It's My Pity Party and I'll Bitch If I Want To....

“This is a tough decision here. Get my ass kicked or collect $200. Let me think... I could use a good ass-kickin', I'll be very honest with you....” -My Cousin Vinny

When I was watching this movie the other day I thought to myself, “Yeah, I could use a good ass-kickin’, too”

I let my expectations interfere with my reality too much. I build up things, people and places in my head and have the nerve to be upset when those nouns fail to meet my elevated expectations. I set these lofty ideals, instead of being realistic, and then get upset when my reality gets in the way. I can never seem to appreciate nouns for what they are. For that, I need an ass kicking.

I need my ass kicked for not appreciating how wonderful my true reality is. I seem to live in this pit of despair over my never-ending divorce that has officially become more expensive than the actual wedding. I feel like a kid in detention, not being able to go play at recess on this stupid, injured foot that I refuse to see a doctor about.  Most notable evil, I found myself HATING, absolutely SEETHING angry over this poor physically handicapped woman born without half a body and her sweet fiancé. I feel I have crossed the line from bitter to hater.

Finally, I need to have my ass kicked for self-pity. What a wasted emotion that is! Is it human nature or just my nature to INSIST on seeing all the bad in my world and not all the things I can be happy about? I have so many things to be happy about, my job, my friends and family, my health (minus this injury that I am more annoyed with than anything else). So, I wonder, what exactly would make me happy?

Maybe it’s not about achieving a goal? Maybe it’s removing the, “I’ll be happy when (I get a promotion, reach 155lbs, have a vacation, met the perfect guy for me, etc.) from my though process. What if I try saying, “I *AM* happy when (I make healthy choices, I get to laugh with and snuggle Ty and Kyle, I get to spend time with my friends and family, playing with my dog, working on a great, fun, hard project at work, being there for other people, etc) You know, it was easier to write that list. What if instead of turning these guys down, I actually give one of ‘em a chance and go out on a date? That might increase my odds of meeting that great guy, one who really wants to be with me, not just “wants to be friends” or just wants to nail me….but a combination of both!

This weekend was a great one. Yeah…I couldn’t go for a run or go to the gym or take Sunny for a hike or going out to a bar or club. Instead, I spent time with some really dear friends, just hanging’ out. I had a wonderful time just being with people who I care a lot about. That’s enough for me.

This is not about lowering my expectations, but actually being happy with everything I have.

For all those reasons, I need a good ass kickin’ to put me back on my positive course. I can’t let these challenges and disappointments continue to haunt me. Now it’s just my fault if I let obstacles stop my forward progress.

No more self-pity! It’s for the weak!

The “Whys” Have It!

I have always wondered, “Why?” I remember being very young and constantly asking “Why?”  At one point in my young life my Dad just started answering with some bullshit, made up answers. He always answered me with confidence and I always believed him. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized, he didn’t know “why” either, but he was really good at making shit up in order to shut me up. Good plan.

Now it just goes on in my own head all the time. It is like living with a three year old in my brain that never shuts up:

Why does that person not know how to drive?

Why did she choose to wear that outfit?

Why does she not have any friends to tell her not to wear that outfit?

Why it is whenever the most embarrassing music on my playlist comes on (Backstreet Boys) is the exact moment someone walks into my office? (Please note you can substitute “I fart” for “the most embarrassing music”)

Why do I have a beautiful, petite mother and a giant, hulk of a father and I get the linebacker genes?

Why do I lose weight EVERYWHERE but my ass and boobs, making me look even more disproportionate?

Why do I sometimes still miss him?

I have myself convinced that if I know the “why” behind everything that happens in my life, I’ll be satisfied. It’s not the case. There is always another “why”.

I think this constant need for an input stream is why I have never seen, “The Big Bang Theory”, “Game of Thrones”, “True Blood” or any other “You HAVE to see (fill in the blank)” shows. No, I haven’t seen it. That is because I am home watching ridiculous documentaries or the freak shows on TLC. So, I may not be able to comment on pop-culture, but I can tell you how they fixed the Indian kid with the parasitic twin and how Kenedee, the primordial dwarf is doing in kindergarten.

I don’t mind the constant drive to learn. It has always been a part of me. I am so curious about everything. I’m sure people  find it annoying that I am always “interviewing” them. AND, not just regular questions like, “What do you do for a living?” but really, deeply personal questions like “WHY did you choose that career?” I have always been *too* open, so I make the poor assumption that everyone is like that. I find myself climbing out on a limb and looking back to see I am alone out there. Not everyone is always so forth coming. I think that tells me I am too "out there" for most peoples' taste. 

I had a conversation with friend a couple of weeks ago, telling me the “why” of a decision he had made. I said to him, “The reason why doesn’t matter if the outcome is the same.” That’s pretty good advice. Why can’t I live with that? (See what I did there) I want everyone to be transparent to me. Is that a control issue or is it because I am just uncomfortable with people when I feel like they are hiding something.

I think I will actively engage my “why” filter to see if it works. I pledge not to ask the *reason* for something unless it is imperative I know the answer. I’m going to try this for one week. This is going to be an interesting experiment. I will report my findings next week!

“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!

“Run Like Hell” -- Pink Floyd

It’s time to get my head caught up to my body.

I was running on the treadmill the other day in a Holiday Inn in Meridian, MS. and realized I had spent my all my free time running. I haven’t even sat down to write in too long.

I am not really sure if I am running from something or running to it? Eight years in a relationship with someone who just used me. Twenty years trapped in a body that doesn’t feel right. Eighteen years raising babies when I was a baby myself. When can I stop running? Or maybe I just need a direction change?

DIRECTION CHANGE: I have a lot of Pink Floyd on my Droid. I love to work out to The Wall and Darkside of the Moon. I am not sure why. When you think of heavy cardio, psychedelic rock is not the first thing that comes to mind. In fact, when I was in high school, the only people I knew who listed to Pink Floyd were stoners who couldn’t get laid unless mind bending drugs were in play. I just didn’t get it. I love them now. I love Zeppelin, too. …just never got it in my younger years.

I guess my tastes have just changed. I wonder what that makes my future look like? I replaced Color Me Badd with Floyd, so, clearly, I am making better decisions. I know that my future comes with a new found joy of life and a continuing comfort in my body. Hopefully, that means I can find someone else who would like to come into my body ….minus the mind bending drugs. (Dear Mom: That was only a literal joke. I am still a virgin.) What scares me is how will I react to someone new? Will I run to or away from them? And…even worse than that…why am I even thinking about it?

I swore I would be single for awhile before I even STARTED to look for someone. That’s hard to say in a “couples” world.  It is good that I am out of a bad relationship, but where does that leave me? Maybe I’ll be like Forrest Gump when Jenny left him…and just take off running across the country.

It’s scary to approach life single. It’s a marathon and not knowing if anyone is going to be there waiting for you at the finish line is a daunting. In the mean time, I’ll keep training, keep running. Maybe I’ll look up one day and see someone there running next to me. In the mean time, is it too much to ask for a training partner?

I have to warn you though…I am pretty competitive J

The Big Three-Oh!

The changes are unstoppable and unavoidable. They just keep on coming. So far, this month I have:  had a child move out, got out of marriage limbo, had major surgery, changed offices, changed my hair color, started eating a completely new way, started a new workout routine, looking for a new place to live AND lost 27lbs. For those of you math challenged, that’s three pounds away from 30 lbs. lost.

This got me thinking about 30.The age of 30 was a big year of changes for me, too. It was the year I left Texas.  I left Friday’s and joined Safeco.  I moved in with my mom and moved out six month later into my very first home of my own (with Ty & Kyle, of course). I met my best friend, Jenn. I met my soon-to-be ex-husband. I went through a total transformation. I guess I shouldn’t ever be surprised by the amount of change I can handle.

I am just a little over a year from turning 40 but have decided to stick to 30. I have nothing against 40…but I am not there yet. I am starting over at 30 again. This makes total sense to me. 40 seems too old for major life changes. I haven’t even had a chance to get stuck in my ways!

What does 30 year old Kristin look like? Smokin’ hot, healthy body; cute, little house in a trendy neighborhood (goodbye Highlands Ranch HOA Gestapo); happy, healthy boys leading fulfilling lives (not living with me), fabulous career and Seth MacFarlane….OK…well, maybe not THE Seth MacFarlane, but a sexy, fun, Liberal, Atheist, movie/TV/music/book/trivia buff, with a strong sense of humor who actually gets my jokes without additional explanation. Wealthy and well hung are nice to haves, but not a requirement (actually …on second thought…wealthy is a nice to have, well hung is a requirement!)) I figure I can afford to take my time and be picky right now. I have promised myself (and Jenn and my Mom)  I won’t start my search for Mr. Perfect until I am at goal weight. I figure I can’t expect my version of the perfect guy until I am my version of my perfect self. I owe Seth MacFarlane that much.

In the mean time, I will “roll with the changes” as REO Speedwagon so eloquently put it (BTW…I am pretty sure this is the first documented time “REO Speedwagon” and “Eloquently” have been used in the same sentence.) I will embrace all the good things that are happening and turn the bad into a learning experience.

The one thing that has been constant through all of this is my amazing friends and family. I am so blessed (and you know I *NEVER* use that word) to be surrounded by friends, family, co-workers, FB friends and on and on. You guys are what make change tolerable. You are the ones who give me strength and keep me smiling.

I hope you all plan to join me in Vegas January 2013 to celebrate my 40^th 30^th birthday! Until then….roll with the changes!

What a Difference a Day Makes!

I woke up today determined to make the choice to be happy…no, THRILLED…about my current situation. I reread my last blog entry and got really pissed at myself. What a fucking cry baby I am! I should be celebrating right now, not lamenting the loss of KFC, Ben and Jerry and Dr. Pepper. I look around me and see so many things to be overjoyed about. I have been very lucky in my life. I am ashamed that the thought of not being able to binge on wings and fries would get me down. I am better than that!

I decided to list the things I am grateful for….and I just had to add some things that annoy me because this all can’t be whimsical.

Things I am Grateful for (in no particular order):

• Grooveshark
• The dog park
• My boobs (I hope I get to keep them!)
• Target
• Whey Protein
• My new car
• Mommy
• My beautiful home with kick ass party decks (oh yeah…I have two!)
• My Boys (please see this under things that annoy me, too)
• DIRECTV!!
• Droid
• Seattle
• SAINTS!
• Fantasy Football (specifically, my QB Aaron Rodgers)
• My friends and family
• Sugar free popsicles
• Bath and Body Works
• Jimi Hendrix
• Seth MacFarlane (will he ever know how much I love him?)
• Pedicures
• Jenn (these are in order…because I know that bitch’s feet need some attention, too!)
• Scented candles (anyone who’s been to my house knows this is an addiction)
• George St. Pierre

Things That Annoy Me (in no particular order)

• People who use "literally" incorrectly. That, literally, makes me want to stick my pen in my eyeball
• Any modern pop singer
• Not trusting a fart
• People who don’t know how to use the self check-out
• Teenagers
• People who use quotes “incorrectly”
• My Boys
• People who stop in a merge lane. Fucking MERGE already!!!
• Texting and driving
• “Plus size” Halloween costumes
• People who drop in to see me, but are really only there because the bathroom outside my office is closed for cleaning and they are just really waiting to pee. You don’t fool me. 

I am sure there is more but I really wanted to focus on the positive of the day. I am down 22lbs. I think that number made it all worth it. Now…I can’t WAIT to get make into my full workout routine! I will see that number drop more AND I will fell stronger, sexier and more confident

If I could only trust a fart….life would be perfect.

Sucks and the City

One week down, a lifetime to go.

At this time last Tuesday I was waking up in the recovery room with a bad ass high and the feeling that I had just been shanked. Today, the bad ass high is gone but the feeling I have been shanked (physically and emotionally) is still here.

I don’t think I was fully prepared for the next steps. I was so focused on my ultimate result that I never considered the transition phase; the actual hard work that comes with this level of transformation. I feel depressed and lethargic. I don’t know if it’s the lack of calories, lack of social interaction or just plain, old detox that I am going through, but it sucks!

And speaking of sucks…everything I take in has to, theoretically, be able to pass through a straw. Yup, two weeks of liquid proteins only.  Now, usually the thought of sucking liquid protein  would appeal to me, but for two weeks straight? Ugh! I have actually considered what a blended Whopper would taste like. So far, I have decided against the pureed burger approach, but by next week I may change my mind. My dietician recommended pureeing meat with a broth or low fat gravy. Are you fucking kidding me? That skinny bitch actually suggested this. Mmmmmm…prime rib au jus frappachino!

So…between my Beef Carpaccio slushies, emotional crying jags, lack of sex (sorry, Mom but it’s true) and general bitchiness…I have to ask myself: Is this all worth it? This is not me! I am happy and joyful and positive. Oh Shit! What if this is the person I am becoming? What if I am a total negative asshole? Would I rather be fat and happy or a thin asshole? I desperately hope this doesn’t last.

I am waiting for happy to happen. Is happiness a goal weight or size? Is it wearing 6’’ Christian Louboutins? Is it competing in another triathlon or completing a 14neer? Or maybe it is just the choice I make every day to do better for myself. Damn it! Happiness is not passive. It is something I have to focus on and choose each day. As lost, alone, sad, hungry, deprived and down as I feel, I have to choose to snap out of it! I have to push through as part of the overall transformation.

Or…maybe I just need a hard, long, think tube of liquid protein. 

“Breaking up is hard to do” - Neil Sedaka

I know this is a very public, perhaps embarrassing, way to tell you this, but it’s time.

I know what we have is amazing. I have loved you my whole life! Nothing makes me feel like you do. You have some sort of spell over me. I think about you all the time. You come to me in my dreams. You invade my soul and take over my body. Just the anticipation of feeling you inside of me makes me giddy. Your smell, the way you make me feel, the rush of ecstasy you give me are all intoxicating. I fantasize about a secret redavouz with you. No one has to know. You sneak into my bedroom and seduce me. When you come to me I am covered from head to toe in a rapture of passion that is cosmic. I am completely, wholly and uncontrollably addicted to you. I will always love you with everything I am. BUT…you are so bad for me

I have to end it. I know this is going to hurt me so much more than it hurts you. You have so many other women. What am I to you but just one other notch on your bedpost? You have used me up, hurt me and changed me into someone I don’t like or even recognize. I am weak around you. I make horrible choices around you. I lose the strong, beautiful, wise woman I am constantly striving to become. I give in to anything you want. So, I am walking away from you. You probably won’t even notice I am gone. You don’t give a shit. WE ARE OVER!

In 24 hours, I will be taking the first steps to say goodbye to you forever. I am reclaiming my body from you! I will be thinner, stronger and more confident. I refuse to let you take me over ever again! I will find others...others who are better for me. They will treat my body right. Better yet, they will treat me right. I will be healthier for having them. Soon…I won’t crave you anymore. I will find satisfaction and fulfillment with ones who truly love me.

So, Chunky Monkey, Cherry Garcia, Chubby Hubby and all your friends….peddle your wears elsewhere because we are through!

Detours

I took a different route to work today due to emergency responder exercises going on in the middle of my commute. I guess they have their reasons for choosing the Park Meadows “shopping resort” (their words, not mine) for these drills. I mean, if terrorists what to attack Abercrombie & Fitch, who am I to argue with Allah? What’s the worst thing that could happen? A&F is destroyed.  Now, I can walk through the south end of the mall without my sense of smell being bombarded and possibly permanently damaged by the smell of shitty cologne and sweaty balls wafting from the store. Ultimately, those guys (and gals) are hard at work protecting our high end malls and I had to take a detour.

My live has taken many detours. I believe those different routes are the reason I am who I am today: good, bad and ugly. I think about decisions I regret and wonder what they really mean. Why should I regret anything if those choices got me where I am today?

An obvious detour would be my teenage pregnancy. How would my life be different without having a baby at 19? Would I have gotten married? Would I have had my second child by 21? How about the rather spontaneous choice to leave Boise? I regret that choice everyday of my life. But I could never regret my amazing boys. Why do some decisions that seem so benign (getting drunk and hooking up at a party at 19 years old) lead to such a dramatic life change? Why are other changes that seem so right at the time (moving to Texas from Idaho) lead to daily regrets? I guess we can never truly know where our detours will take us.

So…I have made a MAJOR life decision. As of Tuesday, there is no going back. I can’t turn around on this detour. Where will this road take me? I have to say, this is the scariest part. I am not afraid of anesthesia. I am not afraid of pain. I am not afraid of recovery or my post-op diet. I am afraid of not knowing what’s ahead. This seems like a great change…..but can we really, really ever know if the new route is better than the old?

It seems fitting to me that my surgery will fall on the Equinox as it arrives in Denver (September 27^th). I really am at a crossroads. I choose (by random fate) the day the night is exactly equal to daylight. I am a complete skeptic but part of me believes that day is a good day to take a major detour.

“You are gonna be so HOT!”…..

……and other compliments that aren’t really compliments at all.

OK, I get it! Fat is not HOT. There are no fat chicks gracing the cover of Playboy, Maxim or any other men’s magazine I read for the articles or the occasional devastating blow to my self esteem. There are no chubby girls in videos, print ads, on the runway….Hell…even the Lane Bryant models are a size 12 at their heaviest…..which brings me to a quick digression….

WhyTF! Do I have to be relegated to a totally separate department on a totally different floor when trying to shop for clothes? For those of you who don’t know what I am talking about: Fat girls are not allowed to shop with the skinny girls. In ANY department store the “plus” size section in usually upstairs, in the back of the store, near the shitty rest rooms and customer service. There is usually an elevator near because the escalator is just too much physical exertion for us lards. Nordstrom’s is good enough to have a snack bar up there for us in case that elevator ride depleted our biscotti reserves. No one else I know has to shop in the back of the store like us fat people. Even the men’s “Big and Tall” is in the same men’s department as the other dudes. I guess the only group of people that can understand this phenomenon are men who dress in drag. But, they have an entire department store dedicated to them in Patricia Fields (the Queens are gonna love that joke).

OK…so back to my original point. Why do people say to be, “Oh, after this surgery, you are going to be so (insert compliment here)”?  For me this isn’t about being hot or sexy or pretty or thin….it’s about fitting into my body. You see, I am TransPhysique.

Yes, my friends, I am out of the closet. I am a skinny girl trapped in a fat girl’s body.  Some of you may be thinking, “Doesn’t everybody what to be thin? Isn’t fat a choice? You said it yourself, Kristin, ‘Fat is a choice!’” Ummm…actually I said MY choices made me fat, not “Fat is a choice”, so stop misquoting me. Now, I am exercising my choice to escape this body that doesn’t fit.

This is a HUGE lifestyle change. Not only will by mental view and physical body change, but so will society’s perception of me. How will I be received? What if I don’t feel comfortable in my “new” body? What if I just don’t look right like Star Jones? What if my head is too big for my body (HEAD! PANTS! NOW!)? There is so much to process. Sometimes it’s hard to get your head around it. This change is happening in less that a week. I will start a new path. I am nervous, scared, excited and ready to see where it leads…..

But to end where I started: “Compliments that aren’t really compliments”. I have to leave you with an actual conversation:

Co-worker #1: I hope when you get thin you don’t turn into a bitch!

Co-worker #2: She’s already a bitch…but I mean that in a good way.

Co-worker #1 Yeah, but don’t be a *skinny* bitch!

Me: I totally get what you mean.

And I did.

The Gospel According to Lyle

My Mom was one chastised by a friend of hers for doing me the great disservice of not “raising me up with God”.  Her response was I would be able to choose when I was an adult. So, I thought about her philosophy of life, how she raised me and if not knowing “God” was really a hindrance in my life.

She told me to love and care about people. She taught me people are people, despite age, race, sexual orientation, etc.. She is the most empathetic person I know. She can read just about anyone and know their character. She also has an uncanny ability to call me just when I am about the break down, often telling me she, “just had a feeling” she needed to call. She showed me how to take care of my own children, home and pets. I watched her grow-up with me. I watched her stay strong through the worst circumstances. I’ve watched her inspire greatness in other people. I have always been in awe.

I remember she used to come out and play with all the kids in the neighborhood. She once caught a garter snake and held it for all of us to touch. She is the bravest woman EVER! In the third grade, the class bully (Amber) made me cry. She told me if Amber didn’t want to be my friend, it was her loss, which made sense to me because I had the Barbie Townhouse with working elevator. Who wouldn’t want to be my friend with assets like that in my room?! I was afraid of monsters in my closest. She calmly explained that Grover was a monster, so how bad could monsters be? She never missed an AWFUL band or choir concert and was secretly relived when I pursued sports (something I was actually good at) instead of singing or playing an instrument. She never missed a softball game. Her whistled could be heard for miles! She was there through my first broken heart and told me if he didn’t want to be with me, it was his loss. I still had the Barbie Townhouse, but didn’t think that would persuade him. She was right though, it was his loss!

I think she is disappointed I don’t believe in a higher power. But…the thing is: I do! I believe in her and everything she taught me. She has been my rock, my strength, my greatest cheerleader, my most constructive critic and ALWAYS there. …for real.…..in the flesh. So, no, I don’t believe in a fictional “God”. I believe in people. I believe in her. That doesn’t take any faith at all.

I know she is scared for me. In a week I will be going under for surgery. That’s scary for a Mom. But, please, DON’T pray for me! Send thoughts to Lyle. She needs them more than me J

Training vs. Coaching

I had to speak to a group of people this week about Training (learning a whole new skill) vs. Coaching (reinforcing known skills or behaviors) . I also had my final nutrition class prior to surgery. Now, I understand these things are totally unreleased. Well, at least, at first glance they seem unrelated. However, after a glass of red wine, a hot bath and double dose of my muscle relaxers last night, things became a little clearer to me. People who know me well will totally get how drugs and alcohol can make me MORE coherent.

Part of my “lifestyle change” is asking myself, “Why am I fat?”  and giving myself an honest answer. I mean, I could argue passionately about genetics (I *AM* the daughter of a huge football player/coach) or environment (I have to feed two, huge, growing teenage boys, so I cook for us all) or really any other excuse (I had two pregnancies in a row that fucked up my hormones, thyroid, prostate, whatever…) What I learned last night is it is ALL choice.

As our lovely, skinny-bitch Dietician began to explain to me that high fructose corn syrup is really added sugar (no shit) and that complex carbs are better than simple carbs (REA-he-LLY?! (sic)) I thought, “But I *LIKE* simple carbs and corn syrup”.

My epiphany was just this simple: While I have not actively chosen to be fat, my choices had made me fat. I mean, unlike being gay, fat is NOT a choice (had to throw that out there for my HUGE Tea Party and Evangelical following).

This brings me back to the class I was teaching. I listened to the class complain about their employees are just not as nice as they could be and we should have some training around that issue. I don’t think I can train someone to smile or be nice. I assume their mother taught them that.  So, they KNOW how to smile. They know HOW to be polite. They are just not doing it and all of the training in the world will not solve that. They are CHOOSING their behavior. Just like me.

 I was rolling my eyes at this beautiful, ditsy, thin, Dietician and thinking, “I’m not a fucking idiot! I know HOW to read labels. I know HOW to calculate my MHR and what the difference between anaerobic and aerobic is. I am a MENSA member, damn it Why the HELL am I sitting in this class!”

So….I *AM* smart. I do know how to eat, how to exercise, what the capital of Iceland is and how to solve for X.  I guess I don’t need training. I need a behavior change. I need coaching. And more than that…I need to stop fucking complaining and making up excuses and just do what I know how to do!

13 days and counting, my friends! September 27^th is quickly approaching!

The Last Supper

After three years of fighting insurance companies and finally giving up, I am doing it. I am getting "banded" as people in the know call it. Yes, lap-band surgery. The surgery I only thought weak, morbidly obese people get. I guess it never occurred to me that I could be one of those people. I am excited, nervous, scared and wondering what this could mean for the second half of my life. It's a pretty major change like getting married, divorced or changing gynecologists. I have had the same person looking at my vagina for eight years...but I digress.

My surgery date is September 27th. The anticipation is like that of a first date with a guy you really like. You are balancing the same fears of, "Will he like me?" "Will I like him?" "Will I get laid when this is over?" Clearly, that is the real goal of this surgery. I want to look good naked. Hopefully, that's a reasonable request!

I went to Texas de Brazil for my "Last Supper". I gorged on various meat and pork products to the point of illness. Damn it! I love food! Am I ready to give up the occasional buffet of overindulgence for my looks? And don't give me that bullshit about my health. I have been obese (I hate that word...but it's true) for 18 years. I have not had one, single health issue due to my weight. I am doing this for the looks and that's it. Is that an OK reason?

So...here starts my journey. A fat girl's quest to be born again as a skinny girl!