Caterwauling

Am down for the count with a nasty sinus infection. I’m actually mostly OK and don’t have to be self-imprisoned in my freezing-fucking-cold apartment. But since I was informed I have to drag along my little sister if I go out, well, I did what I always do and climbed up on the cross decided not to go out at all.

I never did make it to my de-pudgification meeting this week. I meant to go today but was besieged by girlie aches and pains (in addition to the perennial ass-pain next-door). But to my credit this week, I finally got back into the groove of writing down everything I’ve consumed — I find that when I stop recording, I start ballooning. (See: lying on the bed the past two weeks to zip up jeans.)

And perhaps my biggest problem both during the holidays as well as now is not necessarily that I’m indulging in bad things. Quite the contrary. It’s the portion sizes that I’ve been letting escape me. Sure, the occasional one-point cookie is fine. But a whole box in two days for 12 points … what made me think THAT was a good idea?

Even though I did indulge myself during the past few weeks by eating meats and potatoes and pastas and sauces that I would normally steer clear from, nothing was inherently terrible and, quite honestly, I won’t miss any of it for a long while again now that I’ve had it. It was mostly as good as I remembered. But I tell you, eating a whole bag of apple slices yesterday (see: “portion creep”) was just as tasty and as filling as could be. And refreshing, too, since I wasn’t the slightest bit guilty over eating (also, “overeating”) froot.

What I do miss are two things: extra-cheese-with-pepperoni pizzas from Potomac Pizza and the stromboli from Ledo’s. These weren’t everyday eats, but rather rewards after Friday nights that were spent at work. (Assuming anything was still OPEN when I got out.)

There were a lot of those nights. Which explains a lot.

I have no idea why I’m even confessing this right now, given that my taste buds are pretty much drowning in a river of sinus snot. I guess it’s the habits that I miss — the little traditions of things that would cheer me up and satisfy me after a grueling day in a way a Boca burger on a half-slice of double-fiber bread never will.

Oh, and I also stopped smoking again. Whee. Which I did 4 1/2 years ago but when I started dieting earlier this year, it just made sense to revive one vice to replace the other. I never had more than 2 or 3 smokes in a day, and usually none on weekends unless I had to be social.

Since it was quitting smoking that led me to satisfy my oral fixation at the fridge, I figured reversing it would help. And to some extent, it might have. But what’s going to satisfy my oral fixation now, other than yelling at people who piss me off simply for the fact that they’re breathing? 😉

I have to say it — I had a GREAT day. (My apologies if you’re looking for sarcasm … not a drip or a drop here. Savor it while it lasts.)

One of my boys took me out for lunch today. Say it with me: Out. For Lunch. My third lunch hour of the year, my friends. Forgive me if I do a happy dance that resembles a polka.

And what I found was that I was energized all day. I had to bust a move to get a project (nearly) finished by noon. I was full and happy and worked through the afternoon with no need for complaint.

And I left ON TIME.

Of course, I felt guilty for the “leaving on time” part. But for all the Mondays that didn’t wrap up till past 10 p.m. (that’d be an hour or two past 10), I earned it.

In my amazingly awesome free time, I went to my happy place — Old Navy. Where I bought two pairs of jeans that are two sizes smaller than the ones I wore to work today since everything fits me like Hammer pants. (O HAI crotches at the knee — not the season to get a breeze up there ’cause they don’t make Chapstick for tender bits.)

Anyway, the jeans fit in the dressing room, despite all attempts this week to reverse my entire weight loss. They’re in the dryer right now so I MAY have some muffin-top issues in the morning. (Yeah, guess who’s skipping weigh-in tomorrow. Guess!)

But in trying to look at it positively, tomorrow’s breakfast surprise will hopefully be less of a muffin top than a Vita Top. 🙂

Yesterday was, by all standards, routine. Vanilla. Ordinary. Blah.

And, yet, it brought several of those moments of “Whose Life Is it Anyway?”

Started off the day with yelling, as usual. Eased into the new comfort-disappointment cocktail. Slid into the boringly familiar. Flirted with the mildly annoying. Ended with “WTF just happened to me here?”

And I wondered exactly when I am going to be able to leave it all behind and write my trashy novels like I always said I would.

It’s all about perspective (mine) and between a home situation that disintegrates at the rate Brad Pitt gets younger in “Benjamin Button” and external situations that are great if you’re into routine (and that routine spans the spectrum between warm fuzzies and homicidal rage), well, I can see why I shove my head up my ass regularly. La la la, if I can’t see it, it’s not there. La la la.

Of course, a cold splash of reality hit me square in the face over a plastic cup of Oak Grove pinot grigio, as I inadvertently crashed my old department’s Christmas party (*sniffle*) and I realized, where they’ve shoved me now, is into just another cubicle at just another company. And even though I was welcomed as an ex-officio member of the team, I realized again how awesome, caring, nurturing, loving and generous my old team was. And how my move upstairs is a total downgrade.

I wondered, when I worked for the awesome team, if everyone knew how good we had it. We knew. We loved it. Outsiders treated us like three-headed martians most of the time. I don’t know if they were jealous or, more likely, they just figured we were all a bunch of weirdos who spoke “twin language” among a dozen of our own people.

I’ve been either kidding or comforting myself that this reorganization would blow up in everyone’s faces and we’d go back to the way we were.

Then I look around at home, which is just never going to get better, in its present state. I was thinking about last New Year’s Day, how I made reservations at a moderately upscale place. How the roomie declared she wasn’t going, but that I could go by myself. How I canceled and sat around hungry all day.

How did I ring in the new year? By wishing I was dead. How did I spend the year? Dying.

I made reservations for Christmas Day. And I don’t give a fuck if I’m eating by myself, I’m getting dressed up and going out.

I think what I’ve avoided doing in these and one other area of my life, is put my little foot down and provide my list of demands. Sure, I’ve tried. Usually through thinly veiled sarcasm or the grapevine or in a very loud tone of voice. But I’ve gotten next to nowhere with any of it.

And I’ve done the best I could for me, which is to live my life. To lose weight (minus these damn Christmasy temptations!) — down 43 pounds so far that I haven’t sabotaged! (Let’s not talk about what I HAVE sabotaged. …) To give my very best to every work project. To go out with friends at least twice a month. To actually do that “dating” thing again. (And to let people settle for what they’ve, well, settled for and not take it personally.)

But it’s not enough. It’s a running start, yes, but not enough.

I’ve got to wonder about that new Jim Carrey movie, “Yes Man.” I think we all learn to say no to opportunity because so many people and entities are altogether too happy to say that word to us. (“Move out.” “No.” “Can has moar monay?” “No!”)

Anyway, there’s a new year waiting to be rung in. This one was probably one of my personal best, although any of you who’ve been with me through it probably think my standards are waaaay low. 🙂

But if I can match my current weight loss and also gain back a bedroom, and maybe find something interesting to do with my life (any part of it. Or all parts of it. Whichev), then THAT will be a victorious year.

So, bring it, 2009. Odd-numbered years are always the kindest to me. Show me what you’re made of, and I’ll do the same.

Last night’s “Biggest Loser” finale is an epic example of what I’ve been ranting about here for days, of horrible, undeserving people getting exactly what they want — and what we want.

America got to vote on the third finalist. And there was Heba — 150 pounds lighter and smug as a bug in a rug that we were going to vote for her miserable ass — who was outvoted 80/20 in favor of having her husband Ed as the finalist.

Oh, was she pissed.

So they weighed in all the ex-contestants for a chance at $100,000. And she won it. Humph.

I mean, based on the work she did to reduce her body weight by nearly 50%, that’s great. Congratulations and respect for that are definitely in order. I’m far from my goal and it ain’t easy. And it only gets harder, the closer you get to where you want to be.

But still, hateful twat, much?

When the finalists were weighed in and she saw Ed’s HUGE weight loss (but admittedly it was several pounds shy of her own), OMG the ugliness on her face.

And I got where she was. My empathy gene is always working overtime since I feel that people, and certain ones in particular, seem to make it at least a part-time job to try to ignore what’s running through my head. Ahem.

I mean, she could have won that quarter-million. No question. When the sweet and beautiful Michelle (yes!) took home the grand prize with a weight loss of more than 100 pounds, sure Heba’s suddenly scrawny ass would have kicked her newly bony ass.

But whatev, bitch — if you weren’t such a self-entitled bitch, we would have voted you through to the finale.

I was thrilled that Michelle won — I was rooting for her all along, mostly because we were about the same age and starting weight (sigh) so even though she was pulling 10-pound weight losses out of her ass each week compared to my paltry half-pound to a whopping 2 pounds, she was “me” up there, you know? The one with the strained relationship with her mother. The family who needed, and got, to start all over again.

Imagine what $100K could do to help us in my cramped little quarters to get a fresh start. Can we say separate apartments in separate cities for starters, boys and girls? I know you can!

Anyway, speaking of impossible people to live with, Heba is like the Dallas Cowboys to me. I won’t intentionally root against either one of them. But I’m not exactly celebrating either’s victories, because all their arms are apparently long enough to pat their own backs.

So the only reason I am not angry about Heba getting the $100K is that it’s also going to Ed, who is too good for her and I’m hoping now that he has his looks and self-esteem back that he will realize that and LEAVE her ass.

Heba has always stated that her goal is to have a healthy pregnancy. Gah. She’s reproducing? Lord help us all. Hopefully her steaming-cunt genes will be heavily diluted by Ed’s sweet and nice ones.

I often joke with myself that I can’t wait to meet my Inner Skinny Bitch. Heba’s is, sadly, still an Outie. She went from pudgy bitch to skinny bitch, but again, she didn’t lose the BITCH!

My mood today has been downright manic, oscillating between “awesome!” and “omgwtfbbq is this day over yet?” And not stopping at any points in the middle of the two.

I’m still mad over Cuntasia in the previous entry. I can’t even read/link to it or else my head will asplode. I mean, really, WTF is up with all these bullies in the world who think that just because they want something, they should have it?

Ever since I decided to become a “God follower,” as my church calls it, several years ago, I’ve made a very strong effort to look the other way, to never retaliate and to never, ever put myself in a situation where I can’t look at myself in the mirror afterward and feel that I rose above the situation.

But man, to take these people who think their opinion matters, that they have the right or even the place to degrade others, and clunk all their heads together … ah, it remains a dream.

I think the bug that’s still up my ass is how these wretched, horrible, hateful people are having holidays and good things happening to them that give them their sense that the world owes them.

Of course, are they really so fortunate when perhaps the only kicks they get in their day is to try to ruin someone else’s?

Speaking of those kinds of days, I actually achieved a HYOOOOGGEEE victory this morning. The product launch that was slated for, oh, 12 days ago happened today. Mostly because I put my foot down and all but threatened to put it UP someone’s butt.

What’s really nice is that we had a major breakthrough today. And nicer still that the whole upper echelon has acknowledged that, without my pointy-toed shoes being dangerously close to someone’s tender bits, it wouldn’t have turned out as well as it did.

I needed this victory today.

But alas, the oscillator turned when some information came my way that I wasn’t looking for (anymore). And it kind of fired me up all over again about Cuntasia from the BBBY parking lot. Not that the person in question is anywhere near cuntiness on any level, but I kind of got sucked back into that vortex of “OK, so once again, victory isn’t mine in this particular area.”

And I have to remind myself that, if the only battles I win are at work, well, that’s a hell of a lot more than others can say, right?

But another really nice note from today (I warned you it was manic!) was that I ran into people I haven’t seen in months at our Christmas party holiday fete thank-you luncheon. I mean, I only had time to grab a plate of cold food and drag it back up to my cell. But for the few minutes I was down there, man, the compliments I got on my de-pudgifying pork roast ass! (As opposed to the usual “pudgy pork roast ass” terminology I use.)

A part of you wonders whether you really looked that bad before. And that answer is of course yes. And judging by all the crap I’ve eaten in the last two days (thank you to my beloved boys who sent a GIANT box from Cherry Republic yesterday to make the holidays bright (and wide), I’m sure tonight’s weigh-in will bring the next round of epic failure. But, the way this is going, do I expect anything less than abysmal news when I waddle my ass onto the scale that I was looking so forward to confronting this week? (Well, before Cherrypalooza yesterday and catered lunch today.)

Oh well. I’m going to offset whatever chunky-butt catastrophe I endure tonight with doing some daydreaming about the vacation to Barbados that The Girls^TM and I are plotting. A real vacation — not just two or three days tacked onto a work trip! While I will hate paying the airfare, I mean really, it will be nice to burn off more than one or two personal days at a time.

Speaking of all things delightful, we have TONS of cherry-related goodness available at my desk. Come eat my cherries, people, while they’re still good! 😉

First, the good.

Just in time for Christmas:

Custom Bon Jovi Apple Products

Who would have thought? Is this why I’ve been holding off on adding a MacBook to my life for so long, because I knew this was coming? 😉

Then the bad.

I skipped a car payment last month. (As my car is paid off and I wanted to eat my one meal a day that I could afford in Vegas. I’m so selfish.)

Looks like that means making two this Christmas.

So much for that MacBook.

*kick*

Then the GREAT news.

I ordered a pair of jeans from Old Navy, and two shirts. The shirts were in two different sizes — one to wear now, one to grow (drop?) into.

Tried ’em on last night when I rolled home at 2 in the morning. (Late, glorious night out. Even though work threatened to crap on my parade because deadlines are apparently a SUGGESTION and not a guideline.)

And guess what?

They’re all TOO FUCKING BIG.

Yes!

I rather like the jeans. But even without having ’em on all day with my ass stretching ’em out, they fall off.

I know, Old Navy runs big. But if my only holiday present this year is to find out I’m a size smaller than I thought I was, I’ll soitenly take it!

I never realized that “The Biggest Loser” airs on the nights I drag my pudgy pork roast ass to Weight Watchers meetings. I finally discovered it a couple of weeks ago, and now the season’s almost over! Rats.

Tonight America gets to decide whether Heba or her husband Ed gets to proceed to the finals. I voted for Ed. I figure, he is way too willing to let her go to the finals, and she feels way too entitled to it.

A colleague went to high school with Heba. My friend is a man of few words, and even fewer curse words. But even he said, “Yeah, she was a bitch back then, too.”

Speaking of big losses, my pudgy pork roast ass shed 3 pounds in the past week. Which, wow. After gaining a pound last week and not even weighing in the week before, I will gladly accept as “omgwtfbbq awesome.”

Everything’s changing in Weight Watchers land. They’re kicking the Core and the Flex plans to the curb and presenting the Momentum plan as the best of both worlds. We got all new materials tonight and we’ll spend the next few weeks going over the changes to the program. Which seem awesome. More common-sense. Less guessing.

You know what I did this week? I ate all 35 of my bonus weekly points, on top of the daily allowance. I NEVER do that. I always stay exactly at my daily allowance. If I have special plans on the weekends, I may blow my extra 35 in one sitting, if applicable. Usually I have plenty left over at the end of the week — like rollover minutes you can’t use.

And sure, I’ve done OK. Lost a pound here and there. But this week I ate a piece of candy here and a slice of meat there. Nothing exotic — I know my portions and my points. And of all the weeks to have a significant loss, this was it. Who knew that you can’t eat healthy crap all the time? Apparently it’s the little “cheats” that work the magic!

Of course, I still have a bunch more pounds to part with. What’s cool, though, is that I’ve gone down not one but two jean sizes so far. It took from June to November get down one, and I’m closing in on the next one just a mere month later. The pants shall be arriving at work any day now — can’t wait to put them on and know that they’ll zip!

But the real achievement well, is something else I lost. The best way I can explain it was that I was talking to someone during my first or second meeting, and she told me her “next” goal.

Weight Watchers is big on goals — it’s achieving a series of several small ones that gets you to the big one. And my meeting-mate had said it was her dream to not have to buy clothes with an X or a Plus on the tag.

And by golly, it’s been years but I’m reaching her goal. I bought my first “regular” pair of jeans in I cannot tell you how long. Meaning, I can walk into practically any store (minus those damn juniors’ shops at the mall that don’t carry anything over a size double-zero) and find something that isn’t a purse, shoe or piece of jewelry. w00t!

Don’t get me wrong — I’m still mad at Old Navy for not only moving its plus sizes out of the stores and onto the Web “exclusively” two years ago, but also that it and its sister store The Gap seem to refuse to stock anything over a 14 on their sales floors. The Gap is worse about it but unless it’s pants or shirts in letter sizes, they don’t seem to want to attract the pudgalicious among us. Hence, neither is coming off my shit list anytime soon. Thanks for making me pay shipping all these years! *kick*

Actually since today is a day of victory, I do have another milestone to share. After years and years of avoiding anything other than ankle boots, or buying taller boots and just not being able to zip them all the way up over my chunky little calves, I’ve been trying on longer boots lately and finding that I can get them to zip. All the way up!

I haven’t bought any yet, save for my Old Navy ugg-type slippers (oh so comfy). I don’t need to buy them to prove anything to myself. But to not be excluded from a fashion I’ve always loved but have never been able to be a part of? Magnificent.

It’s the little things.

And one of these months, one of the little things will actually be me.

Till then, the journey’s both annoying and rewarding. And I often wonder why the hell I’m even bothering. But after revolving my whole life around how I did or didn’t look — whether trying to conceal it (i.e., struggling with not looking like a parade float) or trying to act like it didn’t bother me or that I wasn’t worried about having a heart attack on the spot — it’s interesting to find other things in my head that have nothing to do with the size of my ass. Or, even things in my head that aren’t critical of the size of my ass.

I think there’s a general misconception about pudgy people, that we’re lazy or unwashed or unmotivated or oblivious. No, no, no and NO. It just takes a lot more work to appear effortless, that’s all. And no one else’s opinion matters half as much as our own, so as long as we know we’re none of those things, we’re OK.

And it’s sad how people’s opinions of us go up once our sizes go down. But meh, I love me way more than anybody else does, and while more people may come around as I apparently become less offensive to stand next to (except when it was to make someone else feel better about themselves), I’ll never forget the ones who loved the “before” and who will be cheering me on all the way to the finish line. There aren’t many, but they make for a hell of a cheering section inside my head.

Thank you for rooting for me or, at least, for continuing to read all about it. 🙂 I’ve spent my life throwing myself into my work and never taking care of the thing that will outlast every last one of these jobs (if they don’t kill me first, of course!).

I have a funny feeling that I’ll get down to my goal weight, only to get knocked up and bloated within a couple of years of achieving my goals. But hopefully there’ll be a wedding (or elopement — I loathe Speidi but I could totally go the Costa Rica route myself) and other dreams will surface that I either never knew I had or I never thought I’d get them so why bother dreaming about them.

It’s time to dream again. The smaller I get, the bigger I’ll allow the dreams to be.

It’s good to be me. 🙂

You know what victory is? It’s wearing a vest that used to fit you perfectly — maybe even snugly, if you’re being honest with yourself — and putting it on to find that not only does it button, but once it’s buttoned, you can look down and see the FLOOR between you and the fabric.

In other words, w00t!

Am a half-pound away from being down 40 pounds. It was a good week, at least in the de-pudgification world. Maybe it was all the STRESS that did it to me — and it certainly wasn’t my proximity to the office Candy Corner, where last night’s dinner was a peppermint patty, five peanut M&Ms and three organic animal crackers. *sigh*

I’m going to have to miss the next two Weight Watchers meetings, although I may try to pick one up on an off-day to keep myself motivated.

Tonight we talked about Anchoring as a weight-loss tool. In other words, what is the thing that keeps you motivated, whether positive or negative?

Molly showed us a ring her parents bought her when she was halfway to her goal. And the ring is now too big, since she reached her goal.

(As for me, I’ve started wearing jewelry again — I have no fewer than 100 necklaces that I’d been ignoring that I suddenly can’t get enough of. And I’m wearing all my former-ring-finger-sized rings on my index and middle fingers and they’re STILL too loose. Yay!)

Our leader showed us a photo of himself at his biggest when he was in Italy two years ago. Not pretty.

As for me, I have two anchors, a positive and a negative. The negative is my corporate headshot. It’s awful. I can’t stand it. I hated it when I saw it but when someone offered to take another photo of me, I said, “What’s the point? I still look the same.”

And being down nearly 40 pounds, I’m ready to take another one, should opportunity arise. I mean, that I agreed to speak in front of a live audience AND a virtual one without even thinking to hesitate because of how I look, dude. Seriously. Wow. It didn’t even occur to me to think I wasn’t cute enough to be on camera.

And in that, maybe is the greater anchor — I am starting to see the person I was meant to be. I see what I want to look like, how I will look in a great pair of jeans, how small I will be when standing next to others, how I won’t automatically search for someone bigger in the room than me so that I feel a little bit better.

I was hugging a friend the other day, of the male variety. Someone who looked at me a couple of weeks ago, surprised, and mused, “You’re disappearing before our eyes.” I thought it was some existential reference to me being more scarce than usual, but it was a compliment.

And when I last saw him and hugged him, for the first time I realized I was smaller than him. (We were roughly the same size, maybe if only in my head but I think my perception wasn’t too far off.) And I LOVED it. I had that feeling of being small and protected and engulfed in a bear hug.

I mean, I hug my friends all the time, but to actually feel their arms going all the way around me? Wow. Just, wow.

OMG, that was a feeling that had been missing from my life for too damn long.

This is why I’ll be good when I’m nowhere near a meeting these coming two Tuesdays. I can’t explain it any better than that.

And just think, it’s only the beginning.

Humph. I’ve been dieting for 17 solid weeks now and there’s never been a week that I didn’t lose at least something. In fact, the weekends when I went out to eat and indulge in alcoholic beverages with my friends typically produced the best weight losses, as I’ve been admittedly screwed the halo on way too tight when it came to how much breathing room I would give myself with my little diet.

And then tonight, after a “business as usual” week, I gained 0.4 lb. Which, meh. I have bigger things to be aggravated about. If I’d put 40 (back) on, that would serve to irritate me, and understandably so.

In case I’ve not made it public or obvious enough, I’ve been dragging mah pudgeh butt to Weight Watchers. Because I suck at the “eating-right” thing and they rock at the “helping you develop an eating plan for life” thing.

I’ve fought with the same 30 pounds for years. I lose it via one diet plan or another, and either get bored with the diet or simply learn that hey, being 30 pounds lighter still doesn’t solve all your problems. So, yeah. I got into a rut like, hey, what’s another 30 pounds to the world-size burdens I already shoulder?

But to look at it a different way, wow I’ve lost a giant sack of cat litter or rock salt. I never used to fidget — didn’t want the blubber to ripple and put someone’s eye out. 😉 But now I do find myself fidgeting (to burn calories, of course) and not being worried that someone’s gonna yell out “J-E-L-L-O!” It’s not a bad feeling!

I wore a skirt to tonight’s weigh-in. And my lovely, lovely meeting-mates — oh how I wait all week to be with “my people,” who serve as a 50-person cheering section (and my inner circle of about 12 of us who make it all worthwhile, even on a cruddy week like this when the scale went in the wrong direction). I guess I’ve been wearing a lot of now-oversized clothes and nobody really noticed what I’ve been doing.

But today my friends were all telling me I look awesome and, as usual, complimenting my style — as I’ve refused to dress in tent-sized flowered mu-mus like all the plus-size stores I shop (shopped?) in seem to think are flattering and fashionable. (Uh, no.) I’ve somewhat become the resident fashionista (since I haven’t quite achieved Skinny Bitch status, although that’s on my “to do” list).

And that’s what I love — even when we have a shitty week, we all (especially in my group) clap heartily as we discuss each other’s successes. We range in age from 16 to 87. We’ve (individually) lost anywhere from a tenth of a pound to 120 pounds. Some have been coming to meetings since 1973. Some are maintaining, some are just learning the rules, and some (and it’s where I fall) could use a jumpstart.

I did get that jumpstart, in a sense, as we got a new leader tonight. A man. Go figure. He seems to be a no-bullshit Brooklyn boy with high energy and high blood pressure. I love him already. 😉

Our old leader, Susan, retired to South Carolina after last week’s session. She was a picture of absolute elegance, confidence and motherliness in which she could chastise you with nothing but love in her eyes and voice. I walked into her meeting on one Tuesday night in June, and I even checked out other meetings with other leaders, but she was The One I could aspire to want to be like.

What’s kind of cool is that I’ve become a veteran, of sorts. I’ve endured as many mistakes as successes I’ve enjoyed. I’ve got my 10%-loss keychain and I’ve got my 25-pound donut displayed on my keychain. (OK, it’s not supposed to be a donut, but it looks like one.) Fifteen more pounds and I get my 50-pound-loss donut. (I want a real one!)

And I’m not kidding when I say we all root for each other. It’s hard sometimes, but when my friend Sandy lost 4 pounds this week after weeks of struggling, I was jumping for joy with her. Literally. I had tears in my eyes because Molly finished her maintenance period (i.e., she held her weight for several weeks) because she’s eligible for Lifetime (i.e., free) membership. I couldn’t stop congratulating Nancy for the fact that her last year’s winter coat wraps around her twice.

And when Joy looked at me and said, “Oh my God, I didn’t realize how skinny you’d gotten till I saw you in a skirt!” — I mean, wow. How can you ever look at another person, who is suffering and struggling the same way you are, and even think about resenting their success when the finish line is something we’re going to cross together?

We all have challenges that keep us from doing as well as we could. Physical conditions, emotional circumstances, money (or not enough) for all the healthy foods we need. One thing they beg us to do is to make dining an experience — to take the Smart Ones out of the box, put them on a plate / use a placemat and a cloth napkin / light a candle, etc. Never eat standing up. Oh really? My dining room is where other people’s shit goes to die. I spent my dining-room table fund on bills and oh well, who cares, ’cause there’s no room for it. And when have I not eaten lunch at my desk? By everyone’s standards, it’s a wonder I’ve managed to have any success at all with all the bad habits I am unable to break at this time.

I mentioned to a fellow friend who’s on the plan earlier in the day that I think I’ve taken a certain comfort in carrying around extra weight for the bulk (hah) of my life. I don’t think it made me a saint, by any means, but I’ve definitely had it harder than others in that respect (and many other ways that they may not have seen).

So, if people wanted to focus on my weight as a shortcoming and not the other thousand things I perceive(d) to be wrong with me because they couldn’t look past the immediate physical appearance, well, I guess I viewed that as a good thing. If I don’t let you get close to me, you don’t really know me. I can hide all my “other” flaws because people are too busy worried I’m going to accidentally sit on them or something.

And with that going away, even though it’s a stupid “comfort” to cling to, it does make you wonder what excuse you can use now for whatever you’re avoiding.

And that’s the point I’m working toward. The “no more excuses” point. The return to the young Goddess I once was who pretty much told the world, “This is me. Love it or lose out on it.”

My new leader, who incidentally trained under our beloved Susan, closed the meeting on the perfect note: “I look forward to seeing less of you next week.”

Amen to that.

Grr, whatever time I get out of bed is never early enough. I’m never in a rush, though, to get into the (ass)clown car because the ride starts when I get in and the earlier I am, the longer the ride is.

Speaking of squeezing my butt into tight spaces, I squoze my butt into my favorite pair of jeans a couple of weeks ago. Whee success! (Down approximately 37.5 pounds.)

There was a comment fiesta about my trip to the cooch doctor, with a suggestion that I apparently need to get laid more (who doesn’t?) because I joked that being poked with a speculum counted as action. But if folks could type with BOTH hands on the keyboard, maybe it wouldn’t have gotten so ugly. (Actually, if you want to join in the debate whether “eating is cheating,” go leave me your thoughts on the subject.)

Anyway, the reason I went was because, as I de-pudgify, I have certain goals at certain milestones. And one thing that drives me nuts is going to the doctor for anything from a migraine to a suspicious-looking freckle, and the diagnosis is always, “It’s because you’re fat. Lose weight.”

You know, because for all this shouting over preventive health care (get it now kids, especially if that grinning idiot McCain, by some insane twist of fate that propels us into a parallel universe, gets elected), that’s the way to encourage people to keep health care costs down by making people feel comfortable with their doctors. NOT.

I do have to say, my hoo-ha doc treated me like a princess. I felt like I was a person, not a hole, and definitely not someone who was unwelcome even though my insurance company was picking up the bill.

Anyway, I’ve not yet decided what my next milestone is (that was my “down 35” goal), as I’ve been alternating between treats and tasks. I don’t mean treats like cake. (Oh, cake, how I miss you so. …) I just mean little rewards like a little shopping spree or an Amtrak ticket to go visit a friend in another city.

My ultimate reward will be a new computer. It’s also the reward set for whenever my mother moves out, whichever comes first. Since apparently it’s easier to lose (*mumble mumble*) pounds off of my own frame than it is to get my spare bedroom back!

I wish I had been documenting this journey, both pictorially as well as emotionally. The latter would be more interesting, though.

Perhaps the seismic shift has not been so much in re-distributing the pudge, but the garbage inside my head is being compacted, too. I forgot how much attention from the male species I used to get; it’s interesting to see it coming back in waves. All because I’m slightly smaller? Unbelievable. It’s wonderful and it’s sad all at the same time.

The good news is that I have always loved me enough, and maybe I love me a little more now than I have these past few years, but settling isn’t on my agenda. I told one of the newer ones that “I have waited far too long to settle.” I mean it. I think a part of me, pre-de-pudgification, was willing to settle for a little boredom and inattentiveness on the part of boys. Not that I felt I deserved it, but I think I felt I had to be grateful for what I got, since nobody else was really looking at me.

Of course, I always did come to my senses and hit the exits. Blah blah, I’d rather be alone than wish I were.

So my patience, along with my ass, has gotten thinner. Yes, I know I may not make the best first impression either, so I do give folks a fair shot. But beyond that, there are others out there. They might not have noticed me before, but here’s to hoping they aren’t that stupid now. …

I think the one thing I worry about, with the changing frame, is my changing mind. I mean, I’ve been a pudgeball my whole life. And I get angry when people of any size, shape, color or ability are marginalized.

And as I become more of what society wants me to be (for the record, it’s MY HEALTH that’s taken me on this journey — again, preventive rather than reactive), instead of forgetting about the “little people,” I don’t want to forget about the “big” people.

I mean, I know I will never forget what it’s like to suck in my ass cheeks to try to avoid bleeding over the narrow seats on an airplane. I will never forget walking behind someone who’s seated and trying (not always successfully) not to knock their hats off with my ass. I will remember being dressed up all pretty and not a soul noticing because they weren’t looking at me — they were either looking at a part of me or pretending not to see me at all, or maybe they looked straight through me.

So, I say all of this to say that a woman sat next to me at church yesterday, easily twice my size. And she had a man, which I am horrible and sorry to say surprised me but I had to remind myself that I was the one who wasn’t putting myself out there at that or any size.

I felt bad because she dropped a bunch of papers and I knew she couldn’t bend over to get them. And I was thrilled because I could effortlessly jump onto the floor and grab everything and hand it back with a smile. She was so grateful. I mean, surprised grateful.

And I was thinking, wow, we’ve never met before. Was she thinking I’d be rude or unhelpful or that I’d be anything less than the pillar of grace (*bats eyelashes*) that I always am?

And, more importantly, I was wondering when did I become the skinny bitch in the room? 😉

In any case, I guess I shouldn’t worry that I’m going to become callous or rude or anything else overnight. I won’t be out preaching the gospel of how good I feel and how everyone should do what I am doing — you gotta do it because you’re ready, plain and simple.

And while I hate it that it took me 34 years to get ready, well, I want it now and will work to get what I want. God knows I’ve prioritized everyone else in my life — it’s finally time for me. Like I said before, I’ve waited too long to settle … for anyone or anything less than what I want/deserve.

But if anyone catches me being anything less than humble in the meantime, you have the right to force-feed me a cupcake. 😉