Las Vegas


So, Donald and I decided that it was finally the right time to take a vacation. While some may argue that my time off from work after my recent surgery counted as a vacation (seriously, if you think that, then you are a sad individual in desperate need of a hobby) I believe that this is something I really need! Anyway, so while looking for a vacation, my first one since July of last year, I’m thinking to myself, “what would a skinnier person want to do?” Beaches are fun and all, and an Alaskan cruise can be fun….but the last time I went to Las Vegas, I was a whale. I wanted to experience Vegas a little bit of a skinnier weight.

After booking our trip, it has now come to my attention that I am not a prostitute looking model, and I don’t think I’m ready for Vegas just yet. To try and fit in, I decided to buy myself one of those high waisted bikinis; oh my goodness, TRAINWRECK. Well, Ronnie says I look good from the waist up, and I would have to agree. From waist down though, I look like I’m wearing one of those crossfit tires I need to flip over a thousand times over. Anyway, so now I have decisions to make, monokini, bikini (haha), tankini (obviously) or just a plain mommy looking speedo bathingsuit!

Help! Suggestions! Vegas in 5 days… I’m stuck in such a large floating pickle right now!

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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.

Mr. Sun


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I love to tan. I know it’s not good for me, but it seems like it’s the only thing I do enjoyably that keeps me from running to the kitchen. In the summer, some people think I’m not white anymore, and I like to go by different, more ethnic names, because I’m cool like that. My face, shoulders, arms, legs and back are a dark shade of brown, which I like- because dark is slimming.

However, onto quite an important part of my body- my stomach. My stomach has never seen the light. No really. It’s actually whiter than the inside of an Oreo. When I wear nothing, while looking in a mirror (don’t picture it, sorry) I look like a giant Oreo. Seriously, I wish I could describe it, but I won’t. I think the last, or the only time I wore a bikini was when I was two, and was hanging out with my hot skinny self at the beach in Florida. Anyway, this past weekend, I decided that it was time that I expose this white ball of puff to the sunlight. Within minutes, I was instantly burnt. My stomach was instantly attracted to the sun, like they have never met before and they were soul mates. It was like a kid eating candy for the first time, like a skinny person enjoying deep fried food for the first time. It was magnificent. The shower after, however, was far from magnificent. I know I have dark skin, but I really should have put some type of protection on that white pasty bad boy.

Anyway, if I’m being honest. Seeing me with a half tankini on, probably wasn’t a sight to see. But it felt good knowing that laying down, floating in a pool, with half my fat hanging in the water and making me look half skinny, felt amazing.

I’ll keep floating on… with a higher SPF next time. I want to look like a Fudgee-O by next weekend!

Cheers To Water


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I only like water if its for boiling pasta, or to make water balloons. Other than that, I don’t really care for it. I have an addiction to Diet Pepsi, we all know how I feel about that bad boy. Anyway, I’ve finally come to the realization that not drinking water, at all, is causing me to stall. Like, I will go out of my way not to drink water. When my mouth feels like a desert in there, and it’s raining like a crazy thunder storm out there, instead of sticking my tongue out and taking some of that bad ass free fresh water, I decide that I will trek out in my cloth shoes just to get an iced tea or some type of juice.

I just feel like ever since this surgery, everything is so forced. I’m forced to not eat a lot, I’m forced to drink water, I’m forced to eat protein first- just lots of forcing. When it comes to drinks, I just need some taste. Water doesn’t really have taste. If I were to describe the taste of water as one thing, it would probably be just wet air. I know, this is a problem. If you’re going to judge me about this, shut up, seriously. Water is boring. I know, there are perks. Water is thirst quenching, and water is amazing, and water has nutrients. I know, water is good, water is great. I’m bored. I have ADD and I need something with a kick. I’m a very enthusiastic person, I love food, and can’t eat as much of it anymore, so if I can’t eat something extravagant, I want to drink it, get what I’m saying?

This last week, I headed over to the wonderful land of the Dollar Store; I go crazy in there. I saw a bag of dairy milk chocolate things that made me salivate,  Helga almost rose from the dead- but I just walked on by, over to the water bottle department. Getting to the water bottle department, I saw big ones, small ones , tall ones , short ones , green ones , blue ones . I picked up the green one that really resembled Shrek. I marked times on this bottle and made it a point to fill this water bottle up everyday. Every two hours was only one glass of water which came out to 1.65L during the day, which when you think about it that way, isn’t all that bad. 1.65L was way more than enough!

Today, this task was completed! I feel fantastic, and the bathroom has become my best friend.Just in case y’all were wondering, my pee came out crystal clear today! Go water!

Cheers!

Blame


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What I have learned these last few months, is that nothing comes easy. That, and if I lie to myself, things will only backfire and turn out worse for me than they were at the beginning. It’s very easy to blame others for your wrongdoings. It’s easy for me to wake up and say I’m fat, I hate myself, so and so did this to me. Nothing will ever change until I actually, really admit that I am my own problem. My entire life, I’ve been blaming others for my faults. I blamed my mom for not giving me enough attention, I blamed my “father” for not being around, which caused me great psychological pain, I blamed teachers for making fun of me and calling me stupid, and blamed kids for everything else that was wrong with me.

My mom, the one who I always fought with, the one who I told ruined my life, the one that I said I hated time and time again, now turns out to be my best friend. She may still give me those motherly looks sometimes, but I know, deep down, aside from all those stupid faces and comments she may give, she appreciates me for me, and sees me for what I really am; for that child model I should have been years ago. All jokes aside, she’s one of few who have pushed me to keep going, and who truly believes I can do this. What can I blame her for? Being honest? Telling me I was fat? She was just pointing out the truth. It’s not like I didn’t see it. Maybe she wasn’t saying it in the nicest way, but she did not cause me to be fat. Her words did not put the food in my mouth. My own greasy McDonalds fingers did.

“Father”, left when I was two. No idea who he is. He calls me to tell me he loves me and misses me regularly, but to be honest, I don’t really know him. While some people may be quick to diagnose me with “Daddy Issues”, I think I’m stronger than that. I had a mom who was a father to me as well. I didn’t have a dad to buy me a car, or to run to when my mom was mean to me. Doesn’t mean the lack of his presence is the reason I’m fat.  I think being the child of a single mother makes me stronger, and makes me learn from my strong mother. That man who calls himself my father, in the end- really did absolutely nothing for me. Didn’t teach me anything, didn’t teach me values in life. I guess if he didn’t have the power to do anything for me, how could he have had the power to make me fat? In my eyes, he was powerless- therefore, can’t blame him either.

Teachers and peers were not nice in school. While I was always tall for my age, I knew I stood out. I started to get bigger when I was younger, and while stealing lunch from little kids, I guess that’s when I start to balloon. I did it to myself. I asked to be called Hillary Germs, and I asked the teachers not to like me. Teachers really didn’t like me because I was awkwardly tall, and had to stand next to them in school pictures. I was a really cute kid, and probably took the attention off them which made them really upset and not want to like me. Just a thought. I stole snacks from kids lunches, I didn’t participate in activities because I was lazy.

It’s time I stop blaming others, and just beat this disease once and for all. Feeling sorry for myself won’t make me lose weight. Looking in the mirror, and telling myself that I am fat won’t make the weight fall off. I could have turned this all around and said my mom, absent father, teachers and bullies were the reason why I am fat. No one sat me down and forced cheeseburgers down my throat, no one told me I had to take snacks from kids. No one told me I had to closet eat. No one told me I had to sneak to a fast food chain at 2:00 am.

I did it to me. I have no one to blame but me. Now that I have accepted this, I know that I can do this weight loss journey. While I have stalled, a stall is not my reason for failure, a stall should be a reminder for me to wake the f!@ up and get back on track.

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.

 

 

Mirror Mirror On The Wall


I don’t have control. I cannot stop myself from doing anything. I have a highly addictive personality. Since giving up food, I have become obsessed with scratch cards. I sit at home like a sad old cat lady and scratch cards and play on my TV dinner table, while I pet my dog. This happens every weeknight. Today I bought lunch, and while I tried to eat as much as I could, I found myself ready to puke in my bowl. Why was I trying to do this to myself? Why was I trying to fill up my pouch to its full capacity? Why am I trying to sabotage something, when I worked so hard to get it in the first place? I’m not trying to do these things, it’s all subconscious, but I need to take responsibility for my actions. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that you had weight loss surgery, sometimes it’s easy to fall head over heels in love with your food, and want to shovel it down until you feel sick. Sometimes, though, it goes too far.

Mothers, dentists, doctors, turn away because you’re not going to want to hear what’s coming next. I have made myself so sick to the point that I throw up. Regularly. My teeth have begun to rot, and are now turning black and have stain all over them. Sometimes I need to stop and ask myself if the food is really worth it? Is the food really worth my gorgeous $4000 smile?  Is the food really worth my life. I need to put down the fork and tell myself enough is enough.

I like food. Food is fun. Food is not my friend. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve told myself that food is not the enemy, and that we need food to live not live to eat food. I can tell myself that crap over and over again, but it still won’t change my old habits.

The only thing that actually helps me is looking in the mirror, and noticing a difference, and being able to walk up the stairs and not be out of breath, to take Genius for a walk and want to go for a thirty minute walk, instead of a thirty second walk. When I can complete a class of Crossfit, I want to continue putting down the fork at the right time,  I want to look in the mirror and feel confident.