WARNING: This is one of those stories where you could quite possibly think that I am lying, telling a story, stretching the truth...or just all-out, making this crap up. I. AM. SO. NOT. Nothing has been changed, thwarted or even made to sound better and/or worse to enhance the actual story. So, brace yourself for what I'm sure will be somewhat of an emotional journey for you, as it was for me. Today you will get to experience a variety of emotions including intriguement (is that a word?), curiosity, anger, rage, sympathy, hilarious-ity (again, is that a word?) and then we'll hopefully wrap it up with motivation. So, you ready? Here goes...
Last week, I woke up (mid-morning as I normally do), and in usual Danielle fashion, I rolled out of bed and checked my cell phone to see if anyone interesting called or texted me. Facebook sends me my messages and posts via text so I wasn't too surprised when I got a text notifying me that someone sent me a private message on facebook. "Hmm...wonder who sent me a message?" It was a guy with whom I attended high school. "Oh, he must want to catch up or see how I'm doing." As I read my message, I could hardly believe it. For one thing, I had only been awake for a mere two minutes and after reading that message, I started to think I was still dreaming...or perhaps nightmare-ing - because in the land of my dreams, this conversation would NOT occur. Yes, that must have been it. Because surely, no human being would actually (a) say this to me or (b) um...say this to me or (c) have the freakin' guts to say this to me! So, you are wondering what exactly this person could have said to be of the amount of importance to actually blog about it, right? Well, here it is - word for word:
"Dam!!! Danielle I C U havent missed to many meals!!"
Geez. If the guy wanted to reconnect with me on Facebook, a simple "Hi, how are you?" would have sufficed. Was it absolutely necessary to cut me down like that? I was mad as hell. Appalled. Hurt. Pissed. Enraged. As I laid there in my bed contemplating what I just read, I considered which, of my many, responses I could give this asshole. Here's a complete list:
Well, damn, I see you haven't picked up a book since high school. First of all, damn is spelled with an n at the end, not like a water dam, you complete moron. And the "to" you used in your sentence to insult me is actually supposed to be spelled "too". And your use of an extreme amount of exclamation points was a little extreme don't you think? So, yeah, the next time YOU want to insult someone, please, at the very least, use correct grammar you idiot.
Oh, I see you like television too! It sounds like "Snapped" is your favorite TV show. That's good, because at the rate you are going, you will make your television debut soon. Very soon.
Actually, as a matter of fact, I ate a kindergartner back in 2004. I'm still digesting.
I'm sorry, but I recall a certain memory that involved you showing your...ahem...male package... to the entire physical education class when we were in high school. Well, you were in high school. By the looks of things, it appeared your package was still in elementary school and didn't get the memo.
...and those are about all the witty, biting remarks I could muster up. But instead of sinking to that level, I just responded by blocking him from my Facebook. Why would I need that kind of negativity in my life? I don't. And people like that are looking to get a reaction. And I refused to give him the satisfaction of a response.
Most days, I would have really let that get me down. I might have even cried about it. But, I didn't. Because, although it hurt a little for someone to say something so hurtful and rude, I genuinely didn't care what he thought. And that is not a familiar place for me. Usually I care too much what people think. And I don't know where I found the confidence to not care. Maybe what I've lost in pounds this year I have gained in confidence and the self-assurance that I am okay with me.
People will never be satisfied. Especially those who are negative. I guarantee you that if I were to actually loose weight to what would be classified as a normal, healthy weight for my height, people would say I was too skinny. There is just no pleasing some people. And I'm okay with that. Because, strangely enough, that comment came during a time where I was actually feeling very good about myself. Sure, I'm not exactly where I want to be. But, I know I've made healthier changes and I've lost 20 pounds since January. That is progress. Progress that I am proud of. Toot. Toot. And do I still have a way to go? Yes.
And one last thing: Dear A-hole, perhaps you thought your comment would make me want to give up? Oh no. You are sadly mistaken. And for your sake, I hope we never cross paths in public. Because I would hate to insult you with my witty, intelligent, highly sarcastic tongue.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Of the things to forget, a bra is not one
What I have today is short. However, I hope you find the information useful - like a piece of advice you can store in your mental closet of "never do that".
I forgot to wear a bra to work.
I know right? How does a 31 year-old forget to wear a bra to work? A 31 year-old who is well-endowed? You wouldn't believe me if I told you. So the important information to remember here is that I, chubby girl, forgot to wear a freakin' bra. In the land of this crap only happens to me...it happened.
It wouldn't have been so bad if I were a secretary or something not so mobile. But I am working at a famous chain restaurant (which, come to think of it would have served as a benefit if I worked at Hooters) where wearing a bra is...um...of utmost importance. But by the time I realized I didn't have the bra in the backseat of my car like I thought I did... wow. I just realized how scandalous that sounded. But I promise you - it's so not scandalous. The truth of the matter is, I wish that was the reason I had a bra in the backseat of my car. But the truth is way less, um, sexy. The truth is that I am one of those "I could live in my car" girls and along with three purses, countless pairs of shoes, a few bath towels, a Caboodles make-up case and random jewelry, I was sure I left a sports bra in my backseat after changing from a workout.
I was clearly mistaken.
So, I spent the night sweating like a pig at work due to a lack of support for Thelma and Louise. I made many bathroom trips to grab a few napkins and pat dry. (Don't worry, I totally washed my hands every time...I mean, 80 percent of the time. Kidding.) Luckily our work shirts are a starchy, heavy material that doesn't have good "see through" powers. Otherwise, I'd just be mortified. And also, I did have a tight fitting tank top that sorta disguised my bra-less look I had going on. And just in case anyone (how dare they!) asked about my new "look", I was going to respond with a totally untruthful story about how I had a non-cancerous knot removed on my boob and was unable to wear a bra. I shouldn't have spent so much time concocting the whole lie of a story, but I had to cover all my bases. Because saying, "I forgot to put one on" just wouldn't suffice. Why couldn't I have forgotten socks? Or something borrow-able? But, me? I had to forget a bra. It's not like I could just walk up to my boss and say, "Hey, I forgot my bra. Got one I can borrow for the night? We look about the same size."
Geez. Sometimes I feel, and act, just like a 12 year old.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Chubby girl @ water park...snarky comments need not reply
I remember the summer of 1992 - I was 12. My dad had just gotten full custody of me that summer and was quickly learning that I was indeed a girl and not one of the 15 bratty little boys he was coaching that summer for little league baseball. The point that I was a girl was driven all the way to home base when he received a call from work from me crying on the other end of our huge cordless phone telling him I had gotten my period. I know, right? I think that might have been one of his most horrific moments as a parent. It was definitely one of mine as I made a faulty choice (with lack of motherly consultation) to use a tampon. The first time I got my period. Every woman knows - this is a no no. So, traumatic experience? Heck yes.
Now, you may be asking, "What in the hell does tampons and first periods have to do with water parks?" Well, my dad decided to make me feel better by allowing me to go with him and his little league baseball team to the water park in Memphis - Adventure River. Perhaps you too went in the 90's - it was 'da bomb diggity. I was less than thrilled to attend with a group of meandering little tween boys - who would without a doubt annoy the piss out of the only girl attending within the group. But yet, I was excited to get my swim on. I picked out my most sporty swimsuit and packed my bag. I could hardly sleep that night with thoughts of water slides and wave pools. The drive to Adventure River was nothing short of...well...an adventure with a group of grown men and annoying little shits also known as 6th grade boys. But alas, I almost wet myself when I saw the tips of swirling slides from the Interstate as we quickly approached the park. I was excited. We are talking Griswold National Lampoon Vacation excited. But something about being there with a bunch of boys when I was 12 just made me feel extremely uncool. I chickened out and barely rode any of the thrill water slides. If I could go back to when I was 12, I swear I would push myself up that water slide and show those boys who was the queen of the water park!
That was 19 years ago. But today, I embraced my inner 12 year old. And I mastered every single water slide at the park. And I'm 31 years old. And I'm chubby. And I'm as white as they come. And you know what? In the midst of tanned and toned teenagers, moms who had better bodies than me, little kiddos in their floaties, and most importantly, the 12 year old little baseball bullies who brought me back to 1992, I, 31 year-old, white-as-a-ghost chubby girl rocked the hell out of that water park. And I did it with flare.
The Accelerator.
Fear scale: 6.
My first slide of the day. I may have had a somewhat difficult time maneuvering myself onto the inner tube, which I am sure brought entertainment to some spectators, but I did the damn thing. (And a little bit of pee may have came out in the process.) Oh, and it should be noted that my one piece suddenly became a thong at the end of the ride. Dear fellow on-lookers, you're welcome.
Bathing suit in my ass scale: 10.
The Cyclone.
Fear scale: 6-7.
Water rides, like cheese fries, are much more fun when shared. I rode with my friend and nephew. This slide - part in pitch-black darkness and part in the light (which you see pictured), was just pure fun. And I felt like the 12 year old in me was saying, "Finally! A little fun!" My serious 31 year old persona disappeared with the first splash of water.
Bathing suit in my ass scale: 2.
The Pipeline.
Fear scale: 5.
Most fun water slide of the day for me. I rode it three times (he! he!) And I'm pretty sure I said "Whoohooo!!!" Did I make a total idiot out of myself? Yup. Did I care? Hell to the no.
Bathing suit in my ass scale: 8.5.
Black and White Lightning.
Fear scale (before riding): 4
Fear scale (after riding): 9
This was the type of water slide I would not ride that day back in 1992. Partly because I had (um...make that have) an extreme fear of falling off the side of the slide and plunging downward toward my death. But, caution was thrown to the wind today as I plunged down both slides. Would I call drinking a gallon of chlorinated pee water and scraping my knee loads of fun? Not quite. But I did it anyway!
Bathing suit in my ass scale: can't remember because I was checking my pulse to see if I was still breathing.
Vortex.
Fear scale: 7
This ride was kind of like a shot at the doctor's office - the more you thought about it, the worse it seemed. But when it actually happened, it wasn't that bad. Besides the fact that it was completely enclosed and super-fast, it was not that big of a deal. (But because most people thought this was the scariest of them all, I felt like superwoman afterwards).
Bathing suit in my ass scale: 9.5 - I mean, hello? It is called Vortex. What did you expect?
Vertigo. (aka "blue fish bowl" or my personal favorite "Hell's toilet bowl")
Fear scale: off the charts
The definition of vertigo is: a medical condition that leads to a sense of spinning, dizziness and disorientation. Wow. And we pay for that?
I must have had an out of body experience to have ridden this. We've all had the unfortunate experience of flushing Goldie the goldfish down the toilet when he met his untimely death. Well, I'm pretty sure this was natures way of paying me back. Because I felt just like a goldfish...or something else being flushed down the toilet. It all happened so fast that my only thought was, "when will I get to the round bowl thing so it will be over?" And then I landed in a large pool of water and was quite surprised that the lifeguard did not come to my rescue. Since I looked horrified and all. "No, it's ok, Mr. Lifeguard, don't help me. It's not like it's your freakin' job or anything." Yet, my overwhelming thought was, "I did it!" Twelve year old Danielle would have never attempted hell's toilet bowl. But 31 year old Danielle jumped in feet first...because...I mean, that's what the sign said to do.
Bathing suit in my ass scale: Who cared? I was alive.
Usually, I'd be so concerned with trying to not look like an idiot. I normally would have fretted over which bathing suit made me look the least fat and then spray-tanned my way into an oompa-loompa orange so I wouldn't feel like Casper the friendly ghost at the pool. But, today, I did something better. I lived. Granted, it was only water slides. But, I lived it up. I had fun. I didn't give a rip what people thought or how fat I was or any of the other less than appealing things I could have worried about. I didn't give a rip. I looked at myself in the mirror in the bathroom on the way out of the water park - and I saw a girl. I saw a chubby girl. I saw an extremely pasty-white girl with no hopes of ever having a tan. I saw a sunburned girl with a tired face. But you know what else I saw? I saw a girl who had fun.
So, have fun. Do life. Ride the slide. Don't worry about looking stupid. You get one life - so do it.
Now, you may be asking, "What in the hell does tampons and first periods have to do with water parks?" Well, my dad decided to make me feel better by allowing me to go with him and his little league baseball team to the water park in Memphis - Adventure River. Perhaps you too went in the 90's - it was 'da bomb diggity. I was less than thrilled to attend with a group of meandering little tween boys - who would without a doubt annoy the piss out of the only girl attending within the group. But yet, I was excited to get my swim on. I picked out my most sporty swimsuit and packed my bag. I could hardly sleep that night with thoughts of water slides and wave pools. The drive to Adventure River was nothing short of...well...an adventure with a group of grown men and annoying little shits also known as 6th grade boys. But alas, I almost wet myself when I saw the tips of swirling slides from the Interstate as we quickly approached the park. I was excited. We are talking Griswold National Lampoon Vacation excited. But something about being there with a bunch of boys when I was 12 just made me feel extremely uncool. I chickened out and barely rode any of the thrill water slides. If I could go back to when I was 12, I swear I would push myself up that water slide and show those boys who was the queen of the water park!
That was 19 years ago. But today, I embraced my inner 12 year old. And I mastered every single water slide at the park. And I'm 31 years old. And I'm chubby. And I'm as white as they come. And you know what? In the midst of tanned and toned teenagers, moms who had better bodies than me, little kiddos in their floaties, and most importantly, the 12 year old little baseball bullies who brought me back to 1992, I, 31 year-old, white-as-a-ghost chubby girl rocked the hell out of that water park. And I did it with flare.
Fear scale: 6.
My first slide of the day. I may have had a somewhat difficult time maneuvering myself onto the inner tube, which I am sure brought entertainment to some spectators, but I did the damn thing. (And a little bit of pee may have came out in the process.) Oh, and it should be noted that my one piece suddenly became a thong at the end of the ride. Dear fellow on-lookers, you're welcome.
Bathing suit in my ass scale: 10.
Fear scale: 6-7.
Water rides, like cheese fries, are much more fun when shared. I rode with my friend and nephew. This slide - part in pitch-black darkness and part in the light (which you see pictured), was just pure fun. And I felt like the 12 year old in me was saying, "Finally! A little fun!" My serious 31 year old persona disappeared with the first splash of water.
Bathing suit in my ass scale: 2.
Fear scale: 5.
Most fun water slide of the day for me. I rode it three times (he! he!) And I'm pretty sure I said "Whoohooo!!!" Did I make a total idiot out of myself? Yup. Did I care? Hell to the no.
Bathing suit in my ass scale: 8.5.
Fear scale (before riding): 4
Fear scale (after riding): 9
This was the type of water slide I would not ride that day back in 1992. Partly because I had (um...make that have) an extreme fear of falling off the side of the slide and plunging downward toward my death. But, caution was thrown to the wind today as I plunged down both slides. Would I call drinking a gallon of chlorinated pee water and scraping my knee loads of fun? Not quite. But I did it anyway!
Bathing suit in my ass scale: can't remember because I was checking my pulse to see if I was still breathing.
Fear scale: 7
This ride was kind of like a shot at the doctor's office - the more you thought about it, the worse it seemed. But when it actually happened, it wasn't that bad. Besides the fact that it was completely enclosed and super-fast, it was not that big of a deal. (But because most people thought this was the scariest of them all, I felt like superwoman afterwards).
Bathing suit in my ass scale: 9.5 - I mean, hello? It is called Vortex. What did you expect?
Vertigo. (aka "blue fish bowl" or my personal favorite "Hell's toilet bowl")
Fear scale: off the charts
The definition of vertigo is: a medical condition that leads to a sense of spinning, dizziness and disorientation. Wow. And we pay for that?
I must have had an out of body experience to have ridden this. We've all had the unfortunate experience of flushing Goldie the goldfish down the toilet when he met his untimely death. Well, I'm pretty sure this was natures way of paying me back. Because I felt just like a goldfish...or something else being flushed down the toilet. It all happened so fast that my only thought was, "when will I get to the round bowl thing so it will be over?" And then I landed in a large pool of water and was quite surprised that the lifeguard did not come to my rescue. Since I looked horrified and all. "No, it's ok, Mr. Lifeguard, don't help me. It's not like it's your freakin' job or anything." Yet, my overwhelming thought was, "I did it!" Twelve year old Danielle would have never attempted hell's toilet bowl. But 31 year old Danielle jumped in feet first...because...I mean, that's what the sign said to do.
Bathing suit in my ass scale: Who cared? I was alive.
Usually, I'd be so concerned with trying to not look like an idiot. I normally would have fretted over which bathing suit made me look the least fat and then spray-tanned my way into an oompa-loompa orange so I wouldn't feel like Casper the friendly ghost at the pool. But, today, I did something better. I lived. Granted, it was only water slides. But, I lived it up. I had fun. I didn't give a rip what people thought or how fat I was or any of the other less than appealing things I could have worried about. I didn't give a rip. I looked at myself in the mirror in the bathroom on the way out of the water park - and I saw a girl. I saw a chubby girl. I saw an extremely pasty-white girl with no hopes of ever having a tan. I saw a sunburned girl with a tired face. But you know what else I saw? I saw a girl who had fun.
So, have fun. Do life. Ride the slide. Don't worry about looking stupid. You get one life - so do it.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Baby got middle
If you've been reading my blog at all, you know my struggle with getting out of the 180's. Ever since I gained weight (a total of 70 pounds over the course of around 15 years), I have never lost down below 184. The height of my...vast large-ness was in January at a whopping 205 pounds. I know, right? OMG. Not to mention that I am only 5'3 which made 205 appear way larger than what it seems. I am thinking those horrible fun house mirrors at the carnival had nothing on my frame back in January. And the suckiest part of me gaining weight is that I gain it all from my waist up. My stomach and face take all the weight. Why can't I look like one of the Kardashians and have a killer badonkadonk or Shakira's hips that don't lie? But no. God blessed me with the apple shape. Baby got back? Um, no, this baby ain't got back. This baby got middle. I changed the lyrics - "You can do side bends or sit ups...but please don't loose that gut. Dial 1-800-Muffin-Top and kick those nasty thoughts...baby got middle." Sir-Mix-A-Lot would be so enthused.
But today, the scale was my friend. I am down to 182! Almost out of the 180s. But, considering I have a big party coming up this weekend (where there will be lots of Southern food goodness, along with cocktails galore), I really don't want to blow it.
So, what is my plan?
Dance my ass off to "Baby Got Back"...
and maybe entertain the crowd with my new lyrics.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Men are from Mars...women are from...like a whole different galaxy
Inside the mind of a female, if you dare open it, lies complex things. Intricate details to everyday occurrences. A sort-of "pandora's box" of thoughts if you will. Some (ahem...men) call us complicated. I prefer intelligently complex. There. That sounds much better and much more appealing. The inner workings of the female brain is quite brilliant and amazing. Well, when you compare it to the much more simple and non-complex inner workings of its counterpart. Take for instance, the following situations and differences between men and women.
Situation #1 - Bad hair day
Women: Attempt desired hair-do. Heave hairbrush across the bathroom when it does not accomplish said hair-do. Maybe shed a tear in frustration. Leave for work in a heightened state of annoyance. And thus, "this day sucks" has officially begun.
Men: Put on a baseball hat. Or just choose to not give a shit.
Situation #2 - Fight/argument with the BFF
Women: Play out and over-analyze the fight and/or argument with the BFF and how it "went down". Reconfirm that you were not the one in the wrong...or perhaps come to the conclusion that you are a harsh bitch. In which case, a prompt apology is required. Continue to over-analyze future conversation (or facebook message) in which you will have to restore friendship with the BFF. Anticipate possible responses and figure out how you will react accordingly. All the while, torturing (aka re-hashing this entire scenario) with your boyfriend or husband or other friend (basically anyone who will listen).
Men: First move: they question, "What is a BFF?" Second move: they usually just throw a punch or two and it's over with.
Situation #3 - Going out on a date
Women: Shower (probably a bath...seems more girly). Spend a ridiculous amount of time figuring out what outfit to wear. Because all body parts must look cute. Boobs. Butt. And everything else. What about our hair? Down, which says I'm carefree and fun. Or up, which says I'm serious, smart and sophisticated. Or the new fishtail braid which says I'm trendy. Wait a minute...wasn't there an article about this in Cosmo? Should I bake some cookies? Saw that in a romantic comedy once. It lets him know I can cook. House must be clean. Lets him know I can do the housewife thing. And some men find that sexy. And the warped over-analyzing goes on from there...
Men: Shower (although sometimes...may opt for just a simple freshen-up with clean underwear) Shave. Do a few push-ups. Check their breath with the 'ole cup the hand around the mouth and breathe to see if you can smell your own stanky breath trick. (Which is not an accurate test by the way).
Situation #4 - The "how was your weekend?" conversation
Women: We give you the extended version with every.single.detail. "Great! Friday night me and some girlfriends got together and had went out to eat at that new restaurant. SO good! I got the cheese fry appetizer. And our waiter was hilarious. Remind me to tell you what he said. And then we went and watched that new romcom (romantic comedy)- so good! I swear, that Justin Timber-hot gets better with age." And we continue on with Saturday's events and wrap it up with Sunday's events. It should be noted that anytime we are asked "how was something" whether it be a weekend, night, work day or vacation, you most likely need to go pop some Orville Redenbacher cuz it's going to be awhile.
Men: "Good."
Situation #5 - The after sex thoughts going on in our heads
Single women: "Did this mean anything to him? How do I look? Is my hair all messed up? Does he want to snuggle? Or worse, does he want to go home? Will he call tomorrow? Should I text him first or should I wait?"
Married women: "Ok, glad that's over. Gosh, I have so much to do. Did I lock the door? Who has ball practice tomorrow? Wait a minute...are those his freakin' clothes on the floor? I swear if he leaves those out one more time when there is a freakin' clothes hamper right near the door..."
Single men: "zzzzz...."
Married men: "zzzz...."
And there you have it folks. Proof we are from two entirely different galaxies.
Situation #1 - Bad hair day
Women: Attempt desired hair-do. Heave hairbrush across the bathroom when it does not accomplish said hair-do. Maybe shed a tear in frustration. Leave for work in a heightened state of annoyance. And thus, "this day sucks" has officially begun.
Men: Put on a baseball hat. Or just choose to not give a shit.
Situation #2 - Fight/argument with the BFF
Women: Play out and over-analyze the fight and/or argument with the BFF and how it "went down". Reconfirm that you were not the one in the wrong...or perhaps come to the conclusion that you are a harsh bitch. In which case, a prompt apology is required. Continue to over-analyze future conversation (or facebook message) in which you will have to restore friendship with the BFF. Anticipate possible responses and figure out how you will react accordingly. All the while, torturing (aka re-hashing this entire scenario) with your boyfriend or husband or other friend (basically anyone who will listen).
Men: First move: they question, "What is a BFF?" Second move: they usually just throw a punch or two and it's over with.
Situation #3 - Going out on a date
Women: Shower (probably a bath...seems more girly). Spend a ridiculous amount of time figuring out what outfit to wear. Because all body parts must look cute. Boobs. Butt. And everything else. What about our hair? Down, which says I'm carefree and fun. Or up, which says I'm serious, smart and sophisticated. Or the new fishtail braid which says I'm trendy. Wait a minute...wasn't there an article about this in Cosmo? Should I bake some cookies? Saw that in a romantic comedy once. It lets him know I can cook. House must be clean. Lets him know I can do the housewife thing. And some men find that sexy. And the warped over-analyzing goes on from there...
Men: Shower (although sometimes...may opt for just a simple freshen-up with clean underwear) Shave. Do a few push-ups. Check their breath with the 'ole cup the hand around the mouth and breathe to see if you can smell your own stanky breath trick. (Which is not an accurate test by the way).
Situation #4 - The "how was your weekend?" conversation
Women: We give you the extended version with every.single.detail. "Great! Friday night me and some girlfriends got together and had went out to eat at that new restaurant. SO good! I got the cheese fry appetizer. And our waiter was hilarious. Remind me to tell you what he said. And then we went and watched that new romcom (romantic comedy)- so good! I swear, that Justin Timber-hot gets better with age." And we continue on with Saturday's events and wrap it up with Sunday's events. It should be noted that anytime we are asked "how was something" whether it be a weekend, night, work day or vacation, you most likely need to go pop some Orville Redenbacher cuz it's going to be awhile.
Men: "Good."
Situation #5 - The after sex thoughts going on in our heads
Single women: "Did this mean anything to him? How do I look? Is my hair all messed up? Does he want to snuggle? Or worse, does he want to go home? Will he call tomorrow? Should I text him first or should I wait?"
Married women: "Ok, glad that's over. Gosh, I have so much to do. Did I lock the door? Who has ball practice tomorrow? Wait a minute...are those his freakin' clothes on the floor? I swear if he leaves those out one more time when there is a freakin' clothes hamper right near the door..."
Single men: "zzzzz...."
Married men: "zzzz...."
And there you have it folks. Proof we are from two entirely different galaxies.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
I'm about to become that girl
My relationship with the 180s? In the words of Kristen Cavalari (aka skinny bitch) from MTV's Laguna Beach...we are so "dunzo". For those of you who have apparently grown out of watching teenage reality shows, that means I'm done. Finished.
I am so freakin' tired of stepping on the scales only to see something that starts with 18(filll in the blank). Seriously? I'm to the point now where I am about to go into what I call serious call-me-crazy-if-you-want-to mode. You know the one, right? When you are out with your girlfriends, she's the one that orders the skinny margarita version while everyone else is downing the double-straw fish bowl size margarita. The one that orders some sort of vinaigrette while everyone else is like "can order some ranch dressing with a side of salad" and the one who eats fruit as if it is a real a dessert option. You know her. We all know her. Because we hate her. And why do we hate her? Because she is loosing weight. And it is working for her. And we are all jealous bitches, aren't we? Secretly wishing we had that kind of self-control.
Well, I am about to be that girl. You can hate me if you want to. Heck, I may even hate me for a little while. I'm about to be a water-drinkin', salad eatin', lean protein cookin', fruit snackin' girl. I'm not going to go all crazy and do the stupid things people do to loose weight (only to put it back on weeks later). I can promise you that I may become the girl I mentioned above, but rest assured I will never be the girl who gives up carbs (um...do you want me to go on a killing spree in the dessert cake aisle at Wal-Mart? I didn't think so.) I will never be the girl who completely gives up sweet tea (wouldn't I loose my Southern accent? That is, in fact, what gives us our accent right?) But I am talking about seriously giving a second thought about everything I eat, drink and...well...think. Because here lately I am beginning to believe that the mere thought about cheese fries makes my waist size increase an inch. And, (insert big ARG! here) I am talking about getting back on the fitness bandwagon. I've managed to have lost between 19-20 pounds since January, but since around about April or so, I haven't ran even once. I could blame it on a injury, but that injury cleared up within a couple of weeks...and I still haven't moved my butt off the couch. So, Jillian Michaels and your evil DVD...it's go time.
I'll keep you posted. Hopefully the 170's will make their debut. Soon.
I am so freakin' tired of stepping on the scales only to see something that starts with 18(filll in the blank). Seriously? I'm to the point now where I am about to go into what I call serious call-me-crazy-if-you-want-to mode. You know the one, right? When you are out with your girlfriends, she's the one that orders the skinny margarita version while everyone else is downing the double-straw fish bowl size margarita. The one that orders some sort of vinaigrette while everyone else is like "can order some ranch dressing with a side of salad" and the one who eats fruit as if it is a real a dessert option. You know her. We all know her. Because we hate her. And why do we hate her? Because she is loosing weight. And it is working for her. And we are all jealous bitches, aren't we? Secretly wishing we had that kind of self-control.
Well, I am about to be that girl. You can hate me if you want to. Heck, I may even hate me for a little while. I'm about to be a water-drinkin', salad eatin', lean protein cookin', fruit snackin' girl. I'm not going to go all crazy and do the stupid things people do to loose weight (only to put it back on weeks later). I can promise you that I may become the girl I mentioned above, but rest assured I will never be the girl who gives up carbs (um...do you want me to go on a killing spree in the dessert cake aisle at Wal-Mart? I didn't think so.) I will never be the girl who completely gives up sweet tea (wouldn't I loose my Southern accent? That is, in fact, what gives us our accent right?) But I am talking about seriously giving a second thought about everything I eat, drink and...well...think. Because here lately I am beginning to believe that the mere thought about cheese fries makes my waist size increase an inch. And, (insert big ARG! here) I am talking about getting back on the fitness bandwagon. I've managed to have lost between 19-20 pounds since January, but since around about April or so, I haven't ran even once. I could blame it on a injury, but that injury cleared up within a couple of weeks...and I still haven't moved my butt off the couch. So, Jillian Michaels and your evil DVD...it's go time.
I'll keep you posted. Hopefully the 170's will make their debut. Soon.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Sending me messages...
So, apparently my cellular device is trying to send me a message.
In today's high tech modern world, things often go array. Or perhaps the diet gods are living in my cell phone and trying to send me a message that I quite literally will receive. Because there is a definitely a higher power at work via my cell phones predictive text. I'm pretty sure it isn't God. I mean, because He isn't too concerned with my weight loss...I mean, with global warming and literally keeping up with the Kardashians, I'm pretty sure he's busy.
So allow me to tell you exactly what has been going on with my cell phone. It has this handy little help-me-out tool called predictive text. It is supposed to correctly guess what word I am attempting to text. Now, considering the vastness of the English language, many times the predictive text is a bit off. And for that reason, I am often forgiving and continue to use predictive text. For instance, when I try to spell "me", my cell phone often wants to spell "of". Not a big deal. But here lately, I've been noticing a common theme in the errors of certain words and phrases. For instance...
When I want to spell the word "eat" my cell phone spells "fat".
When I want to spell the world "food" my cell phone spells "done".
I am so not kidding.
And to get even a little more creative...
If I try to spell lazy, it spells jazz (as in "don't be lazy...jazzercise!")
Dear predictive text,
I got the freakin' message.
In today's high tech modern world, things often go array. Or perhaps the diet gods are living in my cell phone and trying to send me a message that I quite literally will receive. Because there is a definitely a higher power at work via my cell phones predictive text. I'm pretty sure it isn't God. I mean, because He isn't too concerned with my weight loss...I mean, with global warming and literally keeping up with the Kardashians, I'm pretty sure he's busy.
So allow me to tell you exactly what has been going on with my cell phone. It has this handy little help-me-out tool called predictive text. It is supposed to correctly guess what word I am attempting to text. Now, considering the vastness of the English language, many times the predictive text is a bit off. And for that reason, I am often forgiving and continue to use predictive text. For instance, when I try to spell "me", my cell phone often wants to spell "of". Not a big deal. But here lately, I've been noticing a common theme in the errors of certain words and phrases. For instance...
When I want to spell the word "eat" my cell phone spells "fat".
When I want to spell the world "food" my cell phone spells "done".
I am so not kidding.
And to get even a little more creative...
If I try to spell lazy, it spells jazz (as in "don't be lazy...jazzercise!")
Dear predictive text,
I got the freakin' message.
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