Caterwauling

more animals

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.

I’m sure you, like the rest of the world who would rather amputate their left ass cheek than vote for John McCain, got the e-mail to take off Election Day for Barack Obama.

And I just wanted to reply, honey, I am not able to take off for God Himself. Further, if I was taking the day off for a man who’s not hard to look at, canvassing wouldn’t exactly be the way I’d spend it!

One of my Twitterfriends tweeted last night that if we vote now, can we stop hearing political ads? I think that’s a grand idea, especially considering that I have no idea when I’ll be able to vote on Nov. 4. Why aren’t the polls open at 10 p.m. when our shifts are finally over?

Actually, I did make a voluntary promise to my boss that I would neither take a vacation day, use a sick day nor, well, die anytime in the next few months. But I never said ANYTHING about not quitting. 😉

Just kidding. I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. I love lamp. I love … somebody hand me some wine, OK? So what if it’s only 6 a.m.?

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. 😉

I may not have anybody up my cooch, as of this typing, but I sure have an army up my ass these days.

I admit, I’m a little irritated that I missed a ticketed event last night thanks to that thing that both pays the bills and takes more years off my life than a thousand cartons of Marlboro Lights.

Sure, I could have gone late. Yes, I’m the one who ultimately decided that I didn’t feel like changing into semi-formal clothes, doing my makeup, hopping on the Metro and forcing myself to be social after the day I had.

It’s my own damn fault that I missed out on the awesome swag (cosmetics and such) because of my own homicidal tendencies. But damn, can’t a girl even get a half-hour in which to simply pull herself together and not always have to be rushing from one thing to the next?

I actually woke up this morning and thought it was Saturday. That there could not POSSIBLY be one more workday left in this week. Hah. WRONG.

Well, before I get forced at gunpoint back into the hamster wheel, a moment of levity. You’ve got to love a male doctor who puts you in stirrups and compliments you on the fact that your toenail polish matches them! (They were purple.)

A friend asked me whether I get freaked out at the hoo-ha doc since you’ve got your ass hanging out and such. I said no — perhaps too many people saw it in my 20s, so I think it should be housed in the Smithsonian with other property that belongs to the public. 😉

I’m more vulnerable when it’s my soul on display. Which, luckily I guess, I don’t have the time of day to do, so at least something is being preserved during this ridiculous era of my life. ‘Cause it sure as hell ain’t my sanity or the will to keep up this pace for much longer. …

Have spent the better part of the past three hours in the waiting room at the twat doc. Oy vey.

I ended up really enjoying the experience. The doctor, not the “OK, that emerald ring you lost three years ago has gotta be up there SOMEWHERE” part. I tend to prefer male doctors since they know their way around better than anyone, and believe me, if HE couldn’t find my beloved ring, NOBODY can!

I was getting fairly antsy after a while and just wanted somebody — for the love of God, ANYBODY — to examine me. Hey, it was going to be the most activity the ol’ girl has seen in (*mumble mumble*) so yeah, bring it.

Actually, quite honestly, it was the first lunch break I’ve taken in (*mumble mumble*) so I really wasn’t too concerned. After the three-ring circus spectacular (assclowns unite!) that was my morning, it was actually the most pleasant part of my day to have someone impale the honey pot with a metal stirrer. And if THAT doesn’t say something, I really don’t know what would!

Since we’ve bypassed TMI on the coochie superhighway, let’s pull over to the next rest stop and talk about those little wonderful magical pills that those kind of doctors can prescribe to you. I mean, not that I’m planning on falling on someone’s dick accidentally or anything. But, you know. I aim to be more prepared than FEMA in hurricane season.

But the funny part of all this is, shit, I’m 34 years old and have a three-month supply of freedom pills. Do I still hide them from my Extended Houseguest^TM like I had to do when I was half this age? 🙂

OK, so there was just this moth flying around in the ladies’ room as I was washing my hands. And I wondered for a second, well gee I know it’s been a while, but do I have moths flyin’ outta my cooch from disuse?

And Lord help us all if that happens when I hit the hoo-ha doc on Wednesday, although spiderwebs are totally in season, and therefore acceptable if that’s what he should find. …

Today’s Gemini horoscope:

Instead of searching for a compromise, you should stick to your guns and push right back when they start pushing you. Their priorities are not in the right place, but yours are.

I have this one person whose brilliance shines over their pain-in-the-ass-ness, but let me tell you, they are the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever encountered. But in the vein of my preference at working with smartasses over dumbasses, I’ve learned to lose battles gracefully. I fight the good fight, but some days you gotta know when to walk away and most days, you should just choose to run away from this one.

Anyway, imagine my surprise today when said individual not only asked my advice, but decided to FOLLOW it. *faints* You know, I’m not any smarter than I was several months ago when we started working together, but the fact that they finally see it, accept it and utilize it, well, that’s what we call a victory ’round these parts.

Another day, another addition to my Dead Sea Scrolls-sized shit list.

Actually, the same assholes are on it — I’ve changed my analyst rating of some from “want to kill” to “needs killin’ STAT.”

Since I just made an appointment with the hoo-ha doctor for next week, I can share this story that’s sort of related to my ass:

Friend: So, where should I put these files?
Me: Up my ass.
Friend: Hrm. Well, I don’t know, because I’m not certain anyone would know to look for them there.
Me: There are so many people up there, I’m sure that someone is BOUND to see them and ask what they are.

I knew Amalah was going to have a baby this week (OMG, check out this wee one. Can you say Teh Kyootness? Yes you can!).

I decided I was jealous that yes, while she had someone up her butt, at least he was coming out. And as Tiff reminded me, the people up my butt? Not so kyoot. Not one bit. 😉

My friends keep asking me when I’m going to post a new blog. I try to tell them that I don’t have anything to say, which they don’t believe for one minute. 😉 But then I say, “What I have to say would get my ass double-Dooced,” and they totally get it. Well, those who understand what the term means and all. 😉

I actually heard that term at BlogHer D.C. on Monday. Which, OMG ugh. Can you imagine?

Speaking of OMG, let me give you my highlights from the conference:

1. Spending the day with Tiff. Which, yay! Although I was bummed that The Funky Feline couldn’t come out and play. I did Tweet to her that she wasn’t missing much. 😉

2. Lunch. Nom nom nom. Healthy and tasty veggie-type stuff and fish with a curry sauce.

3. Afternoon break, with chocolate-covered apple slices and a soft chocolate chip cookie. Blew my diet for the first time on that cookie and holy shit, it was worth it! I still lost 2.5 pounds this week, so chocolate apparently does a body good. (And, sidenote to Tiff, diets may do a body good but his girlfriend will always be a ‘ho, no matter how much milk or whatever else she drinks!)

4. Cool-ass swag. Seriously. The sponsors were awesome.

5. The cocktail reception. I skipped the wine (I just heard about 35 of you hit the floor as you passed out!) but enjoyed the butternut squash soup, the crabmeat mac and cheese, and the mini quiches. *drool*

Mad, mad props to the Bethesda Hyatt for preparing food that was fit for a queen but that doesn’t push you into queen size.

As far as the conference itself, meh. There were some fascinating attendees. The speakers were OK mostly; I was sort of hoping to learn the finer points of creating an online experience for readers as opposed to “This is a blog. This is a blog platform. This is a feed-reader.”

One session in which I spent a whopping five minutes did me in for the day. The Internet wasn’t working and the panelists said they’d take questions in the interim. First question? “How do I find blogs to read that I might like?”

*thunk*

Um, other than the fact that you should start at, oh, BlogHer.com since it hosts 30,000 of us, is this what I paid $100 to learn? Jesus Christ.

Out of my mouth, very audibly and yes, very inappropriately, came “Are you fucking KIDDING me?” At which point I left and joined the Geek Lab and talked to others who already knew how to locate their asses with both hands.

I was rather entertained by the fact that the lunch speaker — a Yahoo! employee — mentioned several of Google’s tools for analytics and such. Blasphemy! Isn’t that illegal, to nod to the competition (even if it’s not even a close competition)?

What really surprised me was how many people peered at my name tag (with my real name) and said, “Oh my God — you’re Goddess!” Or the sponsors who saw my name tag and said, “I’ve checked out your blog — you’re the one who fell off the toilet!”

Oy.

Oh well. Beat being at work. There’s a reason why my vacation bank’s cup runneth over. (Well, accrual has halted until I start using my days, so no overflow there.) Chaos reigned while I was gone, and being away for a day was the equivalent of taking off a full week.

I canceled my planned vacation day for this coming Friday because of the insanity. Hope my friends enjoy having one less person at the cabin down in Shenandoah. My sanity is too precious to risk it (further) at this juncture.

That’s OK, though. There is a silver lining in all of this. Of course it has nothing to do with work, but let’s just say I’m working for the weekend, literally … it’s just in six weeks from now.

Lawd give me strength in the interim. …