“It’s better to look good than to feel good” –Fernando (Billy Crystal)

I've been crawling on my belly

Clearing out what could've been.

I've been wallowing in my own chaotic

And insecure delusions.

I wanna feel the change consume me,

Feel the outside turning in.

I wanna feel the metamorphosis and

Cleansing I've endured within

I have reached a point in the weight loss journey that I am truly able to embrace the change. I am active in the gym daily. I feel stronger and more nimble. Yes, “nimble”. That’s the word I use to describe it. I *FEEL* better.  I have a much greater variety of clothes and lingerie to choose from.  The funny thing is: I keep waiting to look better. In the mirror I still see someone I am very ashamed of…..

I sometimes wonder if the goal of being satisfied with my physical appearance is ever achievable. If it is, I don’t have the slightest clue how to get there.  I know it seems ridiculous but in fact, it is truly debilitating. It’s embarrassing. I am not stupid, but it’s pretty fucking stupid to be afraid of your own reflection or photograph. The thought has occurred to me that all my hard work and dedication to this process is in vain (pun fully intended).

And, PLEASE, this is not some twisted plan to garner compliments from my friends, family and colleagues.  I have the most supportive friends and family though this process. I think my favorite quote came from Jenn, “Of course, you’re gorgeous! You look just like me!” She’s right. We get asked if we are sisters all the time and I think she is one of the prettiest women on the planet.  I have my work out buddies, my GBF, my Mommy (who has always been my biggest fan) and so many other who support me with encouraging words and compliments. I had my favorite Drag Queen in the WORLD call me “stunning”. Is there a better compliment?  AND Queens are some truth tellin’ bitches. Rest assured a compliment from a Queen is true! They will read you down if your look is not together. So, my issue is much, much deeper. I think it’s pretty impressive when you can identify your own crazy!

Here’s the rub…. I FEEL happier than I have ever been in my adult life. That definitely has to do with many changes beyond my weight loss. I love my gym time, my trainer (Heather the Super Bitch) and my dear, crazy friends I get to train with once a week (and they make me dinner afterwards! Thanks, Guys!). I am moving into a great, brand new apartment that I don’t have to do ANYTHING to maintain. I am enjoying life so much more and not sweating the small stuff. I love my career, my co-worker (ESPECIALLY my team S, T, D and M) and look forward to coming to work every day. I have even met a guy I really, really like *sigh*. I am genuinely happy. So, why does the specter of body image continue to haunt me?

I was always one of those fat chicks who never had any tolerance for bulimics or anorexics. I figured they just weren’t as dedicated to being fat like I was. It was like the preverbal (Black, Gay, Catholic) person who accuses others of not being Black, Gay or Catholic enough (wouldn’t it have been funny if I said “and” instead of “or”).  Me and the mutants at Table 9 were all one, big happy club. I’m still at Table 9.(Wedding Singer)

I will continue on this journey. It’s not a battle or a fight. It’s an evolution.  No one can change my mind on this but me. I will continue with my façade of confidence until it becomes my reality. It takes a lot to write these things down and put them out there for the world to see, but, it’s my therapy and it helps. I am sure I will be flamed for being superficial and image obsessed. The people that know me know this is a real struggle. For those that don’t know me and think I am superficial and image obsessed…go fuck yourself.

Single and Fabulous (Exclamation Point)

From CollegeHumor.com an article on the “Five Stages of Single”

Stage 5: Acceptance
 You've been single for so long that you no longer care. Single, not single, these states of being mean nothing to you. You don’t care if you’re still single tomorrow or next year. Now you run the show. You’re not going to settle like the old you back in stage three. Meeting someone will be on your terms.

______________________________________________________________________________

I had an epiphany the other day. I am sick and tired of my own bitching about not finding the right guy. I have so much other shit to deal with now that I feel a little ridiculous for even looking to date. I am on a journey right now that really doesn’t include anyone else.  I figured, “The best way to get over a man is to get under one.” I don’t think I could have been more wrong.

I would say my biggest complaint about being married was we had pretty much nothing in common. I know, probably something I should have figured out prior to the “I do”, but I think I have already established I don’t make the best choices when it comes to men. He didn’t like the theater or museums or lecture series or learning or reading or the same music or movies or travel or politics or science or math or documentaries or ANYTHING about which I am passionate.

My epiphany was: I have been physically single for almost a year now (time flies). I was emotionally single years before that. There is nothing like someone calling you a “fucking idiot” (and really, genuinely mean it) to make you not feel a whole lot for them from that point on. Anyway, I was waiting for someone to go do all those things I am passionate about with me. A friend? A boyfriend? Anyone? Then it hit me: I can just go do those things (wait for it…) ALONE. Holy shit! What a revelation! I don’t have to be with ANYONE to do the things I enjoy. It’s really not complicated at all. I can go see an indy band and not have to defend my reasons for liking them.  I can “waste” money on spontaneous trips. I can go to a lecture series on medical ethics and not have to explain myself.

Saturday night I stepped out alone. I bought a new outfit (my weight loss makes this an easy excuse to buy more clothes). I did my hair and make up like I was going out on a hot date!  AND that’s exactly what it was! I dressed up for me. I did my hair and make-up, not to impress anyone, but for me. I went to a fantastic, out of the way sushi restaurant. I sat at the sushi bar with nothing but my pride. It wasn’t hard at all. In fact, I met two great ladies with whom I spent the rest of the evening. We went to Larimer Square and did a pub crawl. We even met more people to add to our little band of sisters and brothers. I was like the Pied Piper of Singles. It was like taking a leap of faith, spreading your wings and soaring. Why had I not done this before?!

This also got me to thinking about the people, particularly the wonderful, amazing men I already have in my life: I have one I can have deep, intellectual conversations with, one I totally have a crush on who gives me butterflies (I do love the butterflies), one who makes me laugh, one who takes care of other miscellaneous needs ;-), one who can fix stuff….WTF am I going to have just one when I can have six and not have to answer to a single, one of them!?

I don’t want to sound jaded. I’m not. I will always believe in love. I will always believe my Jake Ryan will be waiting for me by his Porsche when I leave my sister’s wedding where I am a bridesmaid as the Thompson Twins fade in with a cheesy, 80’s teen, love song. “If You Were Here” to be exact. Yeah, I’ve been thinking about this since I was 11.

Now, I’ll relish my time in the gym.  I’ll decorate my new place how *I* like it. I’ll enjoy doing my own things. I’ll actually live the fabulous, single life I have always coveted. And…just enjoy the butterflies and benefits J

Now, I have to go enjoy a lecture by Sam Harris at CU-Boulder.

Real Estate and Real Men

I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star

To pray on, or wish on, or something like that.

I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy

Whose reality I knew, was hopeless to be had.

But then the dove of hope began its downward slope,

And I believed for a moment that my chances,

Were approaching to be grabbed.

But as it came down near, so did a weary tear.

I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag

I never realized that finding a place to call home would be so difficult. I mean, I am pretty easy to please. I have a list of “Must Haves” and a list of “Nice to Haves”. My ONLY “must haves” are a clear, southern exposure, permission to have my DIRECTV dish AND must allow dogs. There are only two things I refuse to give up in my life: DIRECTV and Sunny.

The “Nice to Haves” are a much longer list. I want a nice, big bath tub and a little yard for Sunny, a garage or covered dedicated parking spot. I’d like something that has quality upgrades: granite, stainless steel appliances, and nice tile or hardwood floors. I’d like to not have anyone above or below me, something that has a very nice, “home-y” feeling.  Finding the perfect place for me is like the Supreme Court’s view on porn, “I can’t really describe it, but I know it when I see it”.

I have found a couple of places.  The first one I found was perfect! It was in my price range, had ALL of my “must haves” AND all of the “nice to haves”. It had amenities I didn’t even know I wanted like free access to all the Highlands Ranch Rec Centers. Another renter beat me to it by two hours. TWO HOURS. I was heartbroken.

The next place I found was nice, too. The location we just too far from where I wanted to be and I just didn’t feel a “click” with it. I can’t quantify why I didn’t follow through other than it didn’t feel right.

I looked at a place on Thursday that I really liked. I had some issues with the location, but over all, it had many of the things I was looking for. I walked my application into the office on Friday with my application fee. I still have not heard back from them. I don’t know what the delay is. I know it’s not my credit or income…so basically this one has just not called me back.

I think that was the final metaphor before I realized how much house hunting was paralleling my “dating” life. I put “dating” in quotes because, quite frankly, I haven’t even made it far enough with a guy to plan a date.

For someone like me who is not really “actively” looking to meet Mr. Right, but…keeping my options open…I sure have had an inordinate amount of possibilities. One guy already has a “renter”. The other guy things just didn’t feel right with. And, finally, there is one I do like, but I haven’t heard from…so…I guess he got rented, too.

I am currently living in the home Scott and I built together. I remember the first time I walked out on my big, beautiful deck off my master bedroom and looked at the breathtaking view of the mountains. I was moved to tears because I had finally found the perfect house for me. I felt the same about the guy. Not a perfect guy or a perfect house, but perfect for me and now I am having to say, “goodbye” to both.

The verse at the top of the page reflects the hope I have been feeling lately. I struggle with what can sometimes be a very annoying, overly positive personality. I really believe I will find the right place and the right guy. I will never stop believing. I don’t think I can be convinced otherwise. I don’t want to become jaded, but at some point, hope has to run out, right? I don’t know if that will be a relief or disparaging. I guess when I start collecting cats; we will know I have reached the latter.

In the mean time, I’ll continue to look for the perfect place for me. Shit…maybe while I’m waiting the one I like will call me back. I’m willing to give that one a shot. The townhouse, I mean.

One last thought about the “perfect person” from my friend, Chris. He said, “You are never going to meet anyone without baggage. We all have baggage. You do, too. Just be sure to find someone with a matching set.” That’s some wisdom right there.

Just Accept It!

Acceptance of one's life has nothing to do with resignation; it does not mean running away from the struggle. On the contrary, it means accepting it as it comes, with all the handicaps of heredity, of suffering, of psychological complexes and injustices.-Paul Tournier

I experienced my first prejudice the other day. Not “fat prejudice”, I experienced that all the time. You know, when you’re sitting on an airplane and you see that fat chick walking down the aisle towards you and you are praying to all 10,000 documented gods that she doesn’t sit by you. You see her grunt as she lifts her huge carry bag into the compartment over your seat. You can see her heavy, round belly peaking out of her shirt as she struggles. It is the Otis Spunkmeyer of muffin tops. You think she is a disgusting, smelly sloth who clearly does nothing all day but eat high fat, high sugar foods and now she is heading towards that center seat next to you. She’s probably going to smell bad, too. This is going to be a shitty flight. You wonder how close to the window you can actually press your body against to avoid even touch her layers of lard that may rub off on you. Yeah…I’ve seen that look on people’s faces.

This was an “idea prejudice”.

I was at a friend’s house (whom I love dearly and consider a very dear girlfriend). She is a Christian and a good one at that! She has a huge heart. I think she gets a little amazed that someone like me, who she loves, is an Atheist. She has never had an issue with my beliefs. In fact, she likes to talk about it. We both enjoy the fact that Theist /Atheist thing really doesn’t affect our friendship. I love her.

Anyway…this particular night…she had some friends over at the same time. One of the friends walked through the area we were talking. My friend stopped him to introduce him to me. He took one look at me and said, “I am sorry. I can’t speak to you or be around you. I heard you talking about being an Atheist. I am a Christian and I just can’t be around that.”  He walked away. Now, granted, if I had been spewing some hate-filled, bashing of Christians I could understand his position. One of the ladies had simply asked me what I thought happened to us after we die. I said, “We die. Then our bodies decay into the earth.” because that’s what happens. I am not going to go into the “soul” because that’s probably where our ideas diverge. However, I think we can all agree:  bodies decompose. We have all seen CSI: Paramus. I don’t think it was a controversial statement. BUT…his reaction really hurt my feelings. Someone just saying to me, (and I am paraphrasing here) “You are a siren, cunt who is trying to seduce me away from my God. I can’t be tempted by your magical song.” That’s what I heard. He didn’t even want to know my name. He just heard I was an Atheist, therefore, inherently an evil person.  Sad.

As I drove home I started thinking about “faith”. Was his faith so strong that he didn’t even want to be around me? Or was his faith that weak? I spent a week at bible camp one summer; completely immerged in religion, prayer and fellowship. I enjoyed it. But…it didn’t change my mind. It educated me. Why was I not threatened by the Church? Why was I not terrified that listening to other people’s ideas didn’t necessarily have to sway mine. My wise Uncle Danny once told me, “My opinion is the last best argument I heard on the subject.” He is absolutely correct. Nothing the Church said was a better argument to me. I think it is because I have accepted what I can observe in the physical world as my reality. Not right or wrong.  Just the last, best argument I have heard on the matter. I concluded the opposite of faith is acceptance (at least in my case).

I wished, prayed, hoped, begged to be thin, and yearned to be accepted in society. Faith that I would get thin didn’t help. I ACCEPTED the fact that I had an addiction that needed more help than I could muster. Science saved me.

I wished, prayed, hoped that my marriage would last. I finally ACCEPTED that it was irretrievably broken and started healing.

I wished, prayed, hoped that I could live in my beautiful house forever. I ACCEPTED that I don’t want to be house poor, so downsizing is the better choice.

I wished, prayed, hoped that I would find a match for me. I will be 39 in two days….and it hasn’t happened yet.  I have ACCEPTED that maybe my life isn’t going to turn out the way I have imagined it for myself. That isn’t necessarily bad, it’s just different.

Faith has not been good to me. Acceptance has. The more things I am willing to accept as true, instead of wishing, praying, hoping that things will be different, the happier I have become. When you start seeing things for what they really are…it’s a powerful feeling.

When you have your head held high, it’s easier to see the obstacles in your way, and work your way around them.  

Shallow, Self-Centered, Trivial Inspiration

Inspiration is a funny thing. It’s really in the eye of the beholder. Where you are in your life and your goals really determine where you find inspiration. I have been told that my journey through weight loss, divorce, dating again, etc. is inspirational to some people. I am going to assume that my public diary is “inspirational” because there are a lot of women in my same situation. I am just the only one attention whore-ish enough to publish it.

Honestly, “Inspiration” is a label I am uncomfortable with because I am not an inspiration. I am a fat girl who is PISSED off being invisible. I am sick and tired of being every guy’s “friend”.  I hate being good but just not quite good enough. I have been the “smart” one or the “funny” one. These are nice compliments but I want to be the “pretty” one. I want to look good naked. It’s pure, unadulterated, passionate vanity. That’s shallow and cold and not at all inspirational. See what I mean? Pretty trivial and self-absorbed, huh?

What is inspirational to me? My friends and family. Inspiration is not from someone who is shallow enough to have $10K worth of surgery, lifestyle changes, the gym, etc. just to get laid.

Inspiration is from my friends, Adam, Vicki and Lisa who have all lost their children and still manage to breathe every day. They find the strength to just live. That’s inspirational. The sheer determination to go on after something no one should ever have to suffer through is amazing to me. Adam actually gave me a hug the other day. *HE* gave *ME* a hug. He just lost his infant son a month ago. He is amazing.

I had reserved a huge space to lament about my perfect date that I never heard from again. I was going to carry on about how dating sucks and you can never read men and what a clear asshole he was….I seriously had some good material that included several douche references (not literal). But, how much does that matter in the grand scheme? So some douche nozzle (#1 douche reference) didn’t call my fabulous self back…his loss. At least, I get to talk my babies every day.

The bottom line is this: I am taking better care of me. I am moving from taking care of kids, husband, house, etc. to just being selfish for a while. I never got to… I was married with two kids (13 months apart) at 22 years old. I never did Spring Break. I never lived in a dorm. I never made huge mistakes with wildly inappropriate people…well…except for my most recent marriage. If selfish and shallow are inspirational, then it may be my thing.

Thank you to all those who have helped and supported me. *YOU* are my inspiration. The encouragement is my life blood. But, please, don’t say I am an inspiration. Save that for the real heroes, not just some fat chick with self esteem issues.

To the people who inspire me, “Promise me you’ll always remember: you’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.” -Christopher Robin

To everyone else: Hug your baby.

"Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love." Fiona Apple

You never know when inspiration is going to hit. Most of my inspirations come from the bathroom.  It comes to me in the shower, while brushing my teeth, while perusing the same three year old Cosmo I have sitting on the back of the toilet (did you guys know Heath Ledger died?) those are the times I get truly inspired.  I am a HUGE fan of pop culture, dare I say a “pop culture junkie”. However, I often find it rather annoying when people quote song lyrics or movie lines to make themselves seem witty or creative. You know that status update that says, “We are all just bricks in the wall.” Really, Roger Waters? Thanks for the insight. With that being said, it pains me to admit to being inspired by a Fiona Apple song lyric.

“Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love”

I was watching “Bridesmaids” with a couple of friends the other night. I have seen this movie three times in the theater prior to watching it on DVD. The last time I saw it was with Methling so I knew it would be therapeutic to watch it with friends and laugh…and not just remember it as the last movie I saw with my ex. In the scene where Annie (the BRILLIANT Kristen Wiig) is baking/decorating a cupcake there is a song playing in the background called “Paper Bag”. I liked the song and (totally legally) downloaded it.

As I was, let’s just say “in the bathroom waiting for inspiration to pass through me”, I had that song on in the background. I was trying to reconcile the fact that this blog was started to document my weight loss journey, but had morphed into a blog about all my life changes at this time, mostly my divorce and the prospect of dating again, when I heard this line, “Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love.” Holy shit (literally)! I was inspired!

Like any other addiction, you don’t get to “rock bottom” by not celebrating the object of your affection. I didn’t get to almost 300 lbs by NOT loving food.  I still LOVE food. I still watch the Food Network. I still wish I could eat whatever I wanted. Mentally, I know these things that I crave are bad for me. Physically, I simply CAN NOT over eat anymore. There are times that I don’t have any other options than unhealthy choices, so I just choose not to eat and yes, sometime starve myself. I tend to go to extremes. Instead of hurting myself by over eating, I hurt myself by not eating. This works for me in my twisted logic.

“Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love.”

It’s hard to admit, but I am hungry for more than food. I didn’t just lose food in 2011, I lost my husband. I lost my companion and everything good (and bad) that goes with it. I know the bad was very bad, but there was good there, too. I did bad things. He did bad things. It was bad and it’s over now. I miss the good. I miss having someone in my life. But, like with food, I am not willing to tolerate the bad. I’ll just starve for now.

So, with food and love, I just have to walk away right now. I don’t trust myself enough to make healthy choices in either. I have hope that my time will come though. One day I will discover how wonderful the good can be.

BTW…I didn’t legally download it.

Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.-Albert Einstein

The hardest thing about breaking a pattern is breaking it.

I know, I know. That’s some deep, metaphysical shit.

Here’s the dilemma: The reason you are in a pattern is because you are doing things the only way you really know how. To break a pattern, you have to do something different, something outside of your comfort zone or maybe something you haven’t even thought. It is so hard to see outside of your world. It is really hard to do something you haven’t tried or yet conceived.

In doing a lot of in depth, soul searching, I have discovered my whole life is patterns.  I have amazing ideas and poor follow through. I fall in love (practically instantly) and ignore red flags for the sake of my perception of some cosmic connection. I get bored easily. I rely on others for my self-worth. I will put just about everyone and everything before myself. I park in the same place every day (OK…let’s be honest, this one is so I won’t lose my car. I can remember all the artists and titles of every song ever written, but I can’t find my fucking car on a daily basis). I workout daily at the same time, to the same music on the same machines. I still sleep on “my” side of a king size bed (granted I replaced a man with a large dog on the other side…so my options are limited). What things should I change to break my patterns?

That’s not a rhetorical question. I genuinely don’t know how to change. I know (or like to think I know) a lot about a lot. In fact, many people don’t even WANT to hear my opinion on things (I am as shocked as you are).Self improvement is NOT one of my strongest traits. Going through as many life changes as I am…I had better figure it out.

There is a theory in Psychology by Leon Festinger called Cognitive Dissonance. Cognitive Dissonance is a discomfort caused by holding conflicting ideas simultaneously. The theory of cognitive dissonance proposes that people have a motivational drive to reduce dissonance. They do this by changing their attitudes, beliefs, and actions (thanks Wiki for the description). My description is a little easier:  Change your thinking and your behavior will follow. I have deduced that conversely, if I change my behavior, my mind will follow. In others words, if I play the role of the girl who has her shit together, eventually my shit will come together. Make sense?

(Dear Mom and Dad…aren’t you glad you paid for college? That little nugget is worth about $17,000)

SO…that brings me to the next question: Where do I start? Should I switch to the other side of the bed? Should I say, “No” when everything in my mind, body and soul is screaming, “Yes”? Maybe change my workout routine to some Country music (OK…that’s NOT going to happen)? Go after things I wouldn’t have gone after before OR leave things alone that I would have regularly perused? AND…really…to whoever is good enough to read my verbal diarrhea thus far, I would love your input. Where to start?

I think in the mean time I will start with the George Costanzia Theory of Everything: Whatever I think I should do, I’m gonna do the opposite.

One last word to Jenn: Tippy-god damn-Toe!