Pinot on the Rocks

Where to Begin?

2011-12-18T15:50:00.000-08:00

It’s been a while and have been way to busy and scattered to write a blog entry.

Had a birthday – turned 37 on the 10th of November. Difficult to believe I’ll soon be 40, but time marches on. In some ways I’m proud of what I’m accomplished, but in others, frustrated on how far I’ve yet to go. I guess we all have these issues.

I ran my first half marathon, and it was nothing short of awesome. At the time I started training I thought it would be a one and done, but now I can’t wait to run my next, so I’m keeping up the training, running 7.5 miles every other day or so along with the weight and interval training. I’m torn between a half that happens in Philly in September, or the one I ran this year in November. I’ll (try) to keep you posted!

Work has been hectic, between working two jobs. I’ve finally had my first day off since the day after Thanksgiving. Working retail again for the holidays has been interesting to say the least. I’m paid well for the position I’m currently in, and am grateful for it. Minimum wage is way too low for what the average retail worker has to endure year round, not to mention during the holidays. It’s good to get a reminder from time to time – I high recommend everybody work in a retail employee’s shoes at least once in their lives. Perhaps we’d all be a bit kinder and more understanding. At least that’s my two cents.

Time is short with Christmas a week away. Wishing you all well and hope to write more consistently going forward!

Where In the World is Beth?

2011-11-04T17:29:00.001-07:00

Not hanging out with Carmen Sandiego…or Matt Lauer for that matter.

Some of you know the drill by now…lots of updates, then silence. Usually that silence means I’ve either (a) seen something shiny or (b) am in a rut and don’t feel like being a Debbie Downer. This time is a combination of both.

The something shiny – my new part time job (catch up: working as a makeup artist for a cosmetics chain, going from store to store when events are being held). I have to say that despite my attack of the nerves, it’s going really well! I was terrified the first day driving in. Would the other kids be nice? What would the customers be like? Would I be able to get the hang of things fast?

Answers: The other kids were beyond nice, they were so kind and embracing of this new kid, not only at the first store I worked at, but at the all of the other stores since. The customers, for the most part, are like most – it’s the old 95%/5% rule – 95% are terrific, but you remember the 5% that are more trying. I try really hard to remember the 95% and remember that everybody has a bad day. As for getting the hang of things, “Fake it Until You Make it” has been my motto when I’m feeling less than confident, but most of the time, I’m feeling good.

As for the rut – well, I’m afraid to say I’ve been up and down. As most of you know, I struggle, like many, with depression and take a daily medication to treat the symptoms. I’m not ashamed, and I don’t shy away from talking about – if I was diabetic and had to take insulin, I’d be honest about it. I have a condition that I’ve struggled with ever since I can remember, and I need to take a pill to be at my best. Unfortunately, from time to time, I need to have that medication tweaked, and sometimes it takes me a little while to realize it. This was one of those times.

I’ve also struggled with my maintenance – a week or two OP, then a week full-fledged off. I’m working on balance, not depriving myself and forgiving the weeks when I’m not OP or working out as hard as I know I can.

I think I have the depression under control at the moment (thanks to a new med and a $95 co-pay), and while I’ve put on a few pounds, I’m still about five pounds under my goal weight, which I’ve been at for over six months now.

My half-marathon training took a little bit of a setback when I got an infection in the nailbed around one of my toes, but I’m optimistic that I’ll be able to run most of it. My philosophy now is that I want to finish, it doesn’t have to be pretty, but I want to cross that finish line under my own power, even if it’s crawling on my hands and knees.

Working the next couple of days, but hoping to stay on track and get in some good workouts.

In closing, I read this today, courtesy of Karina Smirnoff of Dancing With the Stars via her partner J.R. Martinez, and I wanted to share it – “Failure is not falling down but refusing to get up”. My days of falling down may not be over, but my days of refusing to get ups are.

Back to Square One

2011-09-15T08:31:00.000-07:00

I cannot believe how spectacularly I let the wheels fall off this week. I know I’ve said it before, but I really mean it this time.

Since Saturday, which was the last time I did any kind of intense exercise, I have eaten like the Beth of old, although I have not allowed myself French fries or pizza. The only workout I’ve gotten in was a session with my trainer last night and a 15 minute walk on the treadmill before that. And my ass was dragging.

I’ve had doughnuts, bagels, white bread, peanut butter, soft pretzels, bacon (although only once), ice cream (both full fat and low fat), cake, 2 mozzarella sticks (only 2) and Lord knows what else.

Why? I’ve been depressed, some of it relating to my own stupid issues (feeling awkward in public, being single, daddy issues), some of it due to 9/11 anniversary over-load. I also had the stress of starting a new part-time job and feeling nervious, and also just not giving a damn.

Now I’ve got weigh in coming in tomorrow, and I’m again going to have a gain. I know I’m still under goal weight, and heck, I think I even weigh less than I did at the beginning of the summer, but it’s still difficult to see the scale creep up. I also feel bloated and my stomach feels pouchy.

I feel like I’ve become a poster child, one that I’ve secretly enjoyed, for weight loss, but feel some stress from from it as well. I know I need to keep the weight off for me, and I do, but I also feel like I will have let people down yet again if I gain the weight back, or worse, just fulfilled the expectations of those who are waiting for me to gain the weight back.

I need to strip all of that away, and remember what got me started in the first place – not being happy with how I looked or felt. Wanting to do things, like run, that I couldn’t do at 230 pounds.

I feel sluggish today – the garbage I’ve been eating is filtering through my system, dragging me down from an energy perspective, and I know that is affecting my mood.

I know I can do this, and I can do it for more than one week at a time. It’s time to stop acting like an idiot and do the right thing. So, I’m going to wrap up this blog entry, eat lunch in about an hour, and then hit the treadmill. Maybe not a run, get in a good walk. I need to stop growing roots to the chair and get back to basics.

Time to grab that rope, tie a knot at the end of it, and hold on.

Two Blogs in One Day...What the What???

2011-08-22T17:14:00.000-07:00

Don't get excited...this is an easy one. Just because I can, I thought I'd share my playlist from Saturday. I love hearing what other people listen to on their runs and workouts, and am always on the hunt for new music. Please share yours with me!

Opening Song: Remember The Name - Fort Minor (if you run, bike, whatever - just listen to it - seriously - you'll love it)

You Had Me From Hell No - John Rich/Lil John (nice mix - Country/Rap, good for a sprint - definately helped on Saturday)

Scream If You Wanna Go Faster - Geri Halliwell (who doesn't want to go faster during a race?)

Because We Can - Fatboy Slim (From Moulin Rouge - the chorus - We Can! Can! Can!)

Don't Turn Out the Lights - NKOTBSB (yep, New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys - loved them then (well, NKOTB at least), still love them now)

Hung Up (Remix) - Madonna (those who run seem to have all the fun)

Born This Way - Lady Gaga (Need I Say More?)

And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going (Remix) - Jennifer Hudson

A Little Less Conversation - Elvis Vs. JXL (side story - was inspired by the story of Edison Pena, one of the miners trapped in Chile this time last year. He is a runner and huge Elvis fan. He ran every day while trapped in the mine, while wearing construction boots he retrofitted so he could run. Once he was freed, he ran the NYC Marathon with a bum knee. At the time I added this, last November, I was inspired by his story. I still am)

I Disappear - Metallica (I call it "The Fat Albert Song", but I'm dating myself. The opening line is "Hey, Hey, Hey" Those of you over 30 will get it!)

Sexy! No, No, No... - Girls Aloud (British Girl Band - no back story - just a good pacing song)

Bale Out - RevoLucian - Profanity laden song mixed by a DJ who loved Christian Bale's freakout on the set of Terminator 2. I tend to chant this at the end of a run, thus freaking people out, I'm sure (Am I gonna quit? No, no, fuck no!) It's a good "wall song".

I Fell, I Ran, It Was Awesome

2011-08-22T06:32:00.000-07:00

Did you ever have one of those dreams where you find yourself in some kind of public situation doing something stupid? Like being naked while making a presentation, or showing up at the royal wedding in cut-offs and a trucker cap?

How about pratt falling at the starting line of a race with a couple thousand participants? And that fall, graceful and gazelle like, being captured by a local news camera, and seen by at least one person who knows you? Oh, and it’s not a dream.

Yep, that happened to me on Saturday at the LIVESTRONG 10k in Blue Bell.

Here’s the story….

As most of you know, and I’m planning to forward this to some sponsor’s who don’t follow my blog, so bear with me. I’ve shed upwards of 95 pounds over the course of about 13 months now. I’ve been following Weight Watchers and exercising, and part of that exercising is running. Last fall, while still losing, I ran in two 5ks, slowly, but I ran and I finished. In January, shortly after New Year’s Eve, I decided to set a goal for myself – a big one – as part of my continuing education so to speak. Maintenance is a tough part of weight loss, and I refuse to let it be my downfall this time. So, I’ve signed up for the half at the Philadelphia Marathon this coming November. Up until this past January, I had never run more than 3.1 miles at a clip, and for those of you not in the know, a half marathon is 13.1 miles, so I knew I had some work to do.

Over the past few months, I’ve worked on increasing my runs. I’m thrilled that I’m up to 9 miles at this point, and have been actively looking for 10k races so I can get more experience. When I saw the LIVESTRONG organization was holding a 10k practically in my backyard, I signed up.

Given the cause, I reached out to ask for donations – cancer has affected way too many people in my life, although I’ve been fortunate enough not to lose anybody in my family. A classmate died a few years ago from lung cancer, and many friends have lost loved ones because of this horrid disease. I was able to raise just over $200 toward cancer research and support.

I asked my sponsors to let me know who they were donating in memory or in honor of, and I had their names on a paper pinned on my back. As I stood at the finish line, I was in awe of the people wearing Survivor shirts. On any given day, I can come up with some pretty good excuses not to run – I’m pretty sure cancer would have me throwing in the towel. That these people were running 6.2 miles is pretty incredible.

I somehow wound up toward the front of the pack as we lined up, but I was ok with it. Some of the guys were rammy, but eh, I figured it was part of getting pumped up. They counted down, yelled go and the air horn sounded. I started off while pressing “RUN” on my running monitor and play on my iPod.

Then it happened.

I felt myself falling. It was fast and furious. I knew I couldn’t right myself. I landed on my elbow (I had a water bottle strapped to that hand), knee and palm. The lid of my water bottle flew off. I was disoriented. I do recall some kind people lifting me up. Not knowing what else to do, I ran. I didn’t want to get in any more peoples way than I already had, but honestly my first thought was “That’s it…you’re done. Turn around and go home”. Then I saw her - a Survivor wearing a head scarf – the trademark of someone who had lost her hair in treatment.

Pardon the language here, but then I thought “Beth you asshole, you skinned your knee (I hadn’t felt the elbow yet). These people have had or may even still have cancer. Run you jackass.”

So I did. The Survivors were inspiring – especially the ones who passed right by me. Thinking about the loved ones of my sponsors carried me through. I’m sure many of them fell during treatment, literally or metaphorically. I’m sure they wanted to stop, but they didn’t have that choice. They had to continue.

Despite my start, I actually had a great run. I’m thinking the adrenaline had a lot to do with it. The last mile was rough, but I ran across the finish line in just under 50 minutes, with an average 7:42 minute mile.

I’ll be back next year and plan to stay vertical the entire race. I hope some of you will join me and will be as inspired as I was.

Side note: my father got home from golf yesterday – he told me that one of our old neighbors saw me on TV. I said, oh the race? He said, no, you falling. Sweet. Oh, and to quote my friend J – “That is such a Beth thing to do”.

Moving Forward

2011-08-18T14:22:00.000-07:00

I feel like I owe an update from Tuesday's post.

First of all, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everybody - those of you who I asked for help, those of you reached out and those of you have supported me from afar.

The past few days have been better - not great, but better. I am in a better place than I was on Monday I'm happy to report.

The payday loan consolidation business is still ongoing...at least one company is still emailing and calling (thus freaking me out) while the negotiation process proceeds, but each day gets a little better. I'm really trying to hold onto this feeling, this moment, so I remember to never allow myself to get in this situation again.

Dodging phone calls, asking to borrow money from friends and family is not pleasant. It's actually humiliating, but I'm trying to work through this as a learning process.

My part-time gig is coming together, and I'm really excited about it. Not going into names, but it's as a freelance consultant for a cosmetics company. I'll be going to different department stores in the area when they have events (product launch, GWP, PWP or other events) and working directly with customers and helping with their skin care and make up needs and concerns so the regular staff can focus on their normal business. I love playing with makeup - I have a brush roll that even I think is a bit over the top (see: shopping, impulse control issues) so I think this will be a great fit for me. It will be feast or famine as far as hours, but I think that may be a good thing, and one of my friends does the scheduling, so no chance of being overworked or abused. I just need to leave the debit card at home when I work so no temptation of spending while in the belly of the beast.

Food and stuff, well, it's always going to be an ongoing process, isn't it? I binged over the weekend, mostly due to stress, but on some level, I frankly wanted to eat what I wanted to eat, as much as I wanted to eat, when I wanted to eat it. I have gotten my workouts back on track - and I'm happy to say that I'm also gradually cutting down. I still do a hardcore workout (and by hardcore I mean a 60 to 75 minute high intensity cardio like the stair master or a run) 5 or 6 days a week, and I still work with my trainer twice a week (thank you dad for that "scholarship"), but I'm not doing the double hardcore like I was some days and I'm giving myself a day off.

Weigh in may not be what I want it to be this week, but that's life. I had a hard week, I also got my period (hello! TMI!) and crying only burns so many calories. I need to not only accept, but embrace the fact that weight is variable - that it will fluctuate regardless of what I eat or do. Even if I gain 5 pounds, I can lose it, and I'm no where near my heaviest weight.

I'm trying to embrace the credo of Be Kind To Yourself. I had a therapist who said this to me, and at the time, I frankly thought it was b/s, but now I'm seeing the reality of it.

So there it is, the latest update. BTW, running in my first 10k this Saturday for LIVESTRONG (here's a another plug - if you can and want to donate, here's the link to my fundraising page: http://philly2011.livestrong.org/bethina74). Fingers crossed the weather holds out and it will be a great run for a great cause.

Yesterday

2011-08-16T05:34:00.000-07:00

I hate Mondays. Not to be cliché, but they never really have been my favorite day. As a kid, before I got on anti-anxiety medication, Sunday was the day of the butterflies fluttering about my stomach, nervous as hell for the week ahead. I didn’t go to school in a gulag, although Catholic School did seem like a military prison at times. But Sunday, for whatever reason, filled me the dread of not knowing what was to come, or dreading what I knew was to come – a test, a paper or dealing with things I didn’t want to deal with.

Yesterday was the prime example of why Mondays suck. My work day started with waking up in a blind panic, having overslept and missing my workout, which is as important as my coffee anymore to getting the day started right. I proceeded on my way to work, realized halfway there I didn’t grab a fresh sports water bottle for the gym. I had a partial left over (don’t gross out- I was going to empty it and rinse it when I got to work) that I threw in my purse when I got out of my car.

I put my purse down, and realized to my horror that the water bottle, which was about ¾ full, was now empty. As in 0 water left in the bottle, and the contents pooled in the bottom of my purse. Direct on top of my iPod, check book, pressed powder compact, etc.

On the bright side, my purse got a long overdue cleaning out, literally for the surviving contents, physically for the stuff I had to toss. My iPod is currently hiding in a vat of rice and I’m hoping for a recovery.

The rest of the day went downhill, and it went downhill quickly.

As I mentioned, I did some dumb stuff financially. There are reasons for it, reasons I need to talk to a professional type person about, which is going to cost more money, but things I need to deal with. Somewhere around 3:30, I panicked, and realized that once I paid my car payment, car insurance and gym (which requires a 30 day cancellation notice if I were to cancel) I was going to be seriously overdrawn. Forget the fact that it’s the middle of the month and I don’t get an infusion of cash for another 2+ weeks.

I reached out to some people for help, which thankfully came through, while I’m getting affairs in order (selling things I no longer need and use, getting a part time job) but essentially ended my day sitting at my sister’s island in her kitchen sobbing like I haven’t in a long time.

I’ve come to the realization that there is shit I haven’t dealt with, and haven’t wanted to deal with, for a long time. I’ve been dealing with it any way except actually dealing with it or feeling the emotion – up until a year ago, eating (thereby stuffing the feelings away), now running (actually running away from my problems) and other times, shopping. It’s all been about avoiding feelings I’d rather not deal with, rather not feel – loneliness, low self esteem, and in some ways, anger.

The shopping that needs to stop. I won’t go into the psychology of it here, but suffice it to say, I need to deal with it, and retail is not the answer. I’m getting that under control, and trying really hard to pay off the debts I’ve incurred.

Some real life changes are also in order. I haven’t really been happy with myself in a long time – I thought losing weight was going to do it. All that’s done is make me healthier (yay!), thinner (yay!) but it hasn’t changed the inside problems that I need to get to the core of. I suspect that much like my financial situation, things are going to get worse before they get better, but after talking it out, crying it out, and sleeping on it, I know that they will get better because I’ve got plans in place.

Today started out with oversleeping again, but I think my body needed it. I felt like a wrung out dishrag last night – bloodshot eyes and head hurting from crying, face puffy from the same. Today I suspect my face looks a little worse for wear, and my mind is still preoccupied, but I need to power through. Gym after work, straight home and one foot in front of the other.

I know I’ve asked for this before, but I’m going to ask again, whoever is out there, whoever reads this. Please keep me in your prayers – whether they are to God, Jesus, Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I’m keeping you in all in mine as well.

General Stuff

2011-08-06T16:20:00.000-07:00

So this week.

I so totally didn’t see it coming how shitty it would be.

Between the one year anniversary of my grandfather’s death (another Mac truck lurking in the bushes) and other bullshit, I haven’t been myself. Not that “myself” is usually a big old ray of sunshine, but I’ve felt a little more “dark cloud” than usual.

As I’ve divulged, I had to deal with the financial mess I’ve gotten myself into. Open and honest, I’m not the most financially responsible person. I came of age in an “Era of Plastic”, and I assumed I could pay tomorrow what I bought today. I literally have lived on credit, and when my ability to pay that credit back has been lacking, I’ve been at a loss.

The time for blame games has come and gone, and while I could point out where I (emphasis on the “I” here) went wrong, what’s the point? I’ve gotten myself into a hole, and as my father pointed out, I need to work myself out of it. What I find distressing is when I’ve reached out to the companies I’ve gotten myself into debt with, explained my situation, asked for help/understanding and have been rejected, I find demands and offers for deals now a bit unsettling after I’ve “gone nuclear”.

Off topic: I do love a good quote-mark and parenthetical, don’t I?

Anyhow, I after I “went nuclear” on payday loans (see previous entries) by getting into bed with a debt consolidation company, I understand why I’m getting calls and emails in the meantime, but I resent them when I asked for some breathing room. Selfish, immature? Perhaps, but as I’ve told one of my lifelines, I asked for help, and since you said no, this is the best I can do right now, so it’s that or nothing.

In other news, on family stuff, I’m not sure I’ve quite dealt with my grandfather’s death, the aftermath, and exactly what that has meant for my family. I think out little unit (me, mom and sis) have dealt with it in our own ways (me? Spending, exercise and binging in various quantities), and now, as of this writing, I’ve dealt with it via my old buddy food.

Yesterday and today have been a bad days, and I know (KNOW) that tomorrow will be better, but I’m disappointed that yesterday I turned to a jar of peanut butter and a soft pretzel for comfort (today, peanut butter and not quite so caloric carbs). I’ve been better today, but no angel, but any means but at least I got in a kick ass run. I know that between emotions and phone calls, I couldn’t deal intellectually, so I had to find other ways of coping, even if they weren't healthy, otherwise I'd explode.

I thought I knew better, and I do, but the past two days I’ve felt like the better part of valor was to stuff the feelings down until I can deal with them in smallerr quantities. I know that’s never good, but in some way, I’ve been leaning a bit too hard on my support network, and maybe I need the old ways. Nonsensical? Perhaps. Justification? Absolutely. But I know tomorrow will be better because it has to be better. I have no other option.

I need to be gentler and more understanding with myself, and more importantly, find ways of coping that don’t involve eating or spending money I don’t have. Today’s missteps don’t need to become tomorrow’s reality. Maybe sometimes, today peanut butter is the answer, and actually dealing with reality can be the answer tomorrow.

One Year

2011-08-05T13:11:00.000-07:00

Sunday marks one year since your passing. I wonder if you’re looking down and wondering how it all went so wrong or if you’re surprised it took as long as it did for us all to fall out.

I’ll be honest, I love you, but I’m still mad as hell with you for what you left behind for us to deal with. I wish you had been man enough to deal with your own mortality, instead of sticking your head in the sand and pretending you were going to live forever. I wish you had taken off the blinders you wore when it came to your youngest, and realized you were leaving your wife in the care of a narcissistic drug addict, and leaving the rest of us powerless to do anything about it. I wish for once you had stood up to your youngest, made her grow up and stand on her own two feet, and take responsibility for her actions, the way I have been made to do.

Instead you ignored it all.

Now I have no contact with most of one side of my family. I realize I lost my grandmother, your wife, the day we received the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, but the day you died, and left her in the care of your youngest daughter, I lost my grandmother, as well as my grandfather, for good. Your youngest was never made to be accountable, and when we, that is my mother, sister and I, asked her to do so, we were cut off.

So here it is – your dying wish was that my mother and her sister not fight. The unspoken wish was that my mother roll over and play dead. Allow her sister to continue to do what she wanted, regardless of the consequences, now unchecked with your passing. Fortunately, my mother had the wherewithal, with the support of me and my sister, to stand up to her, your youngest daughter, and not allow herself or her family to play a part in that play.

I’m proud of my mother, but I can’t say I’m not angry. I’m angry it had to come so long after it started to play out. I’m angry you didn’t face up to things, and accept that my grandmother, and you for that matter, needed care. Maybe you’d still be with us, maybe my grandmother would be slightly better off than she is. Maybe your youngest daughter would be a better person, not the pill popping, money grubbing self centered brat she has become, and may have always been.

We’ll never know.

Sunday marks one year since you left us. I love you and I miss you, but I’m angry with you for the mess you left behind.

Update

2011-07-28T12:22:00.000-07:00

So I have a little update on yesterday's blog post.

I started to look into payday loan consolidation, and the more I read, the more it made sense. They negotiate with the creditors, get interest rates lowered and get payment plans in place.

I got a reply from a query, the person sending me the information urged me to research other companies and find out what they could do (always a good sign - when any professional balks at a second opinion, I run, when they encourage it, I almost feel like it's a sign from God).

I had planned to suck it up this month. I asked my father to let me slide on money I give him each month. He agreed. I called my car loan company and asked them for an extension, it's still pending, but even if it's approved, only principal is waived for one month. Will need to pay interest and the full amount next month, but it's a help. I was still going to be underwater.

I slept on it and decided it was the right move. I called the consolidation company this morning and the woman asked me why I was waiting a month. I explained to her that I thought since it was already close to the end of the month, I had missed my opportunity. She explained that most of their clients call right before they get paid and they realize they are in trouble and they could help.

I quickly sped over to my bank to make arrangements - the person who helped me was wonderful. Non-judgemental, understanding, we bonded over running (we're both running in the Philadelphia Marathon - her the full, me the half). She helped me block payments, change accounts, begin the process of getting my house in order.

When I returned to the office, I faxed over the paperwork to the consolidation company, and as I understand it, they are already calling my creditors and faxing over letters.

It all feels too good to be true.

My internal pessimist wonders if it is. I'm holding my breath, but I feel like a weight has been lifted. I huge $6k one.

I've vowed to live within my means. No more loans, cash only. This can't happen again, it won't happen again. Much like my weight and exercise, I need to be healthy financially.

Austerity is the new black.

Dirty Laundry

2011-07-27T06:38:00.001-07:00

It's dirty laundry time.

As I'm sure most of you have figured out, I'm an idiot. A big old dumb idiot, always have been, but over the past 2 1/2 years, I seem to have gotten dumber.

It all started when I was promoted. That promotion came with a kicker, my nice bi-weekly paycheck suddenly went to monthly. I scrambled, but still needed to cover the bills. I discovered this great new way of covering my expenses, just a few hundred.

Pay Day Loans

For those of you who have heard of them, I'm sure would you physically slap me upside the head for falling into this trap. For those of you who haven't, let me serve as a cautionary tale.

Basically, they are high interest loans, meant to be paid back on your next payday, in my case, 30 days later.

No problem, I thought. Better days will be here soon.

2 1/2 years later, I'm in a shitload of trouble. I mean big, old heaping mess of shit to the tune of $6,000+ and I'm trying to figure a way out. I was told pay increases were coming, and I found out today what that number actually meant - it came out to roughly $25 more a week. Yeah, not helpful.

As of this month, my outgoings are $1000 more than my incomings if I don't take out (yet another) loan. I am determined not to do that.

I'm begging, scrambling and basically in a tizzy, none of this is actually helping.

Just need to vent, share what's on my mind. I'm working on a way out, I'm just scared, sad and feeling stupid. Just another day in the life of Beth. Yay!

Tomorrow

2011-07-07T17:09:00.000-07:00

This week has been a bit of a repeat of the Memorial Day debacle. Lots of eating, and eating of the wrong things, and not as much exercise as I would have liked given that amount of eating.

Tomorrow is weigh in day - the albatross around my neck.

That said, I’m ready for it (it being WW tomorrow), and I’m working on getting myself into a better place than I was last time.

Last time I faced my fear – a big gain, I lost it, and then some, the next week. In fact, I lost even more in the following weeks, to the point where I wasn’t sure that the numbers were real – meaning really “me”.

Tonight, I’m trying to get myself into the space I was the first time I saw the scale go below 140, let alone 135. I’m expecting a 2 pound gain, if not more. Yeah, I was “that” bad on 4th of July (and the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 5th - hey, it’s our Nation’s Birthday, I have no kids, and even Richard Simmons says you should have a piece of cake on your kid’s birthday. Seeing as I have none, I was eating cake for the country, and let me tell ya people, that’s a lot of cake. A lot.).

In a non-scale victory related front, I had a major victory. I ran in a 5k I had vaguely entertained entering the past 2 years it was held. On the 4th of July, a hut, humid, generally muggy day, I managed a 3.1 mile road race (up and down hills, the last part up) in 24 minutes, 12 seconds; a 7 minute 47 second mile. For those of you who don’t run, that is huge! 7 months ago, I ran a race hoping to come in under 12 minutes per mile. My mind was blown.

Of course, I reacted to this news by eating ¾ of a bagel, a soft pretzel, ice cream, lots of diet bread, and la piece de resistance, my buddy, peanut butter. Oh, and lots of water, some turkey and fruit. But mostly junk. Because why else do you work out?

Guess what? I didn’t freak out (ok, freak out for me…I did go on a 90 minute walk that afternoon, but that was more to occupy myself with something that didn’t (a) incur calories or (b) cost money).

I’ve clearly come a huge way , in my mind, – I never would have entertained running the entire length of a 5k, let alone in under a half an hour, one year ago today. So what if I’ve gained a pound or two (or three)? Been there, done that, bought the tee-shirt. I can lose it, and I will.

So there inner voice. Fuck you. I’ve got this.

Born to Run? Me?

2011-06-15T18:03:00.000-07:00

I came to a realization today. I love running outside!

This is strange, in light of the fact that I made up a lot of excuses to avoid doing this in the build up to summer. “It’s too cold and I’m a wuss” “The cold triggers my asthma” “I need to watch something on TV to distract me”

Oh sure, I had run outside in the past. Actually, I came to start running in the first place because my treadmill had died, and I wound up having to exercise outside. It was a crazy hot day, and brilliant me, I thought I’d run so I could get my cardio over and done with faster. Honestly, it’s a miracle I’m still alive. Once I calculated the Activity Points via Weight Watchers, I decided that running would be “my thing”. I had a few fits and starts since that first day (like gaining 85+ pounds, but I digress) but I’ve always tried to come back to it.

Last year when I got back into fitness, I started running again, and signed up for a few races. Running outside was difficult to say the least. Now I know it was difficult because of (a) general lack of conditioning, (b) approximately 50 to 60 pounds of fat I had on my frame (compared to my current weight – and while I’ve lost 94 pounds to date, even I am not dumb enough to try to run at 230 pounds – I had to lose a few before I decimated my knees) and finally, (c) inadequately treated asthma. I couldn’t make it more than a mile before I started wondering when I could stop and/or dry heave.

Once the winter hit I was on the treadmill, with DVR’d episodes of “Blue Boods”, “Desperate Housewives” and “The Apprentice” to amuse me, full water bottle by my side and inhaler right on the treadmill dashboard. I went to the doctor for a regular checkup when she put me on a new medication for my asthma, and I was surprised to find that my inhaler started gathering dust, but I wasn’t ready to leave it behind.

My realization that I love running outside came a few weeks ago. I had a Saturday when I knew I would have a time crunch, and wasting time waiting for a stair master, my usual Saturday activity, wasn’t going to fit in. I woke up, planning to hit the treadmill in my house, when I felt ashamed. It was a sunny, gorgeous day. The temperature was perfect - not too hot, not too cold and practically no humidity. With some dread, I grabbed my one pair of “outside” running shorts (they have a pocket with a zipper, so I could keep my trusty inhaler close by) and laced up my sneakers.

To my surprise, the runners high kicked in. I never touched my inhaler, and I was able to manage my water intake thanks to a handheld water bottle that strapped to my hand. In fact, toward the end of my run, I was running down a hill, Born This Way blasting from my headphones, when I stretched my arms out. It was a cheesy move, yes, but I felt, I don’t know, alive. Running actually felt natural, not forced. I’ve been running on and off for 7 years and this is the first time I’ve felt like this.

Running was always more about efficiency than anything else. Doing Weight Watchers, I live for my Activity Points. I can gain 10 APs by running for 61 minutes (not that I’m counting the nanosecond or anything) while it takes me 2 hours and 33 minutes to earn the equivalent walking alone. A higher intensity activity just makes more sense, who cares if it’s fun?

Since that Saturday, I’ve taken every chance I can get to run outside. If I didn’t need to get up so early to knock out my cardio, I’d run in the morning, but I’m pretty sure a 5 am run (when it’s pitch black) would be a suicide mission.

Today, because of my urgently needed motor vehicle inspection (15 days late, but really, who’s counting?) I had to work from home, and in light of the gorgeous weather, I took an early lunch and went for a late morning run. I grabbed any old pair of shorts, tucked my inhaler in my sports bra and grabbed a random water bottle.

I was dying by mile 2, but persevered. I ran 62 minutes and 6.75 miles. When I synchronized my run, I discovered I had a personal best as far as speed, 9 minutes, 12 seconds per mile on average. Honestly, I know may never replicate this run, so I’m reveling in it, and as of right now, baby, I was born to run. Care to join me?

Progress

2011-06-10T06:48:00.000-07:00

I feel like I’ve made some progress in this little journey of mine. Last week, as I ranted incessantly, was so not a good week in terms of living a healthy lifestyle. Between eating too much at a holiday bar-b-que, not being able to exercise because of 12 hour long work days and stress binge eating, I started to slip into bad habit and it showed on the scale. In reality, I wasn’t as bad as I could have been, and probably ate much worse on a “normal” day pre Weight Watchers, but I still did a really good job of beating the hell out of myself over it.

I made a key decision, I still went to my weekly weigh in, even though knew it would be bad. I couldn’t go to my normal Friday meeting, so I made a point of getting up early on Saturday and getting over to another meeting. As expected, it was bad. Like 3.4 pound gain bad. I know it wasn’t all fat, but still, pretty bad on my 5’3” frame. Five years ago, something like that would have had me running for the nearest McDonalds (conveniently located across the parking lot from WW. Seriously, whoever planned these locations is either an evil genius or a complete idiot. My guess is evil genius.) That is, if I even got on the scale at all. Like a lot of people, I hate seeing the cold reality of the scale, even more so when the prior trend was downward.

I’d be lying if I didn’t have the urge to let myself “go” another week, but I tried to remember what got me started. I tried to remember how I felt with 90 pounds of extra weight, wearing clothes I didn’t like, not being able to wear rings I loved because they were too tight on my bloated fingers, being sweaty all the time. I tried to remember how difficult it was to walk at a quick pace, forget running, the embarrassment of barfing after pushing myself too hard on a cardio machine (even if I did retell it for laughs later on) . I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to be going back that place, to being that person.

So I spent Saturday trying to get back on plan with mixed results. I went for a 7.5 mile run, I ate healthy and on track until the evening came and the carb monster decided to come out to play. I kept trying, with success for the rest of the week. I went to my weigh in today hoping to at least not have gained, hopefully to have lost. My hard work paid off and I not only lost the weight I gained last week, but also another quarter pound.

The focus now, as it has been, is maintenance, but also to be more realistic. I had the worst case scenario – a horrid week, not eating right, missing some exercise, and a rather large gain, and guess what? I survived. I not only survived, but I managed to get back on track and reverse it.

Makes me think I just may be able to do this maintenance thing!

Yes, Another Whiny Food/Diet Related Blog

2011-06-01T14:22:00.001-07:00

I feel like shit.

I’m not sick, allergies are OK despite the pollen and humidity. I’ve been eating like a human garbage can since last Friday.

Oh, lighten up I thought. It’s a holiday weekend. It started with a doughnut after an unexpected 2 pound weight loss at weigh in.

From there on it’s been downhill. The people living with me don’t really know because I closet eat. It’s part of my thing. I’m uncomfortable eating OP (Off Program) in front of other people, even if I have the “budget” from Weekly Points and Activity Points, especially when I've blown my budget. Pretzels and doughnuts are the key culprints, easy to eat while driving. I have literally driven from one convenience store to another to buy binge food and eat it on the way. I can’t really explain it, I wish I could so I could stop it. The good news is that I'm working really hard to get the purging under control. It's a struggle and a process, but I'm working on it.

Yesterday I got a prelunch peptalk from my friend J. I ate my healthy salad, fruit as a snack, killer workout, healthy dinner. Then I started snacking.

So it’s come to this, Wednesday, Day 6 of my binge. I’ve worked out everyday except today, so that works in my favor, although the fact that I couldn’t face the heat has backed me into a workout corner. Now I’m stuck in a room with 15 colleagues, with no sign of getting out anytime soon so I can exercise at a reasonable time. I’m wearing a suit that if I’m honest has always been snug. On one hand I’m pretty sure it’s no tighter than usual, although given the guilt I’m feeling from the poor eating (excessive snacking more like) it feels like a sausage casing. The scale is up at least 2.5 pounds since last Friday, Lord knows what it will be like by Saturday.

I know that how I’ve eaten over the past few days doesn’t even hold a candle to how I used to eat but I’m still feeling bad. I also know that I’m too hard on myself. I know that, really I do. I saw the movie Black Swan a few months ago, and the lead character (who winds up killing herself in the end in a state of psychosis – I won’t spoil the movie for you but it wasn’t an intentional suicide, and please don’t misinterpret this comparison as a threat) has a constant refrain – she wants to be perfect. That rang true with me. No, not the start ballet, dress up in bird feathers, have a psychotic break with reality wherein (SPOILER ALERT) I think I've killed the person that is my rival but have actually stabbed myself in the stomach.

No, I want to be perfect.

Oh, and Black Swan while good, was a really strange movie. But I did learn that trying to be perfect is really not a good thing.

It’s not rational, it’s not practical. It’s setting myself up for failure, thus starting a shame spiral from not being perfect. Perfection cannot be attained. I know this. Really I do. I need to find a way to loosen the reins and live. Indulge without binging.

I can’t change today (or Tuesday, Monday, Sunday, Saturday or Friday) but I can change go forward. I can choose differently tomorrow. I can live in the now.

I still have a race coming up – one in July and another in November. I will be running them.

I have a new wardrobe – buying one in a bigger size is not an option. I will be wearing it three months from now.

My breakfast, lunch and snacks (healthy and on program) are both still in the fridge. I will be eating them tomorrow. The vending machine and I are on a break. Except for a diet coke and perhaps a cup of black coffee, nothing else will be purchased by me in the cafeteria tomorrow. Gas (and perhaps fruit) is all Wawa will be selling me – no doughnuts, no soft pretzels.

I will be up at 5:00 am tomorrow and Friday since the way today has gone, the gym after work probably isn't realistic. Brass tacks: I feel better when I workout. The day starts on a good note. A part of me is even starting to like how free I feel when I run. Shhh! Don't tell anyone.

I know I have the tools. One day of not exercising doesn’t mean I will have lost my endurance. Because of these meetings, I won’t be able to work with my trainer this week. This doesn’t mean I will have lost my muscle tone.

I need to think of the past few days as being on the world’s crappiest cruise with the world’s best buffet table. I ate to excess (for me) but I’ll bounce back. This is my dietary week's staycation.

The staycation is over tomorrow, weigh in day (Saturday because of these meetings) be damned.

I can do this. I WILL do this.

If for no other reason, so I don’t have to write another blog entry like this.

Thanks for listening again. Thanks for still supporting me. Thanks for continuing to have my back.

Just For Today

2011-05-19T10:42:00.001-07:00

Just for today, I will be in control of what I eat

Just for today, I will not binge

Just for today, if I do binge, I will forgive myself and move on, no purge

Just for today, I will not eat my trigger foods

Just for today, I will remember that soft pretzels, doughnuts, crusty bread and 100 calorie packs of cookies will still be there tomorrow

Just for today, I will love and honor my body in it's current state

Just for today, I will not beat myself up for what I did last week, yesterday or ten minutes ago

Just for today, and everyday

Losing Sight, Needing Prayers

2011-05-18T13:04:00.000-07:00

I feel like I’ve been spiraling the past few weeks, repeating the cycle of following program, falling off for a few days, going into a binge/purge cycle and then repeating. I’m sick of it.

I’ve lost sight of the fact that this is a journey. I can’t, and I’m not going to, be in this for the short term.

People have told me to call them or reach out when I feel a binge coming on. I haven’t and there is a reason why. When I’m cycling up to a binge, I almost don’t want to be talked out of it, and when I purge, it’s like I want to be caught but at the time, I also want to get rid of the calories I’ve consumed. Is this strange? I honestly don’t know at this point.

I know why I binge – a big part is stuffing down the feelings, smaller part is a food craving. I want to be perfect in this, and yeah, I know, that ain’t gonna happen. I don’t want to feel frustration – frustration over daily things. For all that I talk the talk, I don’t do the walk very well. When I’m upset it’s easier to eat a bagel then to tell somebody. When I’m sad it’s easier to eat some bread than to cry. Instead I eat and then feel frustrated or sad with myself, for not dealing with the issue, and for overeating.

Talking about this is hard, writing is actually easier (and cheaper). If I cry, the tears fall on a keyboard, and there are no witnesses. I don’t feel like I have to apologize for the incoherent talk, the runny nose, the shaking hands.

I do know I need to change my actions. As I type this on Wednesday, I’m in day two of a binge cycle. For today, I am trying really hard not to purge. Honestly, I purged yesterday, and I also did on Sunday. I’ve done so a few times in the weeks past. I know it’s wrong, it’s not healthy, and it goes against everything I’ve been trying to do. But there it is, I can’t take it back. I can just try not to do it today.

So where do I go from here? Weigh in day is Friday. That’s a new week for program, and I am mentally prepared to start back, not on maintenance, but just regular program. 29 Points a day, plus 39 Weekly and my Activity Points. I need to go back to basics and get off of the roller coaster of splurge/binge and “normal”.

I have a food centric event on Saturday, a lunch time family reunion at a buffet. I’d like to skip it but I know that’s not an option. I’m hoping to work through it by keeping a calm head, but keeping my focus on the fact that I have come too far to go back now. But if I do lose the plot, that’s going to have to be OK, because it’s just lunch. I’m working on a plan and I need to stick with it.

I know this may seem small to some of you, but it isn’t for me. I’ve been a yo-yo (as my dad likes to remind me) my whole life, and it needs to stop. I need to keep the weight off once and for all, and focus on being healthy, not skinny, but healthy, and that means not being a binge eater, and not being bulimic, and not abusing my body.

What I need right now, and I don’t ask for this lightly, are prayers, not hovering, just pray that I have strength. I need strength to push through this. I’ve been in therapy before, and it just hasn’t helped. I know what I need to do – stop abusing my body, stop abusing food. I need to stop the cycle. So if you can keep me in your prayers, whether they are to God or the Flying Spaghetti Monster, I'd appreciate it.

Thanks.

Forgiveness

2011-04-30T19:42:00.000-07:00

This past week has been a rough one. I admit it for the record…I’ve slipped into some bad habits, not just with eating, but with binge and purge in the past week or so.

It stops now

I’ve been freaking out a bit about being at goal, and it has to stop. What good has this freaking out done for me? I’ve been questioning everything. From the amount of exercise – it too much (probably), not enough (maybe) or just right (perhaps) to the amount of food I eat, and how I react when it all doesn’t go to plan (not well if it involves what I’ve done more than once and I’ll spare you the gory details).

Over the past two days I’ve been eating a record amount food (for me since I’ve been back on WW at least), and I’ve purged more often than I’d care to admit in the past week. On the surface, I look the same, at least I think I do. My jeans still fit, I’m not bursting any seams. So the time to rein things in is now.

I hold myself to high standards, higher than I should, and when I don’t meet them, my first instinct is to throw in the towel. That isn’t an option this time. It’s time for me to grow up, accept that I’m not perfect, and start over again. I need to regroup, and get back the focus that has helped me be successful. I need to take my own advice – forgive yourself, and move on. I need to stop holding myself to standards I wouldn't expect of anyone else.

So here I am, admitting what I’ve done. I’ve binged and I’ve purged , and it’s time for me to accept that I’ve made mistakes and move on from them. I forgive myself, and I am going to strive not to repeat the mistakes that I’ve made. I can't put the genie back in the bottle, and I can't take back the decisions I've made.

I am going to see the results of my binges on the scale on Friday, how can I not? But I need to accept it, and move on from it, and live the life I am meant to live without punishing myself and my body.

Breakfast is going to be a healthy one, my workout will be a good and solid one, and lunch and dinner will follow suit. No gorging on bread, no secretly eating excess food, and no doing things that I shouldn't if I were to derail and go off plan.

I'm still me on the inside if I'm five pounds heavier, or five pounds lighter. That doesn't change. I need to change how I react when I hit a bump along the way, by not abusing my body by purging, or by gaining 90 pounds. I need to confront what is bothering me head on, and not dive into a pile of food to stuff it down.

Right now what is bothering is the pressure I'm putting on myself. The pressure to be perfect - to be under goal, to maintain. So here is my message to me: Well guess what Beth, you're not perfect. You're never going to be. The best you can do is try, and sometimes that means failure, but that doesn't mean throwing in the towel. If you gain five pounds, you'll lose it. Gaining five more accomplishes nothing except being ten pounds heavier. You don't expect anybody else to be perfect. Why do you expect it from yourself? Nobody else does.

So you've messed up tonight. You're going to make a cup of tea and go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day. Do your best. Signed, Beth

Double Secret Probation – Lifted

2011-04-12T16:10:00.000-07:00

A note about the following: this is pretty raw (at least for me) and may confuse or even offend some people. This is something that I haven’t gone about pressing “post” lightly. What I’m writing about has torn my family apart. I reached out to my mother and my sister for their feedback and blessing. My sister’s comments are posted at the bottom, my mother has been asking me almost daily when I am going to post it. I’ve written this for me, and nobody else. As I state below, this is my truth as I see it. I no longer purge physically, but needed to “purge” this emotionally. If you choose to read this, thank you for listening and understanding.

Points to anybody who IDs the movie that comes from.

After a few weeks, I’ve decided to lift the veil of secrecy I’ve had on the blog. In order to explain the reason for lifting, I guess I need to explain the reason for the veil in the first place.

As some of you may know, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about two years ago, and my grandfather, her primary caregiver, passed away in August. My grandfather was a stubborn man, in some ways a benefit, in others, a true deficit. He resisted help literally until his dying moment, and denied his pending death and what that meant until the bitter end. At the end, with his kidneys having shut down and the rest of his body following suit, my sister had to call in numerous favors, and risk her job, to get him into hospice in the last hours of his life. He, without discussing his wishes with anybody else in the family, decided my mother’s sister (who has chronic pain and takes multiple narcotics) would care for my grandmother.

A word about my mother’s sister and this is airing some very dirty laundry which I no longer feel the need to hide. Mom’s sister (who I now refer to as my ex-aunt) was always a somewhat flaky individual. She was married to a similarly flawed man, who was flawed before he was shot in the line of duty as a police officer. The injuries and the long term results didn’t help the fact that he came from a family with violence and addiction issues, the fact that he had a bullet fragment lodged in his body and the pain that came with it, in addition to the alcohol my ex-aunt readily gave him, had some bad results. One of which was the majorly inappropriate things he said and did around (and to) me. I won’t go to the next step and say I was molested, because the man was partially paralyzed, but the way it made me feel as an insecure 17 year old wasn’t too far off the mark.

I told my sister, who promptly told my mother, after one particularly inappropriate Thanksgiving, and she handled it like a pro. Mom said I’d never see or talk to him again, and I never did. My ex-aunt left him a few months after, and for a time, he was the devil incarnate. She had nothing but bad things to say about the person she helped to create, and was indignant when told she needed to get a job. She flitted about, getting fired/laid off, and it was always someone else’s fault. She treated my grandfather like her personal groundskeeper, so I guess it was small wonder what he expected of her as he realized he was dying.

Once my ex-aunt’s ex-husband passed way, he was suddenly a saint. She had nothing but positive things to say to him, and when my sister or I either left the room, snorked in disgust, or in one case with my sister actually called her/him out, it was dismissed.

I bring this up to show that the ill will I feel now isn’t exactly misplaced, and my questioning of her judgment has some basis.

Anyhow, the day after my grandfather died, a social worker from the hospice came out, to help us work through next steps with regard to my grandmother’s care. My mother’s sister flipped out, raging at all of us in the room. She told us that she “promised daddy” that she would take care of my grandmother and accused us of not caring about her (my ex-aunt) and that my grandparents were the only ones who cared. We, as gently as we could, told her we did in fact care, and worried about her pain management and what she had to do to get through each day.

We pointed out that she was clearly overwhelmed, and wasn’t able to follow the directions set out by the visiting nurse who cared for my grandfather. We told her we knew she was smoking in a house with an oxygen tank, forget the fact that my grandparents, adamantly against smoking never wanted her to smoke in the house. It was pointed out that we not only knew, but witnessed her sitting on the porch, feet away from the tanks, puffing away. Our intention we told her, was that we thought it would be good for my grandmother to be in a nursing home, where she would get skilled care, and perhaps make some progress , as much as an Alzheimer’s patient can and that my mother’s sister could go about healing herself, emotionally and physically, and resume her life, including getting a job.

My mother’s sister dug in her heels, moving into my grandparent’s house and started freely spending my grandparent’s money. She went about essentially erasing any evidence that my grandfather lived there, disposing of his arm chair, setting up her own lair where he once sat with an ash tray, lighter and pack of cigarettes displayed in the house. Drawing a salary for caring for my grandmother, making purchases that I don’t understand how someone who hasn’t been employed for quite some time could afford to make and blocking any attempts we (mom, sis and I) made to help care for my grandmother, implying that the help we were offering was the wrong kind, in the wrong amount, and just plain wrong.

About six weeks ago, things came to a head, thanks to my old friend Facebook. I’m not sure who made the realization that my mother’s sister was on there, but we had one or two mutual friends who are relatives. My mother’s sister didn’t attempt to friend any of us, I actually blocked her, getting a sense that I didn’t want her to be my friend, let alone my aunt. One day, my ex-aunt messaged my mother on Facebook, instead of emailing, texting, or heaven forbid, calling, angry that we hadn’t visited on what would have been my grandfather’s birthday. My mother didn’t reply. Then she saw that my ex-aunt was badmouthing the three of us to another relative, on Facebook.

That was the last straw.

Mom emailed her, telling her that (a) she could feel free not to publicly air family issues on Facebook and (b) that seeing as my grandfather was dead, she wasn’t sure why she needed to visit the house on that particular day.

To say the message didn’t go over well is an understatement. She sent a nonsensical rant to my mother, bringing up things long past, accusing my mother of financial mismanagement of all things, implying my sister hastened my grandfather’s death and taking a slew of other paranoid, cheap shots going way back. At that point, I took my little blog private, because I know my ex-aunt found it once, and I wasn’t sure if she’d find it again. At the time, I wanted privacy, and I didn’t want her to have any insight into my life. Now, I don’t care.

I’m sure if she were to see this she, WW III would break out. But this is my truth, these are the facts as I see them, and I think I’m entitled. I’ve done a lot of work on my outside this year, and I need to do work on the inside now. That means no more toxic people, even if they are relatives.

If you’re still with me, 3 pages in MS Word as I type this, I hope you understand and don’t judge. Every family has its quirks, and I’m sure you think me insane for airing dirty laundry. I just no longer feel the need to hide. If people ask about my family these days, particularly my grandmother, I don’t know how to answer. My access has been cut off, almost by mutual decision on the part of her caretaker. If I want a relationship with my grandmother, that means I have to have a relationship with a person who takes narcotic painkillers and has treated my mother poorly over the years.

That makes me sad, but the reality is that my grandmother died the day we received the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. What remains now is a shell of the woman who used to have tea parties with me (juice for me, coffee for her, lots of cookies for both of us), called me her Betty Doll and always told me I looked like I had lost weight even when I had gained a few pounds. Now when I see her I walk in the door announcing myself and my relationship to her – “Hi Grandmom, it’s Beth”. I’m sure she makes the connection that I’m her granddaughter, but nothing else.

I miss her, and I miss the way things used to be, but there is no sense living in the past. I need to move forward now, and fix what I can.

I reached out to my mother and sister for their thoughts this. My sister offered the following: Can I add a couple of things? Grandmom and Grandpop used to cook for her and clean too. They paid bills for her, even that $2,000 tax bill right before grandpop died. K**** spent more time with P***'s niece and nephew than she ever did with us, even after the divorce. She flew to Texas to see R***, but she couldn't drive here after mom had surgery. She drove T*** home from the grandpop's hospital hopped up on her pain pills and sedatives. Her behavior has always been erratic, selfish hateful and mean. She never thanked me for the whole hospice thing. She never acknowledged how hard it was for me to pull it all together so fast or how hard it was for me to do post-mortem care on my own grandfather. I had nightmares about the whole thing for weeks. She was angry because the other nurse and I destroyed the morphine and the ativan instead of giving it to her. She was angry with me because of the social worker. She was angry with me because she couldn't bully me the way she did everyone else. She is jealous of mom and has always done petty and nasty things to her. I want to stress this: this isn't from mom bad mouthing her. This is from what I observed with my own two eyes, from the time I was 2. Mom stayed loyal one hell of a lot longer than most people would. K**** tried to get mom alone so she could bully her. She knew I was on to her. She isn't a flake--she is erratic and evil.

Grandmom and grandpop created her. In the end, they chose K**** over mom and even us. You reap what you sow. I'm proud of mom for stopping the cycle, as painful as it is. She did better for us and we'll do better for T***. One more thought: she made my mother cry

Goal!

2011-04-08T14:58:00.000-07:00

Today is the day I’ve been waiting for – I got to goal weight (actually a little under) at Weight Watchers. Last week was satisfying as well – last week marked the date I was once again “Lifetime in Good Standing” and didn’t have to pay the weekly meeting fee, but today is really the day that marked a victory for me. Not Mission Accomplished, that actually will never happen, but getting to just under goal weight is a victory.

Why will it never be Mission Accomplished? Well, honestly I’ve never been able to sustain weight loss for more than six months. People who have known me for a long time know that I’ve done this before, but I’ve lost the plot and have found myself back at the beginning, and discovering that the finish line was further out than before. I can’t let that happen this time. Mission Accomplished means I’ve died at 105 years old weighing less than 143 pounds. Mission Accomplished can be on my tombstone.

I have no idea how I am going to do this.

I have a “contract” on a site called StickK, where you set a goal, parameters and ramifications. For me, I chose stay at or below 143 pounds (the weight which makes me Lifetime in Good Standing) by this time next year. I must weigh in weekly and at or below 143. If I skip a weigh in, or come in at, say, 143.2, I pay $5 which will be donated to a charity not of my choosing. My father, who frankly is one of my biggest doubters, although I don’t believe he recognizes this, is the referee. I have him in this role more so I can prove to him that this time will be different.

It will be different because it has to be.

It was too hard this time. I’m 36, getting close to menopause (closer than I was at 21) and losing is more difficult. My skin is saggier. My muscles know the drill and are less reluctant to obey.

I tried to do it differently this time. I have a wider support system. I’ve invested a great deal of cold, hard cash that I don’t have to invest. I’ve tried to be more forgiving of myself. I’ve not always been successful, but I’m proud of the fact that I’ve taken breaks and gotten back on track. In the past I’ve just thrown in the towel. Five years ago, I never could have taken a two week break from WW and exercise and just gotten back into the routine before it got out of control. Five years ago I would have said “Fuck it, pass the cheese fries”. I’ve had two instances of binge and purge. The first time I went into the aforementioned two week spiral. The second time I woke up my mother and told her. I went to WW anyway and dealt with the resulting gain from water retention and food I didn’t expel.

Keep me honest here friends. Help me stay on track. Tell me how I can support you and your goals. You have all supported me, I want to pay it forward.

Just don’t ask me to support you by joining you in a competitive eating contest, ok? 

SVH

2011-03-29T17:25:00.000-07:00

Another true confession time here. Hopefully some of you will relate.

5’6”. Blonde. Aquamarine eyes. Size 6 figures. Drove a red Fiat. Identical twins. California. More dances in a year than I went to in my entire school career, junior and high schools combined.

For those of you of a certain age, those bon mots mean only one thing: Sweet Valley High and the Wakefield Twins.

They set an impossible standard for us children of the 80’s. How couldn’t they? Elizabeth, with TBT (Trusty Boyfriend Todd) and her sister, Jessica with her ever revolving cast of boyfriends, but steady (and fabulous) bestie Lila. Their high jinks, at least subconsciously, had me thinking there was something wrong with me once I made it to 18 (although I had, in fact, moved onto more adult authors well before high school), since I had made it to maturity without ever having been: in a coma, kidnapped, in a small plane crash, date raped (or almost), had a boyfriend who played both basketball and football (imagine! He plays for both teams!), been drunk after one shot of vodka, had my kitchen decimated by an earthquake (admittedly difficult living in Pennsylvania) or recruited by cult. All before I turned 17 (let alone 18). Oh, and I never had a fabulously wealthy boyfriend (named Bruce of all things) that had a vanity plated Porsche – 1bruce1.

The cheesy, nostalgic part of me (who writes this blog) was ecstatic when I heard a sequel of sorts was coming out, revising the twins at the age of 27. The premise: Elizabeth, the “good” twin hastily relocating to NYC after some sort of betrayal by Jessica, the ubiquitous “bad” twin and Bruce, the driver of 1bruce1, at the time a vain playboy, now Elizabeth’s bestie, not Enid (her brunette, frizzy haired friend). Oh, and in SVH canon, with the exception of Lila, all brunettes were dull and rather unfortunate. Anybody else wonder why I’m obsessed with hair color? Ok. Good. Glad we’re all clear on that point.

I’m ashamed to admit I cleared my reading queue (i.e. not starting up another book on my Kindle or lengthy magazine) in the day or two before its release date.

Today was the day, and as I type this, I’m frankly disappointed.

I managed to read it on my lunch hour.

Yep, you read it right. My lunch HOUR. When I was 11 or 12 and reading the SVH books for the first time, they were quick reads at best. But hell, I read Mommie Dearest and Interview with A Vampire when I was 10 or so (much to my mother’s chagrin, even if though she did brag one day that an employee at the DMV was engrossed in an SVH novel when she went to get her license renewed, long after I outgrew the series), but I thought the creator, Francine Pascal, would have had enough respect for her seemingly (hopefully?) now adult readers to have made it more substantive than a short story in Cosmo (which, full disclosure, I stopped reading a few years ago. If I haven’t tried the Reverse Cowboy by now, odds are my hips are too bad to try anytime in the near future).

Yeah, it was nice reading a story with familiar characters, even if some of them swore more and drank more dirty martinis than I remembered from my youth. But I’m fairly certain I could have written a more mature novel with a little more character development after several bottles of wine.

Oh well, I guess you can’t go home again. Here’s hoping Diablo Cody (the writer/director of Juno) comes up with a decent screenplay!

My Quest – Continued (with a script!)

2011-03-20T15:27:00.000-07:00

I’d like to take the preamble to my blog to reiterate to my friends and family that they should submit me as a candidate for TLC’s show, What Not To Wear. I won’t get mad, in fact, the only tears that will be shed will be tears of joy. I’ll act the part if that’s what they want, but I will be ecstatic inside.

The groundwork having been laid, as I sit here watching an episode, I’d like to make it a bit easier for the crew of WNTW but laying out the script for my episode.

Voiceover: Meet Beth, a 36 year old single Operations Analyst (and please don’t ask what that actually means because her family doesn’t know) who lives in the suburbs of Philadelphia. She recently lost over 80 pounds and wears generally tragic clothing. In this episode, we’ll help her ditch her discount store wardrobe, $5 sweatpants and sweatshirts and embrace her inner high-end fashionista.

Secret Camera Footage

Me: I think this is functional (wiping sweat from my face and smoothing my hair down while talking to the crew at the supermarket). I just came from the gym and really, why should I dress up? I’m just going there to sweat, so why should I make an effort (while gesturing to my $5 bike shorts and oversized t-shirt). My work style? It’s functional (queue footage of me teetering around on heels and in oversized pants)

In my bedroom – my friends, Jen and Ashia

Jen: Seriously, look at this shit (bleep!). It’s polyester. And this shirt? Cute and it works, but she stole it from her mother (who rocks a v-neck and is totally fashionable) but no 36 year old should be stealing her mother’s clothing.

Ashia: And these shoes? Payless! PAYLESS people. If you’re going to kill an animal for fashion, at least make it for Manolo Blahnik.

Intervention

Voiceover: We’re here in Blue Bell (or East Norriton or wherever) with a $5,000 What Not To Wear credit card and a fashion intervention for this 30 something’s wardrobe.

Me: (doing something interesting and official, I’m sure) Blah, blah, blah. Blah blah blah blah.

Stacey: Stop. Just stop right now. Beth, I’m Stacey

Clinton: And I’m Clinton

Both: And we’re from TLC’s What Not To Wear

Clinton: Beth we’re hear because your family is sick of your work wardrobe of cheap synthetics and weekend wear of gym clothes…

Beth: (cutting Clinton off): THANK GOD YOU’RE FINALLY HERE!

END. SCENE.

I’ve done the legwork people. I’m even wearing my “best” dog hair covered seat pants so you can get plenty of shots. Now it’s your turn.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2011-03-13T16:33:00.001-07:00

I went for the big snip yesterday – no, not that one. I have the wrong parts for THAT big snip, but I did cut off most of my hair.

As I was perusing pictures, looking for one of me with my “old” pixie cut, it occurred to me that most of the people in my life, aside from a few friends and family, have only known me with my veil of long hair. I was in the midst of growing it out when I joined Facebook about 2 and a half years ago and most of my recent pictures are either of the awkward growing out stage or of the end product.

I was amused at the reactions I got when I floated the prospect of a haircut out on Facebook. There were a lot of “No!”’s and a few “Go for it”s. My new stylist, who I love, but have only been going to since October, was cautious but enthusiastic. The end product is a bit longer than I envisioned, but as my stylist pointed out, you can also cut off more, but gluing it back on is a bit difficult.

I understand the reactions. Many women have their entire identities wrapped up in what grows out of their noggins. I’m not one of them. I’m always slightly annoyed when I watch What Not To Wear and the week’s subject balks at the suggested changes to hair style and color. I for one would jump at the chance to have someone who normally charges upwards of $500 for a haircut and is known and respected in their field to give me an unbiased suggestion as to what would look best on me. As I’ve told many a stylist, and friend, it’s only hair, and that I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve cried over a haircut, the last time being when I was 20 (the tears were mostly over frustration trying to style a new cut without the right tools, not that I didn’t like it).

I know I’m not normal for my gender, but my attitude is if you can’t have fun with your hair, then really, what’s the point?

I’ve justified lopping off the product of three years of bad hair by saying it will make my workouts easier – more specifically the post workout routine easier. Anybody can throw their hair up in a ponytail, but only a glutton for punishment gets up early to workout, then wash, blow dry straight and then flat iron hair that has multiple cowlicks and sections of curly hair. A part of me was sick of seeing the hair falling out when I washed it – both from the natural hair cycle and from weight loss, another part of me got sick getting it caught in the straps of my purse and yet another part of me got sick of getting up at the crack of dawn to do the above routine. My reasons for having longer hair were more than cosmetic though.

True story – a few months ago I was at the supermarket, and saw a guy I had a blind date with. He was aggressive and a little letchy – he suggested, in a roundabout way, that we have a “sleepover” the night I met him. Sensibly, I demurred, but he didn’t get the hint, alternately calling, texting and messaging me through the dating website we met through. I was at the market one Friday and saw him. I did a supermodel/Pantene worthy flip of my hair and hid half of my face when I saw him to avoid detection.

Being totally honest, the whole reason why I grew my hair out in the first place was because of my weight. I felt like my then signature pixie was out of place on my increasingly obese frame. I often mock models with their little bodies and disproportionately large heads, and I found myself feeling like the opposite – big body, little head. I wanted the hair to balance it out….to hide behind. Now that I’m smaller, and being more active, longer hair is a massive pain in the ass truth be told. I have to make sure my gym bag always has a hair band and rubber bands. A few weeks ago I forgot a rubber band when going to spinning class. I was focused more on maneuvering my hair off of my neck and out of my face for the class rather than on the quality of my workout. After 60 minutes of this I wound up throwing my neck out. The other night, I had a weight training session and forgot a hair band. Oh yeah, doing pushups was a blast with my hair in my face, not to mention having to get up the next morning to wash the sweat out of my mop (and all that entailed).

I had started kicking around a chop around the time I started back at the gym, but didn’t feel confident until now. I gave myself excuses – I’ve invested a ton of money in product and accessories (side note: anybody interested in used InStyler? $25 OBO), guys like girls with longer hair, I spent three years growing it out.

At the end of the day, I decided to own my look and shed my veil, my comfort blanket. This is me…I have short hair, and I can sleep later than you in the morning and still look pulled together. Let’s rock this.

Dirty Secret

2011-03-04T14:52:00.000-08:00

Despite the fact that I relentlessly Facebook and blog about it, and seem to be constantly engaged in some form of it, I hate exercising.

I actually question the sanity of people that say they love exercise.

Whether it’s running, spinning, hitting the Stairmaster, lifting weights or going for a brisk (yet endless) walk, the only thing I like about working out is the end result and the fact that it’s done for the day.

From the sore muscles, black toe nails (still! I may never be ready for flip flop/sandal season at this rate. Chanel Vamp here I come), icky hair and/or smeared makeup, there is very little I enjoy about the workouts I do.

Last night I experienced a rarity, the runner’s high. I pressed the snooze button at 5:00 am (actually, I hit another combination of buttons and changed the time of my alarm from 5:00 to 6:00 (with that kind of dexterity at 5:00 am, I probably could have managed a run), and still didn’t get up until 6:45) and wound up in two positions I dislike – having to wear “sensible heels” to work, and needing to rush home and get on the treadmill so I could exercise, eat dinner at a reasonable hour and get something resembling a good night’s sleep. I would up leaving work later than I had planned, and despite a valiant effort, wound up getting caught in traffic. I didn’t make it home until later than I wanted, but still wound up getting in a 5 mile run.

I had a false start – due to an accumulation of dog hair on one of the wheels of my treadmill, it travelled across the linoleum floor during the first five minutes of my run, making me stop, clean up and reposition. After that, something kicked in and I sailed through the next 40 minutes. If it wasn’t for my parents and a pending DVR’d episode of Survivor, two hungry dogs and if I’m truthful a hungry me, I might have been able to get in 6, or even a record 7. It was the kind of run I dream about, the only part missing was me having a long blonde ponytail bouncing from my head, firmer abs and a tighter butt, and I could have done without the copious amount of sweat dripping from my puny brown ponytail and smeary raccoon eyes. But I’ll take it.

Honestly the only reason I ran last night was because of what I now know is a malfunctioning bathroom scale, which had me believing I had gained 3 pounds because of last Saturday’s crusty bread/peanut butter binge/extravaganza. I wanted to be able to walk into WW this morning knowing I had done all that I could. I weighed myself this morning and found I weighed slightly more than I did last Friday (yeah, I weigh myself twice a day, I know and expect my nighttime weight to be higher than my weight in the morning, but I still can’t break the habit). I expected my weigh in this morning to show a gain, or at best a stay the same, not the 1.8 pound loss I actually had. I would have chalked up the WW scale as wrong, but I also went to the doctor and found the scale there was in sync with WW. Of course the answer is for me to go to WW or the doctor at 6:45 am and 9:30 pm, drop trou and hop on the scale at one of the two locations on a daily basis. Somehow I think I’ll have an issue convincing either that this is a good idea.

Or I could just get a new scale.

Anyhow, getting back to fitness….I managed to get my workout done for today, and didn’t experience a repeat of last night’s “high”. I got in a 1 hour, 3.75 mile walk while multitasking on conference calls and replying to emails, and also managed a 3.3 mile, 33 minute run with a break here or there (one for repositioning, one because I wanted a break at the 25 minute point, and the last because I had to reply to an IM from a colleague, and while I can walk and type, I can’t run and type). I’m again in love with exercise because I am done for this day, and thinking of what I am going to do (or do to get out of it) tomorrow.

A Tail of Two Dogs

2011-02-27T17:10:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I lied about not having a new post tonight.

As some of you know, I have two dogs. A 9 year old male Lab, Bogey, and a 4 year old (I think) female Beagle, Candy (she was a stripper in her past life. Or an Interventionist. I’m not quite sure, but I didn’t have the heart to rename her Bridget, as I had originally intended). I love them both, and they couldn’t be more different.

Obedience
My lab, while in many ways is the canine Beth (i.e. the consummate people pleaser), in one way he is a stubborn mother. He doesn’t come when called unless there is some other enticement. When I put him outside, I have to hawk him. On more than one occasion, he has taken off for greener pastures (literally, my next door neighbor doesn’t have a dog, so his lawn is oh so green, unlike mine with yellow pee patches dotted throughout). When I call him, bellowing “BOGEY!” he typically doesn’t respond, or looks around like “Bogey? Who?” Not until I make it clear that some food product is in my hand does he even begin to act like he knows who I am.

That said, inside, it’s another story. My beagle won’t give me the time of day. Seriously, I’ve asked. She can’t tell time. The only person she will come to when called is my father, and that’s usually because he has Cheetos. When I do call her, Mr. Hearing Impaired Bogey himself comes trotting over. I think it’s because he gets sick of hearing me say “Candy…come here girl. Candy. Candy!” over and over again.

Food
Oh they both love their kibble (grain free Sweet Potato and Fish. What kind of fish? Damned if I know). Bogey had a slightly more discerning nose, despite the fact that I have seen him lick his feet, then where his balls used to be, then his feet again then try to give me a kiss. Candy literally will eat cat poo (sorry!).

I thought this was a sensory thing until one night last week when I spilled a container of brown rice. Bogey was in the room and saw it, went over and licked up a bit of it, then turned away, clearly disinterested. Candy on the other hand lapped every last kernel up, like fat girl on a diet only allowed 1 ounce (wait, that would be me). Bogey looked from Candy to me as if to say “What? She was a stray. What’s your excuse for eating that crap?”

Tonight while preparing my lunch they both sat in front of me, breathless with anticipation. I tossed a few pieces of Romaine lettuce to them. Bogey ate part of a leaf, again turning away. Candy ate every morsel on the floor. Then I tossed a piece of broccoli on the floor. Candy snatched the lone piece, ran under the dining room table and trotted back moments later with a floret on her nose. Bogey gave me the same disgusted look I never thought possible from a lab. I can’t say I wasn’t warned when it came to beagles.

Walking
Bogey loves to walk. He pulls me along as if there was a pot of gold at the end of our path, only pausing to pee every few minutes. For example, I took him on a short walk last week to see my dad at the office, less than a half a mile away from the house. By the time we got there my arm hurt from pulling him back, and I counted no less than four pauses to pee. Can dogs have an enlarged prostate?

As for Candy, she’s not so big on the walking, kind of like me when I’m not feeling the exercise thing. I’ll put the leash on her and oh yeah, she’ll go outside, but unless she sees a big juicy steak, she will plant herself in one spot and look at me with distain.

Night Time
I’ll admit, my motivation for getting another, smaller, dog was for nighttime. No, nothing strange, but while fostering my friend’s dog, a dachshund, I got used to the furry little foot warmer. Bogey will happily share my bed…well, sharing isn’t really the word. He takes up ¾ of my queen sized mattress, so he more like let’s me cling to the edge of it, so he has been relegated to the floor. Candy took quite a bit of coaxing to even sleep in my bedroom, forget sleeping in the bed. When I pick her up and put her next to me, she does what I call the “1950’s Housewife” routine. She will lay, stock still, paws in the air, looking at me as if to say “are we done cuddling now?”. As soon as I turn away she hops off of the bed and into her doggie bed on the floor.

I could go on, as any dog owner could, but I think I’ve demonstrated my two very different pups. And you know what? I wouldn’t trade either one of them in, with all of their personality tics, for the world.

Feeling Conflicted

2011-02-17T17:43:00.000-08:00

Michael Vick, scumbag of the universe, cancelled on Oprah this week.

Supposedly, he cancelled because owners of the dogs he tortured (abused isn’t a strong enough word for what he did) wanted equal time. His reps said it was due to personal reasons.

Whatever.

Frankly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. On one hand, I feel icky about this POS getting time on a show like Oprah. I honestly thought she was classier than that. After all, this is a woman who changed the tenor of her show after skinheads had a brawl on her show. These skinheads, whose opinions are abhorrent to me, never caused the death of living, breathing beings to my knowledge. Perhaps they wished harm on those they hated, but, again and this is only to my knowledge, never electrocuted, drowned or forced defenseless beings to fight to the death. To think that she would give this POS air time, and for him would believe it would be a love fest, is shocking to me.

Yes, I did say that I thought it was refreshing when he admitted a few months ago that he wouldn’t have given up his dog fighting ring if he hadn’t been caught. I got some abuse for this, and perhaps now is the time for me to clarify. I don’t admire him (I really don’t want to type his name again). I was merely commenting on the fact that he didn’t trot out some B.S. line about always feeling conflicted, or blame another person, or the people around him for what he did. I was merely commenting on the fact that he admitted that what he did was wrong, and it took an intervention to get him to stop. Perhaps this is the line of a good P.R. person, but I stand by my original opinion.

Another point, and my father and I have had some words over this, POS has lamented the fact that the terms of his parole prevent him from owning another dog, and his daughter desperately wants one. My father feels that POS should be allowed the privilege (and as the owner of two dogs, trust me, it is a privilege despite the occasional trials and tribulations) of having a dog, as that pet would be the most looked after and pampered of canines.

I think his daughter should take this as a sign that she should petition for emancipation, no matter what her age is, if she wants a dog that badly.

Getting back to my original point, being conflicted about POS cancelling on Oprah, there is a part of me that is disappointed about him cancelling. I’d like to see him come face to face with at least one of his victims. It goes unsaid that I’d like to see said victim gnaw off his hand, but also for that victim’s person tell POS how his actions have affected them. I’d like for him to be confronted with the reality, the reality that he victimized a creature that didn’t have a voice, one that needed and will continue to need constant care and attention. One that may never fully heal from the torture endured.

For many fans of the Philadelphia Eagles, the ultimate redemption story would be for POS to bring home the Lombardi trophy, and Philly does love a good redemption story. I’d just like to see POS traded for someone who deserves to wear the jersey, and deserves to be the person of a loving dog, who will always feel safe, and will never have to experience what the victims of Bad Newz Kennels went through in their last days and hours. For that person, I’d ditch work for the parade down Broad Street.

And bring my rescue dogs without fear or need to explain.

General Musings

2011-02-10T16:56:00.000-08:00

I don't have a specific topic I want to ramble about...haven't had a specific one (at least one that has come to me when I have my computer in front of me and it's not 2:00 am) for a while, so hence the lack of an update.

So, I'm going to go with it, and provide a general update in the life of moi. I'm actually going to treat this like a meeting minutes, so please forgive the "official" type headings. At least I'm not breaking out the bullet points.

Weight Loss
Still going strong on this point, and trying to avoid being my own worst enemy. To wit: have had a blockbuster past few weeks at WW, so much so that I'm not sure what the deal is. That said, last night my trainer sprung measurements on me. Side note here: my trainer is somewhere around 70 and has a crappy memory. I have to regularly remind him that I'm on WW, I run and that I'm training for a half marathon. Each time I tell him this, he reacts like it's news. Now I know that I'm not his only client, but he works part time, and the last time he measured me, he told me that was a record for him, so I'd like to think that something I say would stick with him. But I digress...

I had scheduled measurements (which BTW, I have to pay for, don't get me started) for 2/21, a day I have scheduled to take off from work. My plan was to go to the gym from a doctor's appointment I have scheduled that morning and face my date with the tape measure. Last night, after doing a 20 minute warm up on the stair master, I went over to the trainer's desk. He told me his 6:00 had cancelled, and he wanted to do measurements then and there. I sputtered.

My natural tendency is to dehydrate before I get on any type of scale, and I certainly wouldn't have done the StairMaster since I can practically feel my thighs plumping up from the exertion. He insisted. My results, while good probably by anybody else's standards, left me feeling deflated. For one thing, the scale at the gym had me weighing 3 lbs above my WW weight the week before, and somehow, despite losing everywhere else, my neck (huh?) grew by 1/4 inch. I wound up losing 17.5 inches and 21 lbs since November, and that includes Thanksgiving and the Christmas/New Years holidays, but I was disappointed. Crazy, right? Clearly I still have a long way to go with body acceptance and realistic expectations.

Food
I still look to food as my comfort. I'd like to say that when I'm upset my first instinct is to go for a run, or beat up a punching bag, but no, I want food. Last Saturday was a pretty upsetting day for me, for reasons I won't go into here. I spent the better part of the day crying if I'm honest. By the time I went to bed, I looked like I had collagen injected all over and a bad case of pink eye. My main instinct, after bursting into tears, was to eat. I took myself to lunch, ate a slice of pizza and at least half of a large order of fries (I'm being generous). I went to D&D and got a breakfast sandwich as the second part of my coping mechanism. It was low fat, supposedly low cal (I guess compared to my beloved bacon, egg & cheese) and tasted like crap. I actually tossed it after two bites. Fortunately, I caught myself and stopped. I cried some more, made some tea, and went to bed. I still wanted to stuff the feelings away, but I went with them, despite how miserable I felt.

Running
Still going strong here. I'm resolved to get up early in the morning, when I can, and get my daily runs over with before the day starts. This is good for me on two parts...one, I'm done for the day, and can do what I need to do after work rather than on the weekend, and two, I can wear my three to four inch high heels without worrying about my feet or calves aching while I'm trying to exercise. Ahh...vanity.

I'm making progress on the distance. I managed 5 miles last Friday and this past Sunday, and am hoping to do 5.5 tomorrow and/or this weekend. It sucks while I'm doing it, and I'm thankful for my DVR, but I feel a real sense of accomplishment once I'm done. I'm optimistic that I can get to 9 miles by the spring and do a 10k (roughly 6 miles) as a training exercise.

My New Body
My brain is still catching up to my body. A few weeks ago, I was at the supermarket, and being the good eavesdropper that I am overheard two people in line mention the gym I go to as a "meat/meet market". I chimed in that I go there, and one of the women said "you don't need to worry about the gym, you're skinny". I turned around to see if there was somebody standing behind me. I looked her dead in the eye I told her "Ma'am, this time last year, I weighed 230 lbs". She and the cashier, who went to my high school, both went slack jawed. The cashier went over to tell her colleague who came over to say she hadn't recognized me (she had waited on me many times before and was a customer of mine when I worked retail). My head was spinning.

The next day, at the request of some friends, I posted a few current pictures. I hadn't even combed my hair, had no makeup on, and was wearing my "booty shorts" (tight running shorts) and a throw away t-shirt that I wear when I run at home. The response was overwhelming. One person messaged me for tips. A few people told me I inspire them to exercise. It's a little much if I'm honest. I feel like Charles Barkley when I say this, but I'm no role model. Of course I'm flattered, but I don't feel like I'm doing anything exceptional. But hey, if somebody wants to start exercising or eating healthy because of me, who am I to discourage them and not cheer them along?

Life
Things in general are good here. As I alluded to, I experienced a bit of a loss recently, which I'm not ready to delve into, but I'm coping with it and moving on. Thankfully, I still have a job, and my family is healthy. Finances could better, but who can't say that?

So, that's it...the last two weeks in nutshell. Hopefully something more profound will come to me, and not just when I'm trying to go back to sleep after my pup has woken me up in the middle of the night! Until then...

Almost There!

2011-01-26T16:36:00.000-08:00

I'm almost there! Almost six months and 65+ pounds (and God knows how much blood, sweat and tears), as of last Friday I was 20.8 pounds away from my WW goal weight.

That's not to say the work is done, not by a long shot. In a literal sense, my Weight Watchers goal weight is slightly higher than I'd like, but seeing as I can allocate the $10 a week I'm currently paying them to other avenues, I'm taking the highest goal weight I can at this point. Realistically, at 5' 3" (ok, 5' 2 1/2") 141 is a tad heavy, but I have a good feeling that it's sustainable (more on that later). For a sense of record setting-ness, I'd like to get down to just under 129 so I can say I've lost 100 pounds.

Numbers aside, I know that the real work is really just beginning.

I'm good at losing weight, REALLY good at gaining weight, but crap at maintaining it.

The last time I got down to "skinny for me", I freaked out. I couldn't shake the mentality of constantly losing, and I certainly couldn't get my head around maintaining, occasionally splurging, and gaining a rogue pound or two.

I make no secret of the fact that I abused my body. I ran 3.2 miles a day, and Curves 3 times a week, rain or shine, sick or healthy. I had surgery to repair a hernia and stubbornly stuck to Plan and three days post surgery humped a very heavy recumbent bike into the exercise area of the house so I could knock a few miles out.

When the doctor cleared me to run again, I did so immediately. I made excuses to avoid social situations, ran daily, and when I did splurge, I panicked. Let me clarify, my definition of a splurge then was an extra 100 calorie pack, or some extra fat free chips.

I treated it like a full-blown binge. I rammed my fingers down my throat, took some laxatives. Those mini-binges grew into bull blown binges. They included whatever I could find in the freezer - pizza rolls, ice cream, casserole. One shameful night, went from store to store looking for syrup of ipecac because I couldn't make myself barf, and I was terrified of seeing a gain on the scale. I realized I was out of control when I was "caught". I had gone out around 10:00 pm searching for the substance and in that time, my mother came downstairs for one reason or another. I wasn't in bed, wasn't in the kitchen and my car was gone. I came home and found mom sitting in the kitchen asking me where I was. I came up with some excuse, but I knew I was on borrowed time.

It went on for a few more days when I finally cracked. I called my sister...sitting on the floor of the kitchen after another binge, sobbing. I went to the doctor the next day who scolded me like the child I was acting like, and told me that if I didn't tell my family she would. My sister actually did the deed. I went into therapy where I remained for two years.

I've never actually talked about it with my parents, and it hasn't come up with my sister since, except in vague terms. Now that my goal weight in pending, I'm concerned.

I've made some progress. I have had days, hell, weeks, off program and I've trained myself not to get on the scale. I know it will go up, and I know how I will react. But soon I'll need to learn how to not be on lose mode. I'll need to accept that some days the scale will be up, others it will be down. I'll need to develop a healthy relationship with the treadmill.

How do you do it? Maintain a healthy weight, work out in moderation and stay sane? That's where the hard work begins for me. Screw losing. Maintaining is the real (and boring work). Give me the Biggest Maintainer NBC. There's your next big hit.

That is when I'll really need your support.

Before Deadline, Under Budget

2011-01-16T15:11:00.000-08:00

I broke the 4 mile barrier today. Yes, it was on a treadmill, and the incline was set to zero, but I'm going to take it.

I said in a prior blog my goal was to get to four miles by February. This week I really tried to work on it despite a cold. Yesterday I was able to do 3.85 (pre breakfast) and today I ran 4.05 miles. What I'm even happier about was I didn't plan to run today.

I went to a dinner party last night where I blew my Points allowance for the day away (lasagna, bread, brie, and wine, glorious wine). I had planned for it, working out just under two hours on Friday, and running for 40 minutes earlier in the day. Mentally, I had planned a gentler workout, walking (on the treadmill...it's 32 degrees here in PA - outdoors is not an option for this asthmatic wuss). I put a DVR'd episode of Desperate Housewives on, and decided to run for 15 minutes to kick start my workout.

After I got to 15 minutes, I decided to go for 5 more, then another 5 and so on. The show was almost over, and I was at the same distance as yesterday, 3.84. What the hell, I thought, let's go for 4, then I ran until the full minute had passed.

When I was done I had run for 42 minutes and had clocked a little over 4 miles. A half marathon, which I plan to run in November, is 13.1, so I obviously have a ways to go, and I need to translate that into self propelled (i.e. outdoor) running, but all of that said, I wasn't able to go further than a little over 3 miles and for longer than 35 minutes over 3 years ago, weighing 30 pounds less. So all in all, I'm pretty happy with today. Now I need to keep increasing, both the length and duration of my runs, and add in some inclines.

I'm not there yet, but I'm on my way.

Faith

2011-01-08T16:47:00.000-08:00

I don’t talk about religion much, at all actually. Some of that has to do with my education (K though 12 at a Catholic school). We had religion/theology daily, so what was there to talk about? There is also the matter of “turn about is fair play” in my mind. If I talk to you about my faith, than you have a fair shot to talk to me about yours. There is too much of a chance of evangelization, which frankly makes me uncomfortable. Also, believe it or not, there are some things that I feel are private. Religion is one (sex is the other, in case you’re wondering).

That said, I was re-reading my “100 Things About Me” post (http://bethina74.blogspot.com/p/moi.html), and noticed a few things that need updating, not that I’ve actually updated them, but at least I’ve noticed it. One of those things was number 18 - I try to pray every night even though I don’t consider myself to be especially religious. That has changed since I originally wrote it. Somewhere along the line, I stopped praying. Life seemed to be sucking, despite how much I prayed for it not to. I asked God nightly to give me strength to change – my weight, my life, my personal finances, even my love life. I also asked God to keep my family healthy and safe.

Then I got rejected by someone (He Who Shall Not Be Named, formerly known as BATS) who I thought liked me.

My finances got worse, not better.

My grandmother got Alzheimer’s, and it didn’t get better, in fact, it seemed to get worse.

My grandfather died.

Somewhere along the line, I began to believe that God stopped listening, so I stopped talking to him.

I’m beginning to question this line of thinking now.

I’m not ready to go into the details (and full and fair disclosure, not sure if I ever, in this forum, ever will), but last Friday/Saturday I think I hit rock bottom, for me. For the first time in a long time, I prayed last Saturday night. Things didn’t change, but when I woke up on Sunday, life seemed a bit better.

I started thinking about this last night, when I ordered a t-shirt with the following slogan: Love Jesus? Hate Bigotry?, thinking it was (a) pretty awesome and (b) a nice advertisement for a blog that I think has a great message. After I hit the “Buy Now” button, I got to thinking, this shirt could initiate some conversations at the gym (where I intend to wear it), which I’m not sure I’m 100% comfortable with. But I still want to wear the shirt. I do love Jesus (I don’t think I have ever expressed that since, like, 2nd grade), but I’m not ready to discuss Jesus. Because that means you get to talk to me (and therefore evangelize) about your religion. I’m not an advertisement for Catholicism, my particular “flavor” of Christianity. I have a number of problems with the practices and politics of the Catholic Church, which I won’t go into here. I’ve explored other denominations, but Catholicism feels comfortable to me, like my favorite sweat pants (which I want to be buried in, FYI).

So where is this going? Nowhere particularly meaningful most likely for those of you who have read the past 500+ words. It’s just something I needed to “put pen to paper to”.

Do I pray nightly now? No. Do I think God listens? Perhaps. I’m still trying to keep the faith. It’s a process.

FYI, if you are intrigued by the shirt I mentioned, the blog it’s connected to is here: http://johnshore.com

What Have I Just Done?

2011-01-05T12:15:00.000-08:00

Back in the dark ages when I was in grammar school, we had PE (or "Gym" as it we called it them) somewhere around once a week. I seem to recall it going in fits and starts, and we had a rotating cast of teachers, much like the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. No single teacher seemed to last more than a year, or at least that's how I remember it.

We had one instructor who had each grade perform a choreographed routine in front of the whole school. Another who had us play basketball during our appointed time, and yet another who had us do some stupid chicken dance like routine set to a song called "Chicken Fat" (which has forever been imprinted on my brain, and the reason why I only buy skinless chicken).

I, like many, despised Gym, coming up with excuses that would make Tommy Flanagan (SNL) proud. I'd "forget" my gym clothes, have my period (once I was of age of course, and fortunately they never cottoned on to the fact that I either had the world's longest menstrual period, or got it every 7 days), schedule an orthodontist appointment (parental cooperation was needed), be called for Jury Duty, get caught in a natural disaster. You get the point.

One task that I specifically recall was the 12 minute mile (bear with me, it may have been 10, but for some reason 12 is the number sticking with me). I hated this one. On the one hand, we had to run, unsupervised, around the block that our school/church was situated on (ahhh, the 80s) and as long as you took off at a fairly decent trot in front of the Gym teacher, you could slack off and practically crawl the rest of the way. However, at some point down the line, a stop watch came into play. It was decreed that all of us had to be able to run a mile in the determined time, 12 minutes.

This was torture on so many levels.

First of all, I hated running. I'm still not entirely fond of it, but I do it fairly regularly now and voluntarily run specific distances (more on that later). But then? Ugh. Admittedly, I have asthma which was undiagnosed at this point. Plus, until I was 17, I was fairly well developed, and didn't discover sports bras until I was in my teens. I also was a sprinter. I'd take off and run hell bent for leather until I either puked or got a stitch in my side.

I know there were kids in my class that were more out of shape than I was, and I was barely able to make it in the perscribed time. I'm not sure what the penalty was if you couldn't finish the mile under the time limit. To my knowledge, nobody dropped dead, so they lucked out there.

What's my point in this? The point is that I've just committed to my friends, Weight Watchers and Facebook that I, Beth Adams, am going to run a Half Marathon in November. Of this year.

Stop laughing.

I've been running off at the mouth (pardon the pun) for about two months about wanting to do a half. I'm not sure why I have this fixated in my head. As you may recall, one of my New Years Resolutions was to run a longer race than my normal 5k. A 10k would make more sense. But no, idiot girl goes ahead and says I'm going to run 13.1 miles in roughly 11 months. I'm not all that fond of driving 13 consecutive miles, so I'm pretty sure running it is going to be an effort.

On one hand, I have 11 months to train. On the other, I have 11 months to procrastinate. I'm fairly certain I'm going to wake up on one cold, fall morning and realize that the race is weeks, if not days, away.

So, I need a plan and since I rarely actually do something unless I've put it on paper or out in cyberspace, I'm sharing it with you.

My goal is to increase the distance I run, which I try to do 3 times a week (or more). I'm currently clocking 3 and change (small change), so my goal is to increase that to 4 by February. Then there are training plans I can follow once I get my distance up.

Stay tuned (and seriously, stop laughing).

Happy New Year/Resolutions!

2010-12-31T14:23:00.000-08:00

This is a bit of a departure...I typically type my year end blog, drunk as a lord (never really understood that phrase) while watching the Food Network. But, I have a better offer this year, so I'm sipping a glass of red, reasonably sober, watching a DVR'd episode of Law & Order: UK (which BTW, good show - highly recommend it).

So, Happy New Year all! 2010 is almost behind us (fortunately). Not the worst year, but certainly not the best. There are some things I could have done without. But, going to focus on the positive and wish you all a happy, healthy and prosperous 2011.

On to my resolutions.

In 2011, I will be, at the very least, this weight or skinner by this time next year. I'm going to be realistic. While I'd like to be a size 6, I don't want to go crazy. I want to reach my goal weight to be "Lifetime In Good Standing" at Weight Watchers, which means that I need to lose another 30 pounds or so, but if I stay this weight, I think I can deal.

I'm going to try to not let certain people get under my skin in 2011. I really wish Facebook had a "penalty box" where you could allocate people who are annoying you for the moment (and let them know, gently), but given that doesn't exist, and I think I've set a record for unfriending people, I'm just going to use the "Hide From Feed" option more often, and reserve unfriending for really onerous people.

I'd like to move on from miserably marinating in my single status. I hide behind it, use it as an excuse to be miserable. I'm single, that's the way it is, and may be the way it will be. I'm going to try (read: try) to embrace the freedom that entails. And wear warm socks to keep my feet warm at night.

I need to love or leave my job. I like it, there are things that I'd change, but I need to decide if this is going to be my career, or if there is something else I'm meant for. Not sure if that means committing to going back to school, or becoming, oh, I don't know, a Butterfly Keeper, but I'm 36. Pretty sure that means I'm a Grown Up, and Grown Ups have careers.

Run a 10k. I've done 2 5ks in 2010, and finished them vertically. I need another challenge. I think a 10k, or perhaps a half marathon is the next adventure.

So that's it. My 2010 closing message and 2011 resolutions. Wishing you a safe, happy and healthy New Year, wherever you are!

Ramblings...and a Letter to Santa

2010-12-24T18:06:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure about the "I'm Sorry" ban to be honest. I think apologizing is so ingrained into my speech I've stopped noticing it. That said, when I'm aware, I've tried to refrain.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to say that I was wrong, not that I'm sorry, but that I was wrong. This kind of admission is rare, so take this moment for what it's worth. I've been on the new Weight Watchers plan for two weeks and I've lost 7.4pounds, bringing my total weight loss to 59.4 pounds, and my BMI to 29.97. For those of you who don't monitor BMI stats, this number means that I've gone from being Obese (such an ugly word) to merely being Overweight.

If you may recall, I kicked, screamed and tried to rebel against the new program that Weight Watchers has implemented. I'm still not thrilled with it, having to cut back, drastically, on carbs, but 7.4 lbs in two weeks isn't to be sneezed at. I also took a leap today about bought size 12P jeans. When I started back in June, I was squeezing myself into 22WP, so I'm pretty happy.

So, I admit it Weight Watchers, the new program does work. I'll give you your due. But I'm not sorry for doubting.

So, onto my next point. It may be a bit late, but here is my letter to Santa...

Dear Santa,

Hi, it's Beth again. I know, I was too old last year, and I'm definitely too old this year, but I wanted to give you a heads up. I know it may be too late for this year, since according to NORAD you're somewhere over Argentina as I write this at 9:15 on Christmas Eve. But, since you're magic, maybe you can pull something off.

As before, you should know I've been a very good girl. I even attempted to curtail my cursing. I've lost weight, and I haven't killed anyone in the midst of it, so that should put me on your "Nice" list.

Due to circumstances which I am sure were beyond your control, you weren't able to come through with some of the stuff I asked for last year, see , so I'd like to incorporate that by reference, particularly the salary and boyfriend points.

I'd like to ask you for a few more things...jobs for people who need them, and for homes and food for people who don't have them. I'd also like for you to bring the troops home from places of hostility, like Iraq and Afghanistan. Also, please keep our firefighters and police officers safe. Please find homes for the dogs and cats who are waiting to find their forever homes, and help the rescues find funds to keep their services running.

Oh, and being totally selfish, I would still like to have Gisele Bundchen's body, but I'd be happy with my own, a bit toner and muscular. Some willpower would be nice. Bogey, Candy and Ted would always like toys (and more treats), and gift certificates for mom and dad are always good.

Safe flying tonight Santa. If you get patted down by a cute, single, TSA agent, send him my way. There's some Scotch, Pinot and cookies by the fire place for you.

Love,

Beth

No Regrets

2010-12-21T18:32:00.000-08:00

I've found myself saying "I'm sorry" way too much recently, particularly for things that I probably shouldn't be sorry for.

For example, "Sorry, I can't go out tonight, I'm tired" "Sorry, I can't go out to eat, I'm watching my weight" "Sorry, I'm not able to watch your child, I have other plans"

Why am I sorry for putting myself first? It's not like I'm refusing to help a dying person or I've run over a kitten.

I've worked really hard over the past few months to work on myself. Eating right, working out, but apparently that has taken the place of taking care of myself in other ways. I've shed pounds of physical weight (55 pounds to be exact) but I think I've added a corresponding amount in guilt.

To be fair, I am Irish and Italian. And Catholic. All known for their guilt issues.

Well, I'm going to try to put a stop to it. In April I attempted the "Great Swear Experiment", where I tried to give up cursing. Did it work? 'F no, but I tried. I at least was more aware of my foul mouth. So now, I'm going to try to give up saying "I'm sorry" when I really shouldn't be.

No apologies for going to the gym.

No apologies for eating right.

No apologies for putting myself first.

I'll say I'm sorry if I've stepped on your foot, done something to offend you, cursed in front of your four year old or stepped on your dog's tail. But if I don't want to do something, then so be it. If I need to do something for me, deal with it.

P.S. For the record, trying fighting the urge to say "sorry if I offend you" so I'll replace that with "Deal with it. Holla atcha girl."

P.P.S. Merry Christmas & Happy New Year. Also, Happy Kwanzaa and Happy Belated Hanukkah!

Change Is Good.....Right?

2010-12-09T16:01:00.000-08:00

I've been having a temper tantrum for the past two weeks.

Yes, you read that right. This 36 year old woman has been having a good old fashioned temper tantrum.

Why, you might ask? Weight Watchers changed its plan. And not just a few tweaks, but a major overhaul.

I've heard buzzing for a few weeks, but nothing concrete. "You'll love it" said my leader. So last Monday, after having had a long food centric weekend (give me a break, I was on program on Thanksgiving. No pumpkin pie for me. I had weigh in on Black Friday, and lost over 2 pounds), I booted up my computer, logged onto eTools on WeightWatchers.com, and was thrust into the new program despite my meeting not being for another four days.

The FAQ informed me that as November 29, WW.com wasn't supporting the old plan. I was thrown for a loop. eTools was my lifeline. I literally was on the website tracking food, exercise, etc all day. When I came home from work, I booted up the website so I could track my dinner, down to the gram and didn't log off until I had eaten my last Point.

The changes? Pretty overwhelming. My 3 point lunch was now 6. My beloved wine just about doubled in Points. I logged in my breakfast, lunch and dinner (no snacks) and was 3 Points over for the day, where on the old plan I was 3 or 4 points under with midday snacks factored in.

"But fruit is 0 points!" "My daily points allowance almost doubled!" "Just exercise more!" The message boards were of no comfort.

I wasn't happy. I don't particularly like fruit. My points allowance only went up by 5 Points. And as for exercise more? Bitch, please. I already do high intensity exercise 6 days a week. Am I supposed to run in my sleep?

My grown up, mature response was to go off program. I've exercised once since the day before Thanksgiving. I've been having full-fat Caesar dressing, with croutons, on my salad for lunch. I had a bagel with regular cream cheese for breakfast on Monday. Tonight I had a chicken steak sandwich (with mushrooms, no cheese) with a side of fries.

What? My meeting is tomorrow. I'll behave then.

I've been ranting on message boards. I've emailed WW twice. I even posted a snarky remark on the CEO's blog, begging them to support the old WW plan. All to no avail.

So, I'm going to suck it up. Back to my meeting tomorrow, up a couple of pounds most likely. I'm giving the new plan a shot, decreasing my wine intake (sob!) and increasing my fruit and veg. I'm not saying I'm happy about it, but a change may do me some good.

Side note: in the past two days at work, I've had three different people approach me to comment on my weight loss. Funny how that happens when I'm off plan. That encouragement has helped, I admit it. A part of me wanted to throw in the towel and use this change as an excuse. I realize I've come too far to go back now.

The Doctor Is In

2010-12-06T17:40:00.001-08:00

I have a lot of flaws. I admit it. I once paid somebody upwards of $30 a week to help me understand them, and in some cases, point them out to me.

It's not that I'm ignorant of these flaws. I'm overly sensitive, have a short temper, like to overeat, and when I overeat, it's typically unhealthy foods. I don't like to exercise, tend to shove my head up my ass (despite my lack of flexibility), get attracted to the wrong guys, have a negative outlook, and when I get drunk, oh boy, better get a hazmat crew.

Lack of self awareness, that is something I don't lack.

Some people tell me I'm too hard on myself. There are times I agree. There's a great song that comes to mind at times like this, with the following lyric:

"It's no surprise to me,
I am my own worst enemy.
'Cause every now and then
I kick the livin' shit out of me"

That said, it may come as a surprise to you that I really, REALLY, resent it when other people try to fill the roll of de facto devil on my shoulder.

There are some people in my life who feel the need to knock me down a few pegs from time to time. I'm not sure they are aware of where I am from a mental status when they decide to do it. To be honest, when these people decide to come out of the woodwork, I'm typically at a low ebb. Perhaps they are at a low ebb as well, and decide to take a hit at the low hanging fruit, so to speak. I'm not exactly closed off to input. I'm always open to hearing other people's POV, but as I've gotten older, I've gotten more sensitive to the context.

For example, one area that is an oldie but a goodie is my living situation. I make no secret of the fact that I still live with my parents. It's an arrangement that actually works for me. I have two dogs, and given the fact that I have had days that include 14 conference calls with 30 minute lunch breaks, it makes having two other adults in the house a positive. I can also go away on vacation without paying a large fee to a kennel to keep them fed and watered. Despite that, there are people who feel I am living in a state of arrested development, and like to criticize that fact. To them I flash my Coach bag, Michael Kors watch and my gym membership. I wouldn't have any of them if I was living on my own in an apartment, let alone the companionship of my parents and two loving animals.

Then there are those who feel that my occasional gripes about work are inappropriate. Make no mistake, I love what I do, and I am lucky enough to have a mentor in my boss, a woman who I have worked for at two different companies. She pushed me out of my admin assistant role, one that benefited her, into a role that made me realize my potential. That said, there are frustrations, ones that would manifest themselves if I was a nun in a Carmelite monastery, or a hedge fund broker on Wall Street. I know I'm lucky to have a job, but let me have my occasional gripes. They keep me sane.

Ah, then there is that old chestnut, the size of my ass. I had one person who told me that the magic bullet, in response to my fears about a high school reunion, was to eat less, drink more water, and exercise more. I wanted to throttle her. Needless to say, she isn't someone I go to for advice. When I'm working the program (WW for those of you who don't know), I appreciate the support. However, when I'm feeling low (i.e. fat, flabby and otherwise insecure), I'd rather not hear about what I'm doing wrong. I know cheese fries aren't a health food, I don't need someone to tell me otherwise.

If I sound bratty, churlish, or ungrateful, I apologize. I love my friends, all of them. There are some who are closer than others, and those are the ones I have on my mental "Council of Buds". The ones I go to for an opinion, even if I know it might not be one I want to hear. They are the ones who will say "yes" if I ask "Do these jeans make my ass look fat?"

Of course, those friends are the ones I probably wouldn't ask that question of on a low ebb day.

But I digress. I'm not what I consider a closed minded person, but I think that sometimes my general nature leads people to believe that I am weak minded, or one who desperately needs their advice. I won't tell someone off, or say that my feelings are hurt, but know that sometimes words do hurt. So, in the words of George Carlin, be careful with them.

If I ask for your advice, by all means, I want it, unvarnished. If I don't ask for your opinion, feel free to keep your trap shut.

Thanks

Reflections

2010-11-08T17:27:00.000-08:00

For those of you living under a rock (or who have smartly blocked my updates from your Facebook feed) I will be celebrating a birthday on Wednesday. Wait...celebrating may be the wrong word, especially since I will be entering my late 30s, as my boss kindly pointed out. Of course, given the alternative, that alternative being dead, I guess marking another birthday isn't a bad thing, so bottoms up!

As I've gotten older, my birthday has triggered periods of introspection. Who am I? Where am I in my life? Who do I want to be? I guess that's normal, especially as one gets older, but it's kind of new for me. Growing up, my birthday was just a day for celebration. Where's my present, pass the cake, and once I turned 21, is the bar open yet? Those were the questions of the day. Not this deep introspective shit.

But for better or worse, this is where I'm at. Consider this my personal State of the Union address.

Friends, Family, the state of my union (to continue this metaphor) is good. Not great, but good. 35 was an interesting year.

Thankfully, I'm still employed, some of my friends can't say that. And I like what I do, and most of the people I do it with, so that's a plus.

I branched out of my comfort zone this year. I rejoined a co-ed gym, started working out again after struggling with ED. I ventured back into running, started taking spinning classes, working with a trainer. I've tried to embrace balance - taking a day (or four) off, or even a week, and then getting back onto the program. I'm still a work in progress, but I'm embracing the concept of forgive yourself and move on.

I tried on-line dating (also again). I went on a few dates, and ultimately decided that the dating world isn't ready for me yet. But the take away is that I put myself out there, even though I was terrified of rejection. I'm still single, but after seeing what is out there, for the moment, that's OK. Mr. Right is out there, but we're not ready for each other yet.

I experienced loss this year losing my grandfather. I miss him, and I'm sad thinking about how it affected my family, but I hope I can live as full of a life as he did.

I'm still in touch with the friends I was blessed to reconnect with a few years ago. Without their support, this year would have been even more difficult.

Are there things I would have changed in my 35th year? Yes, if I'm honest, but I wouldn't trade what I have learned for anything.

Where do I want to be this time next year? Healthier (read: thinner, who the hell am I kidding with this healthier crap?), with a better self image. Still employed, hopefully making more money (Dear President Obama - work on the economy now, thanks). Closer to my family and friends, perhaps with a Mr. Beth by my side. But overall, another year like this one, eh...I could deal with it.

In closing, Happy Birthday to me. Here's to another 35 (hopefully more)!

Open Letter

2010-11-07T17:25:00.001-08:00

Please excuse me this indulgence friends, but I have something I need to get off my chest and I'm not sure I'd have the guts to do this face to face.

Dear K,

Please pardon the lack of the honorific "Aunt", but given the events of the last few months, I'm not sure I can think of you that way anymore.

Before Grandpop died, you crossed the line, I admit that. It was out of respect for my grandfather that I didn't call you out on it. You talked to my mother like she was crap and she took it, and believe me, that had little to do with the advice my sister and I gave.

You wanted to let my grandfather die like he was a dog on the side of the road. I thank God that my sister and my mother called that morning, and my sister put her livelihood on the line that day. She put her career at risk to ensure that our grandfather didn't suffocate in pain. You wanted to let him suffer. I'm not sure I can ever forgive you for that.

Your tantrum the day after grandpop died was unacceptable, and your accusations towward my mother were uncalled for.

You are the one who cannot be trusted, not my mother.

I've stayed away until recently. Not because I don't love my grandmother, but because I respect her, and I respect my mother. I allowed myself to think better of you, in spite of your actions in the days after my grandfather's death. I allowed myself to think that you had turned a corner.

Tonight that all changed. The old "K" came back, talking to my mother like she was a piece of shit. I won't forgive that. I won't forgive you.

I'm done. Saturday just may have been the last time you'll ever see me. I hope you can live with that. I hope you can live with yourself.

Fuck you.

Rehab - Update

2010-10-27T18:05:00.001-07:00

Just realized...I claimed no bacon had entered the picture. Duh! What is the best part of a club? THE BACON! GAH!

Rehab

2010-10-27T17:48:00.000-07:00

It's been a bad week, well WW and workout wise. I haven't tracked my food since last Friday, haven't been to the gym since last Thursday. My water consumption has been sketchy and my energy levels are low.

Let's turn back the clock, shall we?

I decided last Friday I needed a mini-break, both from WW and the gym, in light of my milestone 40+ pound weight loss. Fabulous...no problem, right? Take two days off, back on track. Yeah, not so much. Two days off became three, three became four and here we are, Wednesday, six days out.

I'm not where I was six months ago. I've had french fries, my culinary nirvana, twice in those six days, where six months ago it was twice a day. I haven't been all bad. No bacon has entered the picture.

As an example, today I had oatmeal (not measured) from the cafeteria with cinnamon and some brown sugar. Lunch was a turkey club (with cheese) on a semolina roll, no mayo, a few chips and I only ate 2/3 of the sandwich. Dinner was actually WW friendly - whole wheat pasta, grilled chicken, mushrooms. The past few days have been same - 2 out of three meals ok'ish, one misdemeanor bad.

To be honest, I'm lost and a little scared that I'm slipping. I've been down this road before - just a few days off becomes a week, a week becomes a month.

I don't have a good excuse for not being on program. Nobody's died, I'm not away and on a real vacation. I just didn't "want to" this week - I didn't want to sweat, having to wash and dry my hair, forcing it into a style and spending a half an hour planning and measuring food for the next day. I didn't want to come home late from work to two irate dogs. I just didn't want to.

But who the hell wants to do any of that? I'm pretty sure, if you're being honest, you don't want to. I resent having to. I resent having a shitty metabolism (because of my own doing). I resent being short (love you mom!). I resent loving carbs and not grilled salmon.

Tomorrow is a new day. Who cares if the WW week is just about over. I'm resigning myself to a gain on Friday. Tomorrow isn't about mitigating damage, it's about getting back into the routine. Next week isn't going to be much better (work dinner on Monday, so no gym; all day meeting on Tuesday with a late finish time, so again, probably no gym).

It's a marathon, not a sprint. I'm not a marathon runner, and unfortunately since this isn't a relay (and therefore I can't ask somebody to run a leg for me), please do the next best thing. Cheer for me. Send me positive vibes. Lift me up on Friday so I'm not too heavy on the scale.

Live on TV

2010-10-12T20:03:00.000-07:00

I feel like my experience with live television has only been tragedies.

As a child, I watched the explosion of Challenger, I saw Bud Dwyer kill himself during a televised press conference on a snow day, and as a young adult, I watched the Twin Towers collapse in real time.

Tonight I got to watch a miracle.

It’s not over yet, but I’m hopeful.

I was going to go to bed at a reasonable time, but decided to get an update on the rescue of the Chilean miners before I went to bed.

Between Anderson Cooper and Facebook, I got sucked in, and I’m glad I did. I got to see the rescuer make it down the mine, and saw the first miner, Florencio Avalos, get into the rescue capsule and make his way back to the surface while it was happening. I'm not ashamed to admit I cried when I saw him hug his son.

I’m praying that the remaining 32 miners make their way back up safely, and I’m thankful that I am able to make a living in a field that doesn’t put my life at risk.

Please keep the miners in Chile, and the rescue workers, in your prayers. They’re in mine.

Bullies Suck

2010-10-08T18:56:00.000-07:00

There’s been a great deal of attention in the media about the epidemic of bullies these days. Last year there was the story of Phoebie Prince, age 15 who killed herself because of bullies at her new school and recently there are the suicides of Billy Lucas, age 15; Cody Barker, age 17; Seth Walsh, age 13; Tyler Clementi, age 18; Asher Brown, age 13; Harrison Brown, age 15; Raymond Chase, age 19; Felix Sacco, age 17; and Caleb Nolt, age 14 - all in September 2010.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I found myself the odd girl out when I was 13. I’m still not sure what I did, but one Monday I came to school and found myself on the outside and being the butt of jokes. The hurt still stings, I can still remember coming home from school, locking myself in the kitchen, turning on the soap opera One Life to Live and crying while ramming Oreo cookies in my mouth (the soap opera was so there would be an excuse if I was caught crying). My family knew what was going on, but still I tried to conceal the pain. Since that point, I’ve always thought of myself as a dork, and particularly cautious with people outside of my family. To this day, irrational though it may be, if I hear groups of people laughing (especially females), I assume they are laughing about me – oh the ego.

At that time, I went to bed wishing I wouldn’t wake up the next day. I didn’t actively think about suicide; I still planned to become a lawyer, marry Michael J. Fox, move to Connecticut and drive a Porsche. I just wanted to sleep through the rough years and come out on the other side OK. Funny that I still want the same thing now (i.e. weight loss – just put me in a coma, help me lose the weight painlessly, and wake me up when it’s over). Even at 35 (going on 36) I don’t want to go through the growing pains that shape you.

If I could go back in time and talk to my 13 year old self, I’m sure she would think I was crazy. I’d tell that overweight, extremely busty girl that it would turn out OK – oh, and that flat, straight hair would be just A-OK. The boobs would be reduced, that while we’d always struggle with our weight, there was a way out, and that two of the girls that I thought of as my chief tormentors would turn out to be two of my best friends - I’d look forward to hanging out with them, we’d commiserate about the rough times, and turn to each other now in the bad times.

I’d tell her that it gets better.

While I’m not gay, and have never been bullied because of my sexuality, I was bullied because of things out of my control. I feel like I can relate on some small level to Phoebe, Billy, Cody, Seth, Tyler, Asher, Harrison, Raymond, Felix and Caleb. While my private life wasn’t broadcast on the internet, my sexuality wasn’t being mocked or questioned, I wasn’t being beat up or called a slut, I felt like I had lost my world. My friends were gone, I felt I was alone and the butt of the jokes. In a word, it sucked.

I’m glad I didn’t check out. I’m glad I didn’t go into the “magic coma” of my fantasies, because the pain I went through in my teen years has made me a more compassionate person today. I want to sit the people down who made the lives of these teenagers a living hell and explain to them what it will be like in future years; that they won’t always be on top; that Karma is a bitch. But mostly I want to talk to the kids who have decided that suicide was the answer. I want to give them a hug, some words of reassurance.

I want to tell them that it does get better.

Signs

2010-10-03T10:28:00.000-07:00

I was driving to my spinning class yesterday when I saw the signs – no parking on Harding Blvd, a relatively flat stretch of road near the Elmwood Park Zoo, for a 5k today. No other information – just your standard police “no parking” signs.

The weather has been refreshingly fall like, the weather for today was forecasted to be good, and I haven’t done anything stupid in at least a week. I Googled 5k, Norristown, October 3 and found the information on the race. I’m still in the beginning stages of my training for the 5k I’m signed up for in November, I can’t run more than one mile before having to stop and take a breather, and I haven’t run 3 consecutive miles without having to stop and dry heave in over 3 years. That would have stopped a sane person. As a reader of my blog, you should know by now that I’m far from sane.

I posted on Facebook that I was thinking about it. Got a helpful tip from my neighbor that half a case of Guinness would help for carbo loading, which I dismissed in favor of some whole wheat Pasta. I charged my iPod, organized my gear and went to bed early.

I got up at 7:00 am this morning, threw on my racing running shorts (size L – a little snug, but no seams tore), laced up my sneakers and was at the Zoo for registration. It was cold and I was surrounded by 80 year olds wearing multiple layers asking me if I was cold, athletic looking stick insects wearing tank tops and children who I knew would kick my butt.

At 9:00 the starting horn blared and I started. I decided at the outset that I wasn’t going to even try to keep up with the pack – I was competing against myself. I didn’t even check my time until the last half mile. I knew I wasn’t going to be in the hunt as far as being in the top for my age group, I just wanted to finish.

I made it to the 1.25 mile mark before I need to walk. I alternated for the rest of the race. Run for as long as I can, walk for a few steps. The course was flat until the halfway point, a pretty steep hill approaching Johnson Highway. I scared the crap out the kid in front of me – huffing and puffing up the hill. I’m sure I sounded like I was in a bad porno. The hill going down was a relief, and went past the zoo for the second loop on Harding Blvd - then it hit me – the smell.

There are donkeys and buffalo (bison?) that are housed right near the street. During the summer I roll up my windows when I drive past. They are fragrant to say the least, even on a 50 degree morning. At least it provided motivation to push myself to get past the enclosure as fast I could.

I did the second loop and was in the home stretch. That’s when I started talking to myself. Hey, I was in Norristown – I’m sure the people on the route just thought I was an escapee from the local mental hospital. Then the 7 year old participating in his very first 5k with his dad blazed past me. I was very conscious at that point that my encouragement to myself was mostly curse words. Oh well, he was bound to learn them sooner or later.

Then I went past the donkey enclosure. Would this be the bonk point? Nope…pushed forward and sprinted to the finish line.

I didn’t finish last, but was definitely in the back of the pack. And that’s fine by me. I finished in a respectable time – 36 minutes, 42 seconds (according to my Nike Plus sensor). I’m feeling more confident about the November 14 race –especially since I’ve got time to do more prep work.

I had another triumph today when I went to the mall. Yesterday I found my jeans were getting stupid big – I sucked in my stomach and they came dangerously close to falling down. I’m not complaining. I went to Old Navy – grabbed a few different styles in size 18 – the largest size they had in a short length. Not only did they fit, they were big! I got a size 16, and went to get a hard earned slice of pizza and shared some fries for lunch with mom. We then went down to NY & Co – feeling cocky I grabbed two pair of pants – 18 petite and 16 petite. The 18s fit – perfectly. I’m not there yet with the tops, but soon enough. Now I have even more motivation to keep going!

Real Housewives of Norristown

2010-09-29T17:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Bravo,

I’ve been watching the previews for years now, The Real Housewives of Orange County, The Real Housewives of Atlanta, The Real Housewives of New York City, New Jersey, Washington, and now Los Angeles.

I’d like to propose that you look at how “real people” live, and share with you my proposal for The Real Housewives of Norristown.

No, seriously, don’t look away. I’d like to present the cast – Jen, Jenn, Sherri, Aric and Beth (yes, I’ve cast myself – do you have a problem with that?). Feel free to imagine our cocktail dressed selves (well, except for Aric) doing the Bravo-promo hip check/reposition thing.

Jen, 24, is my friend Renee’s partner. Works at a local supermarket and is a cool chick. She provides the 20-something POV along with guest-Housewife Shannon.

Jenn, 35, is a wife and mother of two. She works in the Real Estate industry, tells it as it is and has been my friend for over 30 years.

Sherri, another long time friend. She’s a wife and mother of five, including a newborn, and runs a day care business out of her home. Her kids range in age from 17 to less than one week old (at least as of this writing).

Aric, the first Househusband. Classified himself as “a stay at home dad with no kids” before he and his wife adopted their now five month old daughter. He is also a Renaissance man and inventor.

Beth (me, duh!) in the vein of Bethenny Frankel of RHONYC, 35, single, career girl, chronic singleton and has a relationship with all of the other Housewives.

Hi-jinks will ensue. I guarantee it.

I await your reply Bravo.

P.S. And to those of you named, I hope you don't take offense. There are few people I want to be photographed with, let alone captured on video. I'd use pseudonyms, but where's the fun in that?

Training Day(s)

2010-09-26T16:53:00.000-07:00

What the hell was I thinking?

That’s what I was thinking, somewhere around .75 of a mile, the dance mix of Jennifer Hudson’s version of “And I Am Telling You” blaring from my iPod as I trotted down Colonial Avenue, up-hill toward Farm Park, on my most recent training run.

As I mentioned on Facebook, I’m registered for the Lemon Run on November 14 (benefitting Alex’s Lemonade Stand – I’m also looking for sponsors, if you haven’t sponsored me, and if your budget allows, please do so – here’s the link http://www.alexslemonade.org/mypage/69338).

As you can see, I’m taking this whole body transformation thing quite seriously. I’ve joined a gym, hired a trainer and am doing a 5k on November 14 (3.2 miles for those of you not into the metric system) four days after I turn 36.

I’m not going to sugar coat it, the training has been tough. Literally blood, sweat and tears, along with vomit and blisters. It’s not easy getting a 230 pound body back to 135 pound shape. I’m generally lazy and impatient – I want instant results with minimal effort. While that may have worked when I was in 6th grade English class, that doesn’t hold true to physical fitness as a 30+ old woman. To date I’m down 31.2 pounds, 5.5 points of BMI and 62.4 pounds away from my goal weight of 135.

I’m having running shoe issues (had a fitting at one store, spent $100 on shoes that gave me blisters, exchanged then for another shoe that gave me more blisters), endurance issues (thanks ragweed allergies and asthma) and the above mentioned general disposition to laziness.

I won’t lie, there are days I want to say f**k it and go get a 10 pack of McNuggets and a large order of fries. I’m trying really hard to fight the urge. As I write this I’m sipping on my 4 oz of white wine (2 points) and bag of Jolly Time Healthy Pop Kettle Korn (1 point) and hoping for a better, more positive, day tomorrow.

Please keep sending me positive vibes and happy thoughts. I know I can do this!

Distance

2010-09-23T07:21:00.001-07:00

I’m not a marathoner. Never have been, and I’m not just talking about running.

I’ve always been a short-term kind of person. I know I’m not unique in that I want results now.

I knew when I started on this weight loss journey that I wouldn’t shed the weight overnight. I knew it would take me a long, long time to lose the 95 pounds I’ve gained over the past 2 and a half years. There would be long hours at the gym, a lot of weighing and journaling of food and times when I wouldn’t see the results despite working (literally) my ass off.

Days like today, hell weeks like this one, make me want to throw up my hands and get some chicken fingers and french fries for lunch and wash it all down with a cold, non lite, beer.

I guess it all started on Monday – I was getting ready to take a bath and against my better judgment I hopped on the scale, yes, at night, and shocker, wasn’t happy with the number. Then I caught a glimpse of myself, in all my naked glory, in the full length mirror on the door. Rationally I know I’m better off than when I started almost three months ago. I have a dorky spreadsheet that tracks my progress….29 pounds down, 4.5 points of BMI lost, but at times it’s hard to see it. Still, I tried to brush it off and move on. I went to spinning on Tuesday, and took last night off from the gym since I hadn’t had a day off from exercise in almost 10 days.

I made the mistake of weighing myself this morning – the number was lower than last Friday but it was a reminder…a reminder I still have roughly 65 more pounds to lose. Then I went into work, my hair down and freshly flat ironed, makeup carefully applied (I even wore lipstick!) and went to have my picture taken for our company directory.

Thanks to the wonders of digital photography, I got to see the pictures. My heart sank. Who is that fat girl? Why do I look like a contestant on RuPaul’s Drag Race?

There’s a part of me that now really wants to say screw it and eat whatever I want for lunch – maybe a fried chicken cutlet on crusty bread that’s been calling my name. Or a basket of chicken fingers. Maybe a cheese steak.

Then I remember tomorrow is weigh in, that I packed a salad, and that this is marathon, not a sprint.

So I need to brush off the bad picture. Remind myself that I’m in this for the long haul, and I can’t let one (or four) bad picture derail what I’ve accomplished.

Off to the Races

2010-09-20T06:05:00.000-07:00

I've been talking about it and now the deed is done. I've signed up for a 5k, the first in over a year, in order to give myself a real goal.

Back in my thinner days, I regularly ran the equivalent of a 5k every day on my treadmill. I didn't do any cross training and went to Curves three times a week for strength training. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone that I eventually injured myself and couldn't run. The depression crept in along with the pounds.

Last year I attempted to get back into the game and again was sidelined. There were a lot of reasons, most of them mental and some of them physical, that caused me to not be as successful as I would have liked. I had signed up for a 5k and while I finished, it wasn't satisfying in that "Yay me!" kind of way.

Over the summer I decided to do an overhaul. Going to a gym, working with a trainer and, of course, doing Weight Watchers. I'm mixing up my cardio with spinning, the stair master and yes, running. My endurance isn't where I would like it to be, but I'm working on it along with everything else.

So, four days after I turn 36 (aack!) I'm going to run what I hope will be my return to racing. A little older, hopefully a little wiser. My expectations are low, I just want to finish, hopefully without barfing. Wish me luck!

Like Julia Roberts, But Fatter and Less Toothy

2010-09-05T16:58:00.000-07:00

Sadly, I didn't go to Italy, India or Indonesia. I didn't have any life changing revelations. I didn't meet any cute boys. Heck, I didn't even use my passport.

I am returning from my own Eat, Pray, Love, although I prefer to call it Eat, Drink, Shop. So while I didn't need my (expired) passport, I did put roughly 230 miles round trip on my car while driving to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, home of several gay bars (hence the not meeting any boys) and tax free shopping.

I had an amazing time. I had some awesome pizza (Grotto Pizza), some mediocre pizza (Nicola), a night of reckless drinking with my brother-in-law (my liver still isn't talking to me) and got not one, but three handbags. Oh, and 2 flasks, 5 rings, multiple pair of earrings, 3 t-shirts and didn't run one mile despite bringing 2 pair of running shoes and several work out outfits.

I had a personal best at the arcade while trying to win a Spirit Head (still not sure what it is or what it does) for my niece and confirming that if I lived closer to Atlantic City I'd be in even more debt than I already am. We survived a hurricane (Earl), even if it was a wimpy one by the time it got up to us. Watched countless hours of children's TV - is it wrong that I'm completely up to speed on The Suite Life On Deck, and can't wait for the sequel to Camp Rock?

Today I returned to Pennsylvania and reality. The goal for the upcoming week is to get back on the WW Wagon and take my lumps on Friday without getting discouraged. I'm on a great track right now and can't stop now. It felt amazing to put on a pair of shorts I bought at the beginning of the summer and find them loose. I even put on a bathing suit for the first time in almost a decade and wear it in public. I need to keep the momentum going and get back into feeling the good pain.

Hope you all had a great summer and have a fantastic Labor Day!

Where, Oh Where, Did My Ambition Go?

2010-08-18T18:31:00.000-07:00

I was doing so well... updating my little blog every few days, going to the gym, exercising like a mad woman and eating right, then it all went to pot.

The day after my grandfather died I had a therapeutic cruller (admittedly shoved in my mouth so I didn't say something I'd regret to a melodramatic family member) and a Happy Meal on my way home in lieu of a healthy lunch. Monday and Tuesday weren't all that bad except I didn't really count Points like a good little WW'er.

The day of my grandfather's funeral was probably the height of bad eating -

Breakfast: WW Almond Granola Bar (good start)

Lunch: Chicken Marsala, baked potato, broccoli in cheese sauce (ok not bad)
1 Biscuit with butter
Side salad with Caesar dressing
3 Glasses of Wine and a Shot of Irish Mist (all before 1pm)
A piece of cheesecake

Dinner: Farfalle in rose sauce with chicken, mushrooms and spinach and a side of garlic bread
Mozzarella Sticks somewhere around 10:00 pm
Chips and salsa around midnight
So much alcohol I spent the night sleeping on the floor holding on for dear life

Yeah, I cope with food (and booze apparently), you got a problem with that? Needless to say the gym took a backseat with everything else that was going on, so imagine my surprise when I hopped up on the scale last Friday and was told I lost 2 pounds.

Oh well, I 'm getting back on track and that is what counts.

This week has been a rebuilding week. I went back to the gym on Monday and am trying to hit it hard. I'm not sleeping all that well to be honest - perhaps it's the fact that I've worked from home for the past two weeks, but I'm frankly exhausted. Tonight I had my session with my trainer with the plan of hitting it hard afterwards and just couldn't. I'm not saying that the 25 minutes of cardio pre-trainer and 30 minutes of weights aren't respectable, but my feeble attempt at running afterward was pathetic.

I'm not sure what the take away from all of this is. I know I can't save the world, and I know I need to not be so hard on myself. Two and a half years of therapy at $30 a week taught me that. Perhaps the lesson is shit happens, you put on your big girl panties, deal and move on.

Maybe that should be my new credo.

Deep Breath....

2010-08-12T20:25:00.000-07:00

As you might imagine, this week has been a long one. Only now am I really processing everything, but considering my hyperactive tear ducts, I haven't cried as much as I would expect.

I was talking to my sister yesterday and I told her I felt the same way I did after watching Schindler's List. I had stayed as far away from that movie as I could for as long as possible, knowing myself and the fact that I once cried watching a McDonald's commercial. Perhaps I had built up an emotional callus, but it wasn't until the end of the movie that I cried, precisely because I hadn't cried while watching the horrors in that movie.

That's not to say that throughout the past few days I haven't shed a few tears.

I walked into my grandparents house last Saturday and was shocked at what I saw. I was greeted by what looked like a corpse who slightly resembled my grandfather, gasping for breath, my aunt having a nervous breakdown and my grandmother sitting in a chair with a blank smile on her face, clearly with no real clue as to what was happening. My sister, a hospice nurse by trade was taking control having set up a command center in the kitchen. She was doing her best to hold it together but was clearly holding on by a thread. My mother was going through the motions because her sister wasn't able to and I felt like I had no other choice but to put on my big girl panties and move on.

My aunt tried to talk to me - triggering some tears and I had to push her off. On some level I knew if I started to cry I would be useless. I also didn't want to face the fact that my grandfather was going to die and I couldn't go near him - the figure in that chair was not my grandfather. I was the errand girl for the day, getting lunch, sitting at the pharmacy waiting for palliative medication to ease Grandpop's transition, going home to pack bags for my mother and sister. I've always said I don't want to be around myself when I'm ill, and I really can't stand to see loved ones in pain.

I didn't want to remember my grandfather the way I last saw him - a bruise under his eye (the result of a broken cheekbone from a fall), his eyes tightly shut, mouth agape. I wanted to remember the robust man who loved to walk, coupons in his back pocket, up to the shopping center, proudly coming home with a bag full of merchandise that he paid next to nothing for, so what if he had no use for the stuff? I used to joke that I was afraid one day he'd come home with a pack of condoms and box of Tampax purely because they were on sale and he had a coupon.

I got the call shortly before 11:00 on Saturday night that he had passed peacefully. I shed a few tears, but oddly felt the need to share the news. I posted on Facebook, texted a few close friends. It's almost like I wanted this to be outside of myself, not my experience alone.

Even now, I'm not sure I've truly mourned, even though that's what I'm telling my family. On some level I'm expecting to hear his voice when I call, or see him sitting up in his chair, remote in hand ready to pass off to my niece on our Sunday visits.

There's a part of me that doesn't quite believe that my Grandpop won't be at my wedding (if that ever happens) and that he'll never meet my children. I'm jealous my sister has had that chance. I miss my Grandpop. I want to turn back time to when I was four or five and would wait on the sidewalk outside of their house, waiting to see him walking down the sidewalk coming him from work at GE. I want to argue with him about politics (especially Obama), about the stock market and unions. I want to give him a kiss again and tell him I love him.

Grandpop

2010-08-09T06:17:00.001-07:00

Throughout his 88 years on this earth, Martin Barrett had many titles. Son, Sailor, Husband, Father. My sister and I knew him as Grandpop.

He was the quintessential stubborn Irishman. My mother said that he was giving orders right up until the end. It was his way or the highway. But when it came to his grandchildren, anything went.

One of our favorite family stories was The Tale of the Red Mary Janes. My aunt got married in 1975, and a white dress with red trim was chosen for my then 3 year old sister to wear in her role as flower girl. Kelly decided that she had to have red patent leather Mary Janes to go with her dress. Well, if Kelly wanted red Mary Janes, then red Mary Janes she would have. Legend has it Grandpop went from store to store; shoe stores, department stores, boutiques, you name it, Marty Barrett went in search of the elusive red shoes for Kelly to wear. He was told it was impossible, but find them he did. Of course 3 year olds being as they are, those darn shoes almost never made their debut, Kelly having cold (albeit red patent leather) feet minutes before her trek down the aisle. At one point, Grandpop was going to have to march forward, the bride on one hand, the timid flower girl on the other. At the end of the day, Kelly was coaxed forward and all was well in the end.

But that was my grandfather. He would do anything for family. Whether it was buying my Barbies $21 hand sewn dresses – an obnoxious price now, let alone in 1984 - because they caught my eye, schlepping to Dunkin Donuts first thing on Sunday morning to make sure his great-granddaughter Tara had donuts with sprinkles on them or making sure his beloved Cass (nobody else could get away with calling her that) wanted for nothing.

I love you Grandpop. Rest in peace.

Virtue Points

2010-07-22T18:49:00.001-07:00

As most of you know, I've embarked on weight loss attempt 496.

I've gone back to my old stand by, Weight Watchers, and am hoping that the combination of old faithful with my newly acquired trainer and my friends and family, that this time will stick.

This week has been a rough one. Apparently Wednesday was National Junk Food Day (which I ignored) and as I sit here typing I am smelling the remaining french fries from my father's dinner. It is taking everything within me not to attack them. In fact, I'm tempted to interrupt this entry to desecrate them with my kryptonite, mustard and mayo.

In fact, hold on....

Thanks for waiting. That's better. Now the handful of french fries that have been sitting in styrofoam singing their siren song have been silenced, for as much as I love fried potatoes, I despise mustard and mayo more.

That brings me to my next point. Virtue Points.

For the uninitiated, in Weight Watchers, the current program is based on points. Based on your weight and situation in life (age, active job, nursing, etc) you get a certain number of points which convert to food. The way you calculate points is an algorithm based on calories, fat and fiber. You also get a "bank" of 35 points per week which you can take or leave, plus you get points for physical activity which you can use for more food if you choose. The key is finding the maximum number of points you can consume while still losing weight.

In a perfect world, one would get what I call "Virtue Points". I have resisted french fries tonight, therefore I would get, oh let's say 5 virtue points, which of course would translate into pounds lost. On Monday, I really wanted pizza. I didn't have it, so I should have lost weight, or gained virtue points, based on this.

Flawed logic, or genius? Maybe it's the Pinot talking (1.5 points for 4 ounces), but I think I'm onto something.

Weight Watchers (and God), I await your call.

Long(ish) Time, No Blog

2010-07-14T08:47:00.000-07:00

Wow...I must be the most inconsistent blogger ever. I go weeks posting every couple of days, and the bam! Nothing.

Perhaps it's the mini-break from online rejection, I mean dating. Less amusing (to me) stories to tell born out of frustration. Or perhaps it's the new exercise regime. The brain cells I had allocated to blogging are now being eaten up by the lack of oxygen getting to my teeny, tiny brain.

As for the weight loss, I'm still on track. I'm in the midst of week three and I'm down 8.8 pounds (roughly 85 to go, but who's counting?). I'm making progress with the exercise. My first day back at the gym I clocked 20 minutes on the treadmill and a whopping 6 1/2 minutes on the stair master. I'm now up to 20 on the stair master and last night I managed 25 on the elliptical. I looked like a drowned rat by the time I was done, but it's progress and I'll take it.

The hardest part for me is the patience. I want to see results NOW. If I thought she'd go for it, I'd ask my doctor to put me in a medically induced coma so I could be fed nothing but Slim Fast through an IV. I'd pay off the nurses to work my muscles so they didn't atrophy and arrange to have a full body lift done before I woke up.

I think I've put way too much thought into this. To be fair, I wanted to do the same thing while I was growing my hair out so I didn't have to deal with the horrible in between stage. I avoid unpleasant things - it's just how I roll.

So, I guess I'm going to have to suffer through.

Thanks for the encouragement!

Oops, I Did It Again

2010-07-05T17:06:00.000-07:00

No, not that.

I sang karaoke, in public, again.

I went out with my friend R Saturday night, ostensibly to meet her friend S (Bachelor Number 3 for those of you keeping count). We didn't head out until later than planned and went to a bar I've only been to one other time instead of our planned trek into Philly.

Side Note: Bach No. 3 lives in Philly and because of the 4th of July events this past weekend, he was stuck in traffic and didn't make it to the burbs, so the meeting has been postponed.

We settled in at the bar and I realized it was karaoke night. R, who has a great voice and sings any chance she can (music or no) grabbed the books and was up at the mike before I knew it. I sucked down my first of two cranberry & vodkas and figured why the hell not.

I opened up the book and looked for a song I was pretty confident I knew the words to, and picked up a slip. R's girlfriend J glanced over and, warily, asked "Are you going to sing?". "Yep" I slurred.

Before I had a chance to talk myself out of it, I walked up to the table and dropped off my slip. After a shot of tequila and getting halfway through my second drink, I heard my name.

I marched up, grabbed the microphone, and massacred "Before He Cheats". No rotten food was thrown (the kitchen was closed), nobody booed (at least not that I could hear) and I survived. I was so off-key at various points I think I was singing a whole other song, but I had fun.

In other news, went to a BBQ at a neighbor's house tonight and was in the presence of BATS for the first time since last week. I did my best to ignore him without being a rude bitch, although I really wanted to be. I'm making peace with the whole thing. It's not his fault he's clueless, and if he's not into me, then that's his loss.

I'm also telling myself he looks like Mr. Potato Head.

Laughter is the best medicine, isn't it?

In Weight Watchers news, I'm down 7 pounds my first week. I have no idea why, although the fact I had eaten a full breakfast with 2 cups of coffee before my first weigh in may have stacked the deck, but I'm taking it. I made it to the gym four times last week and went today despite not wanting to, and I'm going to conquer the Stair Master if it's the last thing I do, even if it's one minute at a time.

Back to reality tomorrow.

Hope you all had a Happy 4th!

Torn

2010-07-01T18:56:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I should call this It's Complicated, Part Two.

I thinking about putting myself back on the bench.

OK, OK, I hear what you're saying, I've only been back in the dating world for a few weeks and I'm already thinking about taking a break, WTF? I know, but hear me out.

I've been on Match.com and eHarmony and throwing myself at clueless neighbors, and clearly am not having much success. Yes, Rome wasn't built in a day, but there is a part of me that feels like maybe I'm not in the right place to go marching down this road.

My body confidence, while never good, is at a pretty low point, especially after going to WW last week and seeing the ugly truth. All I can focus on at this point is size of my considerable belly right now, and it's not cute.

I can also feel the noonday demon sneaking back up on me, and I know I need to get that in check.

But is that a good enough reason? I don't know.

I keep reminding myself that I'm not getting any younger, and if I want to have children (which I think I do),I'm not exactly playing with a great deal of time. Which brings me to the next issue...

Maybe I'm too judgemental, or too quick to dismiss, but I do know that I am wary, and a lot of the people I'm meeting online aren't screaming Mr. Right. What I don't want to do is settle because I feel like I'm up against the clock, and I feel like I'm doing that. I've also found myself stifling who I am in order to get a date from someone I've never met and who I'm not even sure about. Seriously, what the hell is that about?

So perhaps a bit of time to regroup is in order.

Just not for 10 years.

Something to sleep on.

It's Personal

2010-06-29T15:49:00.001-07:00

My sister worships at the altar of Jillian Michaels. She faithfully watches The Biggest Loser and is currently into the newest series, Losing It With Jillian. Me? Not so much.

Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be trained by Jillian, although I'm pretty sure I'd try to sit on her as a method of retaliation at some point during our sessions, but I can't get into weight loss as entertainment, and I'm pretty into Reality TV. You name it, and unless there is a housewife or an orange Guido on it, I've probably seen it. But watching something that is a real battle for me? Not so much.

The weigh in alone fulfills one of my biggest nightmares, being practically naked on national television getting on a scale. Seriously, why would I want to see that played out on a weekly basis?

I've seen most of the regular cast on various talk shows - Jillian, Bob, Alison - and they all seem likable. Perhaps the four of us could wolf down some cheese fries and cocktails. OK, perhaps not. The point I'm getting at is that my aversion to the show has nothing to do with the regulars.

Weight loss is personal and fraught with emotion for me, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. I'm not plus size because I'm lazy or because I eat bad food, but because of other things (although I am at times lazy and eat bad food). I'm an emotional eater - piss me off and I won't yell at you, push or shove you. I'll go home and take out my frustration on pizza, potato chips or mac & cheese. When I'm sick, all I want is comfort food. Nothing says "feel better" like pastina with egg and plenty of salt. When I'm sad I want to cry into my beer - sometimes literally. Getting on my sneakers and hopping on the treadmill or going out for run is not my first thought.

So now that I'm back on the wagon, I need to rework my coping mechanisms. This isn't my first time at the rodeo, I've done this before - four years ago I spent so much time out running my feet were two massive blisters. A day without muscle aches was a rarity. I was named "The Biggest Loser" at my gym. I also wound up being treated for an eating disorder.

Clearly I need to find a middle ground. I need to figure out expressing my emotions and not eating them, stuffing them down or running away from them. While doing that on TV may help another person, I don't think it would help me.

So since I'll never benefit from Bob or Jillian's expertise, or get encouragement and feedback from Alison, I'll need to find my own way on my terms.

I don't have the answers, but I do have a plan and TV isn't part of it.

Unless I can get on Survivor...pretty sure that witchetty grubs and rats would be a sweet weight loss plan.

Here We Go Again

2010-06-27T09:06:00.000-07:00

I'm sure I'm on some kind of wall of infamy at WW HQ for the number of times started.

Mark yesterday as attempt 126.

I've been on Weight Watchers on and off for over 19 years now. I've been through exchanges, Fat & Fiber, 123 Success, you name it, if it was introduced since 1991, I've worked the program.

I've had good leaders and bad ones. Good buddies and lack luster ones. Through the years I've found that the best motivator is myself and my own demons, sometimes a little too motivating.

Yesterday was D-Day. I've had that date marked on my calendar for a few months now. Blame the mailer I got from WW offering $10 a week for Lifetime Members as long as they rejoined by June 28. Of course I had to push it to the very end.

So, as usual, I waddled in yesterday, hopped on the scale and gave them my money. I think I say it every time I do this, but the scale was at its highest point EVER. I had my last blow out yesterday as well. (I look at joining day as a free day, program starts the following day). Bacon & cheddar omelet with hash browns for breakfast, chicken sandwich with bacon and cheese with a side of fries for lunch and a spinach calzone for dinner washed down with plenty of full calorie beer.

Today, walking the line. Of course it's only noon, but I'm in for the long haul. I've joined a gym I've studiously avoided. I'm taking Alli as a kick start (the side effects are killer if you go off program).

I'm also going to try something new - having a life. In the past I've been a monk when I've changed my eating habits (read: dieted). I didn't deal with the pit falls of going out and seeing friends. I was an exercising machine. I also abused my body in the process. That can't happen this time.

So here I go again, name back in the log books at Weight Watchers, hunting for my ratty exercise clothes, scheduling workouts back into my day.

Sigh.

About Last Night

2010-06-26T08:26:00.000-07:00

BATS is finis.

I drove, I paid and I got a peck on the cheek like you'd give your Aunt Mildred. I was home by 8:15.

Thank God for my friends - they had to spend most of the night trying to drag me out of my rejection depression. But booze, dancing and seeing idiot boys act like, well...idiots was fun.

Onward and hopfully upward. I just wish I hadn't spent a month acting like an idiot for someone who clearly doesn't deserve me.

5 Second Update

2010-06-24T18:24:00.000-07:00

OK kids, I'm really trying hard to keep up with this blog, so here's quick update so I keep the writing going.

BATS and I are going out tomorrow night. Not sure if it's a date (I think it is) or just two friends getting together. Let's hope for the former, shall we? I have to keep telling myself he's so shy he makes me look like a screaming party animal, and his social skills are fairly limited. Why do I find myself attracted to him? He's nice, funny, loyal, knows his beer, can cook (!), is good to his mama and despite being a Republican (with a capital C for Conservative), opposites attract I guess. He also gets my McKenzie Brothers references - I mean seriously, the man's seen Wicked Brew.

However, I'm not giving up on the on-line dating, although match.com is losing some of its luster. I've met a guy on e-Harmony who seems pretty cool. We like a lot of the same things (he shared his music cache with me last night - I was impressed with the overlap). Despite the fact he lives about an hour away from me, I think this one could have legs. More to come.

Met up with old colleagues tonight from BearingPoint (the one employer I'll actually name on Pinot since they've gone out of business). Surprised myself by having a good time - got to catch up with folks I hadn't seen in almost three years, and am looking forward to the next get together!

On a more sober note, East Norriton Township Police Chief John McGowan is being laid to rest tomorrow. He was a good friend of my father's and it is always unsettling to see one's father so shaken up as my dad was when he learned of Chief McGowan's death. He had survived two bouts with cancer to lose his life in a motorcycle accident, leaving behind a wife, two sons and two grandchildren in addition to his parents. He was 58. May he rest in peace.

What's Cookin'?

2010-06-22T15:25:00.000-07:00

In honor of the fact that today was the first time in a long time I've actually made a meal from scratch, I thought I'd share the recipe with you. It may sound gross, but it's quite delish'. It can be doctored up with onion, garlic and/or oregano. I prefer to keep it simple with just salt and pepper.

This is a family fave, passed down from my paternal grandmother who was not a great cook, and despite the original name, Italian Delight, she was not Italian, nor is there much in the recipe to suggest an origin in Italy.

So, without further adieu, I present what I have renamed Ghetto Casserole:

3/4 pound ground beef
1 1/2 cups uncooked elbow macaroni
1 can tomato soup
1/2 cup corn (canned or frozen - fresh may be good too, but I've never tried it)
8 oz Velveeta
Salt
Pepper

In a pan, cook ground beef, cooking it as you would for tacos. Salt and pepper to taste. Drain fat, set aside.

In a pot of boiling water, cook the elbow macaroni until tender. Drain and add the cooked meat, corn, tomato soup and Velveeta. Stir until mixed. Season as desired.

That's it - like I said, probably sounds gross, but it's quite tasty. The beauty of it is you can play with the quantities adding meat or macaroni if you prefer one to the other. It can be prepared in advance and reheated although I prefer it freshly made.

I believe the original recipe called for onion, and perhaps oregano (thus making it Italian), but it's long gone by now. I've looked on Campbell's and Kraft's websites and they don't have a record of it. For all I know, it originated in the mind of my grandmother.

Give it a try! I'll post another recipe next Tuesday.

What are you having for dinner?

I Lied

2010-06-21T13:17:00.001-07:00

Alright, one more post about my love life. Actually, it's a post about a post.

Comments are welcome on the entry from Saturday. Am I too picky? Not discerning enough?

Any hints, tips or suggestions from those of you who have escaped from the trenches?

I'm thinking about speed dating if I can find one that has an event out here in the suburbs. I'd go into Philly for one of Hurry Dates's events but I think the amount of alcohol I'd need to get through the night would double the entry fee. It's a heck of a lot cheaper to cab it back from a local hotel/bar.

Feel free to email me privately!

For the Last Time...

2010-06-19T15:00:00.000-07:00

Even I am getting sick of reading about the tragic state of my personal life, so this is going to be the last blog about my foibles on match and eHarmony (for a little while at least - and by a little while that probably means a week or two).

I've found some interesting opinions among my friends. Some think I'm being too picky - whether it be age, location, hobbies or occupation. Then some think I'm insane for going down this road of on-line dating in the first place. Others offer no such opinion and accept this journey that I'm on. The minority think I'm perfectly within my rights to be picky (they tend to also be single).

Maybe I'm too picky, but I do have some criteria, and I don't care if it makes me hypocritical or a bitch, but I'm going to put them out there, not only for those of you who care, but for the universe. My ideal man:

1. Will want children - or at least hasn't closed the door to the idea of them
2. Will be under the age of 45.
3. Lives in the Commonwealth of PA
4. Is single (never married, divorced or widowed - but under no circumstances will be considered a bigamist if we were to take off and go to Vegas tomorrow to get married)
5. Has a job or has been employed within the past 2 years (bad economy exception). If he is currently unemployed due to circumstances beyond his control, he is actively looking for a job.
6. Does not live in his mama's basement. Yes, I know this is hypocritical considering my living situation, but I'm a girl and I'm allowed to apply different standards to boys.
7. Will not unload his tale of woe in the first email to me - or on the first date for that matter. I don't lay out my baggage in my profile or in introductory emails and I keep it to myself on the first date, I expect him to as well.
8. Has read a book in the past year that he wasn't forced to read because of work.
9. Finally, "gets" my sense of humor

Am I bitch? Maybe, but my friend J yelled at me the other night that I'm not confident enough, and I think that confidence needs to come along with standards.

While I'm at it with one last hurrah, I have another gripe. Apparently us full figured girls aren't on anyones hit parade. News flash boys, we all want a boy with The Situation's abs (just the abs in my case). Oh, and a boy with a full head of hair, or at least the ability to grow one. I'd like to be able to describe myself as a 5'6" blonde with a flat tummy, boobs the size of flotation devices and an IQ to rival Bill Gates. But, in the words of Mick Jaggar, you can't always get what you want. Seeing as we live in the real world, I'm honest, and I try to punch within my weight class. I'm realistic about the guys still single at this point in my life and who might be attracted to me.

I'd like to see the boys do the same.

True story: I ran across the profile of someone I know in real life on one of the sites I'm on. He weighs somewhere north of 350 lbs and describes himself as husky. OK...no problem - he's a nice guy and while not my type I'm sure there is a girl out there for him.

What bothered me was when I looked at how compatible we are (or how we "match") and when we got to body type, while he falls into what I'm looking for, this full figured beauty is not his type. He is only looking for girls who are: athletic and toned, slender, about average and a few extra pounds. He's not the only one - there are a lot of "full figured" guys who are not interested in full figured girls. I know men can drop a few pounds pretty quickly (one of God's many jokes) and many aren't crippled by body insecurities thanks to Vogue, Allure and Glamour, but c'mon, seriously? Let's level the playing field and make Men's Health mandatory reading for all men.

Boys, give us girls with a little junk in the trunk a chance. I'm cute, funny, smart and have a good job. I'm a loyal friend, a decent kisser (at least, I think so, I've never had any complaints) and my bad singing and insane dogs will provide hours of entertainment. Plus I can order a mean pizza.

Ok. I'm done my rant and leaping off of my soap box. I may have a few sleepless nights trying to come up with stuff to write about that isn't on-line dating related, but I'll do my best!

By Popular Demand

2010-06-16T10:35:00.000-07:00

So I had my "date" with Bachelor Number 2 on Monday night.

I think I prejudiced myself a bit by doing some detective work earlier in the day and finding him on Facebook, but hey, if you're going to tell me your name and where you work, I'm going to do some digging. Again, coming off of a L&O: SVU marathon - I'd like to know if I'm going out on a blind date with the new Drew Peterson.

While I didn't find any dead (or missing) spouses or girlfriends, I did find a lot of pictures of him with dead fish, the proud trophies of his fishing hobby. He also is a huge outdoorsman. When you think of the great outdoors, I'm pretty sure you don't think of me - unless it's an open air mall or bar, but hey, opposites attact, right?

I had another set of spies at the bar that night (the scene of the last crime)and knew some of the bartenders working. Turns out Bachelor Number 2 is a regular. This didn't work in his favor. It's not that I'm opposed to bar flies, but when you make a bad impression on the bar staff, that's not a good sign.

My spies were chatting up the bartenders who conveyed their dislike of Bachelor Number Two while he and I chatted (exact quote - she can do better). At the time I knew this wasn't going anywere, but being polite I stayed for a bit. We traded stories, living situations, etc.

I'm going to go off track for a minute and share with you what my friend Bill told me about his experience on match.com: Good luck, Beth! I meant to comment on your previous posts about Match, but I always read them on my phone and didn't feel like typing a long message. My wife and I met on match.com about five years ago. I think I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to other guys, but I'd be hesitant to recommend it to women.

When I was on there, I decided to check out the competition, and it made me feel like a rock star. It seemed liked 95% of the guys on there were a) married and looking for something extra on the side, b) just looking for one night stands, or c) total losers living in their mom's basement or something. At least that's what it seemed like five years ago.

So, I met (b) in Bachelor Number 1 and call me hypocritical (which trust me, my father did when I brought this up) Bachelor Number 2 falls into category (c). Layer in that the bartenders said he's generally a jerk and cheap (he got overly excited that the owner of the bar bought a round while we were there - the whole date cost him $3.50).

Am I discouraged? A tad. I've let myself wallow in the general failure of my two first dates, although I'm sure there will be more to come. But I'm putting myself out there and that's what's important to me right now.

On to the next adventure. No Bachelor Number 3 on desk just yet, but stay tuned.

Bachelor Number 1

2010-06-13T06:26:00.000-07:00

As some of you know, I had my first match.com date Wednesday night. Since I talked about it so much in the build up, I feel I owe you the gory details.

It started off OK – we met at a local bar, I had two friends planted at the bar as my bodyguards/get away excuse. I apparently ran past him on my way in (it was raining) and we found each other inside. It was loud – the Philadelphia Flyers were playing what was to be the final game of the Stanley Cup and the bar was packed.

We ordered beers and appetizers and did the awkward first date interview. He was cute, but I wasn’t getting the spark, although I chalked it up to the fact that we were practically screaming at each other over the din. After a while, I suggested we go someplace for coffee so we could chat in a quieter place.

He suggested we go back to his place.

I should have stamped my little foot and told him that I’m not that kind of girl (really, I’m not – stop laughing). I told him no and that there was a diner up the road. He agreed and we talked for another hour or so. We agreed to see each other again, although no plans were set.

As we were leaving we leaned in for the awkward hug and what I thought would be a kiss on the cheek. As a rule, I don’t swap spit with someone I’ve only known for about four hours – unless he’s Justin Timberlake of course. Bachelor Number 1 apparently has no such policy in place.

Again, I should have pulled back and told him to back off, but it was late and I was questioning my instincts. I have been doing my monk impression for a while, so maybe I was in the wrong I thought.

That night, I sent the obligatory text – nice meeting you, had a good time, maybe we can meet up again. Again, I was thinking I was in the wrong for feeling awkward about the whole encounter.

He texted me the next morning asking if I wanted to go out that night. To see a movie. At his place. I pushed back and suggested we go to a theater to see a movie. He agreed. Ultimately plans fell through.

After talking to my council of girlfriends (and a guy friend) all agreed that the “hey let’s go back to my place” was way too forward for a first meeting, and the kiss was definitely out of line. My take away from this is that I need to trust my instincts more.

So Bachelor Number 2 is lined up for tomorrow night. I’m wary to say the least. I’m not giving up on the on-line dating just yet, but it’s getting tiresome and it hasn’t even been a month. I’ve been approaching this like it’s a full time job – spending as much time as possible on the sites, winking like I have Tourettes and going out on a limb and emailing guys I think are interesting. I may need to take a step back and look at it like a part time job, or even a hobby. There are only so many questionable guys and rejection a girl can take.

But I’m keeping positive, Bachelor Number 2 on deck, instincts properly tuned and getting back on the horse.

Everything I Need to Know, I Learned from Madonna

2010-06-12T13:43:00.001-07:00

I was driving to the bookstore this morning and Like a Prayer came on my iPod. One line struck me, "Life is a mystery; Everyone must stand alone" and it occurred to me how prolific Her Madgesty is.

It's difficult to believe that the music of Madonna has been in my life since I was 9 years old. Even then I thought she was amazing - the lace gloves, the rosary as an accessory, the dance moves. My mother was horrified. Despite being Catholic and having a million pairs of rosary in the house, nobody actually said one, so it seemed natural to me that one would throw one around one's neck. My mother, another product of the Catholic school system, disagreed. Oh she let me rock a pair of hot pink lace fingerless gloves and the strip of lace in my hair, but that was it.

I did win the hair battle a few years later - I loved Madonna's pixie cut in the Papa Don't Preach video - the piecey low key look in the narrative part, not the overly styled bouffant in the choreographed dancing section of the video. Unfortunately living in the Philly suburbs in 1986, I only had access to mousse, so I wound up with the bouffant version that greatly vexed me. Oh, and forget the bleached blonde color - strictly brunette for this Madonna wanna be.

I defiantly boycotted Pepsi when they dropped Madonna in 1989 for her Like a Prayer video, I inappropriately grabbed my crotch a few months later while imitating the dance moves in the video for Express Yourself. I also inadvertently poked myself in the eye while attempting to Vogue.

The first time I wanted to pierce my nose was in 1994 when Madonna rocked one on her cuss-filled appearance on Letterman in support of Bedtime Stories, and I made my first Estee Lauder purchase when they featured the red lipstick and nail polish worn by Madonna when she appeared in the movie Evita.

I guess what Madonna really taught me was that as a woman, I didn't need to be a victim. That it was OK to stand up with the boys and tell it like it is. I think it's pretty awesome that she still "talks" to me 26 years later through her music. So, in honor of Madonna, I thought I would share some other things I've learned from the Material Girl, in no particular order:

- We are living in a material world, and I am a material girl ~ Material Girl
- I'm not your bitch, don't hang your shit on me ~ Human Nature
- A man can tell a thousand lies, I've learned my lesson well ~ Live to Tell
- Don't go for second best baby ~ Express Yourself
- Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone - Like a Prayer
- Beauty's where you find it - Vogue
- Nothing really matters, love is all we need - Nothing Really Matters
- You met your match when you met me - Causing a Commotion
- Don't forget that your family is gold - Keep It Together
- The road to Hell is paved with good intentions - 4 Minutes

I hope Madonna continues to write music that inspires generations to come. Thank you for the music Madonna.

Amendment

2010-06-09T07:15:00.000-07:00

Something has been bothering me since I pressed the Publish Post button last night.

I wrote about messing with BATS head just because I can. That's not nice, that's not me.

I've had my head messed with and it's not fun. I wrote it from an annoyed place and I wish I hadn't.

I'm resolving to be kinder and more judicious with my words. In every area.

Oh, and I resolve not to freak my mother out with my posts. I'm sure she'll appreciate that more than anything.

Tuesday Update

2010-06-08T19:10:00.000-07:00

Here's a few things that have happened since the last episode of Beth in Real Life in no particular order...

I'm officially done my part time job a few days early. Not exactly proud of the way it ended, but retail can be messy.

I saw Boy Across The Street Saturday night. He called Saturday morning and invited me over for an impromptu dinner party he was throwing, and despite the short notice, I accepted. I brought wine, we all had dinner. After everyone left, BATS and I made out (sorry mom). He was tired. I went home. I almost yelled at him to man up and drink a Red Bull, but I didn't. I may see him again "romantically", I may not. I may also mess with his head just because I can. I'll see where the mood takes me. And yes, I only recently realized that Boy Across The Street spelled out
BATS. I think there may be something to that.

I have a blind "date" with a guy from Match.com tomorrow night. The 2 second scoop - he's 39, divorced, has an 11 year old daughter and works in recruiting. He's not unattractive based on the pictures he's posted, but then again, I only have one chin in the ones I have on my profile. It's hard to see where something will go just based on a few emails and text messages. More to follow.

There's another guy on Match who has expressed some interest. Not sure he's my type, but we're emailing. Pluses: he's a chef at a casino who is studying to be a paralegal in the criminal justice area. Minuses: he's 44, never been married with 2 kids. I'm thinking a Saturday morning coffee meet and greet is in order.

Work is busy, and also hot, smelly and loud (we've moved into a new building which is still being finished, I haven't suddenly started pig farming). Thankfully the RM for whom I've been pseudo-backfilling is back from maternity leave, although the 7:30 am con call every Tuesday hasn't disappeared from my calendar. I can't complain much as it's 6:30 am for her.

Family is also fun and games these days. I'll leave it at that, but I'll reiterate that I am NOT getting old, do you hear me God? I've tolerated this turning 35 business, but I'm done aging. I need to negotiate some sort of eternal 29 type deal, although I guess I'm about six years too late. So, I'll stay 35, keep my faculties and general looks the same. Just let my weight fluctuate because I don't want to be a size 20 (oh ok...22) forever. OK God? We'll renegotiate when I'm a size 6 (or 8 or 10).

So, that's the update --- ta, ta for now.

Free At Last!

2010-06-03T16:00:00.000-07:00

....well almost.

After next Thursday, my adventures in retail will be coming to an end.

I'll miss the extra cash, and the discount, but it's gotten to a point where the aggravation isn't worth it. Oh, and the fact that some nights I spent more than I made had a little something to do with it (re: the night I bought a Coach watch for $70. Seriously, a Coach watch for $70 - not buying it would have been criminal).

I won't miss picking up other people's trash, or picking up garments that have been tossed on the floor. I also won't miss having to sit on the floor to do markdowns (while wearing black pants) or working up a sweat wrestling with the area rugs that get left on the floor.

Last night confirmed my decision as I was put on the cash register. Right next to the door. Which opened up frequently. It was 90+ degrees and humid last night. My upper lip was sweating. Sexy, right? I had to come home and wash my hair I was so sweaty by the time I was done, and I wasn't even doing something fun. Ain't no way I'm gonna be able to run a register in July when it's 98 and even more humid. I wasn't glistening or glowing. I was sweating like a pig.

So after next Thursday I will have my nights to myself and will be able to banish blue tops and black pants to the back of my wardrobe for a little bit.

Can I get a hallelujah?

It wasn't all bad. I work with some cool people that I hope to stay in touch with - even if they do make me feel really old. So even though I really didn't save a whole bunch (oh, who am I kidding, any) money, I did come out a little richer.

Where It's At

2010-06-01T17:18:00.001-07:00

So I'm feeling a little discouraged, even though the logical part me knows it's way too soon.

Let me explain, I had taken myself out of the game for a while. I mean a really long while. Think Clinton administration.

Sad, no?

That's not to say I haven't had the random date, but random being the operative. I've been so wary of being hurt that I've insulated myself to the point ridiculousness, so now that I'm wading back in, I'm overly sensitive.

It's been slightly short of one week that I've been on Match, and much like my friend who expected to be pregnant after one month of trying, I'm impatient. I'm working on it, but patience is not a virtue I have in great supply.

I'm also still licking my wounds from Across The Street Boy. I'm embarrassed, I'm a little hurt (even though I only have myself to blame) and I'm wondering how I got it so wrong. There's a part of me that feels like all of the negative thoughts I have are being affirmed. In a word, my ego has been bruised.

Compounding this is the whole on-line dating process. I've been doing some reverse searches (meaning people whose criteria I fit, rather than people whose criteria I fit) and what I'm finding doesn't thrill me. Today I came across a 60+ year old who I think may be Jerry Garcia's twin. I've "winked" at a few guys and have emailed two - maybe I'm making the fatal mistake of being too honest when I call myself Full Figured (or Big & Beautiful - great options, eh?) and have had radio silence.

I know I'm being too hasty getting discouraged - I think it's a case of the Tuesday Mondays (i.e. the Tuesday after a long weekend, thus making it a de facto-Monday). As I said before, I have six whole months to get rejected. I need to pace myself and find a better attitude.

I just wish it didn't hurt so damn much.

And So It's Come To This

2010-05-27T19:54:00.000-07:00

So things with Across the Street Boy don't appear to be in the cards, so I'm moving on. It's not that I'm not interested, if I'm being honest with myself, it's just that he doesn't seem to be that interested; and if he is, well, he's doing a lousy job of communicating it.

True story - left a six pack of beer on his front step last night with a note saying give me a call if you want to hang out (I had consumed a few at his place Saturday night). He calls me a few hours later, saying he was busy, blah, blah, blah and oh, "I really should take the garbage out. Talk to you later."

Um....ok.

So, I sulked for a bit, and then took some action. Yes, I get myself in trouble when I decide to take action, but let's face it, the Cute Single Guy Patrol has yet to hit my neighborhood and they sure as hell aren't roaming the halls of my employer.

So yes ladies and gentlemen (are there any gentlemen readers?) I've signed up on Match.com. I forgot I had signed up a few years ago, so I reactivated my profile and spent the night modifying what I had written. I do think I am going to need to convene my buds for a review, so consider yourself warned.

Within the past 24 hours my profile's been reviewed a few times and I've had two "winks" - the pussy way of contacting someone without emailing and getting a rejection. Neither one seems like a great fit - one a 41 year old professional student for whom money isn't important and the other a 36 year old from New York who describes himself as "a White American" - not Caucasian...a White American.

As for me, I've winked at one guy - that's all I've worked the nerve up to do at the moment. I'm essentially lurking for the time being. Hey, I've six months to get rejected a whole bunch of times.

So there it is...as my friend J said, at least I may get a few meals out of it.

Stay tuned.

And hey...if you live near me and you're happily coupled up, if you know of a single guy who might be interested in a high-maintenance girl, help a sister out will ya?

Update

2010-05-26T17:21:00.001-07:00

I'm getting the sense that He's Just Not That Into Me.

Don't even want to talk about it.

Boys

2010-05-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

I met a boy.

Well, to be accurate, I met him four years ago. Since then, off and on, I've been waiting for him to make a move, and figured he wasn't buying what I was selling. Until Saturday night when I got the 411 from a mutual friend that he was extremely shy and most likely wasn't going to make the first move.

Our friend excused himself, and fueled by a mixture of tequila and Bud Light I pounced. At least that's how I like to think of it.

Oh, did I mention he lives across the street from me? Yeah...it's a little complicated.

So now I'm waiting. And thinking. And the thinking is the dangerous part.

Did I come on too strong?

Does he really like me or did he not know what else to do?

What the f*** do I do now?

Of course the good old insecurities have come into play. What am I without them. Do I repulse him, after all, I do look like Princess Fiona but with a slightly better complexion. Was he humoring me when he kissed me back? Do I need to figure out a way to lose 1,000 pounds between now and the next time I see him (which will hopefully be tomorrow)?

Sigh.

I'm pretty sure this why I'm still single. I get hung up by my body, I jump in too quickly, I over think it. Let's face it, I've been crushing on this guy for a while now, so it's a little difficult to not come on too strong, but I also don't want to scare the hell out of him.

I also don't want to get hurt. That's the scary part.

I haven't opened myself or my heart up to love, or even a date for that matter, in a long time. Getting hurt sucks, and I don't want to go through it again.

You know what? Screw it - he's a big boy. If he's not into me, then let him tell me. Until then, I'm going to go for it.

Wish me luck.

I really need it :)

Words

2010-05-15T20:45:00.000-07:00

Words can hurt. Shocker, right? Yet I think we all make the mistake of saying that one wrong thing that unintentionally hurts someone.

I personally suffer from chronic foot in mouth disease. You would think I wouldn’t considering my thin skin (the only thin part of me), yet I seem to have a knack for saying the wrong thing, particularly when I try not to. I always feel like shit when I realize it, but you can’t put the genie back in the bottle sometimes.

We all have our trigger points. Perhaps it’s religion or sexuality. Maybe it’s marital status, children or lack thereof, but I have to believe that everybody has that one thing that is a sore spot. Mine, of course, is weight. If you’re surprised, I invite you to go back and read earlier entries of this scintillating blog.

I want to lose weight. Yes, I’m aware of the size of my ass, that my arteries are probably in a very sorry state and that sitting on a hammock would probably not be wise. I’m also apparently very good at talking about losing weight and writing about it, but it’s the actual follow through where I fail.

I see the looks and I know I’m judged, or perhaps I perceive I’m being judged when I’m not. I spent roughly two and a half years in therapy ostensibly because of my screwed up body issues, yet here I am.

I’m a big joker about my weight. Maybe it’s because I was the butt of other people’s jokes in my younger years, but my MO is to get in front of the joke, call out the elephant in the room. The elephant of course being me.

I also have this urge to tell people that I used to be thin. It’s like I’m saying “I’m not really lazy, I’m just going through a rough patch. I wasn’t always like this”. Mind you, most people don’t say anything about my weight to my face (and Lord help them if they did), but I can feel the judgment, real or perceived.

One person in my life does feel the need every so often to make the rogue comment. He once told me I was porky, and tonight made a pointed remark about dieting. What he doesn’t realize is that remarks like that don’t have the intended result. Five minutes after he said it, I made myself a sesame seed bagel with four pieces of bacon. At 10:30 at night. As I was eating it, I knew what I was doing. The eternal 16 year old inside me was flipping the finger. Another part of me wanted to cry.

On a mature level, I do need to do something, I really do. But as I’ve said before, I need to do it my terms, looks and words be damned.

But getting back to my original point, words. To quote George Carlin, “So be careful with words. I like to think that the same words that can hurt can heal, it’s a matter of how you pick them”.

Secrets

2010-05-13T15:34:00.001-07:00

I have a secret I want to share with you. I'm sure some of you may have already figured it out by now, but I wanted to make it official.

This is really hard for me, so I hope you will all love me and continue to accept me.

Deep breath.

Ok...here goes.

My name is Beth, and I like Coors Light.

Whew...that's a relief. For years I've been hiding my love of relatively weak beer behind pricey imports like Stella Artois and Smithwicks, and local brews like Yuengling.

I've laughed along when people I'm drinking with mocked the light beers. I scorned my beloved Silver Bullet.

Like many things in my life, I of course blame my father. When I was little, my dad was a Miller Light man. For some random reason, I can recall playing in the empty boxes.

Incidentally, we also used to play with the empty cigar boxes supplied by my father's colleague. Yep, my sister and I played with alcohol and tobacco vessels. We also had cap guns, water guns and munched on candy cigarettes. It's a wonder we didn't become felons wanted by the ATF.

Anyhow, back to beer. At some point, dad switched to the silver cans of Coors Light. I don't quite remember when, but I have to believe it was somewhere around the time I became aware of the demon rum, er...beer. So, my first sips of booze were light beer and the Chablis that came out of the green jugs my mother purchased.

Light beer and cheap wine. Have that with chicken nuggets and pizza, and you can imagine why I ruled out culinary school. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm pretty sure that there are 4 year olds with more sophisticated palates than me.

When I came of age (not that I ever sipped alcohol before then! Stop Laughing) I was mocked the first time I ordered a Coors Light. I was mocked. So I started cheating. I tried micro brews, imports - but nothing tasted like Coors Light.

On Friday I went to the beer distributor. They didn't have Stella or Smithwicks, and I couldn't get bottles of Yuengling. What kind of beer distributor was this?!?!? Anyhow, needing beer, I grabbed a case of Coors Light. Spent about $10 to $15 less than I planned, and the Silver Bullet and I got back together.

Now on to my second confession...my name is Beth, and I like cheap wine!

GTL + Crestor

2010-05-09T16:03:00.000-07:00

I don’t get Jersey Shore. No, not the majestic beaches of the Garden State, the TV show.

I admit it – I may be the only person in the world who has yet to watch an episode of the iconic MTV reality show. I’m pretty sure my grandparents are hooked on it, and my grandfather is 89 and my grandmother has Alzheimers.

I’ve seen the cast on TV talk shows and on Ellen. I can tell you that there is some guy called The Situation who has a rock hard oiled six pack and hair-do one might call original at best. Snookie looks like an oompa loompa escaped from Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory with a pouf that accounts for half of her height. Oh, and there’s somebody called J-Woww who is “just like me” according to US Weekly - although I don’t have a superfluous consonant at the end of my name. And there’s some guy called Pauley D, who has the most normal name out of the bunch. They apparently spend their days doing GTL (or Gym, Tan, Laundry (or as I like to call it, Torture, Melanoma and More Torture)). I’m not sure what else they do for a living. They honesty don’t seem all that bright.

I’m pretty sure I know way too much about Jersey Shore than is good for me.

I was young and in my twenties once, and while I don’t choose to partake in the hijinks these guys engage in, I understand where they are coming from. They have a show on MTV after all, not PBS, so some drunken antics are to be expected.

What I really don’t understand is the latest entry in the reality TV genre, Sunset Daze, a Jersey Shore for the over 70 set. Full disclosure, I haven’t actually seen an episode, but I’ve read some reviews and I’m scared. I thought age brought wisdom.

According to some of the latest statistics, the senior set make up for one of the fastest growing groups of people contracting and spreading STDs. And thanks to Sunset Daze, apparently we get to watch it too.

Thanks Viagra.

My grandparents idea of a good time is a road trip to Shady Maple, or perhaps a rousing game of bingo at the church pot luck dinner. Not doing body shots off of one another. And if they are, I so do not want to watch it. I’m frankly still trying to recover from walking into my grandmother’s hospital room to find her naked from the waist down (nature was calling) but still, it’s an image I really want to forget. I certainly don’t want to see her participating in a wet t-shirt contest or jumping out of a plane in tandem with my grandfather.

I’d like to propose to the Reality TV show producers of America that they leave Reality TV to the young. I’m flexible with the age, let’s say under the age of 40. After that point, the odds are good the participants may have children (or grandchildren) who are old enough to watch it during the first run.

Until I get them to agree to my terms, I’m putting parental controls on the computer lest my parents get any ideas of Reality TV stardom.

Jobs I've Had

2010-05-05T17:49:00.000-07:00

Despite my myriad insecurities, I guess one area they haven’t hit is my “retail” area. No, I don’t mean that I buy size 4 jeans when I’m obviously not, although my body dysmorphia is another blog altogether.

What I mean is the fact that I have a habit of taking on retail sales positions in areas I know nothing about.

Maybe it’s this bad economy or the fact that I’m only getting paid once a month, but in the past year I’ve taken on two part time jobs in retail areas that one might consider my blind spots.

Job Number One – Video Game Salesperson. To be honest, I didn’t seek this job out. When I first realized that my expenses were greater than my income, I reached out to my friends. If I’m honest, I was hoping someone would come back with a clerical position on the weekends. I’m REALLY good at sitting on my ass and acting like I’m busy. Sadly, such a role didn’t materialize. My old friend R texted me that the video game store she worked at just outside of the Philadelphia city limits had an opening. The money was good so I took it. This was a bad decision on so many levels.

Bad decision number 1 – working for a friend. To be fair, my friend wasn’t in a management position when I took the job. A few days before I started, that all changed. My friend who I’ve known since we were 5 or 6 became the store manager. I thought I had it made. Not so much. I love my friend R to death, but as my drinking buddy, not my boss.

Bad decision number 2 - taking a job in a field where the customers are passionate and can smell bullshit a mile away. Bullshit was all I was selling.

Bad decision number 3 – taking a job just outside of Philadelphia. No, not just outside of Philadelphia, the store was literally on the other side of the street from the city limits of Philadelphia. Look, I’m suburban – despite the fact that both of my parents were born and raised in Philly, I have no street sense. Most of my friends are Caucasian, not by design, but these folks are the ones who I grew up with or work with. I love Jay-Z and lip-synch a pretty kick-ass 99 Problems, but that’s as urban as I get. My customers, not to stereotype (although I guess I am) came off of the streets of Philly. Some days I felt like I needed a translator. My friend and manager was practically throwing gang signs while I stood off to the side like a female Lawrence Welk.

So, combining all three bad decisions together, I resigned and went on to Job Number Two – Cashier at a Big Box Home Improvement Store. I’m going to level with you – my motivation was the male to female ratio, which I thought was going to rock in my favor. I had visions of young hot dudes who could fix my plumbing (insert inappropriate joke here) and make a few bucks at the same time. Instead I was planted at self checkout wearing a horrid polyester orange apron being asked about home improvement items that I had never even heard of, let alone knew where in the store they were located.

So now I find myself at another part time gig, one that I’m more naturally inclined to work at. I mean seriously, we sell handbags – how much more simpatico can you get? Yet, I find myself dissatisfied, both with the pay and the level of effort I have to expend to keep the store tidy.

So, as always, I’m keeping my eyes open.

Across the parking lot is a guitar store. I’ve never played the guitar. I know nothing about guitars other than I like Slash and Eddie Van Halen.

I wonder if they’re hiring?

The Great Swear Experiment

2010-05-01T17:36:00.000-07:00

I think it's safe to say this week's adventure in not swearing was in equal parts a successful and failed experiment.

That very sentence alone may qualify me as a candidate for Senate.

Let me explain. While the swear jar capped out at $20 (did I mention I get paid once a month - limited cash flow impacted the swear jar funding), I was more aware of my potty mouth.

As I said to more than one person, this was a bad week to try to stop cursing, but then again, I'm not sure there is a ever going to be a good one unless I can get myself put into a medically induced coma.

In other news this week, I finally ventured into the area of Philadelphia (or Killadelphia as it is also known due to the high murder rate) my father grew up in. I have a manager at the part-time gig, who while I like her personally, drives me insane as a manager. I've specifically asked to not be scheduled when she is set to close Monday through Thursday because when she closes it turns into a farce.

This had worked well for me until Wednesday when she was asked to close in place of the store manager. We didn't get out until later than expected, and one of the girls had a bus to catch at 9:55. The manager let us out at 9:54. I threw my co-worker in my car and we sped down Chemical Road. I realized about half-way to the bus stop I didn't turn on my headlights (oops). I did fortunately see the police car up ahead and slowed down. Unfortunately, we missed the bus, so we continued on down Germantown Pike to try to catch up. It became obvious to me we were on a wild goose chase, and since my colleague didn't know when the next bus was, I told her I was driving her home, end of story.

I kind of knew I was in trouble when my GPS told me to go to Osage Ave. Those of you from Philadelphia and old enough to remember MOVE will know the name. As a sign of how young my passenger was, she hadn't heard of the incident. Have I mentioned how old I feel sometimes?

About an hour after I had planned, I ended up back at home, a cold one in my hand, Top Chef Masters on the TV - I had earned it gosh-darn it! -and was thankful that I was working from home the next day.

The following day I told my dad I had been in his old 'hood the night before. He told me my adventure wasn't the best idea. Keep in mind the man was in the Marine Corps, is about 6'3" and carries a gun daily. Yeah, I guess Philly isn't what it used to be.

Looking forward to working from home almost all next week. I love it when my boss travels - I can work from home and stay in my jammy-jams until noon!

Congratulations to my friends Ashia & Alex, Sharon & Aric and Sara & her hubby Mike on the birth of their children! Colleen & Forrest and Sherri & Greg, I guess you guys are up next! BTW, I am an experienced Godmother (and cheap too) if anybody is looking.

Day 2 - this is going to get old real fast, isn't it?

2010-04-27T18:49:00.000-07:00

Only once today!

Despite my mother "helpfully" asking me twice exactly what words I was avoiding (I wonder if she knows she isn't getting a cut?), I didn't take the bait.

I did however drop the f-bomb while recounting something to her around 7:30. So close, yet so far!

Day 1

2010-04-26T23:30:00.000-07:00

I'm getting ready for bed, so although there is still opportunity for foul language, I'm going to recap the day while it's still fresh. Here's how day one went:

9:30 - Put the finishing touches on my blog and hit publish post. Operation No Cursing is on!

10:00 - got an email from one of my colleagues overseas who refuses to directly email anyone who is in my organization directly, but rather prefers to have the emails go through me. Uttered the d-word. The uttered it again when I realized what I had done.

11:00 - called the help desk to get an issue resolved. Tech passed me around like a cheap bottle of vodka - I resisted the urge to put the call on mute so I could rant to myself.

11:35 - end call with the help desk and of course utter one of my signature f-bomb phrases. There goes another dollar. If you have ever had to deal with a help desk, I'm sure you feel my pain.

noon - lunch with the boss. On my best behavior, so no cursing there

1:00 - back from lunch. Check Facebook and see a posting for a concert by someone asking if anybody wanted to go with him. I have no idea who the entertainer is and I mutter to myself "Who the "h" is that". Side note: I looked up the entertainer - family friendly comedian. One comment specifically mentions he's obscenity free. No wonder I haven't heard of him.

2:00 - 9:45 - on my best behavior. This may have something to do with the fact that I was doing heads down work all afternoon and didn't interact with anybody. President Adams has decided to go back on a campaign promise and allow silent cursing. Baby steps. Plus I don't carry that much cash on me. The ride over to my part-time gig was swear free as well. Nobody cut me off, and miraculously, no songs with bad language came on my iPod. Yes, I sing out loud when I'm alone in the car. When I have passengers and I sing out loud, they try to throw themselves out of the car while it's moving. I'm that bad. On the bright side, in my humble opinion, I rap a mean 99 Problems.

9:46 - on my way home, came to the intersection of Main and Markley, the light's still green as I hit the approach and then - DENIED. The bar goes across the intersection - SEPTA Regional Rail pulls in making me sit through a red light. I smack my steering wheel and yell the d-word again - out loud. Philosophic question - if I curse alone and nobody hears it, did I make a sound? For the purposes of this experiment, yes.

So, Day 1 - what have I learned? Well, first of all, I talk to myself out loud way too much. No, really. It's not like I'm expecting an answer, but it's still a tad odd, no? Oh, and I can find other words to use rather than my normal profanity. Today's it's a novelty, but I want to keep this up for a while.

Experiment

2010-04-26T06:11:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to do something more with this blog. Updating it more would be a good place to start, but in order to do that I need material. My life in and of itself doesn't inspire much creative writing unless you enjoy both The Bell Jar and Confessions of a Shopaholic alternately. There are days I think I should rename it Rantings of an Undiagnosed Bi-Polar.

I've always been intrigued by the "I'm gonna do something rediculous for x amount of time and write about it" a la The Year of Living Biblically by AJ Jacobs, Super Size Me by Morgan Spurlock (a documentary rather than a book or blog, but you the idea) or The Julie/Julia Project by Julie Powell.

I could of course just bite on these ideas do do my own version, but I suspect living the Bible literally for a year would get me either fired or cause me to lose my friends. Eating McDonald's or any other fast food for that matter for a set period of time has its own challenges. First of all, I already eat so much of the junk I have a feeling my liver is practically pate at this point, and given that Weight Watchers has started screaming at me to come back, living off of french fries and bacon cheeseburgers might not be the best idea. And as for working my way through a Julia Child cookbook, seeing as the list of foods I don't/won't eat could fill a book of its own, I suspect it would be a futile endeavor.

I do have an idea, and one that presents some unique challenges for me. I am going to give up cursing. Lame? Maybe, but I suspect that if the late George Carlin spent a week with me, his infamous 7 Dirty Words would be more like the 100 Dirty Words. I love to curse - check out the link Moi at the top of this blog. I once said I was going to get the phrase "Swears Like a Secretary" into the vernacular.

So, ground rules. No cursing out loud at all - not my beloved f-word, not the euphamism for feces, no d-word, h-e-double hockey sticks, not even the words that can be used to describe a donkey or a female dog (unless of course I am talking about a donkey or a female dog).

Driving will be interesting. So will working at my part-time job. No cursing inside my head - and I curse a lot to myself. If I do, money is going in a jar. I'll fill you in on day one tomorrow, because swear-free Beth starts now.

Hot for Teacher - 18 Years Later

2010-04-24T20:03:00.000-07:00

My junior year of High School, I went through that enduring rite of passage for a lot of teenage girls. I had my very own flaming crush on one of my teachers. He taught English, and it was pretty much love at first site for me. I was roughly as subtle as a Mac truck – I asked for help I didn’t need, hauled my mother to unnecessary parent/teacher conferences and pretty much was around him every chance I got. I look back and am a little chagrined – especially since I didn’t let the fact that he was newly engaged get in my way. Well, that and the fact that any relationship probably would have been a felony.

He was always very kind to me – to say I was a hot mess back then is an understatement. Ok, to be fair to say I'm a hot mess right now wouldn't be an understatement, but I digress. Having uncontrolled depression in the midst of teenage angst bullshit is no picnic for anyone. But, of course me being me, I mistook that kindness for interest. If I had a free period, I did a slow walk by his classroom. If I had to stay late at school, I walked by the department to see if he was still around. I was bummed the days he wasn’t in school and we had a sub.

He moved on to another school after my junior year and being the tone deaf teenager I was, I attempted to keep up communications. Cringe.

Being the tenacious dork that I am, I did some digging a few years ago and found his email address. Under the guise of the reunion I was organizing, I emailed him, just to say hi. I think the 17 year old that still lurks inside me was secretly (way secretly hoping) that he’d tell me the marriage didn’t work out, that I was (of course) the love his life and that we’d run away together to England (why England? Well why not. It’s my fantasy damn it) together. To my surprise, I didn’t get a restraining order in the mail – seriously, I was that subtle back in the day – I’m sure I scared the shit out of him. I got a reply back, saying he remembered me and the class he taught. That was it – I didn’t email him back, I didn’t google his home address and do a slow drive by his house or anything else even remotely stalker-ish. For reals.

About a week ago I googled him again, and found that he is a principal at a school in Pennsylvania, and said school has a photo gallery. Curious, I looked and found a picture of him. He was never a stud in the traditional sense when I was actively lusting, but he was the geeky type that even now I pursue. But now? Damn…he’s a 40-something dad. And I’m not talking about Brad Pitt.

I’d like to say I’ve moved on. And yes, I have. I’ve transferred my affections to more attainable ones – I’m sure that Brad is going to leave Angelina for me any day now. Ok, seriously, I’ve realized I won’t be the next Mrs. X. But I’ll always remember him fondly and for being kind to a lovesick teenage girl.

Mr. X – you can lift the restraining order now. Really. It’s cool.

Grandparents

2010-04-20T07:18:00.000-07:00

I'm really trying to keep up with this blog, but at times I feel like Debbie Downer so I don't want to spread my malcontent, but in the interest of writing more often, "enjoy".

Sunday pretty much sucked. I had plans - get my nails done, wash my hair (yes, that is something I plan), go to Wegman's, iron some clothes to wear to work this week (preferably without getting my hand stuck in the ironing board again) and then do nothing. They weren't exciting plans, but you do what you can.

The day started off well - got up, had breakfast and headed over to try out an (old) new nail place to get a new set. Right before I started to get polished, my mother calls telling me that my grandmother, who has Alzheimer's, has some swelling near her ear and that she and my sister were taking her to the hospital. I decided to head over once my nails were dry to see what was going on. That was at 11:30 in the morning.

I got to the hospital, and things seemed OK. Grandmom was in good spirits despite being in pain and I was optimistic that we'd be out of there and on our way home by 2 or 3. HA!

It seemed to me that the day went down hill. Grandmom would go in and out - she'd be cool, in a good mood and aware of what was going on, then she'd get disoriented and agitated, then she'd be cool again. OK, I thought, this is what a sick person with Alzheimer's is like. The doctor came in, gave us the diagnosis, or at least what he thought it was, and said they'd be keeping her in the hospital for a few days, which she seemed cool with, even happy about it.

Sidebar here, I'm a drama queen, and there is a part of me that actually enjoys being an in-patient in the hospital. First of all, it's all about me. Honestly, when isn't it? But, when you're in the hospital, you aren't allowed to do a darn thing, so I get to do what I do best and just chill, watch TV, and if I'm lucky get a kick-ass painkiller. I am not a good well person in a hospital. I don't like seeing people I love in pain.

Anyhow, we had to wait what seemed like an eternity for a room for my grandmother, and as we waited she got progressively more out of it. Asking the same question over and over again (I likened it to one of my friends as being with a drunk 2 year old, not that I've ever been with one, but I imagine that's what it's like). Layer in the general chaos of an ER and my head just about exploded. By 8:00 (for those of you keeping score that's roughly 8 hours after I got there) we got her into a room. My 8:30 or so she was settled and we were kicked out.

The good part of all of this, if there is any, is that hopefully my grandfather will get the help he needs and that we've been trying to get him. He's been doing a great job, but there is only so much one person can do, especially an 89 year old with a bum knee and congestive heart failure. We've been trying to get him to accept help, but he refuses. I'm hopeful the social worker won't give him a choice.
I'm going to be honest that I'm pretty depressed. My mother is mourning and I can't help. The grandmother I remember is for all intents and purposes gone. I can't do as much as I'd like because of work and frankly my fear that I'm ineffective. I feel like I've lost part of my family. Please keep us in your prayers as we muddle through this sucky new world.

Is it me?

2010-04-14T10:35:00.001-07:00

I'm dreading going into work tonight. It's not the work, it's your basic retail stuff. I'm just gonna say it, it's the people that drive me crazy.

I don't know about you, but when I'm out shopping, if I drop something on the floor, I pick it up. If I break something, I offer to help clean it up, or if nobody is around, I find somebody, own up to it, and let them know there is a disaster in Aisle 6. And if I have a cup of coffee or a soda with me and I finish drinking it, I carry it around until I find a trash can. Also, if I feel the need to have a snack while shopping (retail therapy is hard work after all), I shove the wrapper in my purse or pocket until I can toss it.

Not the customers at the store I work at.

Over the past week (and we're talking about three 3 1/2 hour shifts here), I've found the following:

1. 5 drink cups (some empty, most not)
2. Roughly 20 pistachio shells on a table that is for sale, and some more in the cushions of a chair that is also for sale
3. Crushed up pretzels and goldfish
4. A baggie left behind in a cart which I believe was the origin of the pretzels and goldfish.
5. 20 to 30 pairs of shoes all on the floor, some with the mates far, far away from each other. Some kicked under the fixture. All were paired, sized and originated on a shelf at the start of the day.
6. Area rugs covering the floor (again, all originating on the shelf).

I haven't even mentioned the amount of clothing that is on the floor at any given time, and the full carts that are just abandoned as if their owner was abducted by aliens. And I'm not even going to go into the night a few weeks back when somebody urinated in a fitting room (you read that right) and left the puddle on the floor for another customer to drop her coat in. I'm still not sure who drops their coat on a floor without looking first, but that's just me.

I spend a lot of nights cursing under my breath (and sometimes out loud) - the level of disrespect blows my mind. I realize I'm going off on a rant here, but seriously people? Between the dirty looks I get from customers who think we just don't clean the store, and seeing the customers who drop stuff (because the floor is obviously where things go) or let their darling children treat the store like it's their personal toy box, there are many nights I think I'm the strange one.

Yeah, I'm burned out, and I need to find something else. Or I just need to drink more, but I'm not sure my liver and kidneys could take it.But until I figure out the answer, I'll leave you with this picture just so you don't think I'm making it all up (there is floor in this picture - can you find it?).

Ego-A-Go-Go

2010-04-12T20:09:00.000-07:00

If you have insomnia, I've added a new page to my blog which may help you out. Check out the tab called "Moi" for some mind-numbing info about yours truly.

Where's Waldo?

2010-04-10T19:12:00.000-07:00

I've resigned myself to sporadic updates on here, so I guess the rest of ya'll should too. Between working two jobs (one of which makes me feel like the will to live has been sucked out of me - and no it's not the full time job), having a grandparent with a chronic illness, coping with my own battle with depression and generally trying to have a life, the blog unfortunately takes a back seat.

So, what's new in the Mild World of Beth? I think I've raised a few eyebrows lately with some body modifications. As I've written before, I have quite the collection of tattoos (at least for me) and coupled with a nostril piercing, I'm sure I'm not many mother's idea of the girl next door. Well, I've decided to add to the collection with some "non-traditional" piercings. Don't worry, nothing below the waist, and if I ever experience a Janet Jackson like wardrobe malfunction, you'll just see good old traditional nipple. I've added helix, tragus and industrial piercings (sleeping position has become an issue)and have decided it was good idea to get a microdermal anchor to my right wrist. If you read this blog you probably know me in real life and have see them, or have been on my Facebook page, so feel free to peruse the pictures if this is all Greek.

In other news, I think I'm the only person in the world not pregnant or imminently expecting a child who isn't menopausal or sterilized. I admit I have some weird emotions around this. I'm thrilled for my friends, but feeling a little left behind. I'm not exactly ready to have a child, nor am I in a place where getting pregnant is even a possibility (as I've told many a medical technician, if I have a positive pregnancy test, call the Vatican), but I can hear the good old biological clock ticking like Big Ben, and it makes me more than a little sad some days. I'm coming to terms with it, but some days are better than others. I do love being an aunt, both biological and honorary, so I'm looking forward to a new generation of children to corrupt.

My part time gig seems to be an endless source for amusement some days, frustration others. I'm desperately trying to see the humorous side to my adventures in retail, and have some hope that there may be a book in it someday. If all else fails, it's one more dimension for my pitch to Bravo for The Real Housewives of Norristown.

Time is flying by - my little baby niece is turning 9 in May. I guess I should stop referring to her as "Baby T" or "Sweet Precious Baby T" but I have a feeling I'll be calling her that on her 40th Birthday. While shoving a chicken nugget in her mouth when she isn't paying attention. If I had that child's metabolism and willpower, I'd be a size 0.

Well, I guess that's it for now. Hopefully will write again when the muse strikes. Perhaps I need to find a new muse...

Until then, stay classy Pinot readers.

Life List

2010-02-23T18:29:00.001-08:00

Hi Readers (or reader as the case may be)!

I came across this tonight as I was cleaning up my computer and thought I'd share this with you. I was inspired by Ellen DeGeneres awhile back and started compiling a Life List - i.e. things I wanted to do before I ate it (also known as a Bucket List).

1. Learn to dance
2. Laugh at myself and mean it
3. run another 5k
4. maintain a healthy weight for more than six months
5. wear a bikini (see no 4)
6. wear a bikini in public (again, see no 4)
7. learn another language
8. do karaoke in public – not just in a private room – this may factor in number 2
above for me and earplugs for everyone else
9. go on vacation (away) by myself – sans laptop and blackberry
10. be my authentic self and not apologize for it
11. get my associates degree
12. go speed dating
13. eat more vegetables
14. speak in public
15. ask for help when I need it
16. admit when I’m hurt, sad, angry or upset – and not apologize for it
17. run a 10k
18. allow myself to be photographed, even when I don’t feel I look my best
19. use those darn re-useable shopping bags I keep on buying
20. recycle
21. smile more
22. audition for a reality TV show – although it would be so much easier if someone
submitted me for What Not To Wear
23. go back to England
24. try sake
25. say a firm no the lotion zealots at the mall and not fake a phone call to avoid
them
26. drink more water

So, I've done a few (think single digits and one hand). As a personal motivation to blog more, I'll write about the items on this list I've completed, and maybe some thoughts on the ones yet to be done.

Pass It On Wednesday

2009-12-30T08:14:00.000-08:00

I read this on my friend Heather's blog. Please keep Brandy and her man in your thoughts and prayers.
------------------------------------------
My name is brandy. And I have a blog.

And a plea.

I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds. Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog- as personal as the dude that I adore (who I actually met through my blog- single ladies, let that be a very good reason to blog, the possibility of meeting someone as wonderful as my man), but I need your help. And it involves my dude.

He's a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He's the kinda guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job. He's the guy who sent flowers to me at school- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He's a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred. He's made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He's listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.

The holidays have hit us hard. He's recently been told he may have something called multiple myeloma- an incurable cancer, that gives a person an average of five years of continued life. Though this news has came as a shock, he continues to be exactly who has always been- spending his time worrying about me, rather than worrying about himself. He's the most selfless individual I know- (he stayed late on Christmas Eve to work, so his co-workers could leave early) and a post like this would never be something that he would promote or encourage but when I'm overwhelmed and feeling helpless, the blogging community has always given me tremendous support and comfort, two things I desperately need at this time.

As I write this, the future is uncertain and we aren't sure what's happening. He'll need to see an oncologist soon, to verify what's going on in his body. My hope is that everyone who reads this think positive thoughts and if you are a person who prays, could you add him to your list? (You can refer to him as 'brandy's hot awesome dude'). If you don't pray, please keep him in your heart.This cancer is only a possibility and I believe that the prayers and positive thoughts of people can make sure it never becomes a reality.

I want to give a big thank you to the blog owner who scraped their original blog plans and graciously put this up. My goal is to get as many people as possible to see and read this post. If you are reading this and want to help, copy and paste my plea into your blog or send a link through twitter, so more people can keep him in their thoughts. I would be so very grateful (even more grateful than I am to my friend who first showed me the picture of Ryan Reynolds on the cover of Entertainment Weekly. If you haven't seen it, google it. You. Are. Welcome).

I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making- but this is life. Right now. And I'm throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you and if you know anything regarding MM- please email me (my email is on my blog). This isn't a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It's just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be with the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next. Maybe it is silly, but I really do believe that positive thoughts can make a huge difference. Thank you for reading this and if you haven't already? Please tell someone you love them today.

I did.

General Frustration

2009-12-28T07:55:00.000-08:00

"They" say write what you know, and there are no two subjects I know better than whining and handbags.

I admit I have a handbag problem. It started in 1998 when I fell in love with the black nylon Kate Spade Sam bag. Everything was perfect in my mind - the size, the color, the shape. Everything, that is, but the price tag. If I recall correctly, it was an astronomical $199. Way out of my price range when I was making in the avenue of $25k a year back then.

Deciding I couldn't afford it, I went on a quest to find a replacement. I bought every cheap bag in the area - going from Payless to Parade of Shoes and from TJ Maxx to Target. Nothing satisfied me. One of my colleagues, bemused by my obsession, commented to me that if I just bit the bullet and bought the original bag I probably would have saved money.

So I saved and worked overtime, and finally walked into Neiman Marcus and bought the bag, and I even had enough left over to buy the matching wallet. Thus the obsession began.

I found the much lusted after Sam bag wasn't all I imagined it to be. No pocket for my cell phone. The hard edges slammed into my arm when I walked. But it was then I developed a taste for nice bags and matching wallets.

I guess it's better than meth, but probably more expensive.

Despite my collection, no bag and wallet combo is more important to me than the one I am using at any one time. My life is generally contained in those vessels. My checkbook, my check card, lipstick, lip balm, compact, drivers license, iPod, Blackberry & cell phone. Seriously, the list could go on and on.

Imagine my general disbelief when I went to figure out how much cash I had on Sunday morning to find my wallet missing. I ran out to my car to see if it had fallen out and under one of the seats. I checked my bedroom to see if I had slipped it in a pants pocket. I even checked the dog toys and dog beds to see if my klepto beagle had stolen it. No dice.

Sunday was spent making calls cancelling cards and going to the police station to report the wallet missing. I spent a good hour and a half retracing my steps from Saturday in a futile attempt to locate it.

So, two months after The Great Checking Account Debacle of 09, I am now awaiting the delivery of yet another check card, and looking forward to another round of updating payment information. Not to mention an exciting trip to the DMV to get a new license.

I guess there is some good news in all of this - I get to go wallet (and therefore handbag shopping) again the future.

Let the hunt begin.

12 Days of Retail Christmas (or Why I Drink)

2009-12-23T03:09:00.000-08:00

12 Irritable Shoppers

11 Screaming Children

10 Out of Stock Items

9 Burned Out Cashiers

8 Defective Gift Cards

7 Days of Extended Hours

6 Clueless Male Shoppers

5 Maxed Out Credit Cards

4 Trashed Departments

3 Broken Registers

2 Last Minute Shoppers

And a Hangover on Christmas Day

Dear Santa

2009-12-19T10:20:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa

I know it's been a while...something like, what, 27 years? Well, I've decided to believe in you again. I'm also welcoming the Tooth Fairy back into the fold in light of my recent dental work, so if you can let her know, I'd appreciate it.

You should know that I have been a very good girl this year. Well, not exactly very good, but definitely good. OK, good enough? Right, well, I haven't killed anyone this year, ok?

So...this is kind of awkward since I've sent quite some time denying your existence (my bad), but since there's only a few more days until Christmas, I need to get on the stick to let you know what I want.

- Another 5k in my salary. I hope you take into account that I could be greedy here and ask for another zero (the 35 year old equivalent of asking for a pony), so please, you're Santa after all. Nothing's impossible for you. And if you want to add another zero to my salary, I completely understand if you want to mess around with the first number.

- A boyfriend. Let me clarify - a quality boyfriend who doesn't live with his parents (ahem), has a good job, clean medical history and can provide 3 years audited financial statements along with a complete medical workup. Kids OK as long as the ex-wife isn't a nightmare

- An Hermes Kelly bag. Again, being reasonable here, but if you want to upgrade the a Birkin, I'll take that too. I know we're in a recession, so if resources are limited for you as well Santa, just as Posh Spice to give up one. She has like...a million.

- Gisele Bundchen's body. I know she just had a baby and I'd be willing to do the work to lose the baby weight. But let's face it Santa, especially if you see when I'm sleeping and know when I'm awake, Gisele looks better on her worst day than I do on my best.

Since I am a grownup, I guess I should ask for some stuff to help other people out.

- An end to this recession and sustained job growth. Please Santa let everyone have a job that wants one (or needs one)

- An end to the hostility in the world. Please bring our soldiers safely home

- An end to poverty and hunger in the world. That does sound a little beauty contestant, doesn't it?

- Heath care for everybody

- Oh, some toys for my dogs; a bottle of scotch for my dad and a Kindle for my mom. I'm sure you'll be hearing from the rest of the family and my friends real soon so I won't duplicate their requests.

Well, that's it. I hope it's not too much. You might have a problem with stuffing the boyfriend down the chimney, so I can leave a key under the mat for you. I'll leave the milk and cookies out for you.

Love,

Beth

P.S. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Lamentation

2009-12-15T20:38:00.001-08:00

Oh my poor neglected blog...familiar refrain, no?

For the two of you still reading (and yes mom, I know one of them is you), I guess I owe you an explanation.

But heck, that's no fun, is it?

Let me fill you in on what's been happening here at Chez Beth since we last chatted.

Still working two jobs. I left an unnamed big box home improvement store (think orange - sooo not a good color for me) for a low-cost retail chain. Liking this place more, a better fit than home improvement and video games. Absolutely better wine-infused stores to tell in my off hours. Let's just say that I am amazed at how slovenly people can be. Oh, I don't want this blouse...where to put it? Oh, the floor is quite convenient.

Holidays are around the corner, and for once I'm not planning a Dec 23/Dec 24 shopping extravaganza, although that is more due to the fact that I am paid once a month at my full time job and have to strike while the iron is hot. But hey, I'm done!

Still struggling with the depression - hard to stay positive when you're working your tail off and still at loose ends, but striving to stay positive. I have a great family and great friends, who I'm pretty sure would be happy with a hug if that was all I could offer at the holidays.

Anyhow, 3 more days of work before a 2 week vacation over the holidays. Hoping to come back rejuvenated and refreshed with inspiration for more blogs.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Happy Kwanzaa...

Update

2009-10-23T05:17:00.000-07:00

I've got nothing right now folks...

Restarted (for like the millionth time) Weight Watchers. I hope I can do it this time.
Figuring out how to escape from the black cloud I'm under at the moment. I zig, it zags, and somehow it finds me again (or am I finding it? I am a pessimist by nature)
Still wanting to find the bastard who broke into my car the other night. I want my damn iPod back you little bastard.
Mentally preparing to turn 35 in a few weeks. My sister asked me what I wanted for it, I told her to be 27 again. Of course that would mean I'd have to re-do this year and I don't wanna
And finally, working on my whining. But hey, it something I'm good at and "they" do say to play to your strengths.

Until later - Peace Out

Loss

2009-10-10T21:42:00.000-07:00

This has been a rough year, even rougher than last, and I thought 2008 would go down in history as a bad year for me.

2009 has been the year of loss and death. No other way to put it. Too many people have died this year, and I'm not talking about Farrah or Michael. I'm talking about people I know - Lou, Joe, Uncle Ed, Sandy and now Bobby. There were also people on my "social periphery" so to speak - Patrick, Scott & my friend Margie's dad.

I'm not going to lie, Bobby's death has shaken me up, and has made realize what a gift life is, even more so than the deaths preceeding it. I glibly mentioned to a few people after Sandy passed a few weeks ago that I was too young to read the obits regularly, and not only that, but to recognize the names. Now I feel like I'm afraid to read the paper.

My recent problems seem trivial, and I'm glad for that. Life is a gift, and I don't want to squander it.

Second Verse, Same as the First

2009-10-06T17:52:00.001-07:00

Here I go again...time to admit that I need to go back to Weight Watchers.

I don't want to.

I really don't want to.

But I need to.

Wish me luck.

Another Open Letter

2009-10-04T18:29:00.001-07:00

Dear Jon & Kate:

For the sake of your children, I implore both of you to please grow up. That's it, that's my simple request.

Ideally you'd both fade back into obscurity, Kate being the kind of nurse that makes people stay away from doctor's offices and hospitals despite bleeding from both eyes and ears, and Jon being the kind of IT guy that my friends and I openly mock.

But in the words of Mick Jagger, you can't always get what you want.

So with that in mind, I'd like to ask that you keep your divorce proceedings, financial disputes and dalliances out of the press.

There are a lot of children of divorce out there, and I'd likely wager that the majority of them didn't have to read on the web that their parents "despise" each other, or that the other parent is acting like a teenager. I'd pretty much bet the ranch that most children of divorce aren't able to look forward to the inevitable boxed set of the dissolution of their parent's marriage that the +8 are going to have.

Marriages end, people change, couples grow apart. It happens every day in America. Regrettably in your case it happened on TV with America watching.

The past can't be changed. What can be changed is how you choose to co-parent in the future.

At the end of the day, you've brought 8 lovely children into this word who have no power and little capacity to understand what is happening around them. I hope you both prove themselves in deed that you are the loving parents you profess to be by hashing out your differences in private, and letting their children be children.

In the meantime, can you both please get the hell out of my People Magazine? Kate, your hair and Jon, your bling are giving me nightmares.

Thanks,

Beth

9/11

2009-09-10T19:26:00.000-07:00

Indulge me for a moment, while I share my 9/11 story. I still remember where I was (and actually what I was wearing - a knee length flowered dress - my weigh in dress actually since Tuesday was WW) on that day.

I had called my father around 8:15 to harass him about an email he didn't reply to, when he picked up the phone with "Yeah, I'm watching it".

"Watching what?" I asked

"A plane crashed into the World Trade Center."

"Was it an accident or..."

"Gotta go, there was an explosion at the other building" and he hung up.

I went to get on MSNBC.com and my computer went into ultra-slow mode, clearly hosed by the bandwidth. My boss, Barbara, then came around the corner to tell me she was getting on conference call and to interrupt her if a particular call came through. I told her with my father told me, and that I was trying to get more info. She paled and told me to keep her posted.

About 10 minutes later she came out of her office, she told me that she had heard about something happening at the Pentagon and that she was off to find a TV. I hopped up and followed her. As we walked up to the conference room, she turned to me and said "Beth, we have people in there". The company I worked for at the time had around 40 people working for one client in the South Tower, 5 more for a different client in the North Tower and 15 at the Pentagon. We also had friends and colleagues who regularly flew out of Newark and Logan.

We went up to the conference room and joined others watching CNBC. The whole time I had one thought - don't cry, do not cry

Suddenly we saw the south tower collapse, and heard an anchor report that a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania. I looked over and saw Kim wiping tears from her eyes, and Laura blurted out "You guys, I am so scared" and I allowed a few tears to pop out. Barbara got up, and true to her take charge attitude said she needed to start making some phone calls. I followed her to help.

She said we needed to start calling people who could get information - if Dave, who lived in Connecticut and flew out of Logan regularly, was in the office today; to find out where Dick was and if he was flying out of Newark; to get a list of people on projects in the Towers, the Pentagon and anyone who would be flying out of the airports the flights originated from.

The first call I made was to the only person I knew who lived in New York, my friend Ashia. I tried to call and got a busy signal. I kept at it and burst into tears when she finally answered. She told me she was OK but freaked out. I felt better knowing where she was and that she was safe for the moment.

My overriding thought that day was that I wanted to go home. Once I realized that Barbara and I couldn't do anything (corporate had stepped in and set up a command center to account for affected employees), I told her I wanted to leave. Not knowing if Philadelphia would be attacked, corporate center management closed all of the buildings.

I drove home listening to KYW, not wanting to believe what I was hearing, irate at the news of dancing in the streets in some countries that the US was attacked. I came home to an empty house, mom was at home with my sister and then 3 month old niece who had been home from the NICU for about 1 week, and dad was at work. Me and my dog Murphy sat watching TV, numb. I tagged along with my parents to pick out carpet (of all things) and we went for dinner at a small pub, swapping what we had heard with the waiter, not wanting to believe it was true.

It's been 8 years and it still doesn't seem real in some ways. I feel odd scheduling things - hearing, "ok, so we're set for 10:00 on 9/11" come out of my mouth when confirming a meeting. The day feels sacred to me.

I know tomorrow will be a different day - no, I didn't lose anyone. Fortunately all of our employees survived. But our country lost something - our innocence. Our sense of security. That it couldn't happen here.

But we also gained something I think. We all united that day and the days after. I practically rolled around and wrapped myself in the American flag - and a part of me is nostalgic for the days that we all seemed a little kinder to each other. When hearing the Star Spangled Banner or America the Beautiful would stop people in their tracks.

Let's take a few moments tomorrow to remember those who died that day, those who died defending our country and those who now serve our country.

God Bless America

Wired for Sound

2009-08-19T19:32:00.000-07:00

I had a sleep study last night. Let me start off by saying, in my semi-delirious state, that I think it's funny that they call it a "sleep" study, since that's the last thing I felt like doing.

Let me get back to be beginning. For the past few years, much like a 9 month old, I've had problems sleeping through the night. Falling asleep (eventually) isn't the problem, but come 2:00 am, it's me and the clock having a face-off. Also, I've joined the ranks of the snorers in the family, that is if you believe my sister and my father, the two people who rattle the windows when they sleep.

I mentioned it to my doctor the last time I went in, and sure enough, she suggested a sleep study. I snarkily told her that I suspected it would confirm I can't sleep with crap hooked up to me, but she insisted.

To be fair, the folks at the Center for Sleep Medicine in Lafayette Hill kick ass, even if they didn't let me finish watching the 10:00 episode of Law & Order SVU on USA. Michelle made me feel like I was just checking into a spartan hotel, and Mark definitely took the weirdness out of being plugged in to go to sleep.

The getting "put to bed" part took roughly 30 minutes. Let me paint you a picture...

I started by shoving wires down the shorts of my PJs, then I had a band put around my chest, another around my abdomen. Then I had sensors put on my chest and abdomen. We went into another room from which I emerged looking like something from a sci-fi movie. I had more wires attached to me then I ever imagined possible. Here's what I can recall from the top of my head (literally)- one behind each of my ears, another under my jaw. Two at my temples, one under each of my eyes, and then three on various parts of my head. Add in the two mics put in my nose, and the pluse/ox monitor on my index finger, and I was, literally, wired for sound.

I was then escorted to my bed where I was plugged into a PC, and then put through a bizarre version of the hokey pokey to calibrate the machines - look left, look right, flex your left foot, flex your fight, blink five times, etc. I eventually fell asleep and for the first time in my life, I was actually happy I woke up in the middle of the night. A part of me felt validated in my sleep issues despite having to lay in a strange bed, in a strange room with an infra-red camera pointed at me, trying to go back to sleep.

7:30 came way too soon, when I was rousted from bed, disconnected and sent on my way. I made it back home, got through both my full time and part time jobs, and instead of going to bed like a normal person, I'm updating my blog and wishing I had the foresight to have had my cell phone closer to my bed so I could have taken a picture for posterity.

I should know in a week or so what exactly the deal is - my money is on sleep apnea and general insomnia.

Until then...sweet dreams.

Who's in the Dog House?

2009-08-14T20:52:00.000-07:00

Anger, shock, disgust and sadness are some of the things I felt last night when I read that Michael Vick was signed to the Philadelphia Eagles.

I'm all for second chances, but so far, Michael Vick hasn't walked the walk. I read Wayne Parcel's blog about how he met with Vick on more than one occasion since his departure from prison with great interest. So far, I'm not impressed. Maybe Vick (and I leave out "mister" intentionally) is genuinely contrite for having been involved with a dog fighting ring. Maybe he is just sorry that he got caught.

I wanted to vomit when word first broke of the activities at Bad Newz Kennels, and I am a person that is not a pit bull fan. Certain breeds of dogs immediately strike fear into me and pit bulls are one of them. But hearing about Georgia, the dog who had her teeth surgically removed, theoretically to make her more breedable, made my heart weep. Cherry, the dog who couldn't walk on a leash, probably because he never went for a normal dog walk, broke my heart.

I wanted to adopt a pit bull. Specifically, I wanted to adopt a "Vick" pit pull.

Needless to say my mother was not happy.

I'm glad to hear that with the exception of the two dogs who were euthanized, most of Vick's victims are living in safe environments. They are now able to be dogs, not fighting machines.

Vick and his co-conspirators went through the justice system, and did their time as the law stipulates. But does that mean that Vick gets to make seven figures in the NFL? In my mind, I think not. At least without doing some hard time working with the very creatures he victimized.

I think it's ironic that he's been signed to a team in the same city as Chase Utley, one of the heroes of the 2008 World Series. He and his wife Jenn are well known in Philadelphia as animal lovers, and paid the veterinary bills of a puppy who was beaten and tortured by her former owners. I read today that Jenn Utley was protesting outside of the press conference announcing Vick's signing with the Eagles. I wanted to give her a virtual high-five.

I really hope that Vick makes amends - and not with his words. I hope he reaches out to Mr. and Mrs. Utley and actively works to improve the lot of animals in the city of Philadelphia. I guess what I want is for Vick to lead by example. I want him to see the reality of dog fighting. Make him comfort an abused animal, who doesn't know how to communicate their fear, their pain.

I hope I'm not disappointed in Vick, or in Eagles Coach Andy Reid, Quarterback Donovan McNabb (who vouched for Vick) and Tony Dungee.

How Not To React

2009-08-02T16:09:00.000-07:00

It's no secret I really want to be nominated to be on TLC's What Not To Wear.

I'm pretty sure there wouldn't be a problem with getting good footage of me. I think it's perfectly acceptable to run out to the supermarket in ratty shorts and a t-shirt, no make up, hair in a sloppy ponytail and cheap sneakers. Would I like to dress better? Sure. Do I want to spend my own money on fabulous clothes when I refuse to believe that being a size 20 is a permanent state? No.

Yes, Stacy and Clinton can be over the top while trying to make their point. But that's their job. I look at them like guerrilla stylists. I love the passion they bring to the show and how they make their "victims" feel great about their bodies no matter their size.

The part of the show that grates on my last nerve is the hair makeover part. No, it's not Nick Arrojo. I think he's great. I'd like to pick him up and put him in my pocket so I can have him with me at all times. What bothers me is the way some of the subjects react to the concept of hair change.

I'm admittedly behind on my DVR watching. I'm watching an episode of WNTW that aired in mid-June featuring a single woman from Texas in her fifties. To say she had quintessential Southern hair is an understatement. You know the saying "The higher the hair the closer to God"? Well this woman should have been canonized in her bedazzled leopard print.

She took to the rules about clothing from Stacy and Clinton better than I thought she would. I was on her side - I really wanted to see the reveal.

Then she sat down in Nick's chair. He explained to her that he wanted to tone down the brassy hair and make her 'do sleeker. When he was done I thought she looked great. She cried for the balance of the show because her hair was shorter and that men wouldn't like it. Seriously - that was her main concern - a man's reaction to her hair.

Huh?

I dumped a guy because he kept at me to grow my hair out from a chin length bob. I explained to him that if he liked long hair so much he could feel free to grow his out, but that I wasn't at a point in my life where I wanted to spend 45 minutes a day washing and drying my hair. He didn't let up. I suspect he is still living in Johnstown, PA, now with a Crystal Gayle look alike.

Getting back to the show, Carmandi, the makeup artist, had to get someone else to restyle the woman's hair and she was still bitching, again citing that men wouldn't find her attractive. Mind you, she didn't get a Sinead O'Connor circa 1989 buzz cut, but an age appropriate chin length do.

The show ended with her going to her salon in Dallas and getting extensions (Great Lengths, which cost $3k - I once priced them out while growing out my own hair), pushing aside the reactions of her friends and family about how great she looked, including the new hair style.

Maybe I'm the strange one, but I just don't get it. I can count on one hand the number of times I've cried about my hair (and I cry about other things a lot). The last time I got overwrought about a hair cut was in 1995 and I had a style I couldn't figure out how to do - I threw the brush at the mirror in frustration. I decided then and there that it wasn't worth it. Guess what? My hair grew back.

I abuse my hair - I cut it, blow it dry, flat iron, curl and color it. I once tried to chemically straighten my heavily highlighted hair with a DIY kit. I had a pixie a week later which I am just now growing out. Did I love how my fried hair look before I got the salon, and was I happy with an uber-short cut after trying to grow my hair for a year? No on both counts. But I dealt with it and a super cute cut.

Sometimes my hair looks good, other times it doesn't, but I try not to let it define me. If I had the opportunity to have a well known stylist who charges 3 figures for a cut do my hair free of charge, you can bet I'd let him (or her) do whatever the heck they wanted.

You have that on record now. Feel free to start taping the submission reel for TLC.

I can even lend you a video recorder.

Getting Real - Another Rambly Blog

2009-07-07T18:11:00.000-07:00

Sigh...my poor neglected blog.

I didn't want it to be like this. I wanted to post frequently, with witty, insightful posts. Not whiny self-serving diatribes about how things suck, or with pointless wandering posts about books and movies.

But here I am. I'm sure both of you still reading have just about given up on me by now, and I don't blame you. But, for what it's worth, here's where I'm at.

The weight loss train has come to a dead stop I'm sad to say. For those of you who have supported me, I'm sorry I may have disappointed you. Know that it is nowhere near as much as I've disappointed myself.

I have no excuse except for the fact that I like food and I hate bad feelings. When I feel sad, or mad or otherwise not "jolly" (as people expect us fat folks to be) I eat to numb the pain. I guess it's slightly better than drinking a fifth of vodka, but not as good for my waist-line or my arteries.

I wish I could stop the negative feelings. I'm not a nice person when I'm like this. I lash out at everyone: family, friends, loved ones. Especially family. A wise person once said you always hurt the ones you love. So, look at the bright side, if I've been a bitch to you, that means I love you. Yes, even you Kelly.

So, what are the negative feelings? I'll lay it on the line, here's some insight into what that ugly little voice says. "You're fat." "Your career's a joke. You'll never amount to anything without a degree." "You're ugly." "No one will ever love you." "You're going to die alone."

Not nice to read, is it? Really not nice to have to constantly tell those little voices to shut the hell up. It's one hell of a lot easier to eat a cheese steak and an order of fries. At least that keeps the voice's mouth busy - it can't tell me what a loser I am.

So, where to go from here? I don't know.

I do know that have some work to do - repairing relationships, getting my life back in order. Getting a gag order for that little annoying voice. Clearly communicating what I need when I ask for help.

To anyone still reading, who I haven't hopelessly alienated, I need your support. Not necessarily advice, not even your physical support.

Is it strange to say I need happy thoughts? Ok, how about moral support. I need you to support my morals...what?...wait...that doesn't sound right.

Ok, you know what I mean.

Thanks :)