All I Want For Christmas is a Set of Jugs

And no, not like crockery. But like hooters, cans, twins, girls, ta-tas, lady lumps, BOOBS. Why on God's green Earth would I post my Santa request on my diet blog? Well, let me just tell you. I want some new boobies to offset my gut. I would like the boob to gut ratio to be about 2:1, instead of 1:1 or worse 1:2 (or greater!). You know what I mean? And this is difficult with the measly pair that I have nestled in the cups of my very padded (with gel inserts) Victora's Secret bra. I nursed two kids on these girls, and they did a great job, so I would like to reward them with a makeover, as the kids seemed to suck (literally) the life right out of them (well, the firmness and substance at the very least). I know that the lure of plastic surgery is not all it seems to be, but I think that shirts would fit a lot better and I would feel a lot better in them if I could get them to fit my middle and not have a bunch of excess fabric gapping in my armpits that SHOULD be used to stretch around the sisters. So, I'm taking monetary donations, and may start a fundraiser in effort to get the cash (6 g's, I think) to buy this gift. Until then, I'll just keep buying more padded bras.

Oh, and countdown to new year and nother diet: 16 days.

This Blog is Alive with the Sound of Music

(Sung to "My Favorite Things" ala Sound of Music)

Chocolate on pretzels
And cheese on my nachos
Cookies and brownies
and cake, in my mouth goes.

Warm coffee cake that my nice neighbor brings,
these are a few of my favorite things.

Bagels with cream cheese
And warm apple strudel
Snickers and Twix bars
And Reece's in oodles

Toasted marshmallows I roast in the Spring,
These are a few of my favorite things!

When the dog barfs,
When the kids scream,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply eat all of my favorite things,
And then I don't feel
Soooo bad!

(at least not until the next day)

The "f" Word

On our Thanksgiving trip to my in-laws, my adorable 4-year-old imp of a girl told her grandmother that she is fat. FAT! I can hear you all (ha! "you all" - the two entire people who even know this dumb blog exists!) sucking in your breath, then the gasp, followed by, "Oh no!" and the hand flying to cover your mouth. The hand over your mouth was to stiffle the giggles, right? It's horrifying and hella funny all in the same moment. MUCH less funny if it is your 4-year-old and your mother-in-law. Well, anyways, the 4-year-old was admonished and told that isn't a nice thing to say. She proceded to apologize and then note, "Grandma, your tummy is big and squishy, but Mommy's tummy is skinny, Daddy is skinny....." Oh the horror. I tried to cover quickly by saying something about the wonderful meal we just ate and how the diahrrea-mouthed kid had a nice round tummy also because of the great food and aren't we all lucky to be healthy and full. (no, I did not call my four-year-old "diahrrea-mouth" to her face. sheesh, that was just for effect here)

"Not a nice thing to say." That has got my gears a-grinding. But don't we all say it? Isn't it true for some folks? What's the PC word, here? "Rotund?" "Plump?" "Well-nourished?" "Girthy?" I know there was one shopping trip (ok most of the shopping trips) where my sisters, mother and I banish the word "fat" from the day. You can squeek by by referring to yourself as "Large Marge" (sorry to all the Marges out there in the world, but...), or if you are extra lucky, "Extra-large Marge," but one year we tried to ban that too, and say "L for Lovely, or Extra-Lovely" in which case M = mediochre and S = stupidly skilly.

The thing is, I know that my child heard that word from ME, not me referring to others, mind you, but to myself. My spouse is guilty also, but oh my goodness, I forget to treat that like the other "f" word, and really don't think about how "not nice" it is to referr to myself in that way. But I feel it some days. And I say it to myself often, probably too often, without batting an eye. No gasps of horror that the word came out of my mouth, and I would feel just AWFUL if someone else said it to me/about me. And I know I am not alone here, people. So, now that I have this lightbulb moment, what shall I do with it? Probably nothing, but perhaps try to focus more on healthy habits instead of fat. I'm working on it, and with some success, demonstrated by same said four-year-old asking me if I was going to exercise and sadly saying, "But it's healthy and I want you to be healthy!" when I told her "no."

The Measuring Stick

Apparently I have a lot of pent up blogging that needed to be released today. Have I mentioned that all three of my siblings are fitness people? Well, they are. My two younger sisters are Turbokick instructors, both studying to be general fitness instructors. One battles her weight and we can often commiserate, but she works out quite often and had a baby about 11 months ago and the weight is sliding off of her like butter on a warm pan. My other sister is a chiseled size 4. Nuff said. My brother used to be a size Large - pretty normal for midwestern dudes, but he was not pleased, so he started living according to the Men's Health bible and now wears jeans that I think might be smaller than mine. He's going to go to school to be a personal trainer. He's very dedicated, and I admire that. Actually, I admire all of them. But they set that measuring stick at a pretty tall hight. And I thank them and curse them all in the same breath.

What the f......

Ok, so I started this week (and today is only Tuesday) with the thought that I would get up early and walk for 20 minutes on my treadmill. 20 minutes is not that long, but I bet if I did it every week day it would make a difference. 20 minutes is not that much less sleep, I should be able to haul my butt out of bed and get on the damn treadmill. I used to walk with a neighbor in Nebraska at 5:50 a.m. Required me to get out of bed at 5:40 (enough time to pee, brush teeth, get on shoes - I wore the walking gear to bed, and don't even ask about how that worked with sex). These days I get up at about 6:45 a.m. I should then, conceiveably be able to get up at, say 6:15 and walk. Nope, apparently not. What the Flip is wrong with me?

Fat Pants

A couple of years ago I went on a diet (one of the many), employing the good ole Weight Watchers points thing and Turbokick four days per week. Just like all of the damn experts tell you, it worked. I got fairly frickin thin. So, then I was just awash in fat pants - you know, the ones you put on and they just fall right off of you? Well, I got rid of most of them, celebrating with new skinny pants. But I kept one or two pairs. Guess which jeans I am wearing these days... sigh... the flippin fat pants. Heck, these days I am wearing track pants. Forgiving, stretchy track pants. And if I do not watch myself over this ho-ho-holiday season, I will need to buy BIGGER fat pants. I shudder at the thought. Seriously, that's messed up if I got thin only to go back up BIGGER than the damn fat pants starting point.

Damn Wagon

So, here's what happened... (besides the fact that I forgot my password and couldn't get signed on. All I could do is view the dumb blog.) I was on the wagon, off the wagon, kicked the wagon and swore at the wagon as it passed me. I am sort of trailing the wagon at the moment. I am down to about 147 pounds - got as low as 146, and have not put in the effort needed for real weight loss for more than about two days in a row. Now it is the holiday season. Damn wagon... I don't WANT to be on it during the holidays! I LIKE all of the crap that is available for eating. So, my goal is to maintain this weight and go full guns again after January 1st. Maybe I should call Jenny Craig... it worked for Kirstie and Valerie....

Day Three

Day three... why do the days drag on a diet? What is that about? And why does it take so long to lose weight? It sure didn't seem like it took too long to gain it. The time flew when I was blissfully scarfing down crispy onion rings and gooey bars. But on a diet, I wake up and I'm thinking, "Ug. Ok, it's only day three." I wade through my day and quietly munch on my high fiber cereal, my lean chicken, and sigh as I pass the champagne cake in the cafeteria cooler. Still, the scale was kind to me today (see tracking section) and I have been faithful to the plan. The scale bit: it could be due to "dropping some brownies off at the pot luck" (if you get my drift) and just being hungry and empty. No real weight loss. No reduction in the jiggle factor. No exercise today, either. I WILL do three days this week, though. I will.

Taps

Day is done... gone the sun... and I did not eat garbage tody!! I journaled and counted like a good girl, and had 17 points today. I can have 18 to 23 per day, and I am not going for that last point because it is now after 8 p.m. and there is no good reason to eat now. My husband is dieting along with me, and his major victory was that his boss' mother brought in homemade cookies and he turned them down. I admire him for the victory, but loathe him at the same time. He did not eat enough today, and he'll lose weight twice as fast as me, even if he ate the 10 more points worth of food that he is supposed to eat. That is all kinds of wrong, I tell you.

The First Day

Today is the first day of my 500th damn diet. You would think by the age of 34 that a reasonably bright woman, such as myself, would have figured out that one cannot become thin and stay that way if you stop excercising and eat any food that tickles your fancy at every hour of wakefulness. You would think that. I would, too. So, why then do I do this stupid yo-yo dance with the scale and my feelings of self-confidence? I know how to eat to be healthy and at a weight that does not make clothes shopping a trauma experience. But it is not how I would like to eat. I would like to eat until I am feeling nauseated and then eat again in two hours. That's just nuts. And I know nuts, as I am a mental health professional. I know that many of you feel my pain, and live it in your own lives. Check out Dottie's Weight Loss Zone if you are feeling alone (http://www.dwlz.com/) - a plus-sized woman who Weight Watchered herself down to flat stomach status, and then climbed back up the scale to only pose in photos while hiding behind her spouse. Any of you have those photos? Dottie is "back on track" and I am trying to be, albeit grouchily. That's why I decided to blog - it's venting, really.

I need to get my good attitude back. I used to have one, when I was thinner. I felt powerful, energized, even happy. I did not need sweets, did not want grease, and enjoyed my salad with chicken and my Boca burgers. I worked out four days per week if not more, and it was an hour of serious sweating. I enjoyed the workouts, and felt like crud if I didn't do them. I did not make up reasons for skipping like I do now. None of this "Oh, I already showered." or "Well, I am really tired." and certainly not, "Geez, I can't wait until this is over," while doing the workout. That person is captured neatly on my driver's license - a crazy place for a good photo, but it's where the healthy me is at her best. I moved to a new state, and have to get a new license. I am going to ask that they cut the photo off for me so I can save it for inspiration.

So, here we go, folks. Day one of getting me back - the good me, the me that I am proud of and who comes home from shopping trips with things she cannot wait to wear, not just stuff for the kids or my spouse. I'll track my progress in the "tracking space" and you can all follow along at home. Ready, set, go!!

Weight: 151 lb.
Height: 5' 4"
Long-term Goal: 130 lb. (would love to be 125, really), and stay around that weight
Food eaten today: 1 diet Dr. Pepper; 1 Zone Perfect Bar