open letter to my flu-like symptoms

runny nose. congestion. fever. chills. headache. body aches. sore throat.

you've made me miserable at work. you've made me sleep for twelve hours. you've turned me into a whiney little baby.

when are you going to give a girl a break, huh? stayed-the-same?? phuck you, too.

(speaking of which: wtf, wfc? trying to break my heart?)


in other news. sometimes i see myself in a mirror-- like today, sick for the first time in over a year, dressed to survive the day in comfy shoes and a plain long-sleeved tee (not black, GASP!) and i see a normal person. regular.

i had two food-centric engagements planned for this weekend, but i think i'll miss both in favor of OMG SLEEP. which also means i might be able to post some pretty numbers on tuesday for FUCKING NOVEMBER. abuh?

graduate record exams

as you may or may not know, i am in the process of applying to a PRESTIGIOUS university for my ms degree after what can best be described as a train wreck of an undergrad career. encouraging, isn't it? you also may or may not know that i am very bright and an excellent student. god knows, anybody who looks at my undergrad transcripts will fall into the "not" group on that one. it is ugly, my friend.

my personal timeline for completing my application is december 31. it's rolling admission for this program and, though the application deadline is the end april for them, i want to get mine in a bit early so i can beg to get in. that's right, BEG. i'm going to try to arrange an admissions interview, even though i don't believe they normally do them until you've passed the paper phase of the application. so, tell me what you think of this idea i've been tossing around...

so, i'll go in there all, listen, mister, i know my gpa sucks monkey balls, but LOOK! at my two GLOWING letters of recommendation, and my resume which is not too shabby, and my gre scores which (god help me) do not suck any kind of zoo-dwelling balls. see, a fucking bad, bad thing happened to me and it sort of messed up my life for a while, but i can stick-to-it NOW, i've got the bull by the horns and i won't let go. you want some proof? BAM. here's my wedding photo. look. what. i. did.

bad idea? overly personal? just plain awkward? i'm trying to find an angle here because i'm kinda type-a about stuff and if one brick goes missing the whole project (code for: my fucking life) is DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMED.

saw another odd overnight two pound drop today. can only assume a return to normal, healthy foods is causing a drop in retained water. but i have hope of posting a happy number for november.

two months, two days. so says my ticker. i guess that's left in this year. yikes.

890

to the best of my abilities, i have calculated last night's dinner at 890 calories. fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) i hadn't eaten anything up until that 9pm mini-binge/monster-meal.

i had a crap day back at work post-procedure and the man of the house and i had a legendary argument on the way home, so i just zipped off to school (half an hour early) hungry. on the way home, i stopped at wawa for dinner, mostly because it was dark and rainy and i knew by then he was worried about me (and yes, i feel a little bad about that now). i got the same meal as monday: crispy chicken, little mayo, lettuce, tomato, pickles, onion on a shorti the calorie count--680-- is for a kaiser roll and full mayo, but it's all wawa will give me. i got the small bag of chips (140) and swapped out the pint of ice cream for a 1/3 ounce piece of dark belgian chocolate from the pound plus bar at home. coke zero, of course. and a fucking cigarette.

yeesh. it's been rough.

as always, though, the number game fascinates me. down to a pretty normal for lately 170.4 today with 8 weeks to get to 156. that's fifteen pounds in 8 weeks and doable.

if i stop fucking up.

(ps-- i lost one of my precious few followers... do you think it's because i say "fuck" so much?)

on the weight of a clark's nevus

question posed two weeks ago: how much do you think a clark's nevus weighs?

answer discovered this morning: -2.6 pounds

know how i figured it out? i got one removed yesterday and gained over two and a half pounds.

okay, that's not accurate. my nerves started going on friday, so i munched and ate and drank and enjoyed. saturday was spent baking and then attending a party where the food was AWFUL but the beer was plentiful. (and where i was not recognized-- owing more to the black pixie wig i wore than my size, but that was mentioned, too.) and sunday, naturally, i had to recover. and see saw iv after which the only thing i thought i could stomach was pasta with cheese-- no blood! er, sauce.

which brings us to YESTERDAY. aka: surgery day. surgery day went like this:

• 10am: two xanax
• 11am: the doctor is running AN HOUR behind. i left my xanies at home.
• 11:30am: i get called back, surprise!
• 12:00pm: i'm out and no copay-- sweet!
• 12:15pm: my heroic kid brother drops me at the wawa next door to my apartment-- the husband has taken off the past two monday's to take his grandmother to pre-op appointments for next week's total hip job.
• 12:30pm: i get home with a shorti crispy chicken sandwich with light mayo, lettuce, tomato, onion & pickles, small chips, large coke zero and a PINT of breyers oreo ice cream. (which is very airy and thus only 640 calories instead of the average 800-1000!)
• 1:30pm: it's all down the hatch and i sleep til the mister gets home.
• 5:00pm: which he does, bearing flowers and those "rainbow" cookies from 7-11 that i lurve.
• 5:15pm: i manage to throw together a meatloaf, homemade mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli.
• 6:30pm: which i follow with two glasses of wine and about an ounce of dark belgian chocolate.

will you believe me if i tell you i feel like crap today and wish i was still at home? cause i do. and my fingers seem to think i ate a saltlick.

so, we're just about 8 weeks out from december 23-- my original end date, and 9 from the end of the year. i've got 16-22 pounds to take off in that time. this can be achieved through NOT FUCKING UP, right?

peanut butter + instant vanilla pudding = bliss

and i DIDN'T INDULGE. that is all.

no! i kid. there's a little more. it's all up, down and around. i have a party to go to tomorrow, for which i'm making cupcakes and planning on NOT drinking a ton of beer. maybe. probably.

yesterday i went out for a beer to the magical gastro-pub across from my apartment and didn't order fries. just. keep. not fucking up. (well, okay, there WAS a beer. but my companion had TWO beers, and a quesadilla, AND chicken & broccoli alfredo. so i did good.)

i saw "finding nemo"

okay, does anybody else sometimes-- completely unbidden-- hear a little voice in your head saying just keep swimming... just keep swimming... ? no? just me? okay.

everyday that my goal is DON'T FUCK UP i get a little charge out of, you know, not fucking up. yesterday i only fucked up a little -- in fact, i was withing my range, i just didn't make the best possible choices (beer and an unfrosted cupcake). i kept swimming.

so, i have a huge anxiety problem, right? you know that? and lately i'm anxious about two things: money & my future.

money-wise, we're quite comfortable. we live within our means, but not far enough below to pay off debt (a little consumer debt, a little student loan debt). last night, all whipped up into a frenzy, i made a plan to get us out from our consumer debt & my husband's student loans by september.

which is when i hope to be taking on a WHOLE LOT more student loans.

which brings me pretty neatly to my second point: i'm trying to get into graduate school with a really awful undergrad gpa and not very much hope for a great recommendation. so, basically, my argument is "but i will TRY this time!"it's a little scary and hard, so i've set some simple rules for myself: 1) no new books until i've completed my application essay, and 2) schedule my gre test and study schedule next week. ummm, YIKES.

so that why i've got to just... keep... not fucking up. that's why i'm ready to be done, even though i'll never be thin, exactly. i'm TIRED.

in other news... i dug through my closet for pants to wear with my joan of arc costume on saturday (it came with really cheap capris, which, no.) and unearthed a pair of express "correspondent" pants in size 12 and damned if they didn't fit! i mean, it was close, but doable close, not "they'll be fine as long as i don't sit! or breath!"

so. twelve. me.

something like 70 days

there's something like seventy days left until my done-date. and less than 20 pounds to go.

yesterday i did not fuck up. surprisingly. it was another crap day. having school REALLY helps, though, because i'm not near my kitchen for an extra 3 hours. my numbers are getting pretty again.

today is another day to just not fuck up. i think i'll make it.

by the skin of my teeth

(sabina: my, my, my! six o'clock and the master not home yet!)


(that's the first line of the skin of our teeth by thorton wilder and damned if i can remember the rest. within a couple lines, sabina, mr. & mrs. antrbus's va-va-voom housekeeper, breaks the fourth wall and it's beautiful. that's just act 1: man vs. nature. nerd much? why, yes, please, i think i shall.)


so, not fucking up TOO badly yesterday gave me 169.8 today. back in the 160s by the skin of my teeth. like, literally, if my teeth had skin i'd be 170. about not fucking up too badly...

my husband ordered pizza and fries last night. the pizza was crap so i only ate one slice. but the fries were lovely. and my brother got 18 hours at home between bits of his job training. as hard as it was to watch him go a couple hours away last month, it's much harder to see him so several hours away until his birthday in mid-december. my computer at work crashed. my husband's halloween costume didn't fit UH-FUCKING-GAIN so now i have to make him one by saturday. i feel like a total failure with no hope of getting into grad school. i accidentally threw out my class schedule for tonight. i did my best with the limited means i have. i had a few chips, a piece of cake and a splash of schnapps. WHATEVER.

class tonight, a chocolate chip peanut crunch clif bar in my bag, very little opportunity to fuck up.

simple goals

my goal for this week:

don't. fuck. up.

it's only one week. i can make it through and not fuck it up. i can make three batches of cupcakes and not eat them. (there will be some HUGE coke zeros in my future.) i can get through this week. i can say goodbye to my kid brother again, and watch him leave for another 2 months, and not have four beers. and after this week, i can get through one more. beyond that? i dunno.

i'm feeling very trapped in the 170s. (yes, i am back in them, of course.) i want out. i want to be a little smaller, a size or two. if i could wear my 12s i might be able to stop. if i could wear 10s i'd put the brakes on SO FAST. 20 more pounds. have you ever scoffed at somebody who only needed/wanted to lost 20 pounds? "just 20 pounds? HA! if i lost 20 pounds, you wouldn't even be able to tell!" my grandmother says, "i could be anorexic for a year and nobody'd notice!" of course, we would, because every time you talk to her you spend half an hour discussing what she ate since the last time you called and then what you ate, and then what they made on the food network and then what she clipped out of a magazine for you. but still.

20 more pounds. don't fuck up THIS week. don't fuck up TODAY. don't fuck up RIGHT NOW. and then just... keep not fucking up right now.

cigarette hangover

i woke up this morning, during a very rude part of dawn, to a splitting hangover headache. from the bar i was at until 11:30 last night to see my husband's band. and the 3 cigarettes and a diet coke i had there.

i have to assume the pain in from the cigarettes, since i drink diet coke frequently.

i'm pretty proud of having had only one sip of beer in a joint where the only beverage i would guess was both safe AND tasty was bottled beer. my diet coke was gross and flat. those three cigarettes my friends bummed me probably saved me from a total meltdown (toddler-style) after i fell down the TWO shallow, carpeted steps scraping up my hands, bruising my left knee and, yes, twisting my ankle very badly. it was a rough night, and then i had to get up early.

(the band? eh. i don't care for the music.)

i did, unfortunately, indulge in 3 1/2 of those soft-baked 7-11 cookies for a stunning 700 calories. fuck.

this weekend we're probably canceling our hayride, thank god, so it should all be pretty laid back.

seriously?

okay. i know lots of women have complexes about their bodies that they can trace back to their fathers. an i'm not just talking about weight here. i know girls who are as tall as their fathers and feel bad about it. i'm sure there are girls who are embarrassed by their boobs because of comments their fathers made about their mothers. i'm sure.


i'm not one of them.


my dad has NEVER, EVER in my life commented on my body. now, i've seen his embarrassment when my sister dressed inappropriately and i know he feels a little scrawny around his young, buff, TALL sons, but the only thing my dad has EVER said about my appearance is, "you look beautiful, sweetie." and that's because my daddy rocks. any questions?


so, why is it that his friends, business acquaintances and peers think it's okay to ask about my weight?


obviously, it happened again. the it guy at work was in and, lo, it was awkward.


i'm sitting here, minding my own business and the it guy is sitting there, working on my roommate's computer. "so," he says as he fiddles with a printer cable, "have you like, lost some weight?"


"yes." this, i've found, is the only way i'm comfortable answering that question.


"um. you look... good."


"thanks."


looooong quiet and then he started to set up my roommate's virus update stuff, so he asked me when the roommate is usually in. i tell him 9-4 three or four days a week, but if the roommate needs to do something, he should tell me because dude is 70 and hits "enter" at the end of every line of text and then insists he doesn't. it guy asks if her hears a little *ding* too. i say i can't vouch for what he hears and it guy says, "i'm sorry, this is fun, but i can't get into this. it's a little unprofessional for me to get in to petty office politics."


oh, okay. but for you to make a comment about my BODY is totally professional??


okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay...


in other news, i managed to restrain myself and NOT eat everything in the world FINALLY yesterday, though i do have to admit to 3 tj's mini milk chocolate bars (190c) and a bowl of cous cous with scallions (250c) for dinner. but i was within my calories... just, sugar and carby. i like the scale again. hooray.

how much do you think a clark's nevus weighs?

because that's what my suspicious mole was, so it needs to be taken OUT now, two weeks after it was taken OFF. crap.

i'm feeling less overwhelmed now, knowing that tonight's class will mean the third of 6 that make up this program over-- which is halfway-- and i won't have two classes in the same week again. also, my darling husband has cleaned the kitchen and done the laundry AND plans to clean our front living/dining/library room tonight. that leaves me with just a little baking, shopping and cleaning to do on saturday.

speaking of shopping, last night's visit to trader joe's had me playing one of THOSE girls. you know the ones who buy salad, yogurt and ice cream. the ones wearing stilettos to buy groceries. well, i was wearing kitten-heel pointies, but that's not really the point. my point is what i bought: 3 clif bars (all peanut & something flavors, and i don't recommend the peanut toffee blast or whatever), 3 larabars (trying cherry pie today!), turkey lunch meat, asiago slices, shampoo, conditioner, dish soap and mini chocolate bars. how did i become a person who doesn't eat real food?

oh well. real food or not. i'm ON the horse and not falling off this week!


edited to add: cherry pie larabar is a winner! the texture is odd, but the tartness totally overwhelms the likely "protein bar" flavor of oddness. plus, i like that larabars have a short ingredient list. these are dates, dried cherries and almonds. rock on!

crap day

okay, so yesterday was a crap day. i was overwhelmed, overtired and oversalted. we were running late last night, so we grabbed a pizza. i ate about an ounce of dark chocolate and the last (unfrosted) cupcake last night and killed the reese's minis this morning (there were only two!). the rest of this week is nuts. i have class tonight and tomorrow, therapy and live music thursday, friday free and saturday we're hosting a hayride & bonfire with optional drinks at ours after.

NEXT week my brother comes home monday, i have class tuesday, drinks with an old friend thursday and a halloween party for which I THINK i'm supposed to bring a zillion cupcakes on saturday. (we're being joan of arc and an inquisitor).

i'm tired. i'm overwhelmed. i'm going to tj's this afternoon to stock up on larabars (pb cookie was acceptable as food, if not as a delicious cookie treat). there will be no more excuses. two halloweens ago i was 210 pounds (and capitalism, the man was communism). last halloween i think i was between 200 and 210 (and a st. pauli girl to his sam adams). this halloween-- party, that is-- i'll be 165. not exactly the same size of the maid of orleans, but it will be close enough.

12 days, 5.6 pounds. i can dooooo it. especially since i'd bet money 2 or 3 more will go the moment i take a break from cramming everything in my mouth. um, and that moment is now.

okaaaaaaay, step away from the edge

whoa.

once in a while, i stumble upon something-- a thought, a facebook status, a memory, a name-- that sends me into a fit of depression. i know this. this morning it was on facebook, lots and lots of weddings. i am really good at delayed gratification, but was SO HAPPY to be getting married that i refused to consider, say, a two-year engagement. so i did school, wedding and a new job all together. i didn't lose weight. i didn't make a plan, i didn't even think about it when i registered. i don't feel good about it. but it's over.

the weekend was great and crazy and fun and indulgent. but it's over.

for my own sake i need to detail this. sorry, if it's inappropriate for this venue:

• friday: LOTS of eating. a huge, nice lunch, a quesadilla and 2 or 3 pear-champange cupcakes (unfrosted, like that matters).
• 5am saturday: 1 giant pancake and 1/2 a piece of scrapple
• 11am saturday: 2 or 3 chocolate-dipped madeleines
• 12:30ish saturday: 2 slices of homemade prosciutto & asparagus pizza, tortilla chips & salsa, tomato & cucumber salad.
• 6ish saturday: babyback ribs, mac & cheese, green bean salad, brussels sprouts with bacon, 4 harvest moons.
• 8ish saturday: 1 pear-champange cupcake (frosting removed) & two bowls of ice cream
• 8am sunday: 1/2 an english muffin with natural pb.
• 11am sunday: more with the madeleines.
• 1pm sunday: lomo saltado (on a traditional base of frozen french fries), 1/2 a papas rellenas, glass of wine & tres leches cake.
• 7pm sunday: veg fried rice.
• 9:30pm sunday: 1/2 a pint of ice cream.

i feel like complete crap. i feel like i drank noting but beer all weekend (i didn't have water ONCE). i feel like a failure and like my life is pathetic. i feel like i won't get in to grad school. i feel like i have no control.

but it's over.

numbers

hours spent in the kitchen since thursday: 12

beers consumed: 4

diet cokes consumed: 6

enormous meals consumed: 3

normal meals consumed: 5

pounds gained: 4.8


fuck my life.

confession

i don't want to go away this weekend.

we're going with my parents & brothers to see my uncles & my other brother out of town. while we're there, my mom is organizing a big landscaping project for my uncles, which everyone but my husband and i are working on. us, though? we're the food team. that's right, the FOOD. TEAM.

and i don't want to do it. i don't want to make cupcakes tonight or cookies for my brother. i don't want to spend saturday making pizzas for lunch and a southern feast for dinner (dry ribs, mac & cheese, green bean salad, roasted brussels sprouts). i don't want to bake a cake after dinner. i don't want to get up early on sunday to work on ceviche (um, gag.), lomo saltado, papas rellenas and southwestern salad. i don't wanna.

because i want to have another pretty number on tuesday.

whoa.

three things that have made me go "whoa" in the last 24 hours:

1. since having a phenomenal lunch with the recovering actor yesterday that included some fries, i have wanted to eat carbs constantly. now, i realized a while ago that if i eat white-carb type foods alone in the morning (plain toast, not-very-fibrous cereal) i'm hungrier, but the discovery that a carby lunch lead to sugar-fiending was sort of... whoa.
2. i felt very, very sick last night on the way home from work and lay down for about 25 minutes before leaving for class. i mean, i felt AWFUL. i couldn't work out why, it hit SO FAST and then went pretty fast, too. after class i felt good, but hungry, so i ate a tiny piece of my husband's leftover pizza (then his leftover fries, then some crackers, then some toast, then some chocolate) and then-- you see this a mile away, right?-- i felt sick again! i'd overeaten. whoa.
3. my first try on the scale this morning was 164.something. i called my husband in to look, hopped on again and got 167.8 (oh, HI THERE late-night white toast). but i SAW a FOUR. WHOA.

i decided to try levi's jeans-- any experiences? they're 99% cotton (IMAGINE THAT) and my brothers SWEAR by them... of course, my brothers are six feet tall and have to work to keep on 150 pounds and, oh, yeah, are dudes. but they're on sale and made of natural fibers horray.

FINALLY

167.4. and that's official.

i have so much to say and so little interest in saying it. i've been really bummed about a lot of things lately, not least of which is how dark it gets! and early! i like the dark better than the light, but i like WARM dark, which is not, of course, what we're getting at seven pm these days.

oh! and i'm really angry at old navy. i'd ordered a pair of bootcut flirt jeans, carefully making sure the fabric was the same as what i have (80% cotton, 19% poly, 1% spandex) because i don't even like these perfectly, and they shipped me (and charged me for, non-sale) a pair that 65% cotton and 34% poly. ummmm, EW. that's not denim, folks.

and... yeah. things are mediocre at best around here.

weekend in review

the weekend turned out nothing at all like i planned. but i still like the number i see, and you're going to see it tomorrow for my official october weight.

i have coupons for talbots and ann taylor this month, which i'd really like to be able to use on final-size clothes. which i can't do unless i'm penultimate-sized by the time they expire. (i don't buy more than one size too small.) i think that final size is actually going to be 10 bottoms and 8/small tops-- that's based on the size 10 ann taylor shirt i wore yesterday with size 14 jeans. and no, i will NEVER be able to buy a suit together. based on my current rate of loss (which will probably not keep up) i decided that if i get to 156 VERY early, more than a month, i will go for 150. but 150 is it, even if i wake up tomorrow 150.

okay. so.

weekend was off-plan but not out-of-control. the worst of it was that we went to my mom's for dinner last night AT EIGHT and i'm REALLY not good with eating that late, so i basically had two dinners. the rest of the week is going to be good and planful and i'm going to be 165 soon. tonight we're having porkchops with squash & cous cous.

i have nothing interesting to say at all.

day, crap, 10? and 11?

okay, TODAY is day 11. so, day 10 report:

i did alright with food. my only veggies were tomatoes and olives on my pizza dinner, though. not excellent. i only ate 3 lindt peanut butter truffles when i wanted to scarf the whole bag. i'm basically still pouting over my sore arm. dude, it HURTS. and... i can't believe what i still weigh.

day 11-13 plan:

we have nothing crazy planned for this weekend. well, a little crazy... we're rearranging our bedroom. that means moving a bed, a huge desk, a small bookcase and a stationary bike. i might get my brother to come over and help the mister repair the bike so i can, i dunno, USE IT. it would be nice to get in a couple walks if the weather cooperates. and we're basically planning on going to movies BOTH days, which means the weekend will be heavy on the coke zero.

NEXT weekend, though, NEXT weekend will be exciting. next weekend we're going out of town to visit my gay uncles and my brother who's staying with them while he trains for his new job. and i'm in charge of the food. and it's going to be crazy-fun. my uncles are awesome and my brothers pretty much rock, too. so it'll be a damn good time. and... and... i woulnd't mind being 165 then. (OVERWEIGHT!!) and, you guys, it doesn't look impossible.

how much do you think a suspicious mole weighs?

i had a suspicious mole removed this morning. then my husband treated me to a light frap and a turkey bacon & egg while sandwich. to cheer me up. good idea? not really. helpful? eh, a little. the local is wearing off now and it huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrts! i guess i can't really complain with fat bridesmaid soldiering through gallbladder surgery. and, you know, hungry children in india, men with no feet, etc.

but that probably won't stop me.

last night... was not my best work. we went to dinner at some friends' house-- a rare occurrence since they live with his parents and, frankly, i'm the only one of my friends who can cook, so generally, IF we go somewhere for dinner, i cook.

so, anyway, we went there. she made pasta. and ceasar salad-- not like i make it, like restaurants make it, like salad-dressing soup. then there was cheesy bread. wine. and chocolate chip cookies. oh, and dinner was later than we're used to so i had a snack of cheese-filled convenience store pretzel. and i am sorry for all my sins.*

so i ate a good amount more than i should have, but still down today. tomorrow's another story since we're having pizza for dinner (one slice, veggie-laden). we shall see.

i'm waiting on a pair of jeans, two black sweaters and a fuscia shell from my recent orders. the tops are all mediums or m/ls. the jeans are 14s... i had to buy them because i've been working with 4 pairs: ann taylor straight leg 16ps, gap flared 14s, old navy bootcut flirt 14 and old navy bootcut flirt 14 short. and... i got pen all over the gap jeans (the ones i practically cried when i zipped up) so i have only one pair of full-length, heel-compatible jeans. no good.

it's really strange to see a REASONABLE number of that "pounds left to go" ticker. REALLY. STRANGE.

*food has no moral value. that was a joke. it's what you say at the end of your list of sins in confession. it just... fit with the list.