entirely sure who all is involved - Trista, Sara, me, mom and the aunts for sure. Dad and Craig are iffy.

It is so hot. I took the dogs out when I got up at 930 and it was sweltering. God bless Craig and Ron for unpacking in it yesterday and today. We had steak, potatoes, veggies and angel food cake with strawberries and ice cream to celebrate. Put me 20 points over my limit for the week. At least I start over tomorrow, BEFORE Grama's BD party.

My 'no more than one day without working out' pledge is going to be REALLY hard to stick to today due to the heat. I work at 3 so can't really go to the gym after 130, and I hate being there with the lunch crowd. I would like to quit the Y and go to Anytime Fitness, which is new, nice, and has AC. I downloaded a one-week pass but there is no one there today to meet with me. So that leaves walking. I know the dogs would like to go but they wouldn't last 10 minutes. Maybe I can get them out tonight when it is cooler. I get off at 930 so I'd need Craig to protect me. Or just take Sausage, he is a lot more intimidating than my pups. Of course, that would require me to leave Zu and Bo at home bc he is SO HARD TO WALK! It seems every time I try to assert dog whisperer-techniques on my pups they get naughtier. Or maybe it's just that I get madder about it than usual.

I was reading something about "goal weight" the other day, and it talked about physically vs. psychologically comfortable. Our physical comfort is usually higher than psych comfort. This is why I think I could weigh in at 180 and be good with it. Stil, it's 20 pounds more than BMI suggestions, but I remember 180 as a weight I was at for a long, long time. I haven't weighed less than that naturally since elementary school. And there's alot more of me (or at least my boobs) nowadays.

But really, I don't even know what my physical comfort level is. I dont' know that I've ever experienced it. I just know that I've NEVER been satisfied with my weight. When people say "I just need to lose 20 pounds," is that because they'll feel healthier or just better about themselves? I know that when Craig lost 70 pounds spring 07, he felt GOOD. It was a difference of being able to ride bike 20 miles or not for him. I don't know what my physical marker is. It has become something to ponder and figure out. I think I will know that I am happier with myself when I STOP holding my stomach/sides, which is something that has evolved since last fall or so. I catch myself doing it a lot and it's NOT an attractive look.

If anyone is interested in getting daily email updates on recipes and food information and such, go to www.hungrygirl.com. I am a subscriber and there are often reviews of new foods, revised recipes, and information on being a HEALTHY hungry girl.

I discovered a new smoothie recipe yesterday. It's really tasty and makes about 16 oz. worth. Gets a fruit and a dairy in - and you could get two fruits if you added more. Mine was pretty thick but I stirred it up and then was able to just drink it.
Here you go:

1 c ff milk
2 T ff/sf pudding mix (any flavor, I used vanilla but there are a lot of options)
1/2 C frozen strawberries (I used a whole cup of fresh strawberries --> 1 c=0 points!)
dash of vanilla
Totals four WW points
ice (for texture, as desired)

Recipe for Disaster

Last night, I went to the Windmill with family members. A little girls' night out. Sara and I shared an entree, each having half a baked potato, salad and chicken breast. May sound simple going in, but it was TERROR going out.

I got SOO sick. Crampy. Sweaty. I get sick from a lot of food - Famous Daves, chinese, Mustard Seed, Bruno's, gelato, even Craig's fried chicken. I don't know if it's MSG or grease, but it results in me not being able to eat that stuff often. Sounds easy and a boon to weight loss, right? Not so much. Because I really like all those things! Well, except FD. And my family loves that so I let them go without me.

Craig is in NM today so the dogs and I are home alone. Today is clean the house day, but I also am going to Costco, walking, and working. So today's plans may spill into tomorrow's, but I know that Craig will be THRILLED to come home to a clean house. Last time, I paid Marlene to do it but she has a life now so isn't available. I wonder if there are any kids around looking to earn a few quarters?

I Promise Myself

Ok. I can't get this baby to link up, so just click on the empty box or copy and paste this into your browse: http://video.thesecret.tv/thesecret/optimists-creed/optimists-creed.pdf
You'll thank me.


This is an affirmation from The Secret, which I've recently become interested in. I'm a big believer in the power of prayer, of positive thinking and gratefulness. One of the ways I practice this in my life is the exchange of "Five Favorite things about You" at the end of the day, regardless of how crappy of a day it might have been (in fact, it is a tradition that started after a fight).

My favorite line is: I Promise Myself: to think only of the best, work for only the best and expect only the best.

This applies to my marriage, family and friend relationships, job hunt and weight loss. Why would I not succeed - I am good at so many things in life. This, too, will be one of them.

What I'm grateful for right now: Craig's friendship, our dogs and how much fun we will have with them tomorrow, my family in general and specifically the addition of Sara to our local tribe, my health and Reno 911!

Like you care ...

You know the annoying girl who, at dinner, while eating a tomato (her entree), lists all the things that she has eaten in a day?
Allow me to be that girl:

Breakfast: WW gingersnaps
Lunch: Homemade pizza (turkey pep, cheese, mushrooms, peppers and tomatoes), creamsicle
Dinner: 2 pc pizza, tomato-cuke salad, cheese chunk, 3 c. grapesand a banana.

Pretty good! I drank a TON of water (will be peeing all night) and had sensible portions throughout the day. All my fruits and veggies. Problem: It is 10 p.m. and I am very hungry. I will just go to bed when I get home then not be tempted to eat anything. Although, I *am* tempted to drink something. I can hear David Allen Coe playing on Montana Ave. from the office at the Second Chance Home (work!!) and it would be swell to meet my sweetie after work for a pint. But as we have a killer day tomorrow, it's a better idea to just go to bed.

Tomorrow will be much more of a challenge. At weinerfest, I imagine there will be hotdogs (clever, aren't they?) and at the Lia Sophia party, I requested cream puffs to be present. We are going to dinner at the Windmill, which doesn't have much of a menu, I dont like much on it, and it's all very high-point foods (steak, salmon, etc). So I will need to have carrots with me, it seems, and at least not be hungry while faced with the temptation of cream puffs, dessert, or another glass of wine.

It was so easy to make good choices today. I packed a lunch, counted out each point, etc. I know not every day can be expected to be so stellar (or perhaps its my choices that can't meet such high standards) but I do hope that for the most part, I can make this happen without too much despair. Because trust me, when the going gets rough, I'm the first to reach for a cheeseburger.

Boo-YAH!

Today is the first day of being ON TRACK. I bought a new food journal, used my point calculator on all food (after blowing off the dust) and had husband whip me up some of his excellent tomato-cuke salad. I went on a 45-minute walk (3 activity points!) and had two pre-pointed and accounted-for pieces of homemade pizza for lunch. I work tonight and am packing my dinner, which I've already plugged into the points tracker. I have a few extra so might take some popcorn with in case I get hungry. One of my new experiments is no eating after 9, and since I work til 11 I will get to test that out. It was a big risk of working nights back in the day, after the girls went to bed I just ate. That may have something to do with the awful suppers we served, but commodity cheese and PB are never nutritionally sound, especially not at 1030 p.m.

I weighed in this a.m., and I'm at 250. That is 2 pounds below the tally at the doctor's office two weeks ago, but up 1.8 from my weigh in three weeks ago. I can't say I am surprised that I am exactly where I am when I joined WW last Sept., bc I haven't been eating or exercising like I want to take care of myself. Rather, I've been laying about, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and not thinking twice about the second helping.

I've started over a few times, true. But the falling off the wagon is generally the result of being frustrated and disappointed with my progress - or lack thereof. I intend to measure myself, and keep track of changes in my measurements rather than weight. Fat is fat regardless of where it is, but getting back down to a size 18 - SOLID - would be a good first step. That will get me to where I really want to be, in a 12/14. I wore a 14 all through high school and most of college, and although I didn't like it at the time, I would be so grateful to have that body back!

I am not losing weight because I hate my body, I am doing it because I love myself and love my body, and want to myself and my body to be the best it can be.