Caterwauling

Andy Borowitz joked that he’s been drinking since the election. 

It occurs to me that I’ve been overeating since the election. 

And drinking, of course. My nerves are shot. 

I was trying to get motivated after killing a bottle of wine last night and again tonight … and not even getting as much as a buzz …

And I thought, fuck. If I can stay sober during Tangerine Tiny Hands’ first 100 days, it’ll be a friggin’ miracle. 

But maybe if I can just eat normal portions during those 100 days, I can have a couple cocktails a week. 

When they go low, we aim lower. 

Impossibly and wonderfully short first “thing” of the day. Winner winner, ham and turkey dinner.

Then I ran to Bux. My favorite barista told me how great I looked and asked “my number now.”

Now, we’ve had this ongoing thing where she will ask me how much weight I’ve lost. I use my highest number as a baseline.

I thought for a second and said “76.”

Before I could do the math, though, another barista yelled out, “Her number is 1-800-BABE!”

LMAO.

They congratulated me and we all went about our day.

Then I walked outside and found a lucky penny on the ground. Heads side was up.

Good to see you, Abe. I already knew it was a good day, but it was good to have the confirmation.

I love this day.

I fell asleep way past midnight, thinking of my recently deceased friend and wishing I could ask her a question about a known liar’s conversation with a big pussy.

If she were still here on earth, she’d give me a good opinion. I can only imagine what she’s seeing now.

Fell asleep and dreamed that I walked into a restaurant. Saw my grandparents and my mom and my Uncle Ed at a table. Was walking over to them when …

THE FIRE ALARMS WENT OFF.

All.

Night.

Long.

Then the new neighbor upstairs started stomping around, just like I did the other night to inspire the women downstairs to cut the freaking TV volume.

Anyway, left for work super-early and super-pissed at the universe.

Then …

Went to my favorite Starbucks that I rarely visit because it’s by the old office and we have another, lesser location in our backyard.

(I had to go there to pee twice yesterday, so I can’t talk smack about them. The baristas gave me their code to use their restroom. Traffic jams at my place.)

In any event …

My favorite barista was stocking shelves. She took a quick look at me and said …

“You better stop that. A gust of wind is going to blow you away pretty soon!”

🙂

Yeah, that made my day.

A colleague from up at HQ said something similar yesterday too.

That melts everything else away.

Also, yeah. I look a little different than what they may remember …

Thanksgiving in Key West 2010 and 2016

Been gaining and losing the same two pounds for two months. 

Could be any number of reasons why. 

I eat my losses — live on salads, then binge when I go to sneak just a bite of something sweet. 

And I get lazy when people tell me I look good. I mean, I know what they’re saying is I look better than before. But I can rationalize that to mean that I look less horrific now so just don’t get back to that old weight. 

Seriously. I live on salads. Boring! Now Mom started baking again and it’s been so long and it may never happen again. So goddamn right, I’m eating that banana bread. All of it! I earned it after all those shitty salads!!!

Lots of change at work too. Moved offices. Which was traumatic in so many ways. I also feel like we should have saved the money because it’s like spending a salary when we could’ve worked from home. And then I lost my ability to work from home. Only me. No one else. Which I have to keep reminding myself at least I have a job. But yeah. Traumatic. 

I also don’t walk as much as I did before. Sure I try to park far away most days. But it isn’t that far and I’m back to working late again. And we get some unsavory characters floating around. Just easier/safer to park five feet from the door. 

Anyway. Off the rails. My weight is still the lowest it’s been since maybe right Post-college. And it’s ok because I have a lot of cute clothes that work right now. 

But I dream of better days and maybe getting treated better in life if I looked better. Sadly, I guess that means wanting to impress the unimpressive. And I have a hard time reconciling that one. 

Fat = invisible, and that ain’t always a bad thing. But maybe it’s not time to stand out but rather stand UP. 

Maybe ending the journey is the real reward. To start a new one, of course. 

Normally I’d opt to spend Friday at home. Not today. Went in early, hauled ass all day, and took what may be my last beach walk before being ripped away from the Ave. for the second time. 

Met a guy at the shore. I always meet people in this particular town. Nowhere else, though. My social life wilts beyond the downtown city limits. 

I was telling one of my boys recently that I never let my weight bother me much. Even at my biggest, 75 pounds ago. Even when I started this job, 47 pounds ago. Even now, when I honestly feel bigger than ever even though I’m obviously nowhere close to peak pudge. 

I thought about my appearance for a hot minute, when the guy said hi. Probably my last day wearing shorts and a Starbucks shirt over a bikini top. Gotta give a care where I’m going. But I’m happy with me. And I wish that were enough. 

As I had said to my friend, I wasn’t hurting for cute clothes or guys. I liked me well enough. Still do. People get that and are either intimidated by it … or want to be around it. 

So the guy introduces himself to me as Dave. Tan, nice smile, lives in Boca. Good hair. Maybe Italian. Probably Jewish. (Again, Boca.)

Wanted to walk with me for a while. (D’awwww.). Assured me he wasn’t crazy; just hoped to have a conversation with a friendly fellow local. 

Single, no kids. Very nice. Weak handshake, though, which bugs me. I have a firm one and expect not to crush a man’s hand. 

Funny how I decided in that instant that this wasn’t going anywhere. 

Nice chat, more or less. My walk back to Stockholm was longer than his. Another handshake (ugh) and I never looked back. 

I think I intimidated him anyway. I’m shy and quiet and unassuming … in the first five minutes. Then I’m strong and articulate and not afraid to show I’m smart and strong.  

Well except in certain company that’s made it clear my kind ain’t welcome here. Story for another never. 

In any event, I am always looking for that spark. Once in a blue moon, I even find it. But the idea of giving up even an inch or minute of my space to anyone less than fucking amazing is bothersome. 

Maybe nobody is that amazing. Fuck, maybe I’m not that spectacular, either. (Just ask that “certain company” who mindlessly asks me the same five questions every now and then without ever listening to the answer.)

But I’m not giving up on amazing and spectacular. And  even if it never comes, I’m not intetested in being distracted by anything else. 

Not anymore, anyway. I have enough unspectacular to last 10,000 lifetimes already. Present tense. 

So yeah. I am glad this came and went. Nice, pleasant, forgettable. I already am going to miss my existing lunch buddies. And happy hour specials. 

Wednesday nights at Smoke, I will miss you most of all. Free wine and cheap chicken-lettuce wraps give me life.  

One more Wednesday left. Trying not to return to peak pudge as I try to soak it all up since I may never get it again …

Well now that this dress finally fits, I’m going for plus-size Forever 21 model. Since any weight over about 140 means you need at least a 1X. 

Love the matching head wrap. Forever 42 here, all. 

Give it up to this fat-bottomed girl, who dared to wear her first fatkini in public yesterday after a good number on the scale …

I went to Bux because it’s double points day for gold members. 

This is the store where everyone knows me. And seems happy to see me. 

The one gal looked at me and said’ “OK, tell me, how much weight did you lose?”

Love that place. 🙂

I said 72-ish total but just 30 this year. Just walking. No gym. She was so nice and supportive and happy for me. 

Again, love that place. 

And then waiting to cross the street to get back to the office, I saw an old colleague out wandering. He looked at me and I waved. 

But he did not know me. Just double-took and blinked and thought about it. Then kept walking. 

Hmm. I don’t think I look that different. But I ain’t mad at that. At all. 

Weight Watchers asks its members hypothetically, “What’s your why?”

I never really had an answer. Because I didn’t even know what my “what” was.

So what’s “what”? To lose weight, get healthy? Well, duh.

It’s like when my AP English teacher asked us to write an essay on what we’d do with three wishes. I wrote a very practical (and totally half-assed), “I want a million dollars, I want it to come without strings attached, and I want three more wishes.”

I never got an F in my life. Not from this teacher, whom I dazzled with my creative poetry and off-the-wall approaches to her assignments. I got an F on that one, though.

My “what” is evolving. And I am checking things off the list without even knowing it.

Buying boots that don’t say “wide calf” … buying average-size wigs and headbands rather than the limited choices for big ones (check) … walking without “chub rub” or one pant leg riding up  … driving without the seatbelt choking me (check) … not having so much weight on my bladder because it’s f’ing annoying to pee once an hour, every hour … being able to shop in the juniors’ department near-exclusively (check) … being able to jog/run (check) … being able to fit comfortably on a metro or airplane seat without bleeding over the sides (check) … being able to use a laptop on a plane (check, although eff those who recline their seats in that tiny space) … etc.

Given that this is “what’s what,” I have a better idea of the why.

Because, knee socks.

I come from a family where everyone dies young. From no healthcare at all to lousy healthcare. So it’s important for me to take care of myself. To use natural remedies wherever possible.

I drink every kind of tea under the sun rather than taking meds to help my sleep, my allergies or my body processes.

So basically I don’t want to get sick(er). And having a pudgy pork roast ass doesn’t exactly help in that regard.

My family has been pretty sedentary. Looking out across the generations, I was one of probably two finish college. The women were mainly homemakers and the men fought for the Army and then retired to the steel mills and other odd jobs when the mills closed.

Nobody really did much in the way of taking walks. Not long ones. Aching joints for one. And always having older family members to take care of who can’t walk far or who can’t leave the house much at all.

I have that with Mom. But she’s trying now. She won’t go down without a fight. And she’s learning it from me.

My why, then, is I want to defy the family health history. I want to live a longer life than they did. I want to be mobile and physically independent and mentally strong.

I don’t want diabetes (we had a lot of that). We have a lot of the “C” word too so I’m really hoping that being healthy for as long as I can would help me to stave off anything of that magnitude. Or at least I’d be in fighting shape should a day like that ever come.

I guess it comes down to how I feel about relationships. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone. Don’t want to put up with a dumbass man to help me pay my rent and I don’t want to lean on disengaged healthcare workers to give a fuck whether I live or die or have a halfway comfortable existence. Because I know how that turns out.

My what is living as normal and fulfilling existence as possible. My why is because it’s possible and I’d be a damn fool not to do everything I can to make it happen.

Every witchy girl needs a black kitty …

Mom asked to take a walk with me two nights ago. Just around our lake, which is 1,000 steps door to door.

I was proud. That’s a lot for her. 

Last night she wanted to do it again. At the end of the lap, she asked to go again. 

Doubly proud. 

I hope this is the beginning of a trend. Maybe she’s seen me lose 30 pounds and feel better, and she’s ready to do the same. 

One of these days when her pain isn’t so intense, I’ll teach her my secret. Which is to walk with purpose. 

I found I tend to burn a little more when I walk taller, suck in my gut and really walk with determination. 

Raise the knee just a shade higher. Try to take bigger steps. 

Don’t run on your tiptoes (as I’ve done all my life lest fat girl pound the pavement literally and shake the earth). 

Basically take up space and don’t shrink in terror from your surroundings. As fat girls tend to do. The less people see you, the less chance of them making fun of you. 

Now it feels like nobody is making fun of me. Maybe they are. Either I don’t notice, or I just assume they are shouting a compliment at me. 

Even though it doesn’t look like it, I’ve worked hard. I earned a compliment or two. Even if the only person to give it to me is myself. 

And by mom wanting to join me on a walk, that’s the biggest compliment of all.