It's So Easy Being Green

Kermit had it all wrong, I tell you. It is easy to be green - with envy, that is. It's hard for me not to be constantly comparing myself to others, especially my sisters, who are both gorgeous (check one out at the blog labeled "that's whack" and see for yourself). Both of them work out religiously, (recall my mention of them being fitness instructors) so I should not be envious. They are not one of those bitches who can eat whatever they want and never gain a pound (sorry, bitches-who-can, but that's my word for you) But I envy. A lot.

What spouted my latest green streak? The fact that I weight watchered myself crazy last week, and worked out three times and only lost a half a pound, which I could do by taking a crap. How does this relate to my envy? Hang on, I'm getting there - so impatient, you readers. I went and visited my fitness crazy brother over the weekend, and was so restrained in my eating, or so I thought. I did not snack, despite being in the mall with Cinnabons, cookies and cinnamon sugar pretzels. I ate a chicken wrap with no dressing, avoiding the Chik-fil-a waffle fries and chicken club sandwich that I love. When dining out, I only ate half of the chicken, downed my salad, and ate three slices of potato, taking the rest to-go and giving it to my baby bro. We DID go and get spinach and artichoke dip, but left a good portion of chips and half of the dip on the plate. I did not order popcorn at the movies, and chewed gum instead. I had three drinks that day (darn empty calories!). Ok, so a few indisgressions, but overall there was restraint! sacrifice! moderation! good judgment! On Sunday we went for breakfast, and I had a soufle and a bagel (which I knew were high points, but most things at Panera are high points) and then only a low-fat balogna sandwich the entire rest of the day. !!! The goodness on my part continues!

So... my sister let me know that she pigged out all weekend. Buffet breakfast with chocolate cake. And I know she did it up right - like I would do if I could get away with it. And she can get away with it!! She will gain a couple of pounds, but lose those plus another couple by the end of the week because of her workout schedule. Color me green.

And green about all of their workout schedules, ESPECIALLY (somehow - totally unfair and I know it) my sister Sahm (names changed to protect the innocent). She's the one who indulged in the buffet. She works out five days per week, at least 90 minutes a pop. Why should this make me jealous? Because she does it after rousing from her bed-nest at about 9:00 a.m., then getting herself and kids around to go to the Y where she exercises guilt-free while her children are in the daycare room. My other sister does daycare in her home, so has a slightly bigger challenge, and my brother works but has no kids so he can just go to the gym right after work.

And I know that my life is good. And that they wish they had some of the things that I have (career that I love). But DAMN IT! My work out options, and at this point I am convinced that the power of exercise is phenomenal in the realm of keeping one's weight low, are for shit - 6 a.m. or 9 p.m. So I have to then eat nothing, pretty much, and deal with crappy workout times to avoid being "the fat sibling."

So there it is, my green rant. Love does not envy? In my case it does. You may all go and murmur to yourselves about what a terrible person I am now.

Ode to Cindy Lauper

I went back to Weight Watchers. And this time, instead of cheating and using my sister's materials, I paid for the friggin membership. And somehow, Cindy Lauper was right: Money Changes Everything. I PAID to use a tracking system to kick myself back into healthy eating habits and exercise habits. I paid to do something that I have done succesfully "on my own" at least twice before. But, somehow that seems to have provided the motivation to buckle down and actually do this. (Instead of talking about doing it and then bitching about fat clothes and how I need a boob job - both still legit stances upon which to bitch.)

I am doing the online thing, and let it be known to the fellow WW crew that I have this blog (we'll see if they check it out and then boot me from the program for my sarcastic attitude and potty mouth).

I made it through one day successfull, and am a good chunk of the way through the second. Maybe I am back on track! My clothes sure hope so - they are pinching me as a reminder to get rid of the buffalo butt and muffin top gut. Buffalo Butt and Muffin Top Gut - my new theme song, perhaps.

January Binge-a-Thon

Hostess Cupcakes are evil, I swear. EEEE-vil! So moist, so chocolatey with that refreshing and sweet cream filling and perfect frosted top. Damn them!! So you can guess how well my New Year's diet is going.

PMS is a bitch and my master all at the same time. Of course that is how my New Year had to start, right? With PMS!! My hunger knows no limit, my stomach no full-line. It is horrifying. So, instead of 2008 beginning with dedication, devotion, exercise and salad, it began with a couple of days of moderation and then a full-on pigfest of oinker proportions. I consumed the evil cupcakes. My hormonal body also demanded fast food breakfast, so I obliged. After lunch, I had a candy bar, some fudge and a piece of caramel with pecans. I topped it all off with some fried cheese. So, I guess anything will be a successful improvement after this. sigh

In better news: I have been doing toning exercises daily. I went to the gym today and put in 35 minutes on the elipse and then did some work on the machines. Ta-dah!! Not enough to combat the nasty binge, but... it's something.

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.