Morning Hikes


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This weekend, my lovely amazing boyfriend thought it would be a marvelous idea to go take a hike in our backyard. I wish I was kidding, but I’m not. We seriously have a mountain trail for walking, (which I think is mostly up hill) in our backyard. So we went for an effing hike. My walk started off terribly. Some skinny, older lady, around 50, with bushy eyebrows, gave us two fatties a face like “really, you think you’re going to walk all this? Please go home” and then she started doing this stupid stretch, from that point  her face just really bothered me and I didn’t want to be anywhere near her. While she was still stretching at the bottom of the hill and me and Donald decided to start our adventurous walk. This workout started off with an abundance of stairs, followed by a ten minute uphill climb. I was ready to go home after my first asthma attack, but Donald suggested that we keep going. As we’re walking, bushy eyebrow lady decides to walk ahead of us to make us feel even fatter. I know it was intentional, because she gave us a stupid face as she walked by. Seriously Greta, I don’t need your stares, I get enough of those from my mom (love you Mama Bear). So, at this point, I’m pissed off, and I just want to find a bench and sit-for a long time. Sitting is one of my favorite pastimes, especially in public places, because I absolutely adore people watching. After sitting down for about thirty seconds,  I looked down at my fat stomach, and told myself that I don’t want to wear Spanx for the rest of my life, so I’m going to need to keep on going. 40 minutes later, we had finally made it, and with our beautiful walk, we had the most beautiful view of our city! It was only fitting to act like tourists and take some selfies while we were at it!

 

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Beautiful view of our beautiful city Montreal

 

After we had finished our photo shoot, I was so excited to get home, and to get into a shower and do nothing for the rest of the day. Donald, my amazingly, surprising fantastic boyfriend tells me that we’re only halfway there, and we have 1.3 kilometers to go. I told him he was funny and then started to walk home. He gave me the same face as Greta gave me an hour earlier. I then chased a squirrel, and proceeded to fake my second asthma attack. It didn’t work. We trekked up, and I literally counted every single one of my steps, counting down until it was over. My walking companion was fantastic, but honestly, the amount of fit people that I saw there, made me sick and really uncomfortable. Also, it was like -10, I was wearing a blanket and I was sweating like a horse. Do horses sweat? I don’t know, but if they did, I was sweating like one.  After another half hour, we FINALLY made it to the top of the mountain. Two Jews, on Easter checking out a huge Cross at the top of Montreal, that’s what we did this weekend!

When it came time to go home and we started our walk down the hill, I was already two snacks overdue, and I saw some people BBQ’ing. Donald told me it wasn’t right to walk over and ask for some hot dogs.

The rest of the way home, I complained of a backache, only because I wanted a massage, but D wouldn’t give in. Rude. I’m just happy we completed the whole thing. I would have been a lot more depressed if I would have sat on a bench all morning.

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Fat Girl Problems


 

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Ok, so it’s not like it takes a rocket scientist to get that we all have problems. I like to think of myself as having the worst kind of problems- FAT GIRL PROBLEMS. While some people may think that I’m overreacting, most of us actually have a lot of fat girl problems! 

I figured the easiest way to separate the majority of my issues was by season!

Summer:

1) Getting into strangers/friends/family members car… never fun when you’re wearing short shorts… It happens to me quite often because I’ve got hot legs and I know it. Anyway enough about my gorgeous legs. When summertime comes, I turn into a sweaty whale and my body thinks it’s cool to start sweating like effing Super Aqua Club. Whenever I’m the passenger in someones car, they ALWAYS have leather seats! Why can’t people be cheap and get the fabric seats so I don’t need to show my sweaty butt cheek marks when I leave their car. So not cool. Also, with the sweat thing, sometimes I wish I had no hair. I sweat and my hair always looks wet. I always get the “Oh Hey! You’re doing the wet hair look, so nice” and I’m all like “Oh Hey, You’re doing the I-just-got-out-of-bed look, right?” Don’t be rude people. Fat people sweat, more than others. I’m going for the sweaty hair look by the way.

 

2) Ice cream. I just love ice cream. If I could, I could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. To be honest, I’m not so much into the actual ice CREAM part, but I like the yogurt better (I wish it was me being healthy, but it’s actually that the taste is better) I’m not sure if this whole froyo thing is a new thing in Montreal, or if it’s going on everywhere, but anywhere I look, there’s a new frozen yogurt store. Like literally on every corner! Everyone around me is Instagramming their latest cute frozen yogurt inventions with fruit and granola toppings and I’m here like  getting a behemoth sized portion and top it with pop tarts, brownies and high fat sprinkles. But I swear it’s been over a year since I’ve decorated my $20 frozen yogurt like a horse.

Fall:

1) All the skinny girls are wearing Uggs, and I want to wear Uggs too. How is it that after only three months with mine they look like they’ve gone through a hike through the rainforest and I look at everyone else’s and theirs are all nice with no salt stains -and their interior fluff is still nice and fluffy. I don’t know if maybe it’s just me, but I am such a klutz! (For those of you non Jewish term friends of mine, a klutz is a clumsy or stupid person this according to the dictionary, not me.) I always manage to walk into puddles, or wear them on the one day in the fall that it snows and then I get salt stains all over them. Anyway, Uggs last me 6 months, when they last the normal Ugg-Wearer 6 years?

2) In the fall comes Halloween. Halloween is my second least favorite holiday of the year. November 1st is my most hated day of the year. Half Price Candy Day. When all the delicious ungodly Halloween mini treats go on sale. Who even invented the whole knocking on peoples door and getting cute bite-sized candy? Why is Halloween a time when stores become filled with yummy snack sized delicious chocolate bars and candies. It’s like those candies are trying to haunt me and make it a scary Halloween for me- how rude! Just saying!

3) Also, in the fall, right before the ungodly snow comes, I’m in denial about winter coming, so I still stick with my summer wardrobe. Since I sweat like a horse in church, I think it works out perfectly for me and I’m happy about it. I still get stares, but it’s because I’m pretty.

Spring:

I hate spring for one reason, and one reason only. It’s gym season. I am fat. I hate the gym. The gym makes me feel like I am an asthmatic old lady on a treadmill dying a slow and painful death. I can only imagine how special I look when I’m working out. Before I go out in public, I usually make an effort, to put on some makeup, brush my hair, look presentable. When it comes to the gym, it’s just like I didn’t even try, and I’m in there to be miserable! I mean, I know it’s good for me and all, but I just don’t like it. I don’t like running because everything wiggles and jiggles and I just look like I should be in the circus. I will stop being so hard on myself now- If I can like doing one thing at the gym it would be weight lifting. I seriously enjoy doing weights though. I look in the mirror, and I see my exposed collar bones, and my muscles in my arm coming in, and then I’m all like “Ok, I guess I like it”. I guess at the end of the day I can’t really make up my mind about the gym. I love it, but I hate it. It’s good for me, but it’s … good for me.

Winter

1) Ungodly winter. Winters in Canada are not fun. Winters in general are not fun. Unless you’re a snowman and you like to freeze and get frostbites all day, then winter is super fun! As I am still in denial about the seasons changing, I do not dress properly for the winter. I continue to wear leggings, and t-shirts, and see-through blouses. Winter does not look good wardrobe wise. When I actually need to dress for winter, I usually end up wearing capes and moomoos. It’s nothing attractive-trust me.

2) I like to bake. Because I’m hibernating for three months until the spring comes, I take it upon myself to turn into Betty Cocker. I bake everything. I don’t even like sweet foods since surgery, but I just like baking and to see what my delicious treats come out like- and then post a picture on Instagram, because that’s how I roll-obvi! . I don’t like COOKED treats, but I do like to lick the bowls and spoons when I’m done.

3) Winter sucks. I prefer to sweat

 

I could just be a really angry person, or I could just hate all seasons. Either way, I’m Jewish, and still technically obese, so I like to complain and I kinda have a lot of right to.

 

Moving In


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So, I realize that I have been absent for a while. While many might think that I have been busy stuffing my face with fried chicken, I have actually been busy in a new chapter in my life. Donald and I have decided to move in together. We signed our names on that paper (pretty much signing our lives away) and now we’re big fat roommates. This last few weeks has been hard on us, and I’ve turned to food for comfort. Which I know is totally wrong, but I’m admitting that I have a problem and I’m dealing with it- I threw out the frozen yogurt, and I’m only snacking on cucumber.  It seems as though Donald and I are mini fashionista interior decorators, and we didn’t even know about it. Our ideas have been clashing, thus leading to fights every five minutes. While I feel bad about it, it’s better that we fight now, than when we’re living together, right? We’re just going to get it all out now, because from this point, he’s pretty much stuck with me forever. We picked the most beautiful couch, ever! It’s a sectional, it’s gorgeous, and there’s a perfect little corner that will have my butt imprinted in it within 4 weeks of moving in to our new place. Speaking of couches, how come no one ever tells you how expensive a couch is when you’re a child? Like seriously, a couch is a serious expense, I had no idea. I feel broke just looking at couches.

While I know this is a good thing, to be moving in together, I’m also a little nervous; and rightfully so…I’ll have to start cooking for two now. I usually cook for just one, and I love having leftovers. I’m not good at sharing.  I’ve given myself mini nightmares, wondering how I’m supposed to share my delicious leftover crock pot recipes? Donald doesn’t usually like my crock pot creations; but I think this is mostly because of the reason that it comes out of a crock pot, and he thinks crock pots are weird. I think crock pots are genius inventions for the lazy. Also, another worry, is sharing the bathroom. I’ve lived with other people before, and sharing a bathroom is never fun. Now, I’ll be sharing one with a boy. I don’t mean to be rude to Donald and all, but his poop does not smell anywhere near the smell of roses. Sorry D! My Donald has very expensive taste, when it comes to furniture and home furnishings; and also when it comes to food. Maybe we’ll keep our fridge stocked with caviar and tongue and like some sort of pig meat and then I won’t want to eat any snacks when I’m sitting at home on the couch like a lazy slob.

At the end of the day, I am so excited to be moving in with my best friend. I get to move out of my first floor dungeon apartment, I get to have a sleepover every night, I get someone to wash the dishes (well I got a dishwasher, and the dishwasher is my new special someone). I have someone to play Scrabble with, rather than playing with my random Mexican friend Jorge at 3:00am (does he really know what a terrawatt is, or did he just Google that in the scrabble dictionary, because that is cheating, sir!) I’m so happy for this new adventure with my best friend!

 

 

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The Scale: My Hate Relationship


 

 

I’ve stopped my affair with the scale. I don’t understand how one plastic box which displays numbers, can do so much harm! I love that little plastic box, but at the same time I hate it. When my little unpolished toes step on that box of fun, I can’t wait to see the number! Once my eyes set eyes on the scale, and I see that I’ve lost two pounds, my body goes into fat girl mode and decides that it’s time to binge. I know, “two pounds are wonderful, why would you want to sabotage that?”, first of all,  whoever is actually thinking that, you need to seriously shut up- because it’s not like I got on the scale and was all giddy and excited to eat like a fat horse. My plan isn’t to regain everything that I had just lost. I can’t control it. Most of the time when I eat, I’m not hungry. It’s an addiction. Yes, call me crazy, and fat, or just crazy fat but people can be addicted to food! Food is there, so I eat it. You can’t tell an alcohol addicted meth head that they have to stop all their bad habits in an instant. It takes time, and learning. While I know it’s already been seven months since surgery, I still struggle with my addiction, daily. It’s too bad they don’t make rehab for fat people who struggle from food addictions. I strongly believe that people on the outside truly believe that we fat people choose to eat ourselves sick, and to binge eat. It’s not like that, I can promise you that. While I know Hefty Helga has died, part of her still lives on in my mind, and will forever.

It’s so hard to be addicted to something that we are subjected to everyday. We need food to survive, and it’s everywhere I go! No matter how much I try to walk away from food, it surrounds me; whether it comes from passing the vending machine,  or hearing the disgustingly loud people around me chewing like horses etc. I’m supposed to train myself, and to learn that food is for eating, and not an activity to take up when I am bored. Do I really want to be that girl one day who introduces herself and says “Oh Hello, I’m Hillary. Nice to meet you. I’m a professional eater. What do you do?” Like seriously.  As sick as it sounds, sometimes I wish I had another addiction. Maybe being addicted to some of those Breaking Bad drugs wouldn’t be the greatest thing for me, or my teeth, but maybe it would make me forget about food. Food really doesn’t make me feel anything. I used to feel satisfied during and after binge eating, but now I find myself feeling sad, and depressed after I’ve eaten something I know I shouldn’t.

One thing I’ve started doing, is making new friends. I’ve made new friends with my stomach. After I eat something I shouldn’t, I lift up my shirt, and stare at the scars. I look at the scars, which help me in reminding myself how I got here, and what I plan to accomplish. Eating a bag of chips won’t help in shrinking those scars, eating because I’m bored in general won’t help shrink the scars. The only thing that will help shrink the surgery scars, is me. Chips, chocolate, cookies, ice cream etc, are all parts of my life that really have no place there. They are not wanted, and there is no need for it. I’ve told myself so many times; “Eat to live, don’t live to eat”, it’s so easy to say it, but so hard to do.

And for the five hundredth, and hopefully last time, I say this: No More Excuses. I get on the scale, and I be proud that I’ve accomplished a two pound weight loss. I get on that scale, and instead of marching my fat bottom to the fridge, I walk it out the door, and for a walk (not to the ice cream store).

 

She’s Just Pleasantly Complaining


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I wish I understood why some people “absolutely love to work out”. Like seriously, for you people that love the brutal pain that comes with it everyday, I have a lot of questions for you. Let’s sit down and talk about it over a large bowl of chocolate brownie ice cream with whipped cream, k thanks. Last night, I went in for my weekly crossfit routine. Ugh, just thinking about it just gives me the chills. My Crossfit boyfriend (well he’s not really my boyfriend, we just have a secret love affair that no one knows about. Except it’s not really a love affair, he just pushes me to work out, and I really like the positive encouragement) is super nice to me, and really pushes me to work out as best I can. Celeste and I really get a kick out of it when he mentions that it’s not a squat unless it’s “ASS TO MAT!”. Ugh, I’m getting the chills again just thinking about last night– not in a good way. After I left class yesterday, I was so happy that I had accomplished it. Walking up the stairs was quite the challenge, but I thought that it would get better. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

So here it goes, if you will not attend an ice cream binge session with me,  I have a lot of questions for you, Gym Mice…

1) Do you like not being able to sit down on a toilet regularly? Like does it feel good when you need to hold on to the walls, and sit down slowly like you’re about to lose your legs?

2) Do you sometimes fantasize about cutting off your legs? I do. Like today. Everytime I get up, I walk like there’s a dead cat up my bum.

3) Is it normal to sweat from parts of my body that I didn’t know existed? I have found new places on my body that are very new to me. In those places, I find puddles of sweat, hope this is normal, because to be honest, I’m really not in the mood to wait in my doctors waiting room again.

Now, I know that working out is fantastic, and it really helps with the weight loss journey, HOWEVER, these three questions are specifically directed at the people who like to be in daily pain! I’m just a confuzzled ball of fat, so can someone please answer my three teeny tiny questions?

Above, was the angry fat girl complaining. Now, the healthier me is talking and damn I hate that pain but I know it’s worth it in the end. I wish I could go to Crossfit every day, but like you know, I’m not Bill Gates or anything. I’ve decided that I will start a charity for the poor, and unhealthy like me. Donations for Crossfit For The Pleasantly Plump and Pleasantly Poor , can be sent directly to me.

Stop Saying Nice Things


People keep telling me how good I look, and how much has face has swelled down. STOP! The more you tell me I look good, the more I think I can eat more and think I look fine as it is. I want to have one of those crazy dramatic weight losses where no one can recognize me. I want my reveal to be something like on The Biggest Loser.

It’s crazy to think that a fat girl wouldn’t want someone complimenting them telling them how great they looked. I must have some sort of chemical imbalance in my head, but maybe I’m also just being realistic.

I checked the scale today, news flash– I’m still fat. What’s craziest is that I don’t even see any change in me, aside from my awesome collar bones. I don’t see myself shrinking, I don’t see my face de-plumping- nothing.

No more compliments until you can’t recognize me. Capeche?

I Need To Burb


Waking up from surgery, I see ten nurses around me- poking me, sticking things up my nose and putting stickers all over my body. My mouth is so dry due to the fact that they decided to stick a crazy long tube into my throat to help me breathe. I start licking the air but I can’t control myself. The fat girl inside me, screams for a diet coke… Apparently the nurse didn’t want to give me diet coke, so he gave me ice chips. That’s cool too I guess.

I was reading online about how I would feel after surgery. A lot of websites mentioned that I would be gassy, however, for the first time in my life I feel like I had the opposite effect. Nothing would come out! I immediately thought something went wrong so I called the nurse over and politely asked him to burp me. Yes, that is correct, burp me. Like a baby. He gave me this puzzled look; the one my mom usually gives when I wear red lipstick, then raises my bed and starts burping me like a newborn child. After one minute of that amazing massage, the most amazing burp of life came out and a big smile came on my face. Who new gas could make someone so happy? The doctor came out to see how I was doing and all I could say was that I wanted my mommy. Those words exactly.

When I was finally able to be released from the recovery room, I was so excited to get wheeled into my fancy private room! Little did I know Ronnie Ginger and Donald Chow were waiting to greet me with hugs and kisses. Ronnie even thought it would be appropriate to videotape the whole entrance into the room thing on her iPhone. She’s so technologically advanced! Throughout the first evening, my support crew of Donald and Ronnie decided it would be funny to laugh at me because I was so needy, and even compared me to Grandma Gillian during her hospital stays. Rude. (Sorry Grammy!)