Shame

Let's talk about "shame" today.
In the 13 years that I've know my husband, he's only mentioned my weight twice. Twice!
Once, in the early stages of dating, while at a BBQ. He said something about the little extra pounds that I had put on. (we're talking about maybe 5 lbs. at this point.) While I didn't say anything to him, because it was a fairly new relationship, one of the girls at the BBQ jumped all over his sorry ass. (She was a pretty close friend of his.)
"Why would you ever say that to a girl?? Do you know that that's how anorexia starts?! You have a very skewed vision of what a woman looks like, and you should be ashamed of yourself!!"
I sat there stunned, not knowing what to say. It must have stuck with Mr. Hummingbird, because he doesn't mention my weight for about another 9 years. The second time he mentions it, he had just seen a commercial for Hydroxycut (the original, with Epherdra. We'll talk about ephedra another time.) and suggested I might consider purchasing the product. This time, I was not afraid to show him how I felt about his little suggestion.
I threw a book at him.
At his head.
At his nose.
I made contact. :)
But, looking back now, I wonder if I would have ate less and exercised more if he would have hounded me? HAD he hounded me, my choices would have been:
a. Eat less. Eat healthy. Exercise.
b. Eat an entire pepperoni pizza by myself. (that'll show him!!")

I have a feeling that my choice would have been "b" no matter what he said or did.


So, Mr. Hummingbird is wise enough now to not mention my weight. My family and girlfriends never said anything to me either. AND we are super close. ("super close" that it borders on creepy, according to my therapist) So, who is going to tell you that you are fat???

Your husband's friends and male coworkers.

I can tell you exactly each time I met a new friend or coworker, since it is now burned into my memory. They would smile, reach out their hands, and avert their eyes. Every single one of them.
Shame.
Shame for me. Shame for my poor unlucky husband who got one of life's raw deals. I could see it in their face, as they tried to calculate how much I weighed. Or try to picture what I used to look like, since a fine foxy husband like mine wouldn't have married such a cow on purpose. Or maybe I tricked him?? He's kindof dumb, maybe I'm a fat but smart mastermind who hypnotized him with amazing sex in order for him to break down and marry me? Their faces were always the same.
What would I do? Why, smiler bigger. Suck in my gut. Lean over to show more cleavage. And ignore it. I didn't know any better.
No one had ever showed me to always be proud of myself. No one had taught me to always respect myself and demand respect. I let them make me feel shame.

I know better now.

Creative eating

Okay, lets take a break from all this sweaty exercising and talk about diets. (let’s just put the gross out warning right here. You may want to skip today’s posts if you have a weak disposition. ) Before I continue, I just want to let everyone know that I am a pretty well balanced person. There is no history of mental illness in any parts of my family. (for the most part….) I’m also some what smart. (albeit lazy) I can name all the states and their capitals. I can take public transportation without getting utterly lost. I can recite the periodic table. But, when it comes to putting food into my mouth, I turn into a complete dumb ass. Therefore, I have tried every ludicrous diet imaginable. You know that little voice inside your head that says, “No, this isn’t a good idea.”
Well, that bitch is long gone.

The Cabbage Soup diet
This was popular in the late 80’s. It was before the internet, so this diet was passed around in schools and offices on Xeroxed pieces of papers. The diet mainly consisted of making a huge stock of vegetable soup, and only consuming that……forever. I don’t remember there being any type of protein in the diet (chicken, beef, etc) just all vegetables. On the barely legible paper, it included something about this diet was the diet that was used by some famous hospital (usually The Mayo Clinic or John Hopkins) before patients entered surgery. It was the “last resort” diet for overweight patients who needed to lose weight fast, in order to survive heart surgery. Anyways, the diet was basically water, cabbage, tomatoes, onions, celery, and carrots. Just boil and eat for breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner. Yummmy. (blech!) I lasted about 2 ½ days before I snapped and ate a hamburger. (before the hamburger, I had “lost” 3 lbs) The worst part about this whole ordeal was that this was one of my early attempts at cooking. (I didn’t know all the safe cooking rules just yet.) So, I made a huge stockpot full of the soup. I mean huge. So huge was this stockpot, that it didn’t fit inside my tiny apartment fridge. So, being the dumbass that I am, I just left it out on the stovetop.
All day.
For two days.
In June.
In Southern California.
And, I was still eating the soup at the time. Let just say, I was totally surprised that on day two, the tomatoes had turned green and fuzzy. I wish I had noticed that before I ate that last bowl. (For the record, it takes me approximately 5 years before I can eat any type of vegetable soup again.)

Bulimia as a diet
Bulimia is a serious and deadly disease that should not be taken lightly. It is not an entertaining disease for those who suffer from it. Unless you are a complete dumbass who tries to convince herself that she has it. (Background: I’m not a throw up-y kind of person. Never have been, probably never will. I can count on one hand how many times, in my life, I have thrown up.) Nonetheless, I attempt to make myself vomit in order to reduce my weight. The perfect opportunity came after a BBQ at our friend’s house. Mr. Hummingbird stayed to help clean up. I had the house to myself. And the motivation. (I had eaten my weight in ribs and potatoe salad.) I waddle to the toilet, kneel before it, and wait.
Nothing.
I jam my fingers down my throat.
I gag, but nothing.
I try again.
More gagging. Some serious slobbering. But still nothing.
I grab a plastic chopstick and stick it down my throat.
Nothing but slobber and gagging.
I practically stick my head in the toilet, hoping to be so disgusting that I make myself throw up. I try and picture the most disgusting, vile images in order to make me throw up. I picture public men’s rooms at the local gas stations. I picture rotting cheese on a hot day in the garbage pail. I picture Richard Simmons, naked, coming after me.
Nothing works.
I give up and silently curse my suppressed gag reflex.

Syrup of Ipecac
Since the vomit party didn’t work out, I decided to try something new. I got this idea from either Melrose Place or 90210. (I don’t remember which one should get the credit.) Anyways, syrup of ipecac is something that you would find in a first aid kit. It’s sole purpose is to induce vomiting. It’s brown and smells weirdly woodsy. One night, after Mr. Hummingbird leaves me home to visit his parents, I break out the tiny bottle. I take one tiny spoonful of the stuff, and wait for the magic to happen. I start to feel nauseous. My stomach starts to turn and jump. (Jump violently.) I start to drool like a mad dog. I quickly regret my decision. I kneel before my toilet, and wait. I feel the worst that I’ve ever felt in my life. (and I had mono my senior year in high school!) My eyes are tearing. My body is bloated. The smell of Ipecac is stagnant in my bathroom. I wait while I feel like I’m going to die.
And nothing.
I got a tiny vomit burp, but that’s it.
I was suffering for nothing.
WAIT! It gets worst. The thing with Ipecac that no one tells you is that is also give you the runs. Serious runs. So, not only are you vomiting, but shits flying out of your ass too. (At record speed.) Your body suddenly becomes liquid. A foul Ipecac smelling liquid. Seriously the worst night of my life. (For the record, the smell of Ipecac still makes my stomach violently jump. 12 years later.)

Toilet Paper
Thanks to Donahue (google it, youngsters) I learned that models ate toilet paper in order to feel full. It was like eating your daily recommended dose of fiber, times 100. You body supposedly ignores it, and it all comes out in the pooper. So, I figure, why not? I convince myself that it just fiber. Wads and wads of petal soft quilted bleached fiber. I force myself to start snacking on TP. (at this point in my life, I really questioned my sanity) I carry around a snack of Charmin in my purse. But the best part of this little diet is that it’s readily available and I can snack in private!! Yippee! By coincidence, I happen to be doing some volunteer work at our local hospital. I was considering going into Nursing, so this was helpful. (it’ll get to be much more helpful pretty soon.) One day, we had a patient come in that had an intestinal blockage. It was really painful and traumatic for the poor woman. It was serious enough for her to go into immediate surgery. Right before going to the OR, I had to take her vitals etc. She started gagging and heaving. I helped her while she vomited into bucket after bucket. (This is where it really gets gross.) After helping her clean up and compose herself, I go to start cleaning up. I look into the buckets, and see shit. Literally. The poor woman had just endured fecal vomiting. (Poop was coming out of her mouth.) Seriously, the grossest thing I’ve ever witnessed. After the surgery, they found out what the blockage was: nail clippings, hair, and ……….wait for it……….toilet paper. Yeah, that woman had problems, but it ended my TP eating days.

Next up: My trip to the ER!, upgrading trainers, and shame

More celebrity workouts

Now, I really wish I could say that it was easy. I wish I could say that it was fun. Most of all, I wish I could say that I didn’t cry in the gym.
But, I would be lying.
The diet was difficult to maintain. Very difficult. I was eating like a cave man. No processed foods, no convenience foods at all. I actually had to cook my a few meals, and freeze them, because I couldn’t find the time to cook a meal from scratch. I ate chicken during the day and fish at night. (The first time I tried to reheat my fish in the microwave at work, the cloud of noxious fish smell hung in the air for most of the day. I had to hide in the stockroom to avoid getting caught eating it. I would have been lynched.) My greens were just that. Just greens. I couldn’t even call it a salad. I wasn’t allowed carrots, cucumbers, sprouts. I wasn’t allowed any dressing. (non-fat or low fat even). I ate so much spinach and lettuce, that I was sure that my skin would turn green. I’m not even going to remind you about the foul smell that I emitted due to my daily intake of asparagus. (FOUL!) The food was bland, and the proportions were small. Plus, it made me cranky.
The workouts were daily. Even though I only had my trainer three times a week, I was to walk on the treadmill every day. Now, it was a slow walk, but a long one. I was to walk on the treadmill for at least an hour. The biggest challenge was actually doing it. And fighting the boredom. I tried to watch tv, read, listen to audio tapes, and even brought my portable VCR to watch the latest movies. I was still always bored. Now, I would kill for an hour to myself!
The actual workouts were the same. I would start with 20 mins on the treadmill. Then, I would move through the nautilus machines with my trainer. Many reps, but with low weights. I would end with abs and then 20 min cool-down on the treadmill. (the cool-down was on my own time.) My ab workout the first day was 15 “bicycles”. (lying on a mat, on your back, knees bent, with your hands behind your head. You bring your right elbow to your left knee. Repeat.) I struggled through my 15. The next workout, he told me to do 75. I looked at him like he was some sort of mutant alien.
“Well, he has me confused with another client. I’ll just gently remind him that this is only my second day.”
Oh, he knew who I was. I was the asswipe that was going to be doing 75 bicycles on the mat. I did them. (well, I said I did them, I actually did 74 of them, but somehow that always made me feel good. “Ms. Passive Aggressive,” that’s me.) I continued to go to my workouts. Despite the stomach turning that would happen to me right before my session. I tried to ignore all the doubts and all the temptations.
Like I said before, I really wish I could say it was easy.

Next up: my trip to the ER! creative eating, and shame.

Celebrity workout part one

Okay, so I am totally excited to work out at the gym. (It’s a private gym, so I don’t have to worry about looking like a fool in front of all the skinny 18 year olds that normally hang out at the gym.) I meet Coach Minion for my hour workout. Well, actually, it wasn’t a workout. He weighed me, and measured me. He calibrated my BMI (BODY MASS INDEX). It was official…..my BMI was 44% or “Obese”. (I cried a little bit inside). We then went over my personal eating plan. My eating plan will now only consist of the following foods: plain oatmeal, plain greens, tomatoes, organic fish, organic chicken, apples, yams, asparagus, a super high protein drink, and water. No frying, coating, butter, fat, dairy, bread, diet drinks, ANYTHING else. (I cried inside some more) He gives me a notebook, where I am to write down everything that goes into my mouth. And the approximate times that I eat it. Every night, I’m supposed to fax my daily calendar to him, and he will make adjustments as needed. I also have to promise to get at least 8 hours of sleep a night, weekends included. He gives me his cell phone number, and I’m supposed to call him anytime I have a question. I walk on the treadmill for about 20 minutes, and then he sends me to the grocery store. (That counted as one of my workouts.)
I start my new eating plan the next day. I call him 6 times because I’m so freaking hungry. (oh, yeah, I’m getting my money’s worth out of this guy.) He allows me an extra “snack” of a protein shake. (yahoo!)
Now, when I start this super lean eating, I went cold turkey. (mmmmmm……..turkey) I had double fried chicken one day, and the next day I was eating 6 oz of plain grilled fish. BIG FREAKING DIFFERENCE. He must have known that it was going to be hard, because I wasn’t scheduled to go to the gym that day. (That would have sent me over the edge.) Instead, I sat at home and watch Mr. Hummingbird eat a meatball sandwich. I ended up going to bed early because I was afraid I would eat something that I shouldn’t. The last thing I remember was hearing my stomach growling. (again, more internal crying)
The next morning, I felt empty. I started to grab my pre-packed greasy breakfast sandwich from the fridge, but then I remembered that it was good old plain oatmeal for me. Yummy. Mr. Hummingbird ate the breakfast sandwich. (now that I think about it, this week was probably the best he’s ever eaten. His main competition was on the DL list. I’ll have to ask him if he remembers how much weight he gained during this time.)
After suffering through the whole workday, I grabbed my gym bag and headed to the gym. I was told to walk, slowly, on the treadmill for at least 20 mins before my scheduled time. At my appointed time, I hopped over to meet Coach Minion. We did some stretching on the mat. Well, he stretched, and I rolled around like a floundering fish. (I was glad that they gym was practically empty this day. I’m not sure that I could have handled much more embarrassment than I had already endured. ) We move over to the weight machines, and he walks me through some super light exercises. Light in the sense that I was only lifting between 2 and 3 lbs. I was still sweating and wheezing out of exhaustion. He puts me back on my slow walk for the last 20 mins. I suddenly feel happy. I realize I made it, and I’m not hurt nor crying.

This is a good day.

Next up: Celebrity workouts continued, creative eating plans, and a trip to the ER!

The First Attempts

I decided that I needed to lose weight, and lose it fast. Never mind that it took me 5 years to put it on, I was going to lose it NOW. My first attempt at weight loss was Slim Fast. Pop open a can for breakfast, lunch and have a sensible meal. Easy cheesy, right? I lasted three days before I thought I would die of starvation. At one point, I was tempted to eat my shoe, I was so hungry. Plus, the dirty little secret that the Slim Fast spokes model didn’t mention is that their product has a tendency to make you constipated. (Now, I forgot to mention earlier that I have not had a normal B.M. in about 8 years at this point. I was constantly bloated and all plugged up.) So, the Slimfast cemented my insides. This leads to the next “diet” plan.

Laxatives.
I actually got this idea from watching Beverly Hills 90210. One of the characters started taking laxatives to lose weight. Perfect! Since I’m stuft up already, this will release all that bad fat, right? Ummm…..no. I chose Ex Lax, because they were chocolaty. I took one at night, and in the morning I did my business. So, I took another. And another. Soon, I was taking two at a time. I thought it was working. ( I mean, I was on the pot most of my day.) I was down about 6 lbs by the second week. I was totally happy….until I was at a friend's house and pooped my pants. Really.
I felt extra bloated that day, but just ignored it. I was at a friend’s house, and she had cake. As I ate, I felt worst and worst. Finally, I decided to squeak out a little fart. Or so I thought. I’ll stop here, but let it be known that I was wearing light khaki pants. It doesn’t get any uglier than that. (BTW, my friend is still my friend. She actually becomes my partner in crime. I think she feels sorry for me.)

So, my new BFF were deciding on what we should do next. After consulting the bible of celebrity news, (US WEEKLY, duh.) we figured out that we needed to do what the celebrities do. (No, not work out with celebrity trainers. That comes later.) We decided that we would drive down to Tijuana Mexico, and buy Phen-phen. (As I’m sure that most women around our age remember the good old days when doctors would prescribe a beautiful combination of drugs, nicknamed phen-phen, which miraculously would melt the weight off of you. Unfortunately, it also caused some bad mojo on your heart and lungs. Eventually, it got banned in the U.S.) But, pharmacies in Mexico would sell you anything. We told our husbands we were going to the mall, and pointed the car south. Three hours later, we were walking around the downtown streets of Tijuana. We entered the first pharmacy that we came across. Inside, we told the clerk what we wanted. In a whisper, he told us to cross a dark alley, come to a red door, knock once and hand them his business card. Like complete idiots, we did exactly as we were told. After being let in through the red door, a woman asked us what we needed. We repeated the request. She looked us over, and obviously we look stupid enough because she lead us to another room. In here, she pulled out a bag, from the wastebasket. The bag contained different boxes, all in Spanish. She told us what to take, and when. We paid her almost $200 and took our stash with us. While we were told that it was perfectly legal to enter USA with any prescriptions, BUT we were also told that we should hide them. (I know, I know….we’re stupid, ok?) In a public restroom (eewww….), we popped each pill out of the foil pack, and stuck them in our bras. We walked across the border like this. (This was before September 11, so the security was more laxed, but not by much.) Luckily for us, we made it across, and didn’t get arrested. We both started taking the mystery pills the very next day. (we could have been taken rat poison and not known.) Now, I’ve never done meth, but I’m pretty sure I know what it feels like. I took two mystery pills a day, and was WIRED. At night, my mind raced until I was exhausted. My heat would pound so hard, I would hear it in my ears. I took it for a month, and I lost 20 lbs. My BBF lost about 40 lbs. Good news eh? Not so much. My hair began to fall out. My skin turned yellowish. I had huge dark bags under my eyes. And I hadn’t taken a shit in about a week. I was miserable. Finally, I realized that I wanted to lose weight in order to get pregnant. I was scared shitless that I would get pregnant while on the diet pills. I was afraid of what it could do to the baby. I flushed the rest of the pill down the toilet.

I didn’t want to gain back any of the weight that I had already lost, so I started watching what I ate. I would sometimes “forget” about that candy bar I ate. Or I would open a bag of chips and start eating them, out of habit, before I realized what I was doing. I decided I would buy the nice, neat prepackaged meals from Jenny Craig. Damn, those meals were good, but they were itty bitty. And expensive. (Mr. Hummingbird did not know that I was paying hundred and hundreds of dollars to Ms. Craig) Each week, I would get on the scales, and Kathy, my personal eating coach would cheer me on. (Yay! Go team! Go!) This didn’t last long. The one lb a week I was loosing was not worth the money that I was spending. So, I decided to stop with Jenny Craig, and visit the red-headed stepchild known as Nutrisystem. Nutrisystem was much cheaper, and they even delivered it right to my house! AND no weekly weigh ins! Yippee! So, what was the problem? The food tasted nasty. Like dehydrated school cafeteria food. No wonder people lost weight on this diet. I’d rather eat the cardboard box that the meal would come in. This lasted only one monthly shipment.

I was still having problems with the ol’ pooper, so I went where no one should ever have to go…hydrocolonics. (stop reading now if you have a sensitive stomach) Yes, they literally stick a hose up your brown eye, and shoot water in you.
Not pretty.
(I later found out by my sister who is a nurse, that the hospital will give you a painkiller before they do this to you. Colonics R Us does not give out painkillers.) So, I’m laying on a table, in a paper gown, knees up, with a hose up my ass. (But wait, it gets worst.) The tech turns on the waterworks, and then turns on the vacuum. This goes on for an entire hour. I lost count of how many times she hosed me out. At one point, she said that nothing new was coming out, so she starts to shake the hose as it pumps in the water. SHE STARTS TO SHAKE THE HOSE THAT IS UP MY ASSHOLE. I don’t remember much after this, except that I think I saw stars. I drove myself home afterwards, but I felt like I should pull over and rest under the nearest shady tree until my pooper stopped throbbing. (I did feel less bloated afterwards. Amazingly less bloated. But not enough to do this again) I paid $60 for this torture. The tech suggested I come back once a week for a month, and then once a month after that for a year. Um….….no thank you.

Around this time, I saw a TV show with a celebrity trainer. He seemed so enthusiastic and nice. I decided I would try and find him. (don’t ask me who, I’m not telling. Celebrity trainer went on to be on tv, helping people lose tons of weight.) I found his gym, and made an appointment to meet with him. I was told to bring my gym clothes, a CD of my favorite music, and my checkbook. (how nice of them to remind me, huh?) When I got there, I got my “eating plan”, and was assigned a celebrity trainer minion (an underling of the head guy). All of this cost me $300; but only included the first 5 sessions with the trainer. (who, BTW, was about 20 yrs old and RIPPED. His voice was suspiciously high for a guy. When I called him later to confirm my workout times, I thought it was a chick that answered the phone. Nope, no steroid abuse here.) After the 5 sessions, I could continue my workouts with him for $120 a week or $40 a session. I sign up, and don’t tell Mr. Hummingbird.

Next up: Private workouts, the soup diet, the vinegar diet, hypnotist and celebrity food

The Early Fat Years

I started off as a chubby baby. Big fleshy fat rolls all over my pink little body. Cute dimples on my behind, and on my mini thunder thighs. Adorable, huh? Not so adorable when I was about 12 years old. All my classmates wore skinny corduroy pants in pastel colors with OP shirts. I stayed away from corduroy because of the “shish, shish, shish” sound my thighs made when I walked. I was afraid that one day, if I walked far enough and fast enough, my crotch would catch on fire. (totally j/k……maybe)
When I entered high school, I was blessed enough to grow 6 inches in one summer. I was 5’9” tall, so the extra 20 lbs didn’t look so bad anymore. Add to that, all the exercising that I was forced to do in P.E. Eventually, I joined the Pep squad, and lost all my baby weight. (Finally!) Peer pressure kept if off.
I met my DH, and married him 6 months later. Living with a man was a challenge. (Actually, living with a man who possessed the metabolism of a hummingbird was a challenge) He could eat anything he wanted, whenever he wanted. We ate out often, visiting all the nice restaurants in the area. Especially the ones that served the ginourmous proportions. Sitting across from Mr. Hummingbird Metabolism, I began to eat like him. Plus, since we were young and in love, we spent most of our nights alone, cuddling, and watching T.V. Five years later, I had gained 180 lbs. (Yes, it is possible. 180 lbs in five years is 36 lbs a year. Or 3 little itty bitty lbs a month. So, less than one lb a week. One lb of fat is 2400 calories. Or just 300 calories a day. That’s three beers or one extra sandwich, or something supersized, a day. Bottom line, it’s just one bad food choice a day, for 5 long years.)
I swear it just snuck up on me. One day, I fit into my bubblegum jeans, and the next, I couldn’t zip them. I hardly ever weighed myself, so it didn’t feel like a lot. At one point, my belly hung over the jeans, in a big mass of flesh. I thought I had a tumor! I was thisclose to making a dr. appt before I realize that it was just fat. Since Mr. Hummingbird didn’t complain, I just brushed it off thinking that I would start my diet “next Monday”.
Monday never came.
Around this time, I wanted to get pregnant. Mr. Hummingbird wasn’t entirely on board, but we tried. And tried. And tried. I took my temperature, charted, and read every book out there. Finally, many many EPT’s later, I made an appt. with my Dr. After a full exam, he told me that there was nothing wrong with me. I decided to keep charting for a few more months, and if the magic didn’t happen, Mr. Hummingbird was going to come in for his own exam. (which BTW, scared the shit out of him. This was to be avoided, if at all possible. He was afraid that he was going to be spanking the monkey, and Sister MaryBeth from his grade school would walk in on him. He has a lot of trauma due to parochial school.) A few months and 6 EPTS later, I was back in his office. We had small talk, and then he told me something shocking. He thought that my weight was prohibiting conception. (I was about 325 lbs at this point) I was stunned.
STUNNED.
Yeah, I knew that my weight had affected my sex life. I no longer walked around the house naked. I no longer wore sexy lingerie to bed. No more taking a shower together either. (we both didn’t fit in there together anymore.) Most of the time, I laid in the bed, striking a sexy pose, (back arched, one leg bent, hair tossed back, holding my breath to suck in my stomach and whispering, “turn off the light!” before I passed out from lack of oxygen.) and that counted as foreplay.
The more I thought about it, the more things started to make sense. Not only had my weight changed, but my whole body. I now had adult acne, even though I never had a pimple while in H.S. Also, my hair was a dry brittle ratty mess. (I thought it was due to over processing, but now know that it was due to my poor diet.) My joints ached. (enough that I couldn’t sleep on my side anymore. I had to sleep with the help of an elaborate system of pillows.) The biggest change for me was my skin was changing. Not just the acne, but the color. I suddenly started getting these dark brown spots over my body. Like brown blotchy skin. (I found out later that it is called acanthosis nigricans. It’s common in overweight people who have olive skin tones. It’s due to the insulin levels in your body. Google it.) I had brown patches on my knees, crotch, neck and underarms. It was totally gross and embarrassing. Not even a tiny bit sexy.
Back to the dr…….he told me that with my medical history, and the medical history of my family, (diabetes, high blood pressure, arthritis, etc.) things didn’t look good for me. He said that being overweight put a lot of stress on my body. He told me that unless I changed something, I was heading down the same road.
Now, I would love to tell you that this was enough to make me change my life. It wasn’t. We went to Chili’s that night, and had a double bacon burger for dinner. No, I had to sink low. Sink really low. Hit rock bottom. And I did. A few days later, while sitting on the toilet having a peaceful moment with God, I heard a “CRACK”. OMFG, I broke the toilet seat! I was so embarrassed! I couldn’t tell Mr. Hummingbird! I just sat there and cried silently. So, I did what every other woman would do, I ignored the broken seat. When he finally discovered it, I feigned shock and horror.
Inside, I knew that things had to change……

Next up: Crossing the border for drugs, colonics, explosive diarrhea and celebrity trainers!!