It's a Gas, Gas, Gas.

I shit tar.



(I probably should have put a warning on this post, eh?)

And I'm really gassy. Really, really gassy. Plus, it smells like someone ran over a skunk with a garbage truck.
On a hot day in July.
With the garbage on fire.

If there was a contest, I totally would have won "foulest odor to be voluntarily emitted from a live body" trophy. (thank goodness that there is no such contest.....yet)


I can't help it. It's all because of the protein shakes. The shakes pack a whopping 50 grams of protein in each shake! And, I drink several a day. This results in me burning a hole through my chair. (And actually levitating in my chair.)

*sigh*


I've adapted as well as expected. On the fouler days, I take a walk around my building. If I do get stuck indoors, I cropdust the office. I synch my steps with each squeak. If someone asks, I tell them that I'm breaking in a new pair of shoes. (LOL! Suckers!) Another of my little tricks is to carry around a small tube of Trader Joe's Citrus Room Deodorizer. I leave a little stream of orange zest when I vacate a room. (I think this smell is more confusing to the innocent bystanders, though) So far, I think I'm getting away with it. (I think, but I'm probably not....)
As for the constipation, I discovered a little remedy.

I go to Taco Bell.

Really. No, I don't cheat on my diet, well, kind of. I use the little packets of hot sauce. I drown my chicken breast in it, and 20 minutes later, I'm making a run for the border. (well, the restroom) I'm in this vicious cycle for weeks. Finally, I decide to mention it to my trainer.
He chuckles when I tell him that I got the toots. He says that he was wondering how that part was going for me, since it was a known side effect of drinking so many protein shakes. (Which, BTW, kindof pissed me off. Why did he not mention anything to me beforehand? Think of all the time and embarrassment that would have saved me??) So, he walks me to the part of the gym where they try to sell you stuff. He picks up a package and tells me that I should think about trying this. I read the package:

Colon Cleanse

No, thank you very much. I'll stick with my Taco Bell solution. He shakes his head, and tells me that my Taco Bell solution is only a temporary solution. In the long run, it'll mess up my digestion.
*sigh*
Great. I end up buying the package. ($45) This is one new product that I'm not anxious to try.




Coming up next: Ethel and I escape from the Fat Farm!

Skull Crusher Can Kill You

Okay, so me and Tyrese have been becoming really good friends. And, because of the nature of working out, I've gotten adjusted to him invading my personal space. Sometimes, he has to to get close in order to make sure that I'm not going to hurt myself. Other times, he has to get close and touch my body (parts of it anyways) to see how my muscles are holding up. And normally, it doesn't really bother me.

Normally.

Until the day I have to do Skull Crushers. (yeah, they are just as scary as they sound.) The gist of it is, you lay on your back, and raise the weights up so dangerously close to your skull. (There is a real possibility that I could accidentally brain myself.) As you can see from the picture, you really need to do this exercise with someone spotting you. (gym-speak for someone who watches over you to make sure that you don't brain yourself.)

So, here I am, laying on the bench, holding the ever-heavy weights in my hand. And, as you can imagine, Tyrese needs to stand at the end of the bench, right by my noggin. (on braining patrol, if you wish) So, basically, I am laying with my head between his legs.

Yeah....take a minute to take that all in.

So, I'm laying on a bench, with my head between this legs. And of course, not only is Tyrese looking fine this day, but he is also going commando.

Yeah, not wearing underwear under his sweatpants.

How do I know? Because all 12 inches of him are flapping around, down his leg. (I get a close up, thanks to the skull crushers. )
Every time he leans in to help me with the weight, (which is dangerously above my face, BTW) I can see his Johnson attempt to tap me on the head. (I'm dangerously closed to being woodpeckered) It makes me cringe. It makes me cringe while holding a heavy-ass weight over my face. The situation is not looking good.

I continue with my lifting. He continues counting. And his Johnson continues to try to tap me on the forehead. I'm desperately looking for a way out. But more importantly, I'm trying to find somewhere else to look!

My arms are shaking, and I want to give up. But, at the same time, I want to be done as soon as I can! My goal in life is: don't get teabagged.

After what felt like a lifetime, I finally got done. I rolled off the bench, and did an army crawl back to the locker room.

I never said anything to Tyrese.
I just couldn't do it.

Questions, questions, questions.

I've been getting a lot of questions on my blog. Here are a few that I seem to get all the time:
1. Did you lose the weight?
Yes, and no, and yes, and no again. Make sense? It will.
2. Does Mr. Hummingbird read your blog?
Mr. Hummingbird is like those cute expensive little yappy dogs that you carry around in your purse and will sometimes hump the coffee table. Very pretty to look at, but not very smart. (That's how I like my men.) I seriously doubt that he has any idea what a "blog" is, nor do I really think he cares. (unless it has many pictures of bikini clad women holding up the sports scores. Or videos of guys getting kicked in the nuts. <---- Bikini clad women would be optional on the latter one.)
3. Do wacky things always happen to you?
Yes, pretty much all the time. I've asked Mr. Hummingbird to please be sure to write "She lead a wacky life" on my tombstone, if I succumb first.
4. When are you going to post pics?
I have no plans to post anymore pics. I learned the hard way that it's easy to have your pictures used against you. There are a lot of strange people on the Internet who are just waiting for a chance to photoshop a dick in my mouth and send it to my mother in law. Maybe I'll change my mind, so don't hold me to that.
5.When does all this take place? Right now? Or in the past?
The "flashbacks to bad diets" happened throughout the years. The period that I am currently describing happens between 1997-2001. Don't worry, I have plenty of things to talk about.
6. What happened to Ethel?
I'm still friends with her. We go on many many more adventures. (Most involving pooh.)
7. Why don't you post every day?
Balance. I value my Internet time, but also my family time. Plus, I try to only post "interesting" (relative term) stuff. Most of the stuff is written in the middle of the night. (I have insomnia)
I think I covered it all. Post more questions if you got 'em.

Clothing Issues

I had to buy a new pair of shoes ($90). My old ones where all worn down. (Which, actually, is pretty funny since they have never been worn outdoors.) I bought a few new workout outfits too. I decided to try on a pair of Capri pants......but they just looked ridiculous on me. (Like I washed them in the wrong temperature and my pants shrank but I wore them anyways. ) I haven't really purchased any regular clothes yet, I just wear what is in my closet. I have clothes that range between 8 sizes. It's like a mini mall in my closet.

The worst problem that I'm having is finding a bra that fits. In one of life's greatest displays of irony, I have lost all my bewbies. (I really, really, wish that I was exaggerating here.) I wasn't overly endowed to begin with, but now, after losing a bunch of weight, I have become a punchline.
My official bra size is 42A.

Take a moment to take that all in.


Now, imagine how difficult it is to find a decent looking bra. Forget trying to find an inexpensive bra that's the right size. I finally had to give up and buy a 42C and keep adjusting it all the time.
*sigh*
So now, I'm at the point of no return. I either gain the weight back in order to get my bewbies back again, or keep losing weight in order to make the rest of my body shrink and catch up with my bewbies. This is the motivation that keeps me on the treadmill.
What's yours?

Ruby

Has anyone seen it? Ruby on Style Network. I caught the first episode, and I thought it was well done. It wasn't the circus that I feared that it would be. You'll find yourself rooting for her.
Check it out.

ETA: more info for those that do not have cable:
http://www.mystyle.com/mystyle/index.jsp

Two Worlds Collide

So, what is it about someone else’s misery, that make you feel so much better about yourself? One of life’s true mysteries.
Well, Mr. Hummingbird has been getting up early three times a week. Needless to say, he’s exhausted. I’m still going after work, three times a week. I’m exhausted. (We’re both in bed by 8:30 pm each night.) I’m calling this period in our lives the “Bypass Stage”. (By that, I mean I only see him when I by pass him in the hallway.)
Tyrese is really working him. Every afternoon, I get the play by play of what they do every morning. Sometimes I’m proud of Mr. Hummingbird, but most times I giggle at his and everyone else’s misfortunes. I secretly love seeing Mr. Hummingbird get so into exercising. I love hearing about how Tyrese is pushing him, and how he never complains. It's weird seeing him be so competitive against the other guys in the gym. (If one guy lifts 100 lbs, then they all have to lift 100 lbs. )

I do feel a little bit jealous, having to share this with Mr. Hummingbird. For so long, it was just my little world. Now, he knows all the players, and knows all the backgrounds. It's as if my two worlds have collided.

I quickly find that Tyrese is a big ol’ gossip. (It just makes me love him even more.) Pretty soon we have nicknames for everyone at the gym. (just so we can talk freely) We talk about: Big Head Girl, Douchebag, ‘Roid boy, Leopard Panties, 420 cc’s, Stinky and more. This makes the workouts almost bearable. We laugh the afternoon away. Most of the times, I'm not sure if my abs are hurting from the exercises or the giggling.

One particular day, Tyrese told me some hot gossip about 420 cc's. Seems that she was hooking up with 'Roid boy. This was truly scandalous. We micro examined each aspect of the story. We hypothesized about the possible outcome. We giggled at the detailed description of their possible off springs. I couldn't wait to get home to tell Mr. Hummingbird.

I bounced in the door, and dropped my gym bag by the door.

"Hey, I have a great story to tell you!"

"Already heard it."

Damn, I knew having him go to the same gym would cause problems.

"So, what do you think??"

"I don't care."

"Wait, what? Don't you think it's absolutely scandalous?"

"Whatever..."

"What is she thinking?? What could she possibly be thinking?"

"Well, I guess she always does dumb stuff. It's all I hear about at the gym. Doesn't surprise me at all." (Ha! I finally reeled him into my conversation.)

"Yeah, I guess so."

"She is one wacky situation after another. Her poor husband....."

"wait, what?" (420 cc's isn't married. Well, not anymore anyways.)

"Yeah, all the guys talk about her in the gym. They have a bet going for the next time she does something outrageous."

"What?"

"Yeah, I think it all started when she dropped her panties on the treadmill."

Uh, oh. Wrong girl.

"Yeah, they call her CrazyAss."

Uh, oh. Very wrong girl.

"I heard she pulled a muscle in her ass too. What a weirdo."

Uh, huh. Weirdo.

"Tyrese talks about her all the time. She really must be a pain in his arse."

Yup, she is. She is.

Deux et Une Moitié (2 1/2)

So, Mr. Hummingbird goes in for his consult. He is given a diet plan and had his measurements taken. (at 6' tall he is 155 lbs. and his waist size is 33". These are the exact same measurements he had when he was 18 yrs old.) He hope to gain at least 20 lbs of muscle. He will work out with Tyrese three times a week ($40 each session. Mr. Hummingbird has no idea of what we are paying for this, BTW.) Unlike me, he chooses to do his workout first thing in the morning, (6am) return home, and get ready for work. I think that he is slightly insane, but who am I to judge?

His diet is basically the same foods as mine. He just has to eat a ton more of them. Plus, he gets to drink FIVE protein shakes a day.($45. He can't just drink my "chocolate" drink. He opts for "vanilla". Whatever. Again, those quote marks are not a typo.)
The first day, he gets up before God got up. He drove to the gym, wearing some spanking new work out clothes. He chugs his first protein shake. He actually seems happy about it. Loser.
An hour and a half later, I'm walking to my car when I see his car pull up in the drive way. I see him put his car in park. I see him put the parking brake on. I see his head do a weird kinda nod. Then, I see him throw up all over his dashboard.

I suppress the urge to giggle. (Hey, I'm not heartless!) I get into my car and drive to work. It's going to be a good day.

An hour later, he calls me and tells me that he is "sick". He's not going to go to work today. I tell him to stop being a sissy-la-la and get his arse to work. I also tell him that if he is looking for his balls, they are in my grey purse by the front door.
That makes me giggle uncontrollably. (I actually snort.)
He ignores me and tells me that he is going into the office after all.


Don't mess with me.

The Husband Challenge Part Deux

So, I immediately call Tyrese.
"Mr. Hummingbird is going to the gym tomorrow, instead of me."
Silence.
"Are you two sharing your sports bras too?"
"No, seriously. He was mocking me. He thinks this is all so damn easy. I want him to see what I really do."
"Well....You and Hummingbird have different problems. You need to lose the weight. He needs to gain some weight. Neither of these are easy. He knows that."
"Well, he thinks that it's easy to lose weight. He's implying that I'm not trying hard enough."
Pause.
"Alright. I'll train him. But I don't do anything half-arsed. If he's coming in, he has to do the whole thing. Measurements, diet, training. The whole thing. I'm not wasting my time just for you to be able to say AHA! to him."
"I don't need your help in order to say AHA! to him."
I heard him smile.
"He'll be there tomorrow for measurements and the diet consult," I added.
"uh-huh."





"Oh, before I forget, he also told me that you were a sucky trainer." I hang up the phone.

I tell Mr. Hummingbird that he will be training for the next few weeks. He rolls his eyes at me again.
Keep rolling them buddy. Keep rolling them.



To be continued......

The Husband Challenge

So, Mr. Hummingbird has always been some what supportive. (Actually, as long as it didn't interfere with his sports on the t.v. he was fine with whatever I wanted to do.) Which is surprising, since you know, if I'm on a diet, he's on a diet.
Poor guy.
I never actually told him that he couldn't eat anything yummy in the same room as me. I guess that was just something he was able to figure out on his own. That being said, I did find a secret trash bag full of Zebracake wrappers in the trunk of his car. (shhh...don't tell him that I know. I'm saving that one for when I'm in a jam.)
Well, one day, after an extra hard workout, I flopped on my bed and started moaning. (There was no particular reason for the moaning. It just felt good.) Mr. Hummingbird walks by, and rolls his eyes.
Rolls. His. Eyes.
(Yeah, I couldn't actually see him do this, but I felt it. I leaped out of the bed and confronted him.)
"Ya' got a problem?"
"No.....no problem"
"You sure? You walked by here with a problem."
"No.....it's nothing."
WTH?
"Just say it. Tell me what is bothering you. " (So I can hurt you and make you pay for it. Over and over and over.)
"Oh....you know"

*Staring at him, and tapping my foot*

"Okay, stop looking at me. Well, it's just like you act like you just moved a mountain or something. You just walk on the treadmill, right? I can hardly see any sweat on you. But, each day, you come in here and act like you just achieved the impossible. And, you expect me to baby you all night because you're too tired to do anything for yourself. I'm tired too. No one babys me."
I stare at him.
And stare at him.
And then count to ten silently.
I take a deep breath and begin.
"I don't just walk on the treadmill. I do walk on the treadmill, but do a whole lot more. I start my day by motivating myself to not go to McDonald's for breakfast. I then talk myself out of a luxurious and creamy latte. Instead, I go to the office and have ONE cup of coffee. All the while, everyone around me is eating jumbo sized muffins with blueberries the size of small birds.
Then, I avoid the breakfast burritos, spilling out with bacon and sausages in the break room. I convince myself that my plain oatmeal is just fine, and then I go into my office and cry. I keep my door closed in order to keep out the microwave popcorn smell that seems to try to gripe me with it's buttery fingers. Never mind the cookie sales, birthday cakes, or chocolates. By the time I leave my office, I'm mentally exhausted from fighting all the cravings.
Then, I get into the car and fight traffic for 20 mins. I drive 15 miles out-of-my-way to get to the gym. I undress in front of the most perfect bodies in the city. (again, I might cry alittle) I get on the stupid treadmill, and wait for the dreaded time when my trainer comes and gets me. The whole time, my stomach is turning, worried that I will soon be suspended from the ceiling with ropes or on a pogo stick. When he arrives, he makes me work. Work my arse off. He tries to make me cry, but I will never cry in front of him. (again....anyways.) My body is near physical exhaustion now. Then, I get into the car, and fight traffic for another 40 mins. By the time I get home to you, I feel like I have been gone a week, let alone just a few hours."

Silence.

I continue, "This is a lifestyle change. Which means.....my whole life has changed. And guess what? You have to change too. I know that you have already given up a lot of greasy, yummy dinners, but you got to give till it hurt too. I didn't get here by myself, and I don't expect to get out of this hole by myself either. Right?? I didn't eat all those Ben and Jerry sundaes by myself, you know."

He thinks for a moment, then says, "Fine. It's just that you're so dramatic about the whole thing. Scott's (Mr. Hummingbird's BFF) wife never does stuff like this."

Oh. No. He. Didn't.

I lose it. Seriously, lose it. (I've had a lot of pent up emotions.)

"Are you f'ng kidding me?! You think that I'm being dramatic? You think that this is all an elaborate ploy for attention? Some super secret woman plan to attack your sympathies?" I'm shaking my head at this point.

I take a moment. Then, it hits me.

"Fine, you're going to the gym tomorrow, instead of me."
"Fine." he replied.

I smile.

TO BE CONTINUED.......