The scale.
What can I say?? It's a fucking liar! (I'm guessing this is where I lose all my Mormon readers. Sorry.) I hate the scale. I'm positive that it purposely is mocking me.
I hate that I can get on the scale first thing in the morning, and see a great number. I'll climb on later in the day, and I'll see a five lb difference.
WTF?
There is no way that I ate 5 lbs of food in a few hours. That just doesn't make any sense at all.
If you are going to tell me the whole "muscle weighs more than fat," just stop right there missy. Because, I think that is the worst cop out ever. That's the answer that someone give you when they don't have an answer to your question.
Really.
I've heard it over and over and over. And YES, I understand the physics of it. I really really do. But, I think that it's just a fluffy answer to a complex question.
So, back to my scale. Why is it mocking me? Does it enjoy making me happy, then dashing my happiness?? Is it evil? I got it! It was invented by the devil himself.
Why is it possible for me to lose 8 lbs in one week, then not budge for the next three weeks?
REALLY.
What kind of f'd up torture is that? Doesn't it realize that I am exercising in the exact same way? That I'm eating the exact same foods? Drinking the exact same amount?
See? It mocks me.
I can't take the stress of it all anymore, so Tyrese forbids me from weighing myself anywhere but at the gym. AND I can only use the scale in his office. (Probably because of my theory that "someone" was messing with the calibration of the scale after hours. Hey, it's possible!) AND, I can only weigh myself once a week.
Before these rules were enacted, I was obsessed with the numbers. If I had good numbers, I had a great workout. I practically floated on the treadmill. When I had bad numbers, I was miserable. I thought to myself, "Why am I even enduring this??" It was tough working past it.
So, make yourself happier, and ignore those numbers. You are just torturing yourself.
They are just numbers.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Flashback to Failed Diet- Plastic Surgery
Well of course I went there! Don'tcha know me by now?? After the disappointing failure of my chopstick diet, I knew that I needed something extreme.
Extreme.
So, I turn to my good friend and confidant, my T.V. As with the rest of America, I was mesmerized by the plastic surgery shows that suddenly monopolized our T.V's. It amazed me that within an hour, a woman could be completely transformed into the woman that she wanted to be. Boob jobs, lipo, chemical peels, spray tan, veneers, extensions. Husbands couldn't recognize wives, and mothers couldn't recognize their own daughters.
I LOVED IT.
So, I (discreetly) asked around, and got the number of a highly respected doctor. I called and made an appointment. (forgetting to mention it to Mr. Hummingbird, naturally) The doctor was located in Newport Beach Ca, which apparently is only 2nd to Beverly Hills in the sheer number of plastic surgeons per capita. I was actually excited and was looking forward to this.
When I arrived, I was surprised to find such a quiet normal looking office. I'm not sure what I was expecting....naked pics on the walls?? Strippers in the waiting room? A stripper pole in the lobby? I waited 45 mins in a non descript exam room. They had me fully clothed, which I thought was a little strange. When the Dr. came in, I was faced to face with a small, grandmother-ly, beehived woman. She sat down with me, and started discussing what procedures I was considering. (she added the "s" at the end. I was strictly looking for a one procedure. I'm guessing she took one look at me, and decided that I could use a lot of work.) I told her that I was interested in lipo.
"where?"
I wasn't prepared for this question. I was thinking, "well, everywhere."
She started asking me a lot of questions about my medical history. I was making me nervous that I wasn't (for once!) undressed, and that she wasn't examining me. She then started asking me about my breasts. (To be honest with you, I HAD considered getting them done, since they were getting flat and saggy.) We talked about my saggy breasts for a while. Then, she said, "Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I cannot do a surgery on you."
WHAAAA? I was totally not ready for this.
She continued, "I cannot do any surgery on you until you lose some weight. It's just not safe."
I was shocked.
SHOCKED.
I stood there with a dumb look on my face, and my mouth hanging open.
She then tells me that she would like to exam me now. She asks me to undress.
RIGHT. THERE.
Talk about awkward. I'm trying to undress myself, and she is sitting there, waiting for me. She comes at me with a tape measure, and starts to write down my measurements. (I close my eyes, and think about rainbows and ponies.) When she's done, she announces, "Yes, you would do well with breast implants, but you would also need a lift."
Okaaay.
"but I don't do those both at the same time. And I can't do any surgery until you lose weight."
So, now I'm getting pissed. If she knew that I wasn't a good candidate, why was I standing there in my underwear? AND we've all see the extreme make-over shows where they do a marathon surgeries all at once. Never mind these surgeries are usually on an obese person. WE ALL KNOW THIS TO BE A FACT. (right?!?) I just couldn't understand how this whole situation turned so akward and ugly.
But here was my reality:
I was too fat for lipo.
Extreme.
So, I turn to my good friend and confidant, my T.V. As with the rest of America, I was mesmerized by the plastic surgery shows that suddenly monopolized our T.V's. It amazed me that within an hour, a woman could be completely transformed into the woman that she wanted to be. Boob jobs, lipo, chemical peels, spray tan, veneers, extensions. Husbands couldn't recognize wives, and mothers couldn't recognize their own daughters.
I LOVED IT.
So, I (discreetly) asked around, and got the number of a highly respected doctor. I called and made an appointment. (forgetting to mention it to Mr. Hummingbird, naturally) The doctor was located in Newport Beach Ca, which apparently is only 2nd to Beverly Hills in the sheer number of plastic surgeons per capita. I was actually excited and was looking forward to this.
When I arrived, I was surprised to find such a quiet normal looking office. I'm not sure what I was expecting....naked pics on the walls?? Strippers in the waiting room? A stripper pole in the lobby? I waited 45 mins in a non descript exam room. They had me fully clothed, which I thought was a little strange. When the Dr. came in, I was faced to face with a small, grandmother-ly, beehived woman. She sat down with me, and started discussing what procedures I was considering. (she added the "s" at the end. I was strictly looking for a one procedure. I'm guessing she took one look at me, and decided that I could use a lot of work.) I told her that I was interested in lipo.
"where?"
I wasn't prepared for this question. I was thinking, "well, everywhere."
She started asking me a lot of questions about my medical history. I was making me nervous that I wasn't (for once!) undressed, and that she wasn't examining me. She then started asking me about my breasts. (To be honest with you, I HAD considered getting them done, since they were getting flat and saggy.) We talked about my saggy breasts for a while. Then, she said, "Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I cannot do a surgery on you."
WHAAAA? I was totally not ready for this.
She continued, "I cannot do any surgery on you until you lose some weight. It's just not safe."
I was shocked.
SHOCKED.
I stood there with a dumb look on my face, and my mouth hanging open.
She then tells me that she would like to exam me now. She asks me to undress.
RIGHT. THERE.
Talk about awkward. I'm trying to undress myself, and she is sitting there, waiting for me. She comes at me with a tape measure, and starts to write down my measurements. (I close my eyes, and think about rainbows and ponies.) When she's done, she announces, "Yes, you would do well with breast implants, but you would also need a lift."
Okaaay.
"but I don't do those both at the same time. And I can't do any surgery until you lose weight."
So, now I'm getting pissed. If she knew that I wasn't a good candidate, why was I standing there in my underwear? AND we've all see the extreme make-over shows where they do a marathon surgeries all at once. Never mind these surgeries are usually on an obese person. WE ALL KNOW THIS TO BE A FACT. (right?!?) I just couldn't understand how this whole situation turned so akward and ugly.
But here was my reality:
I was too fat for lipo.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The Devil Invented Artificial Sweeteners
Have you ever noticed, that when you are on a diet, your breath gets stinkier than normal?
No?
Okay, then it might just be me. I have the worst breath when I'm dieting. So, I'm really good about brushing, flossing, and having gum/mints around. (raise your hands if you floss. *raises hand* I'm obsessed with flossing.) I really think it has to do with the foods I'm eating, or not eating. My stomach is emptier than normal, so I imagine that the acids in there are bubblin' over. Thus, producing a noxious cloud of asparagus breath. (be happy that you don't have to stand close to me in a stuck elevator)
I especially like to have some gum or a mint before I meet with Tyrese. (because he is always all up in my grill, yo') I've pretty much offended him in every other way possible, so I want to avoid this last embarrassment. (Let's keep this one sacred. *snicker*) On occasion, I forget my gum so I suck on a cough drop. (did I mention that I'm 100% addicted to cough drops? Ever since this day.) Cough drops cover bad breath really well.
Well, one of my coworkers received a gift basket full of fun snacks. She separated her stash, and gave me most of the goodies. Included was a bag of sugarless candies. I put these in my bag, happy that I had something sugarless since my diet prohibited anything with sugar in it. (BTW, it also prohibits anything with artificial sweeteners, but Tyrese lets it slide. I think he's aware of the stinky breath problem that his clients are enduring) On the way to the gym, I pop a candy in my mouth. It was surprisingly tasteful, so I had another. I check the bag, and the serving size is 4 candies, so I figure I can have at least four total before I get to the gym. As I pull into the parking lot, I feel unusually bloated.
Weird.
As I park my car, I hear a rumbling grumbling sound. I trace the sound, and realize it's coming from me!
More squeaking, and moaning.
I trace the sound deep in my bowels.
I start to panic.
I grab my stuff, and run to the locker room. I barely make it in time. I'll save you the gory details, but lets just say my body has turned to liquid, from my neck down.
LIQUID!
I spend a very, very long time in the bathroom, praying for a quick death. I manage to get my stuff together, peek my head out of the locker room, and tell Tyrese that I don't feel good and have to cancel. (I must look like hell, since he doesn't even try to talk me into staying.) I grab my stuff, and walk slowly to my car.
I sit in the car, concentrating.
I have a 45 minute drive home.
On the freeway.
In afternoon traffic.
45 mins.
I clench my sphincter, and pray.
I barely, just barely make it home in one piece. (At one point, I was tempted to pull over on the side of the freeway, but did some deep breathing and managed through it.) I'm tired, bloated, sweating, and I have bad breath. But, I'm home. I sit in my private sanctuary for at least three hours.
A few days later, I'm at a business lunch. I just devoured a chicken breast, which was covered in onions. I reach into my purse, and pop a mint.
Wait a second!
I was on mint number 3 before I realized what I had just done.
Within minutes, I heard the familiar rumbling.....again.
Another night of suffering
The next day, I put the remaining candies in the candy dish in the lobby of my office.
Suckers.
No?
Okay, then it might just be me. I have the worst breath when I'm dieting. So, I'm really good about brushing, flossing, and having gum/mints around. (raise your hands if you floss. *raises hand* I'm obsessed with flossing.) I really think it has to do with the foods I'm eating, or not eating. My stomach is emptier than normal, so I imagine that the acids in there are bubblin' over. Thus, producing a noxious cloud of asparagus breath. (be happy that you don't have to stand close to me in a stuck elevator)
I especially like to have some gum or a mint before I meet with Tyrese. (because he is always all up in my grill, yo') I've pretty much offended him in every other way possible, so I want to avoid this last embarrassment. (Let's keep this one sacred. *snicker*) On occasion, I forget my gum so I suck on a cough drop. (did I mention that I'm 100% addicted to cough drops? Ever since this day.) Cough drops cover bad breath really well.
Well, one of my coworkers received a gift basket full of fun snacks. She separated her stash, and gave me most of the goodies. Included was a bag of sugarless candies. I put these in my bag, happy that I had something sugarless since my diet prohibited anything with sugar in it. (BTW, it also prohibits anything with artificial sweeteners, but Tyrese lets it slide. I think he's aware of the stinky breath problem that his clients are enduring) On the way to the gym, I pop a candy in my mouth. It was surprisingly tasteful, so I had another. I check the bag, and the serving size is 4 candies, so I figure I can have at least four total before I get to the gym. As I pull into the parking lot, I feel unusually bloated.
Weird.
As I park my car, I hear a rumbling grumbling sound. I trace the sound, and realize it's coming from me!
More squeaking, and moaning.
I trace the sound deep in my bowels.
I start to panic.
I grab my stuff, and run to the locker room. I barely make it in time. I'll save you the gory details, but lets just say my body has turned to liquid, from my neck down.
LIQUID!
I spend a very, very long time in the bathroom, praying for a quick death. I manage to get my stuff together, peek my head out of the locker room, and tell Tyrese that I don't feel good and have to cancel. (I must look like hell, since he doesn't even try to talk me into staying.) I grab my stuff, and walk slowly to my car.
I sit in the car, concentrating.
I have a 45 minute drive home.
On the freeway.
In afternoon traffic.
45 mins.
I clench my sphincter, and pray.
I barely, just barely make it home in one piece. (At one point, I was tempted to pull over on the side of the freeway, but did some deep breathing and managed through it.) I'm tired, bloated, sweating, and I have bad breath. But, I'm home. I sit in my private sanctuary for at least three hours.
A few days later, I'm at a business lunch. I just devoured a chicken breast, which was covered in onions. I reach into my purse, and pop a mint.
Wait a second!
I was on mint number 3 before I realized what I had just done.
Within minutes, I heard the familiar rumbling.....again.
Another night of suffering
The next day, I put the remaining candies in the candy dish in the lobby of my office.
Suckers.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Questions of the Universe Answered
1. How can I afford all of this?
Well, I'll admit that I have spent way, way, way too much money on this journey. It hurts me when I think about all the money on spent on this. My secret is that I have been lucky to have invented some things that have actually sold. I can't give out too many details (confidentially agreement) but I can tell you that I didn't invent an actual item, but manage to sell my ideas to a big corporation. (I know, I know, it sounds like I'm trying to sell something on an infomercial) Anyways, this allows me a little bit of extra cash for my adventures. Nowadays, it goes to my kids college funds.
2. Is your husband still working out?
Nope. He stopped working out with the trainer. He decided that he didn't "need" a trainer, and that he could do it all on his own.
Phhttt..... We've heard that one before, right?
3. Have you lost all your weight and this is a story of how you got there? Or are you still fighting the battle now?
I lost the weight, by working with Tyrese. I managed to get pregnant, and gained some of it back. I eventually started working out again, and lost some of it. Got pregnant again, and gain it back. Worked it off again. But, it wasn't an easy battle.
4. How is the mystery man you have lunch with sometimes?
Ahhh....the mystery man. I crossed the line, and asked him about his weight. It was both good and bad. Good that he knew that he wasn't alone. Good that he had me to talk to about it. Bad that it's now become all we talk about.
5. What do you look like without the black smear across your face?
Wha? I have that black smear across my face. It's a birthmark.
Thanks for bringing it up.
J/K
6. Does your husband really not know you spend all this money on losing weight? Do you have separate accts. or something? It seems like something he would figure out.
My husband has not seen a bill or a checkbook in 12 years. I doubt he can figure out where we bank. I don't think he can even tell you how much a gallon of milk costs. He's a bit on the naive side, but I like 'em like that.
7. Who is the celebrity trainer?
I'm not comfortable giving out his name, but I can tell you that you've probably seen him on late night t.v. Specifically infomercials.
8. What has helped you the most?
Having someone to be accountable to. Knowing that if I try to skip out on a workout, I'll get called out on it. And, if the scale doesn't go down, no excuses will be heard. (It's been tough. I'm not used to not being able to talk myself out of a situation.)
9. What is your weakness?
Food wise? Alcohol. (but not in a drinking-out-of-the-brown-paper-bag-in-the-gutter kind of thing.) Having a glass of wine at a nice dinner. Having a beer at a BBQ. Having champagne at a wedding. Those are the toughest times for me.
10. What is my first name?
I've never said. You can call me CrazyAss.
P.S. I had a dream about bacon last night. (Those of you that are fighting the battle, are nodding your head right now.)
Well, I'll admit that I have spent way, way, way too much money on this journey. It hurts me when I think about all the money on spent on this. My secret is that I have been lucky to have invented some things that have actually sold. I can't give out too many details (confidentially agreement) but I can tell you that I didn't invent an actual item, but manage to sell my ideas to a big corporation. (I know, I know, it sounds like I'm trying to sell something on an infomercial) Anyways, this allows me a little bit of extra cash for my adventures. Nowadays, it goes to my kids college funds.
2. Is your husband still working out?
Nope. He stopped working out with the trainer. He decided that he didn't "need" a trainer, and that he could do it all on his own.
Phhttt..... We've heard that one before, right?
3. Have you lost all your weight and this is a story of how you got there? Or are you still fighting the battle now?
I lost the weight, by working with Tyrese. I managed to get pregnant, and gained some of it back. I eventually started working out again, and lost some of it. Got pregnant again, and gain it back. Worked it off again. But, it wasn't an easy battle.
4. How is the mystery man you have lunch with sometimes?
Ahhh....the mystery man. I crossed the line, and asked him about his weight. It was both good and bad. Good that he knew that he wasn't alone. Good that he had me to talk to about it. Bad that it's now become all we talk about.
5. What do you look like without the black smear across your face?
Wha? I have that black smear across my face. It's a birthmark.
Thanks for bringing it up.
J/K
6. Does your husband really not know you spend all this money on losing weight? Do you have separate accts. or something? It seems like something he would figure out.
My husband has not seen a bill or a checkbook in 12 years. I doubt he can figure out where we bank. I don't think he can even tell you how much a gallon of milk costs. He's a bit on the naive side, but I like 'em like that.
7. Who is the celebrity trainer?
I'm not comfortable giving out his name, but I can tell you that you've probably seen him on late night t.v. Specifically infomercials.
8. What has helped you the most?
Having someone to be accountable to. Knowing that if I try to skip out on a workout, I'll get called out on it. And, if the scale doesn't go down, no excuses will be heard. (It's been tough. I'm not used to not being able to talk myself out of a situation.)
9. What is your weakness?
Food wise? Alcohol. (but not in a drinking-out-of-the-brown-paper-bag-in-the-gutter kind of thing.) Having a glass of wine at a nice dinner. Having a beer at a BBQ. Having champagne at a wedding. Those are the toughest times for me.
10. What is my first name?
I've never said. You can call me CrazyAss.
P.S. I had a dream about bacon last night. (Those of you that are fighting the battle, are nodding your head right now.)
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Quarterly Reports
I have so much to tell you!
But, alas, I'm drowning in quarterly reports right now. (don't worry, as I get an interesting thought, I'm writing it down on a Post It note. My desk is littered with them.) With the economy being the way it is, I've had to dedicate myself to keeping my job.
Anyways, I don't want to leave you hanging, so I'm opening up the floor for questions. Please ask your questions in the comments section, and I will post the answers as soon as I get a chance.
Kthxbai.
But, alas, I'm drowning in quarterly reports right now. (don't worry, as I get an interesting thought, I'm writing it down on a Post It note. My desk is littered with them.) With the economy being the way it is, I've had to dedicate myself to keeping my job.
Anyways, I don't want to leave you hanging, so I'm opening up the floor for questions. Please ask your questions in the comments section, and I will post the answers as soon as I get a chance.
Kthxbai.
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