Bread….Warm Buttery Bread


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Growing up, I was never allowed to touch the bread at restaurants. You know the delicious hot bread that comes with butter at the beginning of most meals? It’s the bread that comes to the table, when you’re at your hungriest. As a child…well from eight years old, until today, I was always taught that bread was the enemy, and even looking at it would make me gain weight. I would watch with envy, and with drool coming out of my mouth , while my petite brother (sorry D) would chomp away at the tasty bread…with butter. Even before it hit the table, Ronnie Ginger would give me the eyes, making me aware that she was watching me, and that bread was MY enemy. When I became older and started going to restaurants with friends, I began to eat the free bread because no one was watching or judging. Little did I know that with each bite, I’d be blowing up a little more each time. On Donald’s first encounter with Ronnie Ginger, when he was just an innocent little boyfriend, taking his new girlfriend on dates, she nicely warned him that when he takes me out to restaurants, that I was not permitted, under any circumstances to eat the bread. She said this because I loved it so much…so she thought! Just to be clear, I don’t even like bread, I find bread to be dry, and boring and really just a waste of space. If I’m going to eat bread, I’m going to make it worth it- like a grilled cheese or French toast, but just plain bread doesn’t do it for me. The reason I became so aggressive as a child when I was refused the free bread at the table, was only because I was never allowed to have it. People always want what they can’t have, right? (I wasn’t allowed a lot of things apparently).

The thing with me and bread though, is that, bread is free, and it comes with most meals in America, and some parts of Canada. If it’s free, I like it, because I like good value. On the other hand, the whole reason why we’re going to a restaurant is because we’re hungry. If the polite waiter asks if I would like some free hot bread, and I’m hungry, and he places it right in front of me-then I’ll have a bite. I’m not going to eat an entire freaking basket of bread… this is because

1) I’m not an animal

and

2) I physically can’t keep in an entire load of bread

The moral of the story is, don’t deprive yourself. If you deprive yourself for your entire life, then one day you’ll eat an entire basket of bread, and wake up 50 pounds heavier.

Go ahead, have a bite, just a little bite.

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To My Grandma


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On November 5th 2014,  I suffered a great loss. My wonderful, amazing, beautiful grandmother passed away. My grandmother,  was my best friend, and someone who I spoke to everyday. Being the oldest grandchild, I knew I was lucky to have both my grandparents at 26, so I made sure to speak to her everyday, sometimes even twice a day. I knew that I wouldn’t have them forever, so I made sure to speak to them as much as I could. She would never let me speak to my grandfather, because she wanted me all to herself. My Grammy made it a point to judge, criticize, and comment when necessary, and she really had no filter; but I loved every moment of it! It feels so weird not to be able to call her anymore, this is the longest we’ve gone without speaking.

In the end, my grammy had a very weak heart, and she was in so much pain, but was too proud to say anything. Grammy was such a fighter and really wanted to live forever. Her heart was too weak and was not able to handle all the love she had for all her kids, grandkids and her soulmate- my Papakins!

Aside from Donald, and Mommy Ginger, my Grammy was the one person who really helped me stay on track with my weight loss and who pushed me to succeed. She knew as well as anyone, that my biggest fight was to get under 200 pounds. This is something that  I have been struggling with for the last 15 years of my life. For the last 6 months I have bounced near ONEDERLAND, but was never able to actually make it. My weight loss for the last two months has gone from 215.3 to 205.7 to 202.4 to 201.3 to 200.6 to 200.3. On the morning of November 5 2014, the day my grandma left us, I suffered not only one great loss, but two.  I got on the scale, because I felt a change within myself… to my surprise, the scale had shown me something I haven’t seen in a decade and a half… a ONE, on the scale. I got on and weighed 199.2….WITH CLOTHES! This may be so little to most people, this is something extremely huge for me, and is such a milestone in my life.

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While I know my Grammy is no longer with us in person, she is definitely with me in spirit. I don’t think I could have ever done this without her. I think that was her way of telling me that she is still here and watching over me. I never believed in that kind of stuff, but to me, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence.

Grandma, wherever you are, know that I love you, and I think about you everyday. Thank you for helping me succeed, and making me who I am today. I couldn’t have done it without you. I will never stop thinking about you, and I thank you for watching over us.

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First Dates: How I Developed My Pet Name


First dates are both interesting and intimidating. You really need to make a good impression the first time you’re out with a complete stranger. First dates are extremely frightening, especially if you’re going for dinner to a fancy restaurant with a stranger you hardly know. Luckily, I haven’t had to worry about any first dates in a long time, but the last time I went on one, it was quite special.

Let’s just say, Donald has been calling me “Miss I’ll Just Have A Salad Please” since our first date together, which was just over three and a half years ago. Now, there are many reasons why he gave me this nickname. Firstly, on our first date, he took me to a super nice restaurant, one that I would normally only be able to afford while on a Groupon. Let’s just start off by saying, I loved bread and butter. This warm, delicious, smoking bread came to the table with soft butter, and all I wanted to do was shove my face in it and devour it all. I know that first dates really are the first impression, so I didn’t want to come off as a ravenous animal who has never seen bread before. I watched Donald eat the bread, and the while salivating watching him with each bite he took. When it came time to ordering the meal, I undoubtedly did just have a salad. A warm spinach salad to be exact… BARF! What the hell was I thinking? Obviously I didn’t want to go on a date with this guy and be like “Oh hey, I’ll have a AAA Angus Steak with mashed potatoes, and extra melted cheese on top, Oh, and of course a shrimp cocktail to start”. Although, it really was what I wanted, I couldn’t afford an $80 meal, and didn’t want him to think that I was a fat cow. I ate only half of my warm spinach salad, while getting more and more squeamish with each bite. I watched him eat his sausage pasta and was jealous that I made the wrong choice. (Is it normal that I remember what he ate? I must have been starving myself) As soon as I got home, I made myself a nice box of Kraft Dinner, because I was starving… (please keep in mind this was pre-surgery). Thinking back, I wasn’t the skinniest of girls, why would a fat girl go to a nice restaurant and order a warm spinach salad? Obviously he knew the kind of food I was into.. I mean after all, he isn’t stupid! I guess I also ordered the warm leaves because what if he didn’t like me, and walked out, and made up some story like he had to go take his blood sugar and left me with the bill? I had to order the cheapest thing on the menu; especially after he ordered BOTTLED WATER! Who orders bottled water? Not that I’m cheap or anything, actually I am- but tap water is just fine with me and I don’t feel poor asking for it! I know it’s not nice to assume that he was paying for the meal, I guess I’m just old fashioned like that.

Anyway, two months later, or some time after that, he finally asked me if I wanted to be his official girlfriend. I said yes, and then decided it was alright to eat normally. Once he saw me scarf down my first steak, I adopted the name “Miss I’ll Just Have A Salad Please” I told you he was smart!

Now, it’s okay to eat normal in front of each other. With three and a half years of dating, comes comfort. We still haven’t gotten comfortable with going to the bathroom with the door open, but we’re taking baby steps!

My Constant Battle


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Obviously with weight loss surgery, comes struggles and battles. Battles such as, losing weight in general, learning to love yourself, making the right choices, not going to restaurants etc. Right now, my biggest battle is dealing with that dreadful question that every person asks me. Showing off my weight loss, and broadcasting it for the world to see, I am clearly asking for questions, and remarks etc, but sometimes, that one question just brings me down.

“How many pounds are you down?”. Why does everyone care about the number of pounds? To be honest, the number of pounds lost, is the least important part of the whole journey. We’re trained to think that the number lost is the most important part of a persons weight loss journey.  If you want to ask important questions, and receive positive replies from me, or anyone losing weight for that matter, you can ask questions like: “do you feel good about yourself?” , “are you happy?” , “do you notice a difference?”, other questions and comments about how great I look and how beautiful I am are really appreciated as well. While my weight loss number may not have changed in the last month, my pant size has decreased, and my confidence level has increased. The scale is an evil tool that really only helps in bringing you down. Why should we care about the number? What’s so important about it? If I’m getting on the scale, and notice that I’ve lost two pounds, I’m going to treat myself, because I’ve lost. Had I not known about this little two pound weight loss, I would have continued on my merry little way and not treat myself to any treats. I’ve gone from the morbidly obese category, to just plain obese. That is HUGE! That’s an accomplishment in itself.

I personally feel that whenever someone asks me how many pounds I lost, I get discouraged. In my mind I think, “only xxx pounds lost in 6 months?, that’s terrible, you could have done so much better”. But I know that when I look at pictures, and when I see myself in the mirror, it’s more than just the number. Muscle weighs more than fat, and if I’m going to the gym 4+ times a week, obviously my weight loss will be less than a person who wouldn’t be working out.

Maybe some people don’t know, maybe it doesn’t bother anyone, but personally I think that this “number” is really an unimportant part of the whole process. I am proud to say that I am happy where I am. I am proud with how far I’ve come, and I’m proud to say that I’ve met my goals. I may be taking my time, but at least I can proudly say that I haven’t gained a single pound in six months!

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6 months post op. Side shot.

I Could Have Been Honey Moo Moo


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When I was a child, I was the most beautiful thing in the world. I sometimes wonder why my mom didn’t put me in beauty pageants like Honey Boo Boo Child, or just put me in modeling? Maybe I would have stayed thin, if I was a model. People always told her that I was beautiful; not just a pretty face. Mama, why didn’t you listen to nice strangers?

Sometimes I think what life would have been like had I been born skinny and not developed a weight problem. Pretty boring if you ask me. At least now I have a story to tell, and I can laugh at myself without getting depressed about it. I guess being fat was kind of like, my story, and it taught me a lot. It taught me not to eat after nine, it taught me how to stand up to bullies, and it taught me how to love me for me. I guess in a way I appreciate where I came from and how much I’ve accomplished.

Part of me can still wish I would have been in modeling though. I would have loved to dress in expensive clothing and drive around in a convertible all year and live in California. Until then, I will continue on dressing in Wal-Mart brand clothing (not really, but y’noh) and drive around on the metro around the city.

5 Points For Me!


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I’m beginning to enjoy the little things in life. No, not Cadbury Mini Eggs, or Kinder Surprises, but little things like:

1) Looking down, and being able to see my entire foot. I have been so used to looking down and just seeing a mountain of jluge just staring back at me. I can totally tell when I need a pedicure now. I should go visit Mindy Nail, I’m due.

2) Being able to walk up a flight of stairs and not sound like a wheezing orchestra. It’s really nice now, that after walking up a flight of stairs, I’m still as silent as when I started on the first step.

Some other big accomplishments of mine are not ripping through, or breaking heels after a night out. Also, not going for the ice cream. The ice cream is killer. Ice cream just looks at me with devil eyes; especially when there’s a good sale on it. Anyway, I haven’t been near ice cream in the longest time, and to be honest, I don’t really miss it. I’ve kind of like switched it up a bit. I freeze a yogurt, blend it in the baby blender and then sprinkle chocolate chips on it. Better than ice cream. Speaking of ice cream, maybe by not having all that icy goodness, I’ve actually accomplished something BIG. Ever since my tummy tire decided to expand, I’ve always worn my pants under my jluge. For the first time in perhaps ever, my pants actually go above the jludge. Like right where the belly button should go. Like right where all the normal people and mannequins wear their pants. That’s right, I’m dressing like a mannequin now. I may not look like one yet, but someday, I know I’ll get pretty damn close.

My biggest accomplishment though, is that I’ve actually learned to tell myself when to stop. At the beginning, I would get upset when I was surrounded by food that I wasn’t allowed to eat, or that I couldn’t eat. It was hard to see everyone around me eat whatever they wanted. I’d ask myself time and time again why I decided to do this surgery, and then suddenly one day it clicked, and it all made sense. Now, when I’m full, I will stop. No matter how delicious that piece of salmon sashimi looks, it doesn’t look as good as what a healthy me may look like. I’ve learned to not eat to the point where I get sick, and I’ve also learned not to let what other people say get to me.

On that note, people are entitled to form what ever kind of image or idea they want about me. I would too. I mean, this blog has my deepest and darkest and sickest, twisted secrets, so why wouldn’t people have something to talk about? They can think whatever they want. At the end of the day, I know my limits, I know how to live my new way of life. I know what I’m doing. When you have your stomach surgically removed, then come back to me, and tell me how easy it is. I’m not saying I’m innocent, and I’m not saying I was perfect. No one is perfect, and of course I made mistakes. I am on track, and will stay there. I am happy, and no one, and nothing can bring me down.

 

 

No Pain, No Gain (Well, Hopefully No Weight Gain)


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So, I know I said I was all for going to the gym. However, the fact that my legs feel like I got attacked by an obese baby elephant, isn’t exactly making me want to go to the gym anymore. I get up from my desk at work looking like I have a bowling ball shoved up my butt and I am constantly getting stares. It’s cool, while you were sitting on your couch watching TV, I was out getting my ass kicked in Crossfit. Anyway, I decided that I will not go to the gym tonight. I physically cannot move, no, like actually. I cannot move. I need to be wheeled around, because otherwise my spaghetti legs will give out on me and I will be on the floor within seconds.  I really don’t want to injure myself so that I won’t go to the gym for another month after. I’m being proactive; let’s just go with that.

As much as I hate this pain, and as much as I want to slice my legs off myself, I know that in the end, I will have hotter legs than anyone else out there, and I ultimately don’t want to get rid of them, because that’s always been the one “skinny” thing about me. This excruciating pain is magnificent and I never thought I would say this, but I kind of LOVE it. I just keep thinking back to what I did. I did those gym classes that you see those crazy fit weight lifters doing on YouTube, I am so proud of myself. Fat Hillary would have never done anything like that. Well, she would have watched the YouTube videos while eating a bag of chips, but that’s about it.

I’m contemplating putting an ad on Craigslist right now for someone to come over and rub my thighs.