Caterwauling

At my weigh-in yesterday, they told me I’ve lost more than 10 pounds since I’ve started, and did I want the meeting leader to publicly acknowledge that?

I said no. And I realized that this program has turned into a modern-day kiddie sporting event.

Last I did the program five years ago, you got a keyring when you lost 10% of your body weight, you got a charm to put on that keyring at 16 weeks to show you’d committed for a full fiscal quarter, and you got charms at 25 pounds and 50 pounds. I’m sure there were more charms, but I stopped at 65.

I think they still do that. But now they celebrate you at 10 pounds lost. They celebrate you when you’ve lost 5% of your body weight. They pretty much break out the damn kazoos if you raise your hand and share something during the meeting. (OK, maybe not kazoos. But they do hand out stickers.)

I get it. They want people to feel like they’re getting their money’s worth. And that their journey matters. And that if you encourage one good behavior, more good behaviors will follow.

And believe me, I never won a blue ribbon for anything other than academics in my life. I never ran the fastest in gym class or climbed a rope; if anything, my ribbon for physical exertion should have been for “Came Closest to Dropping Dead.” But I didn’t get a gold star just for showing up.

Of course, maybe I’m just bitter because I didn’t. Because, really, it’s easy to earn a star and to feel included. I just choose not to. I figure I’m basically losing a pound a week on average; nothing to sniff at, but nothing spectacular, either.

Those who lose five pounds a week get stickers; not the people like me who are just happy to be able to have beer and wine because we were on good behavior and ate 20 salads in a week.

Beer and wine ARE my rewards! Not spending an hour a day in a gym …

Had a quick chat with God tonight, regarding what’s left of my free time and how (specifically with whom) I choose to spend it.

And on the iPod suddenly came this little well-time gem:

“My moms always told me I come from God
And the stress, that come from y’all.”

— Queen Latifah, “Do Your Thing”

I’ve had a lot of exhausting experiences with friends over my lifetime, particularly in group settings. Whether it’s that some folks don’t pay enough or refuse to tip (and I compensate for it), or that they can only go to places THEY choose, or that they have to drag their annoying significant other or some other person I wouldn’t in my right mind invite anywhere … it gets old.

We all know I work a lot. And that I have mom in my constant non-office/-commuting hours. So, I live by the motto that if something is going to take energy or money I don’t have, I’d like to keep a respectful distance.

Even if it isn’t necessarily avoiding a particular situation, it’s not putting my delicate balance in jeopardy and dropping my guard a little too low. And I reserve my right not to have to justify it.

So, I asked God about some situations, not the least of which the brunch for two that’s now a party of four bipeds and two four-legged wonders. (I made a reservation for two so someone might want to tell me directly about the change, yes?)

Let me point out that I blame one of these people for jinxing a good thing with this friend. My perception of this person is “Shit Stirrer.” And I would not be surprised to be grilled and put on the spot and basically I see said person shoving her way in to figure out who I am and possibly how to intimidate me.

Sizing up the competition? There doesn’t have to be one. She made sure of that. I’m on guard now. After all, I think she revealed my existence on his FB page after a great date to stir up some shit with someone else he knows. And now that she mentioned my name on his FB page AGAIN, I think she’s trying to get that person’s goat.

And I would LOVE to get that person’s goat with her. LOVE. But I feel like I was a casualty and I don’t play games with people and I’m NOT a fan of those who do.

In any event, my friend should really call me and say, hey, some others may like to join. Would you mind? And truly, I wouldn’t mind in a different situation. Just … not this. I want to meet these people but not because they’re crashing the party. I don’t do bulldozers.

But alas, whose choice is it?

And that’s what I asked God. Is it my choice or is it my friend’s?

After all, I have another friend who got so sick of putting up with people’s obnoxious significant others that she won’t introduce hers to anyone. I’ve lightly expressed interest in hanging out with him; I’m not sure if she wants to keep him all to herself or if she’s so damaged from intolerable people that she doesn’t want to “go there,” just in case. (Note to friend: It will be OK. I promise!)

So that’s when I got that song and I also got the message from my guides that it’s perfectly fine if I decide that my mental capacity is such that I just want to hang with my friend. That being in groups has generally been stressful for me — I get super-quiet and kind of pissy. I like to be the center of attention and I don’t deal with aggressive people AT ALL.

And frankly I only like dogs marginally better than I like kids. Which ain’t saying much.

So, it’s still a coin-toss as to what will happen. I gave permission to myself to go just for the story I know I’ll be able to tell. But I also gave myself permission to be gentle with myself if I decide to make other plans.

I will hope that they butt out because I don’t understand their intentions and I really don’t want to be on guard with my friend, whom I haven’t seen in a long time and I really want to catch up with.

And that’s all it comes down to. There are people I really want to catch up with, and there are the rest I can do without. I spend enough time smiling for people who really don’t care about me — I just hope that if I’m investing that kind of effort, there’s a real shot at being part of a group of friends that make me a better person.

Remember, fly with the eagles. You are who you hang out with. Don’t run with turkeys or else someone will mistake you for one and you’ll end up on someone’s Thanksgiving table. Thank you to God and my spirit guides for reminding me of that tonight.

Went to a zombie pub crawl with an old friend tonight. After the misery-fest that was today, I looked the part. Alas, we had fun catching up and it was nice to forget everything that made me twitch today.

The twitching, however, has resumed. My nice buzz from Due South caramel ale ran away when I saw two of one of my boys’ female friends actively using my name on his FB page.

We have plans next Sunday. (The boy and I … Or, we DID.) And apparently he mentioned said plans to them, and they invited themselves and their dogs along. Last I saw, he said he’s calling the restaurant about the dog policy.

Uhhhhhhhhhhh ….

The place I picked is too special to want to risk a bad time.

Wonder when he will let me in on the changed plans?

Funny about The Thing I wasted time working on. While everyone was at lunch, someone else called and said, “Do you have any fresh content on X topic that I can use?”

Well as a matter of fact, I DID. Hah!

I think I just scored a victory today. Don’t tell anyone, though, or else they might find something else to make me nuts …

Just wasted an hour working on something I didn’t need to work on. Well, I did need to work on it but it’s not being used.

But the cycle doesn’t stop there. Now I get to miss a lunch out so I can work on other things I wasn’t working on in the first place that I SHOULD have been working on instead.

More to say, but I’ll just be happy if I make it to my evening plans within an hour or two of them starting.

It’s my niece’s 10th birthday. Even though her mom is not my biological sister, she sure is my soul one.

I haven’t seen them in years, like, since she was a baby. But every year on this day, I text her mom because they’re both on my mind.

Today the little one took the phone and was texting with me. She is so sweet and well-spoken. She sent me a photo and told me all about her 10th birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese. We parted with a “Love you, Aunt (Goddess)!” and my heart melted.

I type all of this to say that I missed out on so many life events this year … a dear friend’s wedding (I didn’t even RSVP because the very act of telling her, “Oh hey, remember how I had to miss out on everything because of work throughout the years? IT CONTINUES” gave me anxiety) … a baby shower, a trip to Europe … and so much more.

But it wasn’t just this year. It’s every year. Mostly it’s because of money because I don’t want to travel and then be chained to the VPN all day. (Seriously, workdays shouldn’t COST MONEY.)

And talking with my favorite little girl (who is now a gorgeous YOUNG LADY), my heart is both light and heavy at the same time. I missed out on so much … not just of her life, but my own.

Work has slowed down this week. And I find that I miss being psychotically busy. And I know it’s only a very short matter of time before the new projects start kicking my ass even harder than the old ones.

I love working. I love what I do. I love creating and being a source of awesome things. But is it time to bento-box that love into eight-hour compartments and go fill up the other hours with stuff that will keep my heart as healthy as my mind?

So I’m not the only one who walked away from yesterday’s meeting with a “Clapping for T-Shirts” feeling.

What I’ve found, and I’ve shared this with fellow defeated people, is that the Big Guy likes to speak favor over the new people. People who haven’t achieved anything here yet. People who may still be in the stages of asking a lot of questions and getting input from those of us who’ve been there. People who, well, don’t quite have the battle wounds to tell our stories in a way that words can’t.

When I was brand-new and having a little trouble getting the “lifers” to give me a break (or chance), our very charismatic company owner called them all into a room and said hey look, this girl is pretty skilled and experienced and I put her in a position of power over you for a reason.

It was up to me to prove him right.

I did.

So maybe that was the motivation behind new folks getting lauded, to garner our respect. Of course, when it was done for me it was for the highly paid set and not the general population. We’ll see if it has the same outcome.

I reached out to my girlfriend yesterday to say it was a “Clapping for T-Shirts” kind of day. And she said, “Do you just picture going up to someone and pretending to high-five them but bitch-slapping them instead?”

Yes, yes I do.

We had some laughs over the Veggie Patch where it all began, how nobody believes the stories we tell about that place and how you really had to be there to witness/comprehend the absurdity of it all. In retrospect, the best thing they ever did was hire us at the same time because we “new girls” bonded and became fast friends for life.

Anyway, as we always say, we know things can be worse because we’ve endured worse.

Now for the bigger problem — I have three weeks’ paid vacation expiring in exactly three months. How and WHEN can I even make a dent in it?

I’ve told the story many times about the press conference my girlfriend S. and I orchestrated at the National Press Club and the great CNN interview I arranged for the president of my then-employer. And how after we showed the reel to the company, we were upstaged by the CEO lauding the graphic designer and the office Town Crier for choosing to put a white logo on a black shirt. Not only that but we had to give them a standing ovation while my friend and I were further demeaned and demoralized.

I type all of this on my phone to say that I just exited another “clapping for T-Shirts” company meeting. Fine, applaud people who did achieve stuff. But consider that I busted my butt too, and maybe I’m tired of being the only car in the lot past a certain hour.

It really doesn’t bother me as much as this post may indicate. Probably because it’s familiar territory. But don’t laud this one and credit that one but not everyone who went the extra mile and a half. Because that’s a quick way to get thrown into the same category as my meeting leader.

I used to call one of my roommates Pork Chop. It was a term of endearment at the time, as a departing roommate found her through an ad and I was pleased she also was of the “pudgy pork roast ass” variety.

I’ll spare you what I ended up calling her when she defiled my bathroom and moved out in the middle of the night owing me several hundred dollars. Ahem.

Anyway, one of my boys from around that time just named his new dog Pork Chop. Twenty-five years has passed and it blows my mind that I still have an influence on what people think and say and do.

As I’ve always said, you’ll love me or hate me but you’ll NEVER forget me!

Down a pound and a half this week. So after last week’s half-pound gain, that’s down one pound exactly.

I used to have great leaders at the meetings I attended at the Muddy Branch location in Gaithersburg, Md. Loved them. Authentic people. I lost 65 pounds with them.

Down here I have yet to love a meeting. I had a lot of fun today because a bunch of new people/returnees showed up and it was like an open-mic night. But it wasn’t perfect.

I’ve gotten the feeling that my meeting leaders here are phony. One seems to like me but the other always seems to be giving me the stinkeye.

One thing I love about Weight Watchers is it is the only place in the world where I am perfectly average. I never aspire to be average anywhere but in a room of overweight people. Attendees range from 100 pounds to 300 pounds, and it blows my mind to feel downright skinny sometimes.

Anyway, the leader was super-nice to me today. And I thought, finally, we’ve connected. Maybe it’s that she sees me coming back and trying my best. Perhaps they don’t really get to know the people who drop in every now and again.

I mentioned I have a favorite girl who weighs me in because she reminds me of my friend Vitamin D and she always talks about vodka. Friend!

Well, the TV wasn’t working today so the leader needed a flipboard from the back room. So she tells my favorite gal, “Since you aren’t helping me to fix the TV, go get the flipboard.” Which grated on my nerves. Since you aren’t helping me? Who says that in front of 50 people?

The gal gets her the flipboard and what she thought were this week’s charts. We tend to have overlapping topics — whatever we started new today, we will follow up on next week and also start the new topic. So, she grabbed the one that started with what we were talking about … but they were next week’s notes.

So the leader went all hissy again and commanded her to “find ones I can actually use.”

Holy cuntballs. Seriously.

I am telling you this boring-ass story to get to the revelation of the day. I have been seeking approval from this woman … craving some sort of camaraderie or connection that will help me to better commit to this journey … and she’s NOT someone I care to look up to.

I don’t know that I’ll switch meetings because she really is a good instructor. But any inclination I had to want to be buddy-buddy with her like I was with some of the Muddy Branch staff? I’ll pass, thanks.

The whole idea behind these meetings is to find kinship. To exchange ideas. To empathize. To celebrate. And I’m not going to let one disappointing morning ruin it. But the bigger lesson here is that those of us who let our minds try to measure us by others might want to look inward and try to best our own selves.

After the meeting, I strolled through a store for a little while. I always have to report home every night and after every meeting, so I tried to sneak in 20 minutes of me time before the next mommy-sitting shift. And I got to apply that lesson in a big way.

I was looking at clothes a size down from where I am, and a woman twice my size pushed her way in to look at the same thing. While I was tempted to say, “Bitch, ain’t neither of us gonna fit in this size,” I had a positive thought to replace it.

That thought: I am OK with the way I look. I really don’t care if someone is skinnier or prettier or tanner or has better hair. Frankly I am quite OK with who I am and so what if I don’t fit into a certain size or certain people don’t find me attractive or otherwise “worthy.” I rock, and mine is the only opinion that matters.