Caterwauling

15 years since that tragic Tuesday morning. I have nothing new to say. But judging by Facebook, everybody else does. 

Never forget, they say. As if. So, social media blackout today. 

Of course if you think about it, today’s high schoolers either weren’t born yet or were too little to understand. Your average freshman was still gestating at this point. 

God. Can you remember life before 9/11? It’s like the BC/AD line of modern times. 

For me, this marks 15 years since I bought my first car, tossed my Calico kitty in the backseat, left town and never looked back. I didn’t know where life would lead, as long as it was anywhere else. 

Funny how I never really lost that feeling, no matter where I ended up. 

I was an executive. I left to become a journalist. Figured I was a hard worker and would reclaim that title in no time. 

Lol. 

I’m healthier now, physically. Not sure if I’ll ever be as spiritually light as I was in my 20s. But I’m not getting drunk and scarfing down pizza and diner food to fill the hours. 

Like today, I put on my bathing suit top and took a walk rather than nursing my pre-911 hangovers with vodka. 

I even fit into a new pair of shorts I got yesterday for eight bucks. 

I still hope I’ll amount to something professionally. But I don’t mind having time to get a tan, either. 

Here’s to another 15 years of being ok. 

If there’s been a theme to my vacation, it’s “We have hit every Ross Dress for Less in Broward and Palm Beach counties.”

Whee.

I got some sugar skulls wine glasses. Stemless with black skulls and a small bow on top of each. Mine is the hot pink. Mom can have red. There’s a gold one, for Steeler games. And a purple one for an imaginary friend.

I can tell that Mercury started its retrograde bullshit. I did everything for Mom today, from taking her to Bay Bay’s for chicken and waffles, to taking her to Pizza Time out in Coral Springs for pasta e fagioli and Sicilian slices. To two crappy Rosses out that way just because. And when I was walking out of one of those crappy Rosses in the rain to get the car for her, I wiped out and hit the street.

She never laughed so hard. She sounds like a tea kettle when she’s really laughing. No sound but a high-pitched whistle comes out. She can’t breathe and all she can do is whistle harder. It’s the damndest thing. Usually that makes ME laugh. But I was bleeding and it wasn’t all that amusing. 🙂

I figure it was at Ross and I didn’t have any dignity to protect. I do fall very well, I have to admit. Very graceful and slow. I ended up sitting on my ankle and the other leg was out in front of me. I figured to try to fall left since my phone was in my back right pocket. Of all the goals I set out to achieve this year, this is the only one I can check off my list.

The way I fall reminds me of my great-grandmother Anastasia. One day she fell at home after getting a piece of pie from the kitchen. We came home and she was sitting on her ankle (same one) and the other leg out in front of her. She was calmly eating her pie. That was me in the middle of Fort Lauderdale today. I credit her for my grace, and my green eyes.

If only I inherited her dignity.

Speaking of lack of dignity, I now own three bikinis. (Pausing while you laugh hysterically. It’s OK.) I tend to wear bikini tops instead of bras on the weekend. The problem with losing weight is that the boobs are first to go. (RIP boobies.)

I barely even need a bra these days, but I’m not crazy enough to leave the house without something covering them. And I saw all the bottoms I would need on clearance, which was great. I figure, my shorts are falling off. The bottoms HAVE to fit, right?

Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. < / Vinny Barbarino >

(Incidentally, I have an Arnold Horshack laugh when I’m sick. Which I am now. Which means I am on vacation and I HAVE HAD NO BOOZE.)

In any event, I know I have the Horshack laugh because holy shit, me in a full bikini is entertainment of the highest level. I’m in that weird in-between sizing where I can wear juniors’ but I should probably JUST NOT.

However, wearing juniors’ stuff (and a bikini top as a bra, of course) and using my old belt as a hula-hoop was the highlight of my staycation so far.

(Token “Love Trunps Hate” button to match my bumper sticker.)

My old meeting leader Chris (back when I went to the good Weight Watchers meeting in Muddy Branch) always said to toss the fat clothes because you can easily slide back up into them since you just happen to have them. But definitely keep a belt as your progress yardstick, so to speak. Because who wants to fit into an old belt?

Thank you, Chris. As he always used to say to close the meetings, “I look forward to seeing less of you next week.”

I wonder if I would have succeeded had I been able to stay in his classes. Of course, I have a bad habit of thinking everything would better if only I lived somewhere else. 

I sure thought the same thing when I was in Rockville. But I realize now that I had more than my fair share of people who stimulated me intellectually and motivated me emotionally or professionally.

Perhaps that is what I learned on my summer vacation. I was hoping for an epiphany about where I need to be. But the truth is, I could be a whole lot happier no matter where I happen to find myself if I find even just a tiny, regular dose of mentoring and “shop talk” that gives me any sense of direction that is “Forward.”

That could make all the difference between liking and loving Florida. And myself, for that matter.

I like me with fewer chins! Clearly I lost a few between Chicago and West Palm Beach …

The first night of the DNC convention has me so pumped up, I could run a marathon. Truly. If it didn’t involve running or sweating, that is. 

Can’t talk about it on Faceypages. Lord knows some Hillary haters will get butt hurt. And then I will have to ignore them out loud while plotting to fly to their swing states and tie them to their beds so they don’t write in Jill Stein on Election Day. 

Speaking of Faceypages, mom was horrified that I reposted an 11-year-old photo that showed up in my Memories today. 

I mean, yeah, I’m a good 70 pounds lighter today. But I loved the day and the people I was with. That was back when K from NC was Lachlan from Seattle, when M was Liv and when Neil was his real name, D. 

Mine is the last blog standing. And those are what linked us before that day. D and I were neighbors. But none of us would have even known the others existed without our blogs. 

And for one night only, the Internet met in the funkiest little restaurant in Old Town Alexandria. 

Forgive me if I loved the smile on all our faces, even if my pudgy pork roast ass took up half the photo. 

Here it is, along with an “after” shot from yesterday at a Boca beach. It’s nice to know that it’s possible to get better with age …

Well after listening to a circus peanut scream and rain gloom and doom forecasts for an hour and a half like a financial publishing marketer, I’m ready to leave the country in January. 

So here’s the only positive thing I have to say. Here’s what a 40-lb weight loss looks like. I know I have a lot more work to do.  But what a difference in the face. 

I will have to go back to the Sunset Grill and take a photo that doesn’t make me sad now …

I have a ton of draft posts, since I can never really go away. (Also, I document everything.) But yeah, you never get rid of me. 

The quiet was good for me. I practiced it on social media and IRL too. 

One lesson: I never really noticed how people interrupt you when you talk. But when you say fewer words than normal, their behavior is pretty apparent. But don’t interrupt THEM, God forbid. 

Another lesson: When they aren’t stalking you and coming up with their own assessment of what’s in your head and heart (from a few hastily written words in a 35-second burst), they still subscribe to their own fantasy about you. I thought NOT giving them ammo would make them talk to me more. I was wrong. 

Another lesson: Going dark shows who your real friends are. I didn’t get a ton of emails and texts. But I got a few. And for those of you who are true friends but gave me my space, I love you too. I needed it and I need you guys too. 

A final lesson. I popped back up on social media and was happily welcomed back. By the usual suspects (love you all) and some pleasantly surprising ones. 

That got me to thinking. A lot. Because I’ve been 100% ready to go dark. From online, from where I am, from maybe life in general. All in hopes of just never having to deal with terrible people again. Two in particular. 

And I kind of got it that these twerps don’t define me. Yes they can and do poke holes in the occasional balloons of joy.  Karma never seems to catch up with them because they think they are great and apparently the universe listens. 

But I worked very hard to build all my relationships. No need to sacrifice any of them to run away from other ones. 

If I don’t force myself every day to coexist with crazy, well, I’m only giving up the things I do love that might or might not exist otherwise. 

I’ll leave it vague like that. But you get the idea. 

Anyway. Life is good right now. And I will take it. 

After all, I haven’t worn this size in seven years. If that isn’t worth celebrating on this Independence Day, then I don’t know what is. 

I met my biological father for the first and last time when I turned 18.  

I wore my favorite olive green outfit that matched my eyes. He wore a bright blue polo that matched his eyes. 

The night was fine. I had a photo from it that I shredded after he denied me and said he didn’t want to be in my life even now. 

I often wondered if it didn’t matter that I graduated with a near-4.0 and got into a good school. I wondered if he was disgusted that I wasn’t skinny. 

I weighed way less then than I do now. But I think a part of me figured that I’d never be good enough for him at any weight. 

Just like his stupid skinny self wasn’t good enough for me since he was a horrible person inside. 

Anyway. Today is the annual “fuck him” day. Father’s Day is for real men, so sit down, pipsqueak. 

And not that you care, asshole, but I continue to do just fine without you. 

I’m a long way from where I want to be. But I’m closer than I’ve ever been. Can you say the same?

After the trio of Orlando tragedies, plus more in France and London, for this little Disney-loving Irish girl who loves all her fabulous friends, this week was not my favorite. 

But I got through it it. Down 1.8. Would have been more but I demolished my share and yours of salty carbs yesterday. 

It isn’t all good. But it isn’t half-bad …

Allow me to channel my inner Jamiroquai (love that song) but modify it to seven YEARS in sunny June.

That’s because it took me THAT LONG to get back to the weight I was at when I arrived here seven years ago.

I’ve still got mah pudgy pork roast ass. And I worry about losing too much weight and not being able to wear all my sleeveless shirts that took me a lifetime to get up the nerve to buy/wear.

But fuck it. I don’t have college tuitions to save up for. Plastic surgery, baybee.

I’m also in zero danger of being skinny. I’m quite thrilled to be teetering just on the wrong side of the normal/overweight BMI line.

Anyway I keep thinking my clothes will be loose. Not so. They actually fit properly now. Who knew skirts weren’t supposed to be so short and that you don’t have to unzip your jeans to pull them on? IT’S MAGIC, I TELL YOU.

That’s all. Carry on. Ain’t nothin’ nobody could do to piss me off today. And I promise not to even notice if they try.

Fought with the landlord’s new girlfriend over text all weekend. I cannot believe how much they insult me and my intelligence. Horrid, wretched people.

I was up half the night worrying about work too. The upstairs neighbor was actually quiet for a change. And I still barely slept.

But I’m focusing on the positive. A problem that was created got solved. I won’t think about the other 98 problems I have to solve/help solve.

I got to thinking about the Weight Watchers “Connect” app. I watch people brag that they ate a whole cake but they tracked it and they will be better tomorrow.

I was thinking about it because of a big problem that I didn’t create, didn’t solve and didn’t even handle. And it’s giving me an ulcer.

Someone asked about it and my mental response was “well good riddance” and I thought about those “I ate the WHOLE CAKE AND LOVED IT MMMM MMMMMMMMM” people. They make jokes where they are not appropriate.

I mean yes, eat what you want, be honest about it in your tracker and promise yourself to do better the next meal/day. Fine.

But don’t be a dick about it.

I mean yes, I have to own my fuckups (even if I don’t fully believe they were within my control). Take control. Apologize. Fix it. Ask for help in fixing it. And if you don’t get it, fix it anyway. (This is where I fell down on the job. I didn’t “fix it anyway.” Because I have no idea how.)

But where I kind of look down my British nose at the people who proudly binge-ate is that this is a lifestyle, eating right. You know what I want to do when I eat cake? EAT MORE CAKE. So I cannot eat cake. It’s that simple.

I can’t snack anymore either. I don’t buy them. Because I will Hoover them in. I can’t open a bag of chips — even sea salt kale or quinoa chips — without DEMOLISHING them. So, no chips in Goddess’ world unless I know I will destroy the bag and will have to give up something else that’s delicious because of it.

Anyway, only I could try to relate food to work. But yeah. I binge on work too. Maybe not on all the right things. I know I give way more attention to certain things (like 10 Cherry Tomatoes Short of a Salad) and not to OMG This Thing is On Fire (sung in the tune of Alicia Keys). And the trade-off is my health. Ergo, wine for dinner and health problems galore.

In any event. The handbasket awaits. And of course there’s no gas in it because this is me we’re talking about!