Godspeed, Sally...

I was grieved to read about the passing of Sally Ride, first American woman to go into Space.  I didn't even know she was ill.

I wanted to be Sally so bad when I was a kid.  I  used to make off with Dad's binoculars at night and sit in my room with the lights off, and stare at the moon.  I couldn't decide if I wanted to be an astronaut or an astronomer.  My Science grades improved.  I used to get excited when Nova came on on PBS.  I adored Jack Horkheimer and his "keep reaching for the stars" bit.

Sally's death leaves us bereft and seems to mark the end of an era of American pride and patriotism.

Where did it go?  When did we stop feeling invincible and start feeling scared all the time?  I don't think it was 9/11 that was totally responsible, either.  It's been coming on for a long time.

When Pearl Harbor got hammered, did we sit around and cry?  Hell no.  We got up and kicked some butt.  We were bound and determined to rise above the attack, above the Axis powers, above the war.  And we did.  Like crazy.

We believed in ourselves and in our country and in each other.  Success was inevitable, we thought.  We didn't have some sort of strange, misguided shame of being #1.  We were damn good and we knew it.  We reveled in it.

We taught our kids that they could reach for the stars.  They could do it!  We taught them that obstacles and challenges were good for them.  You fell down?  Bummer.  Put some Neosporin and a band-aid on, get up and try again.  Repeat if necessary.

And Sally?  The first American woman to go into Space?  Long before the rise of "GIRL POWER", she taught us (girls, especially) that it was cool to do your Math and Science homework.  She taught us that it was cool to be smart, to dream.  She showed us that we could do anything, and do it with class, poise, and elegance.  Sally was an accurate and fabulous representation of American pride, talent, know-how, dreams, and determination.  It was an exciting time.

What do we have now?  So many people seem ashamed of America, of American success.  We have had over 10 years of international turmoil, a wretched economy, a sub-par educational system, and politicians who don't do what we hired them to do.  Instead, they sit around in nauseating luxury, bitching at one another about the most trivial shit.  The only thing they've succeeded in doing is dividing us bitterly and screwing us over.

But, so what?  It's happened before.  It was called The Great Depression.  We got out of it.  As a nation, we've fought how many wars?  We ended up o.k.  What's going on now in our beautiful land, does not have to destroy us.  We're nuts if we let it.  We've pried our tails out of tighter cracks than this one and we can do it again.  It's o.k. if America is successful.  It's o.k. if we're top of the heap.  This is why our forebearers fought their asses off from 1775-1783, and again in 1812, 1861-65, 1917, 1941-45, etc.  They fought because they knew there was something worth fighting for.  They were glad to do it.  They were proud to contribute.

Sally was born just after WWII, when this kind of optimism and pride was at its zenith.  And she shared it with us.

Come on, people!  Let's quit whining, get off our duffs and show Sally and our forebearers that their hard work and dreaming wasn't in vain.  We owe them that.

God bless you, Sally.  And thank you so much.  For everything.

Beyond Humiliated...

I didn't think it was possible for any more shit to hit the fan.  I was wrong.  Remember Psycho, that friend who blew up at me recently?  She's the one I mentioned in a post from last year, who was diagnosed with Borderline Personality.  She stepped way over the line last night.


I've been reading up on BPD and one of the first pieces of advice was never to argue with or defend yourself to a Borderline.  It'll just make 'em go ape.  When she got nasty with me last week, and began badmouthing me to anyone who would listen, I was steaming like a cowpie in July, but I decided I wouldn't dignify this crap with a response.  I don't know if it antagonized her or what, but yesterday she was on me like white on rice.  


Around 7 p.m. last night the doorbell rang.  There stood two policemen.  They informed me that they'd gotten a call telling them to check up on me because I was reported to be suicidal.  They wouldn't tell me who called it in.  I had a hell of a time convincing them that I was not a danger to myself but they didn't seem to believe me.  My mom happened to be there and they told her she was to keep an eye on me, then left.  The second I shut the door, I was in floods.  Having to explain my mental health history to two strangers was mortifying.  I couldn't imagine who had reported this utter shit. 


Ten minutes after the cops left, I happened to check my cellphone for text messages, and saw that Psycho was the culprit.  She admitted to doing it.  Said she was scared for me.  All I'd done earlier is make a couple of statements on FB indicating that I was sad and disappointed about C.G., and she ran with it.  Called the local constabulary and reported that I was threatening to hurt myself, which I was not!


I tore her a new asshole.  I was incensed that she would do this to me and told her exactly what I thought of this stunt plus the behavior of the past few weeks, plus her.


It got me nowhere.  


Her response:  "I stand by my decision".  "I'm sorry you feel this way".  "I did the right thing".  "I'm not going to argue with you, but as soon as your head clears, you'll see that I was right".  "I'm sorry you're embarrassed".  All the therapy-speak she had in her head, she vomited up at me.  I was the crazy, unstable one who wouldn't listen to reason.


Bitch.


Needless to say, we're not friends anymore.  I've deleted her from my social media sites.  My mother immediately unfriended her on Facebook, and I've had a tough time convincing her not to call Psycho and read her the riot act.  And, I'm seriously considering going to my wireless provider and asking for a new phone number.  


I got about 4 hours of sleep last night, tops.  I'm exhausted this morning, and still humiliated, and still angry.  All I want is to crawl underneath a rock and stay there til the end of time.  


This is what I get for standing by her since we were 13, and for offering support and understanding, and for being her punching bag.  More punching.  


I understand that she's incapable of rational responses and controlling her vitriol, but this was low, even for her.


So upset...

Scraping The Bottom Of The Barrel...

When the shit hits the fan, the shit really hits the fan.


About a month ago, I was chatting with a long-time friend (with whom I've had some issues for quite a while).  One word led to the next and she told me she wished she could be like me when things go sour, and just get really quiet, instead of bother everyone with her troubles.  I told her the main reason why I rarely confide in her is that I thought she didn't care.  She then said that in therapy she's working on her relationships and that she needed to hear the truth of what kind of a friend she'd been, and that I  should be honest.  I took her at her word and mentioned a few salient points that had been hurting me for at least 10 years.  Not petty, trifling things, but things that had hurt me for a long time.  Like the way she would hide when she saw I was coming, if she was with other people, so she wouldn't have to be around me.  The way she dropped me flat when she became friends with someone else.  The way she accused me of abandoning her when my family left town.  The way she took her issues out on me time after time, and for years I thought it was all my fault.  


Big, huge mistake with feckin' bells hanging off of it.


Friends, I have learned to never tell the truth when someone asks for it.  I have learned that you need to either sugarcoat everything, or tell the listener what he/she wants to hear, or change the subject, or run away screaming into the night.  NEVER TELL THE TRUTH!  Honesty is not the best policy.  Honesty means that you're World's Biggest Asshole.


Last night, after a couple of weeks of almost complete silence, she became very nasty, and I was not the only target.  Apparently, her favorite aunt is now against her, because she's been emotional.  The tally: She's lost the man she loved (he was an abusive, mentally-unstable jerk with massive control issues who got her into bed right after they met and then afterward told her he thought he had an STD), her favorite aunt hates her/she's now the black sheep of the family, and she's lost a friend.  Apparently I told her what a horrible person she was and I *gasp* judged her!!!


Are you &%$#@*% kidding me?!  Not once did the words, "you're a bad friend", "you're a bad person", etc., EVER pass my lips.  I merely told her, at her request, some of the things that have been hurting me for a long time, and that I've choked them down for a long time, too.




I am now persona non grata.  I make the devil himself look like Little Mary Sunshine.  


About 10 years ago, she complained to me that several ex-boyfriends referred to her as a psychopath once their relationships hit the skids.  I didn't see it before, but I'm seeing it now.  She's pretty damn vindictive.  As long as you kiss her ass, everything's peachy.  Fail to worship her in the appropriate manner, and she will punish you.


This morning, my punishment began when she got on Facebook and named the friends who have stood by her.  Needless to say, I was not mentioned.  I'm not terribly surprised, but I am offended because I've been more than patient with her.  I was there for her when the people she mentioned left her flat on her ass. This was followed by inspirational photos/sayings about how judging others makes you scum, about how you need to leave people better off than when you found them, and how Jesus is standing by her.


$#@& you, sweetheart.  And leave Jesus out of it.


I'm dreadfully frustrated.  Not only do I feel defeated but I also feel like I'm not allowed to have an opinion or feelings, or to defend myself.  One of the people that Psycho lauded this morning, recently looked her straight in the eye and told her that she was a shitty friend.  That is verbatim, and straight from Psycho's own mouth. But I'm the one who's the horse's ass.


It's been a lousy few weeks.  C.G. is now down south and my hopes for something with him are as dead as last year's Christmas tree.  This friend is probably no longer a friend (not that she was much of one to start) and won't shut up about it.  I'm being ignored by everyone around me, that is, until they want something.  What's a girl to do?


Well, I let my sister-in-law talk me into staying at their house for a week.  I went, joyfully.  I felt like I'd gotten a seat aboard the last chopper out of Saigon.  For one week, I ate like a pig, smoked, drank wine, ate some more.  Last Friday night, my brother, s-i-l, and I met their outrageously funny neighbor, Will, at a local bar.  For over 2 hours, s-i-l, Will and I drank like fish (my poor brother had to stay sober) and shot off our mouths and joked around and laughed ourselves silly.  And I raised my espresso martini to C.G. and his continuing health and happiness.  Finally, we staggered out the door, collapsed in the car, and my brother drove us all to a greasy spoon where we ate fried foods, guzzled coffee, and made fools of ourselves in public.


It was exactly what I needed.  I was sorry when I had to return home.  But, it helped speed up my grieving process over C.G.  My grief reached its zenith last Monday and Tuesday morning, I woke up feeling better.  Don't get me wrong, I'm still not thrilled about this.  I'm so disappointed and wish I had someone to vent to, but I'll survive.


I wish I could go someplace for a week to get over my disgust with Psycho.


Anyway, I'm at the end of the road.  I have no choice but to move on.  I woke up at 5:15 a.m. and resumed T-Tapp after a two-week pause.  I resumed skin brushing (no way am I going to have loose skin when all my weight is gone).  I finally got off my butt and did some grocery shopping (lots of fruit and vegetables, only a little chocolate), and now I'm back to plowing my way through that BBC reading list.  I've played the fat slob/loser role for too long, and I'm sick of it.  Time to get off my ass, get some things done, maybe dust off a few dreams while I'm at it.  I can't sit around any longer and I sure as hell am not going to let anyone punish me.


Just don't ask me for my honest opinion.

So Long, Farewell, Au Revoir, Auf Wiedersehen...

Well, it would seem that the writing on the wall has become spray painted, and written in great big feckin' block letters.  C.G. is gone.  For good.  To Texas.  I got the news yesterday and spent about 16 hours in terrible shock.  I cried my cry, ate a shit ton of cookies and cream ice cream, cheese/crackers, took a couple of Aleve for the raging headache I got as a result of crying, and fell asleep around 5 a.m. this morning, with the t.v. still on.


I woke up really late and opened my eyes to see Martha Stewart playing with kittens and puppies.  And, despite my crying/ice cream hangover, I felt o.k.  I half expected to see butterflies and unicorns with the kittens.  I'm still less-than-thrilled about the defection of this man, but I think I'll survive.


And you know what else?  One day soon, I might end up grateful that I didn't get C.G.  I've been thinking about my other crushes and what would've happened had I ended up with them.  


Dominic:  I'd have been saddled with a cocaine-addicted nutjob, in one of the seedier areas of Minneapolis.


Bryan:  I'd have given birth to 5 kids in 5 years and be stuck on a farm in the middle of nowhere in northwestern Minnesota.  What the hell would I have done with myself on a farm?  I'd have gone after the man with a pitchfork after the first month.


Dave:  I'd have ended up in the boondocks of Michigan.


Scott:  Cheater; slapped his girlfriends around.


Eric:  Really nice guy but gay.


Philip: Whale-shit boring.




As much as this hurts right now, even I have enough wherewithal to know that this little Texas Tragedy is probably a HUGE blessing in disguise.  It might take a little more ice cream and a few moody afternoons at Starbucks, writing moody letters to my favorite cousin, but I'm sure I'll survive.


So, goodbye C.G.  Good luck, God bless, use SPF, and watch out for rattlesnakes...

Annoyed/Frustrated Tonight...

My fat shift goes on.  It's been 10 days and my too-tight black pants, the ones that were getting looser, are too-tight again.  I know it's fat shift-related.  I know that a fat shift is actually a good thing.  My ass has hiked itself up so high that it's practically between my shoulder blades.  At the expense of my abs.  I'm still with T-Tapp but I've switched workouts.  After 6 weeks of Basic Tempo, I've switched to the 45-minute Total Workout Instructional.  And I'm loving it.  I was just hoping that, after 3 workouts, my tummy would've shrunk a bit.  No dice.  So, I got on the wonderful T-Tapp forums and found out that I may have overtrained a bit.  Overtraining can lead to no results.  Or worse yet, adrenal fatigue.  I sure as hell don't want that.  So, one of the fabulous T-Tapp veterans gave me some advice on how to break up my workout schedule and I'm looking forward to Monday rolling around so that I can implement these changes.  


And, I swear by ALL that is holy, when those damnable pants are too big for me, I'm going to do terrible things to them with a vegetable peeler.  I ought to donate them because they are brand new, but my thirst for vengeance needs to be slaked.

Give Until It Hurts, Part Four...

...For once, it didn't hurt.  I got my baby into the garage last Friday morning and they said they'd call if they found the problem.  A couple hours later, they called to say they couldn't find the dilemma.  This had me worried.  I was envisioning something horrible that would cost the GNP of China, like the differential.  A short time later, the garage called to say the problem had been located and the car could be picked up on Monday.


I stewed all through the weekend, wondering how in hell I was going to come up with the money for this repair.  Monday morning, I got a nice surprise.  The total on the invoice was $0.00.  I'm pretty sure I wet my pants.


Apparently, the trouble was with the new wheel bearing they had installed a week previously.  Somehow, one of the little balls in the bearing had broken in half and this was responsible for the horrendous grinding, scraping, clunking, metallic spinning I was hearing whenever I drove.  Miracle of miracles, all the new parts were still under warranty, hence the $0.00 price tag.


Once in a while, you come out ahead.  This was a treat.  I cannot begin to tell you of my relief.  I'm still giddy.




On another note, the T-Tapp is going extremely well.  For any of you who want to get in shape, improve your health, shed inches, I strongly recommend looking into T-Tapp.  


Over the past two weeks, I participated in a little T-Tapp challenge: The 10-day, Organs In Place/Half Frogs (aka OIP/HF) and Awesome Legs challenge.  OIP/HF and Awesome Legs are known for paring down the belly and thighs in a damn fast hurry.  They look deceptively simple but the results are mindblowing.


I was dying to get into my goal pants, so I decided to do the challenge.  I read the challenge thing wrong on the Facebook page and ended up going 13 days before I realized I only needed to do 10 days.  The results were wonderful.  After about 4-5 days of the challenge, I noticed that I could get into my goal pants and I barely had to suck in my gut.  


As of Tuesday morning, my goal pants fit almost perfectly in the waist.  Not only that, but the rest of the clothes in my closet fit.  The skirts, the 2 pairs of khakis, the tops.  Best of all, there's a noticeable difference in how my black sheath fits across my tummy.  Between Sunday and Tuesday, it became a little bit looser and looks better on.  And I can actually sit more comfortably in it.  I was even able to get into a skirt that's  the next size down.  It's tight and I look a little like a stuffed sausage, but I can get into it.  


I am so thrilled with my results, I can barely see straight.


Next week, I believe I shall switch T-Tapp workouts.  I'm currently doing the 17-minute Basic Tempo workout and enjoying it.  But I think it's time to up the ante a little bit.  Next week, I may just switch to the 50-minute Total Workout.  I've done Total before.  It's really tough but it's worth it.  I think that if I switch to Total and keep doing OIP/HF and Awesome Legs, I'll melt off even more pork.  The switch depends on whether or not I go to Mark and Rae's next weekend.  If I go, I'll have to postpone the switch, because whenever I visit, I come home sore (especially in my knees) from all the farm chores and the soreness usually lasts about a week or so.  I want to be strong and ache-free when I move on to Total Workout (aka TWO).  


It's been an excellent few days... 

Pretty Good Weekend...

I freakin' love it when I make a certain dress in my closet my goal dress, and I try it on to see how much work it'll take to get into it properly and THE DAMN THING FITS!


I have a black sleeveless sheath dress that I bought over ten years ago.  It came as a 3-piece affair: dress, long A-line coat and trousers.  Even though I've had these pieces a long time, the dress and coat are so classic that they'll still be appropriate 10 years from now.  Talk about $40 well spent!


Yesterday, I figured I'd better designate a new goal outfit to keep me motivated.  I knew I'd be into those black trousers really soon and the goal would be met, so I'd need a new goal.  I chose the sheath dress and matching coat.  

I tried on both to see how they'd fit.  The verdict:  The coat is rather tight across the middle, due to my muffin top, however, I can get it buttoned and it doesn't pull very much at all.  The rest of the coat fit nicely, especially in the arms and shoulders, two areas that can get awfully tight if you're rubenesque.  This encouraged me, so I tried on the dress.  It fits really nicely.  The only part that is a bit tight is where my muffin top hits it, but it's not bad at all.  It fits perfectly in the shoulders, armholes, back, hips and bust.  My goal is to be able to wear this dress and sit/bend over comfortably in it.  


Something else I've noticed:  My feet seem to be a bit smaller.  I have two pairs of high heels that I've never been able to wear comfortably.  They've always been just a bit too tight.  They seem to be perfect now.  I'd heard about women who lost weight and went down 1/2 to 1 whole shoe size.  I pray I'll be one of them.  I'd always been a size 10 and then when I began to really bulk up, I found myself needing 11s half the time.  Worse still, I ended up needing a wide width.  That's just tragic.  I'd be well pleased if I went back to a 10M.  If I get to a 9 or a 9 1/2, they'll have to sedate me.  


Another thing I've heard is that some people actually grow an inch or two in height after losing a great deal of weight.  Now, I haven't noticed a difference in my height but I'd love it if I'd grow a bit taller.  When I was 18, the doctor measured me and I was 5'8".  I got remeasured a couple years ago and I'd shrunk to 5'7 1/2".  I really, really hope I'll grow as the de-larding process continues.  I hope I make it up to 5'9 or a tiny bit over that.  


I got to spend Saturday with my fabulous nieces, brother and sister-in-law.  This was the first time my family was able to get together since this past November.  We actually got to open Christmas presents.  They were going to come for Christmas, but my 13-yr. old niece got strep throat, the 15-yr. old and my brother got the flu, and we all had a series of nasty colds that squelched all subsequent Yuletide joy.  Not only that, but our schedules have been crazy.  My babies are busy with Taekwondo and gymnastics, plus one is in high school and the other one is finishing up junior high.  The ladies have pretty heavy academic loads.  Finally, we adults have our work and obligations, so it's no wonder we couldn't get together.  Anyway, I got to knock off and spend several hours cruising the mall with two of my favorite people in the entire universe.  


My brat comes home from the mechanic tomorrow.  I'm scared to death of seeing the price on the invoice.  I'm praying it'll be $300 or less.  If it's over $500, it'll slay me.  I'm thinking it's probably high time I start thinking about a good used car.  Unless I win the lotto (hint, hint, God!), in which case, to hell with used (I'd get a kick-ass 2013 Nissan Altima if I had the means).  My birthday is in less than two weeks so my fingers are crossed.  Wouldn't that be a gorgeous birthday gift?  To win a $100 million jackpot?  I'd have to be sedated...


Finally, speaking of birthday gifts, I was chatting with my mom a couple of hours ago, and I said, "You know, for several years I've thought that it'd be nice if I could lose a certain amount of weight or shrink a size or two by or before my birthday.  It just occurred to me that my birthday is in less than two weeks and I'm already down two sizes.  I just gave myself an early birthday present".


Have a nice week, everybody... 

Hot Damn...

I'm at the end of my 6th week of T-Tapp.  I am now down almost 2 sizes.  I tried on a pair of pants this morning that were just about perfect.  When I tried them on earlier this week they were still a bit tight.  And my goal pants?  I barely have to suck in my gut in order to get them buttoned and my bum looks great in them.


I think my spoiled brat will get looked at today.  Say a prayer, gentle readers, that whatever is wrong is minor and inexpensive.

Give Until It Hurts, Part Three...

My spoiled brat is acting up again.  Apparently, spending $1100 wasn't enough to make it behave for more than 36 hours.  Now, when I drive it, there's a horrible new noise.  A sort of grinding, grating, knocking sound.  My cousin figures it's either the ball joint (that was repaired last November) or a tie rod.  I figure it'll be ruinously expensive.  What the hell am I going to do now?  And where am I going to get the money?


I'm beginning to wonder why I'm even bothering to attempt to get a life.  Each time I try to get the ball rolling, some obstacle pops up.  Not a little obstacle, either, but big ones that seem to cost a great deal of money.  I'm so discouraged I don't know what to do.


Quickly losing faith...

Give Until It Hurts, Part Deux, Plus, A Strange And Wonderful Adventure...

Well, I got a good 24 hours out of my baby before a new, alarming, clunking sound started up.  I don't know if a rock got stuck underneath or if something is loose or if it's because the tires need to be re-torqued very soon.  Either way, I don't like it.  Looks like my baby has grown up to be a problem child.  Little brat.


I had something interesting and a bit startling happen to me yesterday afternoon.  I was walking by the lake, as is my wont, and on my 3rd lap, I got hit on like crazy.  Generally, the people who walk and bike there are quite friendly, particularly those with dogs.  In the month that I have frequented this place, I have regularly seen the same man go through on his bike.  Up until yesterday we always smiled at each other, said hello and went our separate ways.  Yesterday, he passed me.  We greeted each other and he went on ahead.  Presently, I caught up and noticed that he seemed to be lingering under a pavilion on the side of the trail.  Initially, I thought it a bit unusual for him, but I dismissed it and let my mind wander.  A few seconds later, I heard him call to me, "Did anyone ever tell you that's a nice shirt?"  I found this quite odd but thanked him politely and kept going.  Next thing I knew, he was next to me, striking up a conversation.  He wanted to know if I was from this area, what I do in my spare time and then, without any more of a preamble, he requested my phone number.  This does not happen to me every day.  In fact (and I'm kind of ashamed to admit it), this has never happened to me. Ever.  After the initial stages of shock wore off, I realized that I was being hit on like I've never been hit on before.  I was gobsmacked.  I was a bit wary.  I was intensely flattered.  The guy was cute.  His chin pubes were way out of control (the lower part of his face resembled a buffalo in need of a bikini wax), but he was definitely easy on the eyes.  Nice smile.  Gorgeous, crystal-blue eyes.  


I don't think I handled the situation very well.  I panicked and told him I was in an on-again-off-again relationship with someone and that it was complicated.  As thrilling as this was, I was wary and a bit uneasy.  I couldn't decide whether he was being sincere or up to no good.  And he was very persistent.  He asked my name and I asked his.  He told me it was Thad.  Then, he asked for a hug.  This, I did NOT like.  There wasn't another soul on that trail.  We were surrounded by trees and water.  The only escape, had I needed one, was into the lake.  And, call me old-fashioned, but I found Thad's request for a hug to be very forward.  I refused point blank, as gently but as firmly as I could.  He persisted.  I told him I don't hug men I don't know.  Then, I told him that he wouldn't want a hug, anyway, as I was rather sweaty and gross.  He said he didn't mind.  Then, I told him I suspected I was too old for him.  Turns out, he's 30.  And age doesn't matter to him.  He requested a handshake and I granted it.  Asked for my number again and I refused.  Wanted to know when he'd see me again if he didn't have my number and I said maybe we'd see each other on the trail again.  Thad wanted to hang out.  Meet for coffee.  Be friends.  He didn't want to take no for an answer and I was getting a bit too nervous to give him his way.  Finally, he and I parted amicably.  He was disappointed but was nice about it, and I continued my walk.  


Was I right to be wary or did I act like a horse's ass?  I hate to admit it, but I don't have a ton of experience with extremely determined men.  This was terribly flattering.  My first thought was, "Holy cow, the T-Tapp is working!"  And I was so proud that I actually attracted a man.  A cute man.  Who really seemed interested in me.  It was a relief to know that I do have some sort of womanly appeal.  Besides, when you're chunky, you feel less than appealing and you get overlooked.  A lot.  Since age 13, I've listened to a particular friend brag about how this guy wants her and that guy is chasing her and that guy way over there thinks she's hot and implications that I don't compare to her.  I'm grown weary of her self-congratulatory bullshit, so Thad's attention was a nice boost for my morale.  I was sorely tempted to get on the phone, tell her about him and rub her nose in it for a change.  I didn't.  I'm treating this encounter like a treasure that only I know about.  A good-looking, sexy man wanted me.  Not her.  ME.  As imperfect as I am, cellulite and a spare tire and all, he saw something he liked.  He pursued me.  I may not have handled it as smoothly as I'd have liked, but he really wanted me.  Damn it, that felt good.  


I don't think I will tell her.  This is a delicious little secret all for me, and I can hug it to myself when my friend starts her spieling. 


More musings on this topic at a later date...

Give Until It Hurts...

Oh God...


I just got my baby back from the garage.  Grand total: $1,101.09.  A far cry from the $500 I was quoted.  Apparently, when the guys saw the wheel bearings, they were ready to disintegrate at any time.  I also needed new brake pads and something done with the rotors.  And struts.  And tire rods. The good news is that the car no longer sounds like all hell is about to break loose.  The bad news is that Top Ramen may not be in my budget for a few weeks.  Shit.


According to the mechanic, there shouldn't be any big repairs for a long time.  God willing.  But I'm not going to hold my breath.


Shit, shit, shit...

Hell's Bells!

My damn car had to go back into the garage this morning for the first of several repairs.  Today, the mechanics are going to tackle a messed up wheel bearing.  For quite some time my baby's been sounding like piece of heavy farm machinery.  Last week it got worse and began sounding like a squealing pig stuck in the gears of a piece of heavy farm machinery.  I took that as a rather obvious sign from the Universe that a qualified mechanic should fix the problem, ASAP.  The estimate was $538.  I can only hope that it won't cost more.  Hell, I barely  have the $538.  If it has tires or testicles...


Discouraged.

Steady As She Goes...

Nothing raises flagging spirits like being able to fit into things that, two weeks previously, were 80 or 90 sizes too small.


Case in point: My beloved local amateur hockey team posted some photos from the final game of the season to its Facebook page.  There I am in one of them, suctioned-cupped to the glass (comme d'habitude), having a spazz attack.  I'm not sure if a goal was scored or if it was during the fisticuffs that broke out in the closing moments of the game.  Either way, I was going apeshit.  I look horrible.  In the photo I'm 2 sizes larger than I am now.  My face looks bloated.  I look like I have chipmunk teeth in a stupid chipmunk smile.  My hair is a disaster, my face pasty.  This is not an exaggeration.  I have never photographed well.  The last time I looked good in a picture was when I got my drivers license renewed in November 2000 (which is a miracle, because almost everyone looks like a psychopath in their license photos).  When I saw the picture, the first thing that went through my head was, "Oh shit, I'm so ugly!" 


My first instinct was to quit T-Tapp and walking.  I mean, why bother trying to improve my body if I have a face like a bus crash.  And, I'll admit it.  I damn near headed to the kitchen to binge on ice cream and pasta.  Instead, I did dishes.  After while, I began trying things on.


I tried on an old trench coat of my mother's.  I didn't expect it to fit.  She's a size or so smaller than I am.  Not only that, but she's petite.  I'm a strapping 5'8".  I tried that trench anyway.  It fits almost perfectly in the body.  Only one button is a tiny bit strained, plus the sleeves are a mite too short.  Other than that, it's an excellent fit.  I nearly died of shock.


My too-tight black trousers are still too small but I think a lot of the problem is in the cut.  But, they've gotten a bit better.


One blessing in not being a knockout beauty:  Beautiful people don't always age well.  They hit their 50s and begin to resemble rotting fruit.  God willing, if I truly am that awful-looking, I'll mellow with age.  Or I'll end up fascinating and witty.


Fingers crossed...

Nota Bene...

About a month ago, I decided that I had to learn how to control myself, portion-wise, when confronted with Chinese food.  I achieved control.  Then, pizza became my Achilles' Heel.  Weak spot, no more.  I have achieved control when faced with pizza.  I just had Pizza Hut for lunch.  Meat Lover's. With a cheese-stuffed crust.  I did not overeat.  I opted for a couple of smaller slices.  I did my best to slow down and chew rather than inhale.  I am very satisfied but not so full that I couldn't go for a brisk walk.  


The little victories are piling up...

Waste Not, Want Not...

I love, love, LOVE the hair donation program, Locks of Love.  If you have at least 10 inches of hair, you can donate it to this program and your hair will go to make wigs for sick kids.  I needed a haircut but I decided that it'd be a sin to let my mop end up in the salon's trash can, so I donated it. 


Go for it, my darlings.  If you need a cut and your hair is at least 10 inches and unbleached (permed or colored is o.k., though), consider donating to Locks of Love.  It's bad enough that little kids get sick.  They shouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of hair loss as well.

Speaking of not wasting, I did a little more spelunking in my closet this morning.  I found 3 more pairs of pants that will do me for the next couple of months.  I tried things on and everything either fits perfectly or almost perfectly.  Thank goodness.


You know what's odd?  I noticed a long time ago that black pants/jeans/skirts seem to be cut a mite smaller than pants/jeans/skirts in other colors.  I have a navy wool skirt that fits me perfectly right now.  It's almost identical counterpart, in black, is about 1/2 inch smaller in the waist.  Ditto the navy and black chinos I unearthed this morning.  The navy pair fits perfectly and the black pair cuts off my circulation.  I wonder why in blue blazes designers do this?


Something else that has me scratching my pate is why designers make extremely low-rise jeans and trousers in plus sizes.  I firmly believe that everyone deserves to be fashionable and look nice but low-rise garments hit curvaceous ladies right across the biggest parts of their bodies: the lower abdomen and hips.  It's doubly worse if the lady in question (like me) has an hourglass-shaped figure.  Her hips are going to be a little bigger, her waist a bit smaller.  Low-rise anything puts the lady at risk for major muffin top action.  Also, where is a big ass supposed to go without making the waist tight?  Come on, Yves Saint Bubba, don't make us contend with plumber's crack on top of everything else!  If one is above a size 12, shopping and dressing is traumatic enough.  One does not need any additional indignities.  More and more I'm convinced that designers of plus-size clothing are either clueless, lazy/indifferent, hostile to anyone who isn't a toothpick, or high on glue.  This shit needs to stop.


On Monday, I'll have been at this for 4 weeks.  I'm hoping to be in those pants pictured in my last post.  I tried 'em on a couple of hours ago and they're fitting better.


This is encouraging...

So Happy I Don't Know Which End Is Up...

Remember these AWFUL jeans?  Well, I'm in them, thanks to 2 weeks of T-Tapp and walking.  After 12 workouts (Basic Workout, then Basic Tempo and walking), I no longer had to shoehorn my ass into them.  They slip on perfectly.  In fact, they're a bit too big in the thigh.


Other little victories?  I can now tie my hoodie around my waist and it stays tied.  My inner thighs are looking MUCH better.  My back fat is disappearing.  My mood is much better, too.  That's the best part.


So, I'm in my goal jeans.  My next goal: These awful pants.  I bought them 5 years ago for my aunt's funeral.  I was in a rush so I grabbed my size off the rack and bought them without trying them on.  Got home, tried to stuff my ass in and could not do so.  They were cut a size small.  Had to buy yet another pair because I lost the receipt and couldn't exchange the tight pants.    They languished at the back of my closet until Saturday morning when I was going through my clothes and tossing the stretched-out and the shrunken.  Though they are a size smaller than marked, I can get into them.  Granted, they're tight.  I have to suck my gut in a bit so I can get them buttoned and when they're on, I have one hell of a camel toe (I detest a crotch waffle!), but I can get them on.  My ass fits nicely and they're baggy in the thigh.  Only the waist is tight.  But, I'm working on that.  I'm continuing with Basic Tempo (and doing my best to maintain proper form), plus East-West Breathing and Organs in Place/Half Frogs (more T-Tapp moves) and my walking.  As God is my witness, I am going to be in these damn pants VERY soon.  These pants are going to be my bitch!

I weighed in this morning.  I'm down 3 lbs. from last Tuesday, so that's pretty good.  I wish I'd weighed and measured myself when I began all this on Apr. 2, but I couldn't bear to go near the scale or tape measure.


I'm pretty thrilled with myself...

Blogging Attempt, Take 2

My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, for being away so long.  It's been kind of a crappy few months and I could barely tie my own shoes, let alone blog.  Fortunately, it's (sort of) spring here in Wisconsin.  Despite the chill and high wind, things are green, some trees are leafing out and the daffodils are up.  That's a good start.


One month ago today, I was traipsing the streets of my spiritual home.  That's right, I was in St. Paul, MN.  My dear, dear, lovely friends, Mark and Rae, have a little farm about an hour from the Twin Cities and I was fortunate enough to be invited to spend 5 fun days with them.  One of their daughters has gymnastics practice in St. Paul every Saturday, so that day a bunch of us piled in the car and drove there.  Mark's mom and the kid went to gymnastics, while the other daughter and I roamed Highland Park and sort of got lost in the vicinity of the Excel Energy Center (home to my darling Minnesota Wild).  I say sort of lost because I had my trusty GPS with me.  My motto that day became, "Never be afraid to explore a new place because there's no such thing as lost when you have GPS".  I must say, GPS or no, we should never be afraid to explore.  But, I digress.  Anyhoo, I discovered Starbucks' rival, Caribou Coffee.  The closest Caribou to me is somewhere in Milwaukee, and I think that's a damn shame, because one of my oldest friends got me hooked on Caribou's Blended Mint Conditions with dark chocolate.  It's a chocolate-mint version of a Starbucks' frappuccino, but it's SO DAMN GOOD!  Let me tell you, I was a happy camper sucking on this drink whilst motoring through beautiful St. Paul.  I really think I'd be happy there.  It's got a great vibe.  It's busy but not crazy.


I love going to Mark and Rae's.  Whenever I visit I always end up doing or learning or eating something new.  This time was no different.  Mark got me hooked on pickled whitefish and homemade muesli.  He also took me to my first Bible study.  I'd never been to one before and I must say, it was endlessly fascinating.  I'm now looking into joining a weekly study here in town.


Another wonderful thing I got to do is go with Mark and volunteer.  He takes care of ordering food for a backpack program for low-income kids in 2 or 3 counties.  Each weekend, every kid in the program gets to take home a pack full of several days' worth of food.  That Tuesday, Mark did the ordering for this month, and I got to help him.  It was the saddest but most rewarding thing I've ever done.  It was devastating to actually see how much need there is in that area but satisfying to know that we did the best we could do with basically no damn budget whatsoever.  And those kids are lucky, because Mark is a chef.  He understands nutrition and meal planning, so they get fruits and veggies at every meal, and he works his ass off to ensure they have plenty of nutritious, filling food.  I'm hoping to return to Mark and Rae's later next month and stay for a couple of weeks.  Summer is a busy time around their farm and I want to help out.  Not only that, but I want to volunteer with Mark some more.


Later that afternoon, we all piled into the van and went to the Mall of America for the Phillips Craig and Dean concert.  Now, I am not into Christian Contemporary music at all, but they did one song that had me terribly faklempt: Tell Your Heart To Beat Again.  For the past few months, I've been trying to get my own heart beating again.  I'm trying to zap the ghosts from the past, plus C.G. is gone and I'm working to get over him.  My trip to Mark and Rae's/the Twin Cities was a nice break but it was also a clear wake-up call.  The past is past and I've got to get over it.  C.G. is not going to happen and I've got to get over it.  I've got to get busy and try to make some damn dreams come true.


Since returning home, I've gotten busier.  I've resumed T-Tapp and walking.  I've got a long way to go, but I'm seeing results already.  What I'm looking into right now is the Daniel Fast.  Basically, you go vegan for 21 days.  I'm not sure if I can go that long without poultry or a little beef or a few eggs.  I'm a girl who really needs her protein.  However, I've heard that the Daniel Fast can really jump start weight loss efforts, straighten out blood sugar, reduce/eliminate the homicidal rage and crushing depression that accompany PMS, help blood pressure and cholesterol, and so on.  I'm intrigued.  If I go on it, I'll definitely report my observations and results.