A Note To Loud Chewers


Dear Loud Chewers of the world,

It’s time I come clean, and stop sitting here in silence and taking this abuse…I’m still not over the whole chewing with your mouth open thing. It’s really bothering me, and has been for the last 25 years of my life. Why is it necessary to chew like a horse, breathe like a behemoth and lick your fingers like curly sue? Actually, you don’t sound or look like curly sue, just a buffalo who’s hungry and has resorted to eating fingers. It’s so ugly! Was I the only one that was brought up to chew quietly and normally. I am not interested in hearing what your loud mouth has to offer. I also, don’t like when you spit your food on me. It’s rude, and impolite, and you should not be marching over to me with a buffet of food in your mouth. I like Niagra Falls, not Foodagra Falls, thank you very much.

If my mom taught me how to chew properly, then you can do it too. I will be giving tutorials, at a low rate of $5 an hour. It’s called Hillarys-School-Of-Learning-To-Chew-With-Your-Gross-Mouth-Closed-School-Of-Etiquette.

Thanks so much, and have a lovely day.

Goodbye.

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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.

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.

Crossfit Is Not The Devil


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Mondays are the days that Celeste and I visit Crossfit together. Walking into class, I was reminded of my terrible past as a child, while seeing grown adults sweat and struggle, hanging on bars. This reminded me of the days when all the other kids were doing the monkey bars and I would just sit there patiently and wonder what it would be like to hang from this metal structure. I was never able to fully get myself up there, or hold myself up for that matter. I had all these friends who were able to do baby Yoga while hanging on one leg; their parents must have been creepy old gymnast people I guess.

Actually, now that I think about it, Crossfit is all about being up bad childhood pasts. Like every time before class, I need to do 300 skips with a skipping rope. I don’t do skipping rope, ok? I look over to the side and there’s this beast-looking-woman skipping away, not breaking a sweat like she has absolutely no care in the world. She needs friends. I got off topic, I was talking about my childhood… I remember in elementary school there was this game; “Cinderella, Cinderella dressed in yellow.. ” whatever, I think Cinderella died at the end of that song. However, I don’t remember,  I never made it to the end of the song, because I was always disqualified for tripping on the jump rope. Kids were mean.

There are these big oversized, scary looking ropes that hang in the gym. These really intimidate me, and I hope that one day I will never have to go up them. I remember in elementary school there was this girl who was able to climb up the rope in 0.2 seconds, and I was still at the bottom struggling to even get off the ground. I never want to use the ropes, ropes aren’t for fun. Why don’t we just use the stairs?

As scared as I may be of Crossfit, it’s also the greatest workout of my life, I have never pushed myself so hard, I always have a good time, except yesterday, the trainer was eating something delicious while we were working our asses off, how rude. Celeste and I purchased another 10 classes. Here we go again!

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.

Here’s To Changes


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This weekend, after meeting with my extremely fit and very talented yoga instructor Cousin Roxanne, and her Mummy Honey, I was informed that maybe I should be sweating a little more”. I think maybe I’ve stalled because I have been taking my Zumba classes a little easy. I mean, to be honest, Wednesday and Sundays are basically just the classes to see and be seen. I’ve kind of just taken these gym classes not so seriously, and just use it like a meditation class.So, yesterday, I decided to attend my first ever Crossfit class. Am I stupid? Yes, I am.  Me and Celeste walked into this class practically peeing in our pants with nerves. I didn’t know what to expect, and to be honest, I was pretty certain that I was going to be taken out of that gym in those black duffel bags. 59 minutes later (yes, I counted each and every second of that class) I finished. We were yelled at by the evil Crossfit man, and he kept telling me to stop talking and to get lower, all I wanted to say was “sir, just calm yourself, k thanks, I’m working at my own pace, and my mouth is getting exercise so like enough please!” But I didn’t.  I completed this class with all the people; mind you, I didn’t do nearly as much work as Celeste or the other group members, but I still completed it. After class was over, my legs had turned to spaghetti and I was unable to move. Genius even walked himself last night when he saw the pain I was in. I pushed myself so far, and this pain feels awesome!

Roxanne also gave me some blog advice, and told me that I should talk more about my struggles, and about the challenges I’m facing, and maybe a little less about the skinny girls. As we all know, currently the struggle I’m facing is that I can’t get past this number on the scale. I can’t get rid of it, and it doesn’t want to leave me. This number is like a clingy boyfriend that just wants to stay with me, and I’m just done with him, y’noh? I feel like maybe if I’m honest with myself, and with the rest of the world then maybe this evil number will leave me once and for all.

So, here goes nothing. Here’s to being honest, and here’s to hoping and trying to get past this number. I’m not embarrassed to say it, and I’m not ashamed. I know I will never see that number again, so maybe we should give it an amazing goodbye party.

Dear current weight of 214, I don’t like you. Go away. Thank you.

Helga, Helga, Go Away!


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It’s time for Helga to go away and to never come back. Her funeral will be held tomorrow morning at 9:00 am. RIP big girl.

Helga is driving me up the wall and all she wants to do is to sabotage my life. I swear, if she bugs me one more time to walk to the kitchen, I’m going to slap the fat out of her. People look at me in public because I’m always yelling at her; maybe I shouldn’t have stopped my crazy pills. But that’s a discussion for another day.

It’s not that I’m hungry, or that I’m bored. I really don’t know what it is. Helga tells me to eat, so I do. I still sometimes forget that I was surgified, and Doctor removed my stomach. Sometimes I wish I would just have more control. It’s so hard to just wake up one morning and just give up your love for food. That just doesn’t happen in the real world. I am so envious of all these healthy fit people who post their Instagram and Pinterest pictures about how healthy they are, and look at their abs. Good for you, but b!@#, I’m jealous. I know I’ve lost over 40 pounds, but I’ve been at the same place for almost three weeks, and can’t seem to get out of that evil number that haunts my dreams. I want to stand up to Helga and tell her to eff off because she does nothing for me, but keep me in the same sad fat place I’ve been for a long time.

I just wish I could break that evil number and just get on with my life. Helga, you are not wanted. Let me do this on my own.