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Pause the Slippage

I want to eat a house right now. I nearly ate one last night, and it gave me horrible indigestion all night long. I’d like to avoid the re-run this evening so I’m hoping that pushing pause for just a few minutes to post a blog entry might help.

Part of the problem is I spent some time over the weekend traveling and eating too much sugar, which always wreaks havoc so I’m trying to detox a little. Gum usually helps; of course I have none. I’m sucking on a lollipop trying to constantly remind myself not to bite into it, invariably busting up one of my fillings.

I had a pretty good day with food and exercise so the evening cravings threw off my mojo. I ate reasonably and took a spin class at lunchtime. I also noticed today that I didn’t get extraordinarily freaked out in the locker room. I didn’t even contemplate taking two towels into the shower with me, and I stood naked in front of my locker without feeling major heart palpitations. Shit, if things keep going this well, I might be able to bend over in all my glory and not give a rat’s ass, or stand in front of the make-up mirror next to Naked Woman to compare saggy hooters. Nah, that will never happen.

At any rate, I think I have my head screwed back on and the house might be safe for one more night. What helps you press pause to gain control when you feel slippage?


Twisted Grunders Suck

I think the last few weeks found me with my big girl panties knotted around my ankles. Two-year-old tantrums kept good behavior at bay.

Exercise has been great, but whether I was throwing too many parties in my mouth or kicking and screaming about how unfair life was that my pants are too tight, I found myself a little irked goals weren’t being met.

I’m irritated I didn’t take full advantage of the personal training for the last three months. Friday was my last session with my trainer – she’s moving out of state. I’m bummed. I didn’t meet the food/weight loss goals, but I suppose there was progress, which gives me another opportunity to think about where I want to go from here.

I have a lot of ideas swirling around in my head, but haven’t voiced many as of late, which is probably why I haven’t seen much progress, doh. It’s hard to meet a goal, which just swims in silence when I’ve spent more time aligning myself with a couch and a bag of chips.

I had hoped weight loss, eating and exercise would all be in line by now, but the problem is action needs to follow hope. Not all is a wash though. Exercise is in a good place and I definitely feel stronger than I did three months ago. Instead of beating myself up over what is NOT, I may want to build on what IS working.

A couple weeks ago, I realized I was eating an unmentionable amount of food under the disguise of an evening snack. I’m not sure what the exact caloric intake of a snack should be, but I’m pretty confident it’s less than a Big Mac. Seeing this proof written in a food journal was good feedback even if it did make me squirm.

So, one of the new strategies I decided to employ was to journal backward, beginning with my evening meal. First, it really throws off my mojo and makes me think about what I’m putting into my mouth, but more importantly, it makes me look ahead to the remaining 24 hours, which requires a plan if I want to eat more than the bruised and wilted cucumber laying in the back of my fridge.

This morning and afternoon will require a little creativity given the fact impromptu pizza found me last night. But my new strategy might just work. Last night as I skulked around my kitchen telling myself that I’d already blown it with the pizza, I remembered I still had the morning and afternoon to recover. I grabbed a peach and turned off the kitchen light.

I’m still searching for answers and finding more questions, but at least I’m thinking again. It’s funny how certain things work like magic for a while, but then all of a sudden, not so much. For now, I’m yanking up my big girl pants and concentrating on the here and now… how about you?

Believe the Slogan

I experienced a nasty altercation with a bag of sour cream and onion chips yesterday.

I didn’t really give the purchase a second thought. I generally reserve them for holiday cookouts or if I know there will be kids around to polish them off before I start nosing around, which was exactly what was supposed to happen this weekend. My teenage-eating machine also provides a great back up.

Plans changed and fewer people arrived. As I opened the bag, Russell informed me that he only likes the barbeque flavor. Crazy talk. Does the boy not share half of my DNA?

I should have dumped the newly opened bag right into the trash, but no, I had to prove a point and practice moderation.

I consume chips judiciously in as much as I eat all the broken ones first and the teensy ones with the little brown edges next, then the whole ones. I save the folded over whole ones for last. I used to think I was a freak about this, but I’ve watched others eat chips and everyone seems to have a system.

I’m fine with chips as long as:

1. I don’t grab even one, or
2. There are large quantities of teens lingering around insuring quick, if not tidy, consumption.

Given the fact that I’m a word girl, not a number diva, I failed to recognize the pending equation: Chips – crowds = fat ass. I grabbed more and more and more until I realized I needed intervention. I tossed the bag open-side down in the trash taking no chances of just one more Mr. Lays.

I suppose there is truth in advertising, and I suppose their you can’t eat just one tagline is way more appealing than open this bag, bitch, and you are going down.

Thrive in Rain





Tomatoes, eggplant, lettuce, radishes, carrots, herbs galore, cucumbers, strawberries, beets, peppers, brussel sprounts, spinach, onions. Yes, we over planted, but I can’t wait. I’m days within feasting on some of the early crops. Yum.

Put Down the Straw and Step Away from the Milkshake

There are simply places I shouldn’t be permitted to enter. I thought I could come up with a top ten list, but surprisingly the magic number is five:

Steak and Shake
Dairy Queen
Olive Garden (or any other place with endless garlic bread and pasta)
Skyline Chili
Most pizza places (unless, I’m on my AAA game)

There you have it.

I’m contemplating whether or not I should develop a Most Wanted sign to post next to the hostess stations at all these restaurants. Add a buy one, get one coupon, and it might illicit the need for a restraining order.

What I contemplate this morning is just how much did that free turtle sundae milkshake really cost me?

Even after the first gulp, which was really after I slurped down the whipped cream and cherry, I knew it was too sweet. I asked Lyle if he wanted some. No. No? OK, Melissa. Buckle down. You can do this.

On the way home, I wondered why I had never perfected the art of puking.

As a kid, I remember trying to make myself throw up after stuffing my emotions so far down I could plaster the perfect-one smile back on my face. Food was always my drug of choice in the sometimes tumultuous alcoholic home.

The purging part eluded me. I just couldn’t quite figure out how to get the job done. Thankfully, Google was light years away, and I was too embarrassed to ask for assistance from one of the much-too-skinny girls at my school who I knew managed it quite well.

After I lost weight and marched my happy ass into my mental mechanic, I found the missing ingredient in a book she recommended about eating disorders. I realize the lack of this information as a child likely saved my life, but I occasionally I toy with the notion before smacking myself in the head and moving on.

Last night was not as bad as it could have been. After an unexpected indulgence, I’ve been known to ring the bell for the real binge to begin. I could have also eaten the triple steakburger – we had a coupon for it as well. I limited myself to the shake and some of Lyle’s cheese fries, but in my defense, I didn’t eat many fries (too soggy). I also skipped the self flagellation when we returned home and simply got ready for today and then turned in early because I felt so crappy. Is it perverse to be glad the shake made me sick?

I’m disappointed in my actions because I’d finally de-toxed from my previous sugar indiscretion, and now I will spend the next three days jonesing for the white stuff again.

It pisses me off. I know better. With knowledge comes power, right? I’ve been at this gig for 10 years. It shouldn’t be so fucking difficult, but maybe, just maybe I’m the biggest obstacle.

I don’t think there’s some big dark secret I’m trying to stuff down today; however, I find myself in a new set of circumstances and the systems I had in place no longer work. Here’s to devising a new plan. Excuse me if I toast with a little sparkling water; I’ve had enough milkshakes for one day.

Batter Up

I’m not sure how last week unraveled, but I’m recovering from a carb tryst.

My batting average tanked with a business trip to Cleveland, which included an Indians game – in the Indians suite, no less. Beer, hot dogs, subs, cookies, you name it; all there within too-easy-of-reach. It was a pretty cool way to watch a baseball game, but my eating habits mirrored the performance of the home team ending their winning streak, and I left feeling bloated and jittery and more disappointed with myself than with the Indians.

Traveling over the weekend didn’t help matters much, but today I got back to business and concentrated on healthy foods, packed with protein, wishing there was a way to outlaw over-processed shit that I like to dump down my pie hole.

This morning I managed to skip donuts at a special event and cookies in the office and dove into a bowl of fat-free cottage cheese and fruit for breakfast at my desk. Woo hoo, not nearly as interesting, but I felt no compunction to start my week full of errors that I wasn’t prepared to calculate.

Midday Pilates and a salad for lunch kept the momentum going. Tonight, I dumped my stuff at the front door and quickly made some eggs scrambled with a bunch of veggies before I could talk myself into a tortellini binge.

So, this week I’m looking to improve my batting average. Exercise and food journaling will hopefully get me to home plate.

Can You Scoot Down a Little More?

Geez, can you guess what I did yesterday?

I think I’m probably going to hell. As I saw the top of my doctor’s head peeking and bobbing above the paper sheet as I waited to hear the dreaded words, “please scoot down… just a little more… a little more,” I couldn’t help but find the humor.

Why do they call it a sheet, anyway? I’ve used Kleenex with more fibrous qualities.

I wondered how freaked out my gyno would have been if I had asked him to hand me my phone so I could take a picture. Yea, I know, I’m probably the only person in the world who thinks this was funny.

These situations urge me to behave poorly. I think it’s hysterical how many places doctors can look to avoid the real subject, in this case my hoo haa and boobaledge region. I’m no less guilty.

I certainly don’t want to lock eyes with the dude who is trying to figure out if my uterus is healthy, and I’m positively sure I don’t want him to get distracted and leave the mumbo jumbo Q-tip hanging from my parts as he’s completing the pap smear, or worse yet the speculum. So, I laid there like I was supposed to and suppressed the sarcastic comments swirling around my head. At least he hadn’t been crushing any ice with his bare hands before he came into the examining room.

I couldn’t resist though getting a quick shot before I got dressed. The good news is everything is apparently where it should be, and I’m good to go for another year. How about you? Have you gotten your parts checked by a professional this year?

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