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When I last left you folks, I was on my way into a city court that shall remain nameless to beg the clerks to put my emergency application through and get me in before a judge. I spent most of that morning frantically writing my papers based on new information I had, and then most of the afternoon cowering in the clerk's office while the supervisor threw another lawyer's papers around yelling "THIS IS NOT GETTING DONE THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS! I HATE YOU PEOPLE! YOU'RE ALL SC*M!"
Tell us how you really feel, Mr. Supervisor.
He really wasn't all that different from the mental patient (literally) I saw leaving the mental health courtroom the day before. This fine specimen was observed steamrolling through the halls as he left the courtroom screaming "S*CK MY *bleep*" over and over. He was followed by a dogged crew of court officers in front, to the side and behind him, a reverse multi-human shield protecting the other folks in the hallways, myself included.
That was just after I'd stepped into the courtroom to get in front of the judge, and was told by the court officer at the door that I had to wait outside the courtroom by the elevators because "it wasn't safe" inside the courtroom with the mental health litigants.
Glad I took his advice and waited in the hall.
So the courthouse was a complete madhouse the days before Christmas, filled with people who didn't want to be there (or who didn't know exactly where they were). Friday was no different. But a miracle happened at about 3 PM Friday, when the judge I finally got in front of actually signed my emergency order. I got it done. What a relief.
I still haven't returned to pre-insanity OP eating, but I'm not being a huge pig either. My mother sent a Triple Treat Harry and David fruit thingie for Chanukah. Three words: Royal. Riviera. Pears. How was I to be strong in the face of one (or six) of those!?
One really weird thing to report to all of you, though. Dan somehow tricked me into joining the gym. He's been going for 2 weeks now. He came home with this little innocent looking paper...."30 days free" and he just gave it to me and said "you know, in case you want to try it". Oh, he's so slick, that Dan.
And you know what? I went with him. I know. Crazy! On Tuesday I joined up on a monthly basis, and I actually worked out (Jury's still out on whether the pod people have taken my body, or whether this is actually me going to the gym).
Wednesday morning before work I went in for a quick cardio workout, but I think I burned the most calories when I was getting ready for work in the locker room and overheard some skinny vapid creature complaining about how she can't eat like fat people, because she just throws up. She explained that she'd eaten chocolate on Christmas and spent the next 2 days barfing (which pleased me, I admit). She then spent at least 5 minutes looking in the mirror in the locker room and poking at her flat belly and non existent ass, admonishing herself ("gosh you're so chubby!"). The coup de grace was when she went on to complain about the 4 hour work out she had planned for the day.
I burned at least 100 calories restraining myself from slapping her.
I used to love the gym when I was in my 20's and early 30's. Maybe I'll find that love again. I hate looking at that umpa lumpa that stares back at me while I face the mirror doing shoulders with free weights. Who the hell is that chubster, anyway? Oh. Right. She's me.
I did discover an up side to attending the gym when Dan goes too. If I time it just right, I can meet him at the end of his cardio and watch his tush while he's on the elliptical machine. And? From time to time I can steal looks at his calves while he's working his legs on the standing calf machine. If I have to go to the gym, it's nice to have these momentary incentives...and if that makes me a creepy perv then so be it.
I yam what I yam. Happy New Year to you all. Again, hoping the New Year brings you all food you hate, and people you love. |
Disaster. It spells disaster. For me anyway. Why can't I be one of those people who can't eat when they're stressed or upset?
I have a situation at work that has just completely turned things on it's head. I was in Court all day yesterday waiting to see a judge, and in my rush to get out of the house I left my bars on the counter! I didn't eat anything til I got home, but it had my whole day screwed up completely. And yes, I used to have emergency bars in my bag....but I ate them!
I'm going to be running back to court today to see the judge on an emergency, and I can't imagine trying to get in to see a judge on the last work day before Christmas is going to be easy or fun. But I'm stashing a bunch of bars, and crossing my fingers that the day goes well.
I haven't been 100% OP this week, but I somehow still managed to drop a smidge (.2) and that's a real, actual smidge. Go check the definition.
But it's better than gaining, I'll take it as a win with all this stress going on.
I'm wishing all my friends here happy holidays. May your gatherings be filled with family, friends and foods you absolutely hate!
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So, The Chanukah party was great fun. As suggested (Michaele!), I did wear a pretty tight pair of pants (aren't they all!?), but that didn't impede me. I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, I wasn't an angel.
But the next day was a whole new day, so I started out yesterday on plan.
My kid had a Chanukah check burning a whole in his pocket, so after Hebrew school (and two crunch bars while I waited for him in the cafe for a couple of hours), I shuttled the little whipper snapper over to Target, where we shopped for his gift and some other things for the house. He wanted to make cookies, so I whipped out my phone and looked up the recipe to see if I needed to pick up anything.
And that was the last I saw of my phone.
I continued to shop. We paid. We got the kid a couple of pizzas. (I'm really hungry, Mom). The smell of the pizza is divine, but I figure, eh, only a couple of minutes till we're home and I'll make chicken noodle soup. I'm determined to hang in there. We get to the car, my son excited to get home and build the lego sets he picked with his gift money as he stuffs that pizza into his mouth. I drive away....and then reach for my phone.
Gone.
Panic sets in. I've only eaten 2 meals, I'm starving, and I can't find my phone. This is shaping up to be a bad day. Contingency plans are made: I'll go home, leave my son with Dan and run back to Target to see if it was turned in. When we get home though, no Dan. He was at the gym. So I send a message to the phone from my computer "find my droid" which makes the phone beep and vibrate in a really annoying way. I'm hoping it's in the car, beeping between the seats.
Nope.
Now I have visions of the phone beeping somewhere in the refrigerated meats section of Target, or in some thief's hands. Urgency mounts. I have to find that phone. My son and I run back to Target, all while he's munching 2 personal pizzas happily in the back. The smell is killing me.
We get to Target. No phone. Not turned in. Not in any of the places we'd been in the store since I looked up the recipe. Not even any crazy beeping anywhere in the store. I leave my number with the guard (almost left my cell phone number! Duh). I trudge back to the car with my kid, figuring it's going to be a long fun night later at Verizon while I go to buy my new phone.
As I drive back, I'm still panicking. I need to call Verizon and turn off the phone. You know, before whoever has it calls Zimbabwe. It's now 1 PM, and I've only had 2 meals. My stomach grumbles. I reach for a pizza crust....take a bite....then stop.
This is madness. I'm going to eat the pizza crust because I lost my phone!? No. So I put it back, and I tossed it in the trash as soon as I got back to the house.
By this point, I'm figuring, ok. This is a sign from the universe. The universe wants me to get an iphone! And if the universe wants me to get an iphone, well, who am I to foil the universe's master plan? I was still pretty upset to have lost the droid, but the thought of getting an iphone was almost assuaging my angst.
I get in the house, and shoot an email to Dan to let him know what's going on. Someone took my phone (I assume the worst) And then 2 minutes later he shoots me an email. "Peter (my ex husband) has your phone. A woman in the parking lot at Target found it and called him. He went to go get it for you; he said he'd put it in our mailbox if you weren't home".
Out to the mailbox. What do I see? Yup. My phone. My ex had beaten me back to the house, and had dropped it in the mailbox.
Wonders never cease.
Then I get a call from my friend Troy, in London. "Sam, I just got a message on Facebook from a person who said she found your phone, but she didn't leave her name or number. She just used your account and left that message for me." Troy was the last person I'd spoken to online. I fill him in. It's ironic, because the day before, Troy's had his phone and wallet stolen. Which completely sucks.
Then later last night I get a Facebook message from Bonnie, a friend from right here on this site. Apparently this person also messaged Bonnie from my account, and this time she left her name. So last night I emailed this mysterious angel, who found my phone in the parking lot, who went to great lengths to return the phone to me, messaging and calling friends until she got in touch with the ex. Then she even waits there in the lot for my ex to get there and retrieve the phone. Amazing.
Also amazing is the fact that my ex husband dropped what he was doing (he was on his break from work, and he was eating lunch) and met this woman to pick up my phone. Then he drove back to my house and put the phone in my mailbox.
The rest of the day I was back on plan, and marveling that mankind is not completely bereft of kindness.
Oh, and I guess the universe does not want me to have an iphone. |
Down just shy of another pound this morning. Looks like I'm going to go back to averaging about 2 pounds a week, which is ok by me. I'm now down 8.6 pounds.
This morning I made chocolate chip pancakes. As I scraped the batter into the pan, I spied a hair. A black, scraggly hair. There's no mistaking it. It's a dog hair. In my batter. I guess the dog read my blog yesterday.
This was her retribution.
You know what I did about this insidious scraggly hair in my pancake batter?
Well, I wasn't about to waste a meal, that's for sure. I kept pouring that batter. After all, a hair can be picked out. And if I couldn't get it? Hell. It might help fill me up.
Sadly I ran into another problem. The batter was too thick. It wouldn't pour right. I tried to fix it with more water, but that screwed it up even more. So in the garbage the batter went dog hair and all.
The dog's evil plans foiled, the next batch was sublime. Perfect consistency. I got 2 nice sized pancakes, with a little baby one to compliment them.
Does anyone find it odd that eating a dog hair was not my number one concern? That the thing that got the batch tossed was the poor consistency and not my dog's contribution to the recipe? Yeah, me either.
I have news in the fat clothes department. When I started this 2 weeks ago, I had only 2 pairs of fat pants. And I refuse to buy more. I'm going to wear those bad boys till they stand up on all on their own. Ok, so I'll wash them. A lot. But still. Anyway, happy to report that as of yesterday I had 3 pairs of fat pants. I finally fit back into a pair of pants that hadn't fit for a bit. Now, they're still fat pants because, well....I'm fat and pants on a fat woman are correctly deemed fat pants. But I've added a pair to my repertoire and that doesn't suck.
Alright. Off to finish laundry before the family Chanukah party. Today, latkes (potato pancakes) are my kryptonite. |
Food is fuel.
That's what I had to keep saying to myself quietly yesterday as I chugged along through the streets of Manhattan. I was tired and hungry, although I'd had my morning meal before work.
Speaking of which, have any of you tried the new Orange Blend drink!? I got a sample with my order the other day. It was fabulous! Just like having a drink of OJ before stepping out the door. Ok, not just like that, but kinda like that if you haven't had OJ in a billion years. Which I haven't. It's been years since I've had the stuff since it's so full of sugar. So I truly enjoyed the Orange Blend. I'll definitely order it next time around.
On the way back from Manhattan yesterday, I had to pass Zabars at the train station in Newark. Zabars is a well known bakery in the New York Metro area, and they have the most gorgeous looking things. As I wrenched my eyes from the counter displaying all sorts of cakes and breads I muttered "food is fuel" over and over. I saw at least one crazy bag lady move away from me as I walked along talking to myself. She knew the deal. She might be crazy, but I was crazy and hungry, and that's a whole different ball game. Even bag people know that.
For lunch I had the Sloppy Joe. It was pretty good. The only thing wrong with it was that there wasn't enough. I wanted more.
But I didn't need more. Again, I had to murmur to myself : Food is fuel. This time, only the dog was present to witness my semi-break with reality. She looked at me cautiously. Yes, dog. Make the wrong move, and I might just eat you.
I don't know why yesterday was so terribly hard. Later, I even caught myself looking disgustedly at the slim teenage cashier at the grocery store, who was sitting on a bench at the front of the store happily munching on Cheetos during her break.
I wanted to slap her.
When am I going to get to eat Cheetos on my break and be thin? Huh? Huh? When? Oh. Never. Never!!!
Yup. Never.
Why are some days harder than others? I wonder. All I know is, I woke up this morning, took care of business, stripped down including my scrunchy (it's gotta weight an ounce). With nary a thread of clothes, I stood there on the scale contemplating shaving my head. My hair has to weigh at least a pound.....
Down one pound.
Ok, I'll take it! And I get to keep my hair. Winning!
One last thing. If you're looking at my page, you'll see it says "You lost 75 pounds". Yeah. Sure. Maybe on the moon.
So let me explain. When I logged in this morning, in my pre-coffee morning stupor, I logged in the wrong number. The computer spat out a celebratory announcement "HURRAY! You've Reached Goal!" It sent me an email congratulating me too. And then it put that stupid message on my page.
One day it'll be true. Just not this day.
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I used the men's room today. And that's not one of my euphemisms. I really and truly used the men's room. I had to pee, and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do when the ladies' room is "occupied". I announced this proudly to the other women in the office, who were suitably horrified. One of the men at the office whole heartedly approved, by the way.
Frankly, I was more than a little relieved to slip into that men's room. Lately there's been some mystery chick who has been stankin up the joint in the ladies' room. I don't know who she is, but man, is her commitment to odor impressive.
Anyway, the men's room wasn't all that bad. In fact, it was downright fragrant compared to the general stank of the ladies' room these days. And? The seat was nice and clean (Thanks, guys!). Apparently not all men pee on the seat - just the 8 year old variety.
Some of you might remember how I love to talk about going to the bathroom, so I figured, let me take this little gem of an experience and find the nugget of inspiration. So here it is.
Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.
Think about that. It applies to all areas of your life, be it sneaking into the men's room for a tinkle when there are no other options besides a burst bladder, or be it eating an on plan meal before going out to a party so you don't cheat, or telling co-workers you're dieting so they won't offer you a cookie, or just saying no to a glass of wine.
Do what you gotta do.
Sometimes you just have to do something in order to continue along living a happy and productive life. It doesn't matter how hard it is, or how unconventional it is. It has to be done. And if you're treating yourself right, then I say it's ok to break a few rules, so long as you follow a few others. For example, do what you have to, so long as no one gets hurt. Go ahead. Pee where you want. It won't hurt anyone if you sneak into the men's room when nature calls. It's ok to put yourself first and above societal convention when it comes to something important.
Do what you gotta do.
It won't hurt anyone that you've chosen this plan, even when some might find it unconventional. It won't hurt anyone when you say "no thanks" to the food at a party, or wine at dinner. It won't hurt anyone if you tell people you're dieting, and it won't hurt anyone if you cook one meal for yourself and then another for your family. It won't hurt if you sit with the food scale at the dinner table, while your family shovels the food onto plates.
Do what you gotta do.
It won't hurt anyone if you only have 2 pairs of fat pants (yes, I'm talking about myself) and you have to wear them all week long unless you want to go to work naked. (Just wash them frequently or you're going to traverse into breaking the rule "just don't hurt anyone" with an unconscionable stink). Don't go out and buy more fat clothes, even if nothing you have fits now. Because soon your old skinny clothes will fit again, or you'll be out there buying new skinny clothes. Either way, you're not hurting anyone with your sp*rse (put an a in for the *.....would you believe that gets censored?) wardrobe choices.
Do what you gotta do.
I realize that this is a mantra I've always had when I've centered on a goal and moved towards it. I followed this mantra the first time around on medifast, and I followed it when Dan and I tried IVF. I follow it at work each and every day. If you have any control, failure should not be an option (sometimes you have no control, like with the IVF, but a failure should never be for lack of trying, or for lack of doing what you have to do to achieve the best possible results).
I'm learning to take this thing that I do have control over, and I'm learning to do what I gotta do to get to where I want to be.
And that's why you should all run out tomorrow and pee in the men's room.
It's inspiring.
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I changed my photo.
Why? I no longer look like this:
Woah. That's a big photo. Sorry.
Even that chick up there was starting to get a little paunchy. I was certainly bigger at my wedding than I was at my lowest on this plan in 2009:
Geez! I even had collar bones in that blue dress! Good lord. Where has that girl gone?
Now I look like the purple sweatshirted girl in my avatar. Granted, she's got no make up to speak of and she's sporting the soccer mom pony tail pull back hairstyle, but still. That's me, now. And lately I feel a lot more comfortable in clothes that cover me up, instead of showing me off.
I still feel like the woman in that wedding dress sometimes, except with 50 pounds or so of added fat for your viewing pleasure. When I think of what 50 pounds of raw chicken boob looks like.....and then I think of that shlobbed all over that body you see up there....damn. That's a disgusting thought. But it's truth.
So it was time to change the photo, because the photo should match the woman. The real woman. And now it does.
Hopefully the real woman will continue to shrink, so I can finally look and feel like that woman up there in those photos. I just have to stick to this, and push through.
I don't know if this is in my mind, or what, but after losing just shy of 7 pounds in the first week I already feel a little better. My fat pants are a little loose (the fat pants I had to buy at Lane Bryant. I swear I heard that saleswoman snicker when she saw me come in, tail between my legs). The trip up the stairs isn't quite as onerous. I feel a teency bit smaller. And I am. I mean, 7 pounds of raw chicken boob, ladies and gentlemen. That's what's gone so far. That's a lot!
I'll admit. It's been hard. I've been hungry enough to eat my dog's hind leg (maybe that's why she hasn't been hanging around me lately). I've been crankier than all get out (my son asked me yesterday- "Mommy, are you grumpy today?"). But I have not given in. I don't want to lose ground. So I'll drink my shakes, I'll eat my friggin' oatmeal, and I'll drink water til my bladder bursts.
Alright. That's enough blogging for one day. Time to grab the crisco and slide myself into some clothes for work! |
I killed it this week. I woke up this morning energized and kinda excited to visit the porcelain god so I could prepare for my weekly appointment with the scale. After all the pre-weighing hoopla was done, I hopped on, squinting the sleep out of my eyes and straining to see the results.
I could not believe what I saw.
I'm down a total of 6.8 pounds this week. That's nearly 7 pounds! That's amazing. And don't tell me that it's all water weight. It's not. I know this because my clothes are indeed looser, I have the weird ketosis taste in my mouth almost all the time, I don't feel the rolls of fat on my back and I'm drinking water like crazy.
These results are even better than when I first did this plan back in November of 2009. Granted, I'm fatter this time too. But still. Amazing.
I know I'm going to slow now, but I'm pretty psyched that I'm already significantly into this and it's working.
The greatest incentive in the world is seeing your progress so soon! |
Now that I've felt and seen some junk come out of the the trunk, I'm starting to look forward to what I know I have ahead of me if I stick to it. For example: - Soon, I'll have only 2 boobs again. Presently, I'm sporting about 4. In the front. My cups spilleth over. But soon, very soon, I can look forward to slapping those puppies into a bra and having them look....well....less rebellious.
- I won't need to buy stock in Johnson's Baby Powder.
- I'll be able to wrap the towel completely around me, and walk out of the bathroom without giving everyone in the house a free show. This, in turn, will save our family a bundle in psychotherapy bills.
- I'll get to go shopping for clothes! All the money we save in psychotherapy bills will be diverted to my new clothing fund. Yay! (Sorry, Dan)
- I'll be able to cross my legs like a proper lady. Too bad I'll never actually be a proper lady, but that's probably a project for a different community entirely.
- I won't require a stick of butter on each hip so I can fit between two people on the PATH train. This is good because butter stains.
- I'll be able to wear a dress again without it looking like maternity wear. Tent makers everywhere will have extra material to build tents.
- I won't be able to store pencils in that weird crevice under my belly. I'll have to start carrying them in my purse!
- I'll be able to see things better when I shave. Maybe I'll even put a little design in that bad boy to celebrate.
- I'll be able to breathe when I'm wearing my jeans. Breathing really is all it's cracked up to be.
- I'll be able to get back and forth to court without feeling like I just did a triathlon. Maybe I'll even exercise on purpose. Maybe.
Oh, I'm sure the list goes on. I'll add to it as I go.
Meanwhile, I have to say, it's kind of nice to have something to focus on that doesn't involve shooting myself full of hormones. I'm doing this for me, and for Dan, and for my kid. For people who are here, now, not for the wisp of a chance of possible, potential, but maybe never will be - baby.
I'm chasing after a dream I have some control over, instead of one I have only a small marginal impact on. Maybe as I continue losing, there will be more consolation to come.
In the meantime, I'll find consolation in the little things. Like a 5.8 drop in weight so far. Not too shabby. |
Five. point. Eight. Pounds. DOWN!
Yeah, that's right. I'm almost 6 pounds down, and not even a whole week has gone by yet. This morning the scale was calling to me, and I allowed myself the indulgence. I knew I was down; I could feel it. Plus, I'd just dropped the kids off at the pool, so, you know, I was bound to be lighter.
But I never imagined it was this good. There's nothing like stepping on that scale to see 5.8 pounds gone in less than a week. Oh, yes, I do love me some Medifast. Today, I feel a little less like this:
That's Tree Trunks. She's an elephant that talks and makes apple pies.
Anyway, I digress. I was a little worried that I'd lose slower this time around, because I've been on this before and for quite a while. I've heard that "recommitting" to the Medifast Funny Farm often results in slower losses.
But nope! I'm wondering if I can hit 6 pounds down for the week....or wait for it....wait for it....maybe 7? That would be quite the incentive to keep on keepin' on.
Well, this is a short blog, because for some weird reason my boss expects me to go work this morning. He's such a stickler.
Let me leave you with this positively hilarious PSA by Katherine Heigl. It mentions the word "balls" quite frequently, so you might not want to watch it at work. It's all for a good cause, the spaying and neutering of pets. http://ihateballs.com/ You boys out there might want to give it serious consideration. With just a snip of the ol' scissors, you could be down another pound, and go from 98% cute to 100% adorable..... |
It's Day 4 back on plan. The headache's gone, and this is becoming second nature to me again. I even had the weird taste in my mouth yesterday, so I know I've finally arrived at the Great Wall of Ketosis.
I haven't even killed one single human being. Yet.
Oh, and I've got more energy. Normally by 10 PM I'm completely spent, ready to hit the hay. I can't even make it through a television show past 10. But last night, after watching Next Iron chef, I turned to Dan and said, "Let's watch the next episode". He looked at me weirdly, certain that pod people had taken my body.... but he agreed to put it on, teasing me that "I'd probably fall asleep before it was over". But no. I was wide awake at 11 PM too.
And yes, we watch Next Iron Chef. And no, it's not tempting at all. Somehow an octopus cupcake or a lobster ice cream does not sound appealing in the least, no matter how many carbs it has.
The moral of the story? Medifast gives you more time to watch TV! A diet plan that makes your commitment to television watching more solid!? They oughta advertise that!
I have had challenges, though. My office is in the same town as the Nabisco plant. Can you imagine what it smells like when their little Nabisco elves (Nabisco has elves, they just don't put them in commercials - true story) are in there making cookies?
Yesterday morning as I got out of my car, the sweet scent of vanilla and carbohydrates wafted all around me. I trudged into the building, knowing I had a cupboard filled with soup, oatmeal and shakes, resisting that decadent deliciousness billowing all around me. Not that I could eat the air. But I could have tried.
Again, I didn't kill anyone. Tell me that wouldn't make you cranky (The smelling carbs baking.....and the not killing anyone)!
In your face, Nabisco Plant! You can't tempt me and you can't drive me to violence.
Another challenge came at dinner time yesterday. I had prepared a quick dinner of Applegate Farms hotdogs (organic, no nitrates) and Smilies for my 8 year old (Don't get your panties in a bunch- I had tuna and spinach salad). I cut up some baby cucumbers and placed them on the plate. When I turned to get the ketchup for him, the entire tray fell to the ground, dumping the hotdogs, cucumbers and smilies on the floor.
I'm a strict follower of the 5 second rule, so I hurriedly snatched up the smilies, which are just potatoes in the shape of a smilie face, and began brushing them off....checking them for grossness.....etc. And as I cradled those dear little faces, I thought....."it's so close. I could just pop one in the old pie hole....or.....or...I could lick my fingers after I'm done picking them up....or...."
But better sense prevailed. Not a single blessed smilie crossed these lips, nor did I lick my fingers after. Hurrah!
And then I had to make dinner for him all over again. Although there's not a whole lot to microwaving an organic hotdog and cutting up a cucumber, I have to admit. That's me. The Next Iron Hotdog Chef.
Anyway, that was yesterday. Today lays at my feet, and I'm going to get it started.
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