Kendra Through the Looking Glass

New Feed

2011-07-15T17:05:00.000-07:00

I'm hoping that this will show up for those who are subscribed to my site. I've switched to self hosted and so my feed has changed. The new feed is http://kendrathroughthelookingglass.com/feed.

Welcome back to the crazy.

Hiccup

2011-05-21T20:17:00.000-07:00

There might be a slight to severe hiccup over the next week here. I'm finally switching to self hosted!

I'll see you on the other side...

Changing Seasons

2011-05-18T07:45:00.000-07:00

It's been kind of heavy around here lately, hasn't it?

Yeah, it's been a hard season and clouds have dominated the skyline but today things were looking a little more like this.

Why hello blue sky, I haven't seen you in a while. Let's spend a whole lot more time together.

It's lovely out and the cheer is irresistible. No, it isn't just that. Over the last week I've seemed to come back out of my fog again, even before the actual sun came out. I'm starting to feel authentically okay again. Not only that but I'm starting to feel happy again. The crazy of the new birth control is subsiding, the anxiety of life changes is fading, and the impact of what happened a month ago is starting to be more and more a distant memory.

You know what that means? I might actually be funny again! Oh yes, it is a distinct possibility.

Good morning star shine, the earth says hello? No, wait...

I realized that things really had taken a turn about a week ago when I was walking down the street and could not resist singing along to the music I was listening to. Sing I did. In public. In Downtown Seattle. On a street where no one else was walking at the moment... I'm not that shameless. Anymore.

Actually, one other thing happened. I got to ease my conscience.

Remember The Stoic (I named his that after that post)? I hurt him. Badly. Back when I was bounding and rebounding, trying desperately to get over that certain someone (who I was still calling The Visitor), I let him be my constant fall back guy. I never knew if he realized it or not but I was aware that he was much more serious about me than I was about him and my behavior was shameful.

I saw him this weekend. Looking him in the face was harder than I could have imagined it would be, but I did it. I looked him in the face and apologized. We talked about what happened a bit. Whether it was from cowardice or an instinct to not hurt him more I didn't clarify how I had viewed things but I let him talk about it and tell me what he saw.

It was painful to see that he still had feelings for me. I could see him trying to suppress his emotion when he found out that I was seeing my certain someone again. He had always been jealous that he hadn't gotten to be my first and resented the certain someone because of it.

By the time we parted ways, though, we left each other with a smile and a wave. Despite the fact that I know I never did right by him, I felt the weight of the guilt I'd been carrying lift. He's not mad at me anymore. I don't have to worry about running in to him. We're okay.

I think that deserves an official happy dance, right? Right!

Things are feeling a little brighter and, believe it or not, even my pale ass loves some time in the sun.

Bring it on summer! I've got SPF 110 on my side and I plan on frolicking.

Skanky Tuesday: Let Me Be A Woman, Part Deux

2011-05-17T07:43:00.000-07:00

This is about to be the most intimately honest and vulnerable post I’ve ever written. If you prefer the dirty, snarky, bitchy Kendra please come back next week. I’ll finally be talking about my first waxing experience. In the meantime, if you need some Skanky Tuesday satisfaction, check out two of my favorite old posts; Spit or Swallow and Strength Training for a Happy Ending.

Last night I was up too late on Jezebel reading about sexual boundaries and things that surprised people to be turned on by. Really, does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. It made me stop and think about my own preferences. This isn’t going where you think it is. Reading the article and comments opened a can of worms of analysis in other areas of my life.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about control. Loss of control scares the hell out of me. As a child I felt like a little girl with no control over my circumstances. It was a really scary place to be and I never wanted to feel that way again. I’m convinced that most of the reason I gained weight in the first place was because I was trying to protect myself from ever being sexually abused again. Yet, it was a trade. I lost control of my health in an attempt to control what happened to me sexually.

Last night as I stood in front of my mirror, slipping on a headband because I was about to wash my face. I paused and looked at my many headbands. I stopped and suddenly wondered, “Am I still trying to be that little girl regaining control? Is that why I wear the cutesy things?”

As I thought through several different areas of my life, I realized that, yes, that’s probably exactly what’s going on. I also realized that there’s one area to which this doesn’t apply, one person in my life who has no idea how they’re helping me grow up.

That certain someone has seen the messy parts of my life. He’s seen me panic in a moment when I felt out of control. He’s seen me, months ago, completely out of control whispering sweet nothings in Indonesian to my carpet because I’d mixed the wrong drinks on an empty stomach. He’s seen me falling apart in tears through the hard times. He’s also held me in his arms while I fell asleep during those times.

It’s in those times that he’s earned my trust enough that I can give up control with him. It’s in the rest of the times that he learns that I’m not a total nutcase and I have many redeeming qualities, but that’s not my point today.

He’s inadvertently taught me that by easing my grip and letting go, I decrease my anxiety significantly and the struggle for control simply becomes freedom. Sempre libera, right?

He’s only part of the picture, though, for how I’ve been learning to hold less tightly and desperately to control. My own achievements in life and weight loss have also played a major part. Taking ownership of the fact that I’ve lost almost 70lbs is huge. It didn’t just happen to me, I did it. Living alone in downtown Seattle is also a big part of it. It was a risk I didn’t think I could take.

But, precisely a month ago I lost control again. I started grasping again. I struggled to grab back control from where it had been taken from me but I was failing. What happened played directly back into my issues of being that little girl trying to regain control. It’s taken me until the last few days to see some of the same patterns from December and January. Although it was much less extreme this time, it was the same struggle.

I saw the same desperate search for validation, the same over analysis of every event and conversation, the same use of drinking to avoid feeling, the same avoidance of responsibility, and the same refusal to stop moving long enough to feel or process anything. It was much more subtle than last time and much less harmful but the same patterns were present.

It made me pause and think a lot about my struggles, behavior, and habits. It made me wonder how much of my life is just a power struggle. It made me so grateful to have a least one person with whom it’s not even an issue. Finally, it made me realize that I’m a grown up. No matter how I feel, I am in control of my life. I don’t have to grasp for it, fight for it, or cling to it. It’s intrinsically mine. I’m not bound in the same way as the little girl I once was. I’ve worked hard to make peace with all that happened and give forgiveness, now I should get to live in the freedom of that.

Let the little girl go and let me be a woman.

Good Morning

2011-05-13T16:28:00.000-07:00

Oy veh. It's one of those mornings.

Yesterday I trekked all over Seattle, came home exhausted and fell into bed.

Ever have one of those morning when you get up, look in the mirror, realize that you forgot to remove your mascara, and realize that you are the embodyment of Night of the Living Dead?

Let's just keep expectations low for today, shall we?

Happy Friday.

Tears in the Dressing Room

2011-05-12T10:43:00.000-07:00

Want to guess what left me crying in the dressing room of Old Navy yesterday?

After victoriously taking on the license issue, I decided that I wanted to go size things at the store. I had just fit into my sister’s old size 18s, even if it was not yet appropriate for me to actually wear them because of the far too impressive camel toe I was sporting. Feeling overly victorious, though, I wanted to go try on new 18s and see how they fit. After all, those old pants had been through the washer at least a hundred times and who knew if they were still true to size.

18 Short, to be precise, was what I was after. With my oh so very short legs I can’t even dream of wearing regular length pants. It’s laughable. Really, a 27.5 inch inseam would be the properly fitting size but I go with the shortest available.

Putting on my headphones as I walked into Old Navy, I went straight for the jeans. Much to my dismay, there were no 18 short sizes available. I almost swore. Seeing my frustration, a significantly less annoying than usual floor person let me know that the style I was looking at was the only one without short sizes. Looking at the next style over, I saw a few of my size and grabbed them in a couple different styles to compare… that is, of course, if they would even make it over my ample ass.

On my way to the dressing room I just happened to grab a pair of regular inseam khakis and about six dresses. You know, just for good measure.

In the dressing room I suddenly got that nauseous “this was a bad idea,” kind of feeling. Was I just setting myself up for disappointment? I mean, I didn’t really expect them to fit but I wanted to see how close I was.

Deciding not to delay the inevitable, I chose to try on the pants first. Remembering that short sizes are always a little smaller in the waist than regular sizes I decided to try the khakis first. Unfolding them, I looked at the size of the waist and thought, “There’s no way that this is going to happen. They won’t fit.” But, I am not a quitter, so I hopped in them, pulled them up, adjusted them around the booty, and nearly closed my eyes while trying to button them. They fit. Granted, they were several inches too long, but if they had been the right length I would have bought them on the spot.

One happy dance later, I stripped off that pair and went for the short jeans. This was the true test. These jeans had no spandex in them, no stretch, no give; no mercy. I haven’t had a pair of jeans that weren’t stretch jeans since middle school.

As I pulled them up I could feel that they were a bit tighter than the khakis but they seemed to still be moving upward. Doing the shimmy-dance-get-these-things-over-my-lumps, I acquainted the jeans with the shape of my ass and got them all the way up.

Realizing that a pair of red underwear with frills that added to the mass of my midsection might have been the wrong choice for this adventure (but the right choice for having to fight for my license, I needed the badass ridiculousness), I cringed slightly. Oh well.

Yet, when it came time to button and zip the things, they were a perfect fit. I mean, I had a little bit of muffin top but with my shape muffin top is inevitable. Right now I’m wearing the jeans I owned at 296lbs. They’re literally falling off my ass but it still looks like I have muffin top. It’s my shape.

I just stood there and stared.

Clearly this pair had to be a fluke. It tried on the next pair. It fit. So, I tried on the next. It fit too. I stared at myself in the mirror realizing that this was the first time in my life I’ve ever been able to walk into a store, grab the size that fits me, try the things on, and have them just plain fit.

In a flurry of emotion, I started crying.

I mean, I didn’t really like these jeans, but they fit. But that was the point, I don’t like them and I don’t have to buy them because I have options. It’s no longer a matter of “Do they fit? Fine, I’ll get them.” Instead, it’s a matter of “Do they fit? Do I like them? Do they look good? Cool. I’ll buy them.”

Taking off the last pair of jeans while trying to wipe my nose and fix my mascara, I wondered if anyone had heard me crying and if they would think it was because something didn’t fit. I didn’t really care, though. With a big cheesy smile I hopelessly tried to suppress, I gave the clothing back to the fitting room attendant and walked out.

Knowing that they will fit, I can take my time and find a pair that I really love. I’ve never had that option before and I’ll never lose it again, so help me God.

I Can't Sleep...

2011-05-11T08:16:00.000-07:00

It seems to be happening again. That cycle where I wake up and can’t go to back to sleep; it’s anxiety. It sucks.

The last time this happened it lasted for a month. Yes, precisely a month. Thinking back now, it started the night after my first date with The Boy and ended the night I met that certain someone. We accidentally-on-purpose fell asleep together at my mom’s apartment because his family was visiting.

I’ve slept soundly since.

Oh, but then there was that fun little circumstance of my contract expiring at work with no new contract to take it’s place because of this AWESOME economy. It wasn’t that bad because the same company was going to need me again in July so I was biding my time. No, wait, never mind, due to recent events that have nothing to do with me they can’t take me back. Add to that a mix up about tickets that now has me fighting to not have my license suspended on May 20 (I might need a lawyer…).

Also, let’s throw in the fact that because I work as a contractor for various companies it took me a month to get all the information I needed to file for unemployment (EXACT dates? Really? I hate you.) so my savings is down to a minimum. Just for good measure, while we’re at it, let’s add some crazy to the whole shebang as I adjust to the hormones in my new birth control pill.

Wait, no, let’s not stop there, let’s also add the spoiled white girl problem of having lost enough weight lately that my clothing is getting too big again just as I absolutely cannot afford to go shopping.

And how about another thing in the mix that really deserves 100% of the attention but in my crazy mind can only be afforded a small space right now; the sudden death of a friend of the family.

Lastly, let’s just fixate on every detail of the still unsure relationship with that certain someone. Yeah, still not actually official. It’s complicated. I’m complicated. He’s complicated. It’s also completely wonderful. That’s about all I can say there.

As this stew spins round and round in my head I just can’t sleep. The less sleep I get, the crazier I get.

Some of these things I can take direct action on, others are out of my control and I have to simply stay the course. I’ve never really been in this kind of position before and it’s daunting. So much of my life right now is new territory but for the most part it’s been exciting. It wasn’t until very recently that it went from exciting to I want to curl up in a little ball, rock back and forth, and suck on a vodka lollipop because I’m not mature enough to handle life.

Actually, I’ve been avoiding drinking for the most part while I’m dealing with the anxiety. No one needs a drunk and anxious Kendra melting into a puddle of her own emotional goo.

This is what’s been going on internally, but alas, I do have a poker face. Unless you know me really well and/or live in casa de crowded (my mom’s apartment), you wouldn’t have any idea that all of this is going on. Generally I know how to keep my shit together.

Perhaps confession will be cathartic, though, so I present it to you here.

I’m stressed like the Aye Aye.

Yes, that is one ugly animal.

At least I’m better looking.

For the moment, I’ll take the steps I know always help. I’ll stop eating bread and sugar. I mean, I don’t usually eat bread in the first place but when a certain someone is making you breakfast you don’t ask for customization.

I’ll also go running. I know, I said that I’m not a runner but I still like running and it always helps.

Lastly, as silly as it might sound, I’ll make a to-do list. The organization and structure always makes me feel so much better.

Skanky Tuesday: Black and Blue

2011-05-10T07:45:00.000-07:00

I bruise easily. No, I didn’t run into a doorknob. I didn’t fall down the stairs. I didn’t accidentally hit myself with a kitchen cabinet door (no, wait, that one I did do, but it didn’t leave a mark, thankfully!). And no, I didn’t fall on my ass while I was drunk (really, I never have, as hard to believe as that may seem).

The one on my arm I got from a hug. The one on my neck… never mind. The one on my knee is from leaning on the edge of the couch. The rest that shall not be named… yeah, you know.

Yes, I do get them that easily. I’ll know instantly when someone’s just bruised me. Whether it be from handshake, hug, pat on the arm, or what I’m totally pretending I’m not talking about; the second enough pressure is applied I can tell you with startling accuracy if I’ll get a bruise or not.

It runs in my family, though. When I was little, I once gave my mom nasty bruises on her hands and wrists because she was tickling me and I was trying to grab her hands to stop her. It looked like she had been maliciously attacked.

We joked that she was going to send me on Jerry Springer for one of those “My Kid’s a Monster” episodes. I argued that I would need more piercings to be convincing, though, and she changed her mind.

I didn’t used to be so bruise prone. I mean, I bruiselessly fell out of enough trees as a little kid that all those jokes about being dropped on my head and dying brain cells were totally justified. It really started when I got about 45lbs into the weight loss. When I finally went to my doctor because I was afraid that I had some kind of blood disease or something totally alarmist like that, he told me that as my skin got looser I would bruise more easily until it tightened back up after weight loss.

So, pretty much, I will look like a battered woman until the end of this shenanigan. Oh, and my bruises pretty much read like a book.

It’s just not subtle when you have a hand print on you.

Granted, it almost seems appropriate given that subtly is not my strong point.

There’s just that certain awkwardness when your co-worker notices that you have matching thumb shaped bruises on both your wrists. It’s even better when your mother notices them. Though, that’s not nearly as bad as the time you were staying at your mom’s along with other visiting friends of the family and woke up with the hickey that went on for six inches with a bite mark at the top of it.

Thanks so much for solidifying my reputation as a vampire.

Oh, and I don’t think our relationship is a secret anymore.

Way to friggin go.

Now please excuse me while I go secretly giggle myself into a pile of laughing goo because I think the whole thing is HILARIOUS even if no one else does.

No, I don’t have a proper sense of embarrassment.

Yeah, how are you going to respond now when I use the comeback “bite me” in front of our families? Hmm?

I win.

Oh, and imagine the awesomeness of the time I went dress shopping with my mom and she spotted the aforementioned handprint on my hip.

Oh, that? I just put my hands on my hips a little too hard.

What? It’s bigger than my hand?

Well… um…

Ooh look! A pretty dress!

*Note to self, don’t ask mom to help zip dresses. She’ll gain way too much amusement when you start blushing.*

Yeah, my mom’s not shy about making fun of me for such things. I think she rather enjoys it, in fact.

It’s a good thing she didn’t spot the ones on my… never mind.

Despite the awkward moments that have come of such bruises, I really have a love-hate relationship with them. When they first started showing up it scared me a lot. As hard as it was to get me to the doctor for strep throat (three times), an IUD trying to expel itself and causing contractions for ten days, a kidney infection, and seven weeks of bleeding due to birth control, I went pretty much right away when the bruises started appearing.

Once I found out that they were no bid deal, I resented them a bit. It made me angry that not only did I have to contend with saggy skin but now I had to deal with nasty bruises? Suck.

Now I love them. Not only do they remind me of the fact that my body is changing when I forget and can only see the lumps, but they feel like little souvenirs. I can tell you exactly how I got each one.

I mean, I probably won’t, but I could.

No, let’s be honest, I probably would.

227.6lbs, 4.4lbs Lost This Week, 68.4lbs Lost Total

2011-05-09T15:17:00.000-07:00

I’d like to say that it’s been a really hard few weeks and plead my case for why I’ve been so off but really, there is none. Motivation has been hard, everything else has been easy. I’ve got nothing.

Interestingly, I’ve felt much busier now that I’m not working than I ever did when I was employed. I’m trying to get a lot done that isn’t work related and so I’ve been out and about a good deal. It’s been nice.

On the other hand, the lack of schedule has made it really hard to be consistent with eating enough and posting. I’m much more concerned with the former.

After thinking a lot about the whole situation, I decided that I was going to try a different approach to the problem. I might be teetering dangerously close to Intuitive Eating but I’ve tried other approaches. I’m going to let myself eat when I’m hungry and not eat when I’m not. Even if that means I only eat a little for one day I think that my body will eventually correct itself. It has in the past.

I’m going in this direction for now because my focus on trying to get myself to eat has made me really anxious about the whole situation. As I’ve said before, though, if I’m anxious I just can’t eat so it creates that very un-awesome spiral.

I’m approaching it cautiously. I’m certainly not going to let myself not eat for a day or anything like that. It’s all trial and error right now. I’ll give it a week, though, and see if this method is effective.

In other news, I just listened to Feel Good Inc and now feel a burning desire to go run. It’s almost strange how music can do that to me.

Oh, let’s talk goals!

Last Week’s Goals

1. Go to sleep by 2am: I think I did this once. The rest of the week was a pretty major fail.
2. Exercise Monday and Thursday: I did work out on Monday but I did not on Thursday. I mean, I kind of made up for it with lots of dirty cardio fun on Friday and Saturday night but I don’t know that it really counts… even if my entire body is sore and I forgot I had muscles in certain places. Whatever, it’s still calories burned.

3. Track what I eat: Fail! I did it for one day but then didn’t even post after that. The one day that I did post was definitely the most I ate all week.
This Week’s Goals

1. Be up at 10am every day: So, I fail at the whole bedtime thing so I’ll switch it up to setting the time I have to wake up instead.

2. Exercise two days this week: Real exercise, my two favorite activities do not count.

3. Get enough water: Last week I tried pretty hard with this one but I still need to keep this a priority.

May Goals and Measurements

2011-05-03T17:28:00.000-07:00

So, I've changed things up a little bit. A long time ago I took measurement every week. I was losing weight fast enough that there was a difference from week to week. As I started to slow my rate of loss, I didn't see that week to week change and just plain got really tired of taking measurements. Then I started slacking off and not really losing weight at all so I flaked on it altogether. I've now started taking monthly measurements because it affords me the satisfaction of seeing changes but it also doesn't annoy me to do it so often. I win.

First, though, let's talk about my goals for May. I totally forgot to make any for April so clearly I don't need to go over those.

May Goals

1. Exercise at least twice a week for the first two weeks and three times a week after that. I've been really slacking on exercising so I'm going to try to make it a priority this month.

2. Don't waste food. So, I'm not so good at planning meals and using all my food properly. This weekend I had to throw away too much. I want to work on being less wasteful and actually using what I buy.

3. 2am bedtime except on weekends. I'm really bad at going to sleep unless I have something for which I have to be up in the morning. I really don't like sleeping in too much, though, so I'm going to try to continue to make myself go to bed at a reasonable (for me) time.

Measurement

It really amazes me that I’ve lost over ten inches from both my waist and my belly button and that I’m almost there at my hips. The thing that really hit me today, though, is that I’ve lost almost an inch from my wrist. Who knew that there was an inch of fat there to lose?

*****************
What I ate on Monday for accountibility in trying to eat enough:

Breakfast
About a cup of cottage cheese
Tea with half and half
A handful of tomatoes

Snack
Another handful of tomatoes
A glass of milk

Lunch
4 oz thin cut steak with season salt
Two handfuls of broccoli with six cremini mushrooms sauteed in butter

Dinner
A glass of red wine
Scrambled eggs with a dash of milk, salt and pepper, a handful of spinach, .5oz cheddar cheese, and 2 Tbsp Salsa
15 almonds

Snack
A wee bit of hummus

Calories as per Nutritiondata.com: 1420

Skanky Tuesday: Let’s Talk About My Booty

2011-05-03T07:45:00.000-07:00

Don’t slap it. If you do, I’ll bitch slap you back, not on the ass.

The only exceptions to this include my BFFs because that’s just totally fair game. Though, if you slap one side you also have to slap the other so it doesn’t get jealous. After all, you don’t want the right cheek to get a complex, do you?

Oh, the other exception is that certain someone. I tried to fight it but he kind of shows affection like a six year old boy teasing girls at recess. Though, I’m pretty sure he does it mostly because he’s realized that 99% of the time I’ll respond with, “Don’t touch it unless you’re going to do something with it.”

Those are the only exceptions.

I’ve had some contention with my butt over the years. I’ve also had many nicknames for it, most of which weren’t very nice.

In the gaining years, maintaining years, and the time period when I was just starting to lose weight I called my butt “The Butt Shelf.” It totally was a butt shelf. Like, I’m pretty sure you could have placed some glass figurines on it and they would have been just as safe as if you had put them on a book shelf. The top of my ass continued up and connected into my lower back fat. It stuck straight out flat, followed by a perfect 90 degree angle and vertical flatness that stuck out much to far.

It was so extreme that if I wore a skirt it would appear to be a good six inches shorter in the back than it was in the front. If I wore pants, it always looked like my butt was hanging out even though it was the lower back fat. What a relief it was when really long shirts came into style!

While I never actually experimented with placing any objects on the butt shelf, I really am pretty sure I could have. But really, the self deprecating humor, in this case, was to hide my loathing for it. I hated it. If it couldn’t be visually appealing, it at least needed to be funny. That was my philosophy about myself in general at the time.

Besides being ugly, the weight of it made my back hurt all the time. Don’t I sound like a crotchety old whiner…

Slowly, though, that shelf started to soften around the edges and a curve emerged where there had once been angles. Clearly this called for a new nickname. Thus “The Butt Shelf” became “The Built In Bustle.”

This nickname had much less venom behind it. In fact, it was created one night when I was joking around, narcissistically praising the new curvature of my behind. For the new nickname I received the praise of an ass slap and the exclamation of, “I like it!”

Why thank you, so do I.

Just like with the kiss, that small act suddenly changed how I viewed one of my most hated features.

See, that’s how you earn ass slapping privileges.

Nowadays I haven’t really been calling it anything. It doesn’t look like a built in bustle anymore, it just looks like a booty, a big one.

And I like it.

Still, don’t slap it.

232lbs, 3.8lbs Gained this Week

2011-05-02T15:23:00.000-07:00

And now, the tap dance of justification for why weight gain does not equate failure…

Actually, sometimes it doesn’t. This is a cycle I go through each time I’m sick and it’s finally the week that I gain weight that I can usually get my head out of the freak out spiral.

It was inevitable that I would gain weight this week and I knew it. Between starting a new birth control pill (and going a little crazy…), making a real effort to eat more after not eating much of anything for weeks, and my general laziness this week, I knew it was coming and I’m not upset.

I gave myself permission to not feel badly about myself for the weight gain. I’m also giving myself permission to not feel badly no matter what the scale shows next week because I’m actually going to do strength training this week and that usually causes a gain. I won’t be sorry and I won’t be mad at myself.

Besides, just before weighing myself this morning, I noticed that my pooch has hit an all time small. How can I be upset about anything on the scale when I see that? I can’t be and I’m not.

The measurements I took this morning would have more than made up for any hard feeling toward the scale if there were any.

I’m almost 70lbs into this shindig. For some totally arbitrary reason when I started out I thought that 70lbs lost would be a mark of distinction. Not 50, not 60; 70 was the magic number. You may have noticed by now that I have a total obsession with numbers.

It’s true. I have issues.

Very rarely can I actually articulate the reason for the number in my head but this one I can. I miscalculated and thought that I would hit 235 just after I hit the 70lbs lost mark. I can do calculus but failed at subtraction?

Sad. Whatever.

Whatever the fallacy in the reason, I thought that 70lbs lost would when I would finally feel like I’m doing this and that I would be successful. I was wrong.

Somehow, nearly 70lbs lost still feels like a fluke. I fumbled, bumbled, and danced my way here without ever really knowing what I was doing.

Here’s the real problem; I don’t believe in myself. If self sabotage were a nerdy game, I’d be a grand-master wizard. My lack of confidence in my abilities almost always undermines said ability to do things and thus becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Here’s what I’m finding, though, as I approach the 70lbs lost mark; I don’t have to believe in myself. I just have to believe in the process.

The fact is, it doesn’t matter how much I manage to screw things up on a regular basis, if you follow a process, things work. This is why I like math.

In depersonalizing the whole thing, it takes a lot of the pressure off and instead of thinking about me in this picture I can just think about the tasks that need to be done. It's what I have to do at this point because I want that 70lb point bad. No, I want the 100lb point, the 120lb point, and the 150lb point, etc. Let’s face it, I’m not going to be all content even at the 70lb point. I’m still lumpy.

Let's talk goals!

Last Week's Goals

1. Keep up with drinking water: I did quite well with this.

2. Eat Breakfast: Fail.

3. Eat enough to exercise: Some days; I did much better toward the end of the week but I didn't start out so well with this one.

4. Work out twice this week: Once, so 50% on this. Hey, at least I got moving again!

5. Do relaxation exercises: I did this a few times before bed and it helped for the most part but one night it was just pointless.

This Week's Goals

1. Go to sleep by 2am: So, I might have stayed up all night twice this week so that I could watch the entire season of Big Love. I might have also been really disappointed in the end. That show is freaking stressful.

2. Work out today and Thursday: My goals to work out a certain amount of times during the week have pretty much failed so maybe if I decide on actual days that I want to do so, I'll feel more obligated to follow through.

3. Track what I eat: Because I really have been having trouble eating enough and eating the right things, this week you're going to see at the bottom of each post what I've eaten the previous day. This is only going to last this week, though, because I need the extra accountability.

ZOMG PROGRESS PICTURES!!!!

2011-04-28T07:45:00.000-07:00

Please objectify me.

I mean it.

Oogle my ass.

I’ve never been this small in my adult life and that feels amazing.

Plus I was doing some reading about astrology and apparently the fact that I’m a Gemini with a Leo rising sign makes me a raging narcissist and attention whore. Surprise, surprise.

68lbs lost, 68lbs, I never thought I’d make it this far. Joking aside (oh shit, we’re about to get honest and authentic…) this is something I never thought I’d be able to do. Even as a chubby teenager who didn’t have that much to lose I thought it was impossible. By the time I got to college I was convinced that I would never break the cycle and that my weight would end up killing me. I was pretty sure that it would consume and destroy me.

If it weren’t for this blog and the support of my readers, I wouldn’t have been able to come this far. Thank you for reading, for sticking with me during hard times, for humoring me while I processed things, and for the feedback you’ve given over the months I’ve been here.

I’m about to sound totally cliché and possibly trite but I mean this. I hope that something people bring away from my blog is that if a fuck up like me can do this and change her life, anyone can. Like, anyone. For real.

Let’s review where I started. Besides the bad haircut and too thin eyebrows, what really pops out is that I just look like I’ve been blown up like a balloon. For the record that cord is present because I have my iPod in my pocket and am listening to music while doing these pictures. Just in case your wondered.

In the second picture I look much better. I mean, I’m chunky still but not nearly so much. It’s totally less frightening, right? I’m a slightly less absurdly fat girl. Oh, and my boobs look a lot less funny. My pants are also too big. Oh and that was during the period when I was unrested and too tired. I'm looking a tad zombie-ish.

Check me out at 228.2lbs just a few days ago. Not only do I look significantly less grumpy, I also look much smaller. It's strange how my face looks fundamentally different. The one sided perma-frown is much less severe than it was in past pictures, and the entire contour of my face just looks different. Why hello cheek bones and chin. I see you there. Are those collar bones? I didn't even realize I had them.

These were actually supposed to come out when I hit 235 but since I sailed past that in a vicodin/fever induced haze, I tried to take them as soon as possible. I'll make sure to get the next ones up as soon as I'm under 200. Shit, I'm close, aren't I. That's a really strange thought.

It feels even more strange to look back at where I've been and to think about how much smaller I am. I don't really feel it in daily life yet because I'm still chunky. I forget about all the progress I've made sometimes and think that it's a small deal. But looking at this I can't deny how huge of a deal it is. I really can't wait until I get to do another set of progress pictures and see what I look like then.

Aaaand my ass it totally hot. Even I want to slap it.

Dear Kendra, Stop Sucking

2011-04-27T07:45:00.000-07:00

Oh hi there Kendra, we need to talk.

Remember how once upon a time you actually did a little something called a workout? Remember how good that used to feel? I mean, except for when you were running drunk, that was a bad idea. Don't do that again.

Maybe you need a little reminder of what physical exertion feels like or maybe you just need a swift kick in the ass. Either way, you really need to get to the gym. Do strength training, go running, do whatever you friggin feel like doing but really, get off your lazy ass and get your heart rate up. You have no excuse, you aren't sick anymore.

Oh, and can we also talk about the shit you've been eating... and what you haven't been eating? Tomatoes don't make a meal, nor does a cup of tea even if it has half and half in it. You might lose weight by not eating but you're going to look like Night of the Living Dead while doing it. You're also not going to be able to maintain it or keep any muscle. You might weigh less but you won't look any better.

When you do eat, by the way, a grilled ham and cheese sandwich made with white bread and American cheese is not a proper meal either. It's especially bad when you accompany it with a Vanilla Coke. I know that you love that liquid crack but that shit is what got you where you started.

Let's try something, shall we? How about you get up at a reasonable time, make some eggs for breakfast, do some stuff on the computer, have some lentil chili for lunch, be productive for the afternoon, go to the gym, and then go have dinner with your mom because she cooks healthy stuff too. How about we try something like that, hmm?

You're tired, I get it. It's understandable with the severely low iron levels you're currently sporting. Maybe we should do something about that too. We took the first step by switching birth control to something that hopefully will stop the bleeding, and looks like it's doing so. Now let's take those iron supplements again as well. Ferrous Gluconate doesn't have a bad impact on your stomach and you just happen to have two bottles of it.

Maybe we'll get some Vitamin D in there too since Seattle doesn't seem to get that it's residents need sun to get it. Remember how your doctor told you to take it a few months ago? Yeah, you failed. Try again.

I mean, I'm not even telling you to put down the vodka because, god knows, that's not going to happen.

You can handle this. You've done it before, been on track, gotten your groove on, what have you... You know how much better it makes you feel.

We've come this far and you're doing great. You've accomplished things you didn't imagine you could. If this were a Disney Channel movie you'd definitely be the over paid and spoiled child star who would go on to smoke pot, shave her head, and streak across Hollywood Blvd before going to rehab and coming out a totally better person for it all. Wait... Um, not quite where I was going with that. I mean, I know you're kind of a klepto but you've never been that extreme.

My point is, you're kind of a champ. Losing 68lbs is no small feat. You still have a long way to go but you're doing so well. Now, let's just get back on track with a few things. Take a few breaths, do some relaxation exercises, remember that the sky is not falling, and do some sit-ups.

Lastly, remember that no matter what's going on in your life right now, you've been through worse and harder situations. You will get through this and move on to bigger and better things. Things won't always be complicated, life won't always be about the size of your ass, and hardships won't always be present. In the words of Martha from The Secret Garden (the musical), "It's this day, not you, that's bound to go away."

Let's get back in this game the right way.

This is what I would say to me if I were an objective observer. Sometimes we just need to write a letter to ourselves as said observer. Apparently I, as an objective observer, am still highly sarcastic. What, like that's surprising?

Sometimes it's healthy to step back and look at the entirety of a situation and narrate it to yourself.

If you were to write such a letter to yourself, what would you say? Is your objective observer a bitch like mine? If so, we should be friends.

Oh, and I have a feeling this title is going to get me some very interesting google search terms. I shall giggle.

Skanky Tuesday: Birth Control Take Three

2011-04-26T07:45:00.000-07:00

So long Sprintec, it’s been fun… except that I hate you.

Shortly after that first post about my little blue pills, things got a little better. I stopped wanting to eat everything in sight, the urges to slap people in the face with (free range) ground beef subsided, and the cramping really did get a bit better. I was also surprised that I didn’t gain any weight, in fact, I kept losing weight.

Unfortunately, I never stopped breaking out. I also started bleeding.

I’ve been bleeding for seven weeks straight. Seven weeks. I did get a few reprieves of very light bleeding but it never actually stopped. It still hasn’t stopped.

Seven weeks!

After the most recent freak illness, I went back to the doctor to talk about this issue. I knew that I could expect spotting and breakthrough bleeding for a while but this just seemed ridiculous. That and my iron levels were getting dangerously low. I’m already anemic; this was not a good addition.

We talked again about trying again with the Mirena IUD, trying Implanon (an implant that goes in my arm that would enable me to make up stories about being abducted while not getting knocked up), and about other possible pills I could try. I decided that it was too soon to try the IUD again. I just got well again and I don’t want to push my luck. I also started having worse cramps again so the timing just didn’t seem right. I don’t like the idea of Implanon because the largest complaint about it is breakthrough bleeding and that was the problem I was currently dealing with. No more bleeding!

Seven weeks…

Apparently I bled for lent.

I decided to try another pill.

So, we’re experimenting. This reminds me a little of how my psychiatrist, Dr. Awkward, handled things when I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety except that the first medication he put me on made completely dazed for a week and terrified of foliage. Ah, college memories. Yep, those are my only drug stories from college.

I have a little more trust for Dr. Dashing than I did for Dr. Awkward. So, first we’re trying Ocella. It’s generic for Yasmin and has a different type of progesterone that Dr. Dashing thinks might help with the bleeding.

I’ll be on this one for a month and if the bleeding doesn’t stop I’ll try a new one. We'll be repeating this either until we find something that works or until my uterus runs out of blood. I’m putting my money on the latter.

Thus far, after seven days of a break between pills and two days (because this was written before noon on Tuesday) on the new pill, here are a few observations.

I may have gone a little crazy with the hormone withdrawals. My anxiety went to a recent high and I’m not totally surprised that a few of my friends aren’t answering their phones right now. Sorry guys. The timing did coincide with two incidents that would naturally make me anxious so that may have had a lot to do with it. Regardless of that, I knew that I was a little off. I was just a tad more emotional than usual and pretty much became the stereotypical PMS-ing female. So annoying.

I had a menstrual period that scared me a bit because I haven’t bled that heavily since high school. It’s coming to an end now and we’ll see if I actually stop bleeding. I’m keeping my fingers, toes, and legs crossed.

The anxiety decreased significantly after I took the second pill.

It might be too soon to make any observations about my skin and if it’s getting better but I think it is. I haven’t had anything new show up in the past few days and what was there is healing faster.

I’ve noticed a significant increase in sex drive. I don’t think I even noticed that the pill had lowered my sex drive but now that I’m back to where I once was, I’m like, oh yeah, this is how I got that nickname… When’s the bleeding going to stop?

The packaging is prettier. I’m shallow so this really is a perk for me. I like the purple case it comes with. Go ahead; judge me while secretly knowing that you feel the same way about such things.

It felt really good when I realized that I had someone I needed to keep in the loop about my birth control situation. I spare the details because, really, what boy wants to hear anything about that, but he surprised me by actually listening without cringing. I suppose it helps that I include stories about almost slapping people in the face with ground beef. I guess it’s all in how you frame things.

228.2lbs, .8lbs Lost This Week, 67.8lbs Lost Total

2011-04-25T16:03:00.000-07:00

Last week was just plain an emotional recovery week for me. There was something that happened that I needed to give myself some time to process. I didn't really try. I let myself eat when I wanted to eat and let myself not eat when I didn't feel like it. It certainly wasn't a case of listening to my body but it might have been a case of giving myself grace.

Frankly, I haven't really been trying for quite some time. I make goals and pretty quickly forget them. Drinking water has probably been the one thing I've actually stayed proactive about. My only real validation for this is that emotionally it was a really hard week. In addition to what happened on Sunday night, I was transitioning birth control pills (more on this tomorrow) and the hormonal changes have made me a little crazy.

It didn't help things much.

What did help things were my mother's reminders that tomatoes are not a meal, Sugar Muffin's texts, and finding out that I can trust someone much more than I thought I could.

Anxiety has been a big issue for me right now. When I don't have something I need to get up and do right away, I have trouble getting out of bed and then feel anxious about it. It's not a nice way to start the day.

There's a whole host of other issues I'm feeling anxious about too. It's just one of those time periods I suppose. Once I get things back in order I'll be fine again but in the mean time, there's a lot that I'm working through.

Let's Talk Goals

Last Weeks Goals

I'll just summarize because the only one that I actually did any good with was drinking water. I was as proactive about that as possible. I didn't make it to any fitness classes nor was I good about eating.

This Week's Goals

1. Keep up with drinking water. I need another week of focusing on this to get the habit back in place so I'm going to make it a goal again.

2. Eat Breakfast. It's too hard to just say "eat all your meals" so I'll start with one at a time. I'm going to make sure to eat breakfast every day this week. Today I had 15 almonds which isn't really enough but it's a vast improvement over what I've been eating.

3. Eat enough to exercise. Another practical way to make myself eat more. I can't work out if I haven't fueled my body and I'm really craving a good workout.

4. Work out twice this week. Getting back in the swing so I'll keep the number low but I'm really going to make the effort this week.

5. Do relaxation exercises. My anxiety has been really bad and I know how much these help.

Let's Talk About Other Things

2011-04-21T17:46:00.000-07:00

Today I don't want to talk about weight loss. I've been obsessing and need to talk about other things. Today I want to talk about butterflies and sunshine and bubblegum pink pistols that remind people of me (don't ask... actually please do!).

I want to think about how much I love my nails painted sparkly red (China Glaze: Ruby Pumps) and how I don't care that the ring I wear every day clashes with the bracelet I wear every day. I mean, if you whore out your best friend's hugs in Tijuana for a bracelet, you damn well better wear it every day.

Today I'd prefer to wax poetically on how much I love my city, especially when it's sunny (all two days out of the year). I'd rather discuss the fact that most of my clothing belongs in the closet of a seven year old and how I don't care.

I'd rather tell you the story about why I'm terrified of geese. No, really, I am. I'm about 98% sure that all geese are feather covered Satans. Once, one of the biggest demon geese I'd ever seen actually chased and bit my dog. George was a Black Lab/German Shepard/Golden Retriever mix. That dog had huge teeth and was almost big enough to resemble the dog in The Sandlot. He could have kicked Clifford's ass in a fight. That was George. And yet, the demon goose took him down.

Geese are EVIL.

I've really wanted to share that for a long time.

They're pretty much the only thing I'm afraid of, except for rejection.

My ear just started bleeding, I just thought I'd share.

Don't ever get your cartilage pierced at a piercing pagoda, you'll never stop having issues with it.

By the way, as soon as I remember how to use my camera, I'll be posting new progress pictures. Feel free to oogle me.

Skanky Tuesday: The Kiss That Changed Things

2011-04-19T07:45:00.000-07:00

It was a silly little thing. No forethought, no premeditation, no idea of the consequences; just a kiss.

We all have that thing, or possibly a short list, about ourselves that we so strongly dislike. At the tippy top of my list is my lower stomach. I call it the pooch because I make fun of anything I can't maturely deal with, i.e. most things. Of all the things I've learned to love about myself, this has never been one of them.

It's made me feel like my body was ugly because it has always been so disproportionately larger than the rest of me. Like, shouldn't my boobs stick out further than my pooch? I mean, really.

So, I've always tried to hide it. Even my roommates in college almost never saw that eyesore. I changed strategically.

Something seems to happen, though, when you find someone that you want to be the closest close possible with. Maybe it's lust, maybe it's forgetting yourself in the arms of another, or maybe it's the vodka, but somehow I seemed to forget that the pooch existed. I hadn't found peace with it, I just forgot to care about it.

I forgot about it until several weeks ago.

It was thrown back into the forefront of my mind suddenly when that someone leaned down and kissed me just below the belly button. Right on that spot I hate more than anything, right where I'd been trying to hide/forget about/considered chopping off/wanted to rig a vacuum to do self lypo on, he kissed me.

My eyes shot wide open and I blushed deeper than I thought was possible. I couldn't believe that it wasn't totally obvious that you just don't go near the gross looking places on my body. Don't you know that you just leave them alone and pretend that they don't exist?

As my panic spiral started, I suddenly realized maybe it's not as bad as I thought. Maybe the places on my body I cringe at and loathe aren't nearly as bad and I perceive them to be. Maybe I'll believe it the next time someone calls me sexy. It was surprising to me that such a small act could have such a profound affect.

Months of hard work and over 65lbs lost couldn't make me feel better about certain parts of my body but one little kiss did.

One little kiss and suddenly I'm reassessing my entire list of body image issues.

Standing in my bathroom the next morning, looking at my body, it was the first time I've ever looked at that spot on my body and smiled. Seconds after that smile lit up my face, I realized what I was smiling at. I hated that spot and yet looking at myself, looking at it, I was biting my lip with a giddy smile at the memory. The loathing seemed to be gone. Weeks later, the loathing hasn't come back.

While I certainly believe that my body image is my responsibility, it's nice to have some help even if they're unaware of the impact they're having. That makes it all the better. Even better, still, when kisses are involved.

It's also nice to not need vodka to forget about the pooch. I guess I can forego the vacuum lypo.

Now can we work on how I feel about my arms?

Baby steps I suppose.

229lbs, 7.8lbs Lost This Week, 67lbs Lost Total

2011-04-18T19:39:00.000-07:00

I know, it's been a while, right? Job changes, mysterious illnesses, and time with the dear ones has kept me far far away from my laptop.

What exactly do you make of it when your doctor looks at your throat, says, "Oh my!!" and gets no conclusive results to the multiple tests he's done? I don't know either.

I do know that it means a week in bed, a 104.4 degree fever, an inability to eat or drink anything when you really should, ingesting lots and lots of vicodin, being convinced that you've seen a face in your meatball sandwich (which of course you take a picture of and send to all of your friends with the caption "It's Cheesus! Actually it looks more like a Mexican Wrestler, but whatever," and decide to start a cult for if you get better the next morning... and you do), taking more vicodin, still being in pain, being held hostage by your mother who takes your apartment keys knowing that you won't go anywhere if you can't get back in your building (which is a moot point really when you can barely roll over to take your medicine), and then feeling better just as suddenly as you got sick.

Thank you Cheesus for healing me.

Then again, the four days of sleeping straight, only waking up to take medicine, and the antibiotics might also have had something to do with it. Nah, it was definitely Cheesus.

So, if you're wondering about the huge number of pounds lost this week, that's why. It's not the best way to lose weight and for someone like me who struggles with not wanting to eat, it's downright dangerous. Honestly, though, it makes me a little happy.

I mean, it's really hard to be upset to be losing weight so quickly. Therein lies the trouble, that's what causes problems when I'm not sick. I remember how quickly I dropped the pounds because I wasn't eating and then I don't want to eat afterward because I want to keep up with the weight loss.

Beating 235 was such a big thing for me and now I want past other weights that I have associations with. 220 was the weight that I was for the last two years of high school. It's the next bridge to cross, the next number to fixate on.

Also to fixate on: those size 18 pants I squeezed my ass into last night. I couldn't even believe that I was wearing a size 18, like, I haven't put anything over my derriere that didn't start with a 2- since... 9th grade, I think. They were definitely not street legal yet but they were looser than my size 26s were when I first started this whole thing. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. The world doesn't need to see that level of camel toe.

Shall we talk about goals then?

This Week's Goals

1. Go to two classes at 24 Hour Fitness. I didn't do this the other week because I started working again temporarily. Now that I'm once again unemployed (and well, thank you Cheesus!) I shall take advantage of the free time to see what I can do with this here body.

2. Eat. I almost feel like it's pointless to make this a goal. I know that for the next few days it's going to be a losing battle until I just get too tired and hungry. That point will hit and I'll get myself back on track but it's a battle I lose for the first few days every time. That doesn't mean I won't keep fighting.

3. Drink lots of water. I've been dehydrated on and off for a wee bit too long. I haven't been vigilant about keeping hydrated and I can feel it. When I wasn't awake, there was a decent reason for this but since I'm back among the living I need to prioritize this again.

4. Give myself grace. There are a few things that have happened recently that made me want to kick myself, hard. It's been really triggering to some of my most self destructive instincts. I've been really careful about not giving in to those instincts but it's been a really big struggle. I think that if I can give myself some grace in the fact that, yes, I screwed up and no, it isn't the end of the world, I'll be much better off.

Skanky Tuesday: The Girl I Am

2011-04-05T12:33:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I always wanted to be one of the guys. I don’t know why, I mean, I loved pink, flowers, all things that sparkle, ballet, and tulle; yet for some reason I always wanted to be one of the guys. It never appealed to me to be part of one of those girl groups. Maybe I had seen one too many Mean Girls-esque movies as a kid and decided that it would be easier to befriend guys. I don’t know.

What I do know is that I always had more guy friends than girl friends. “Girly” was a derogatory term. Until I went to college…

In college I lived in an all girls dorm. It was the dorm that was lovingly known as The Nunnery and/or The Ditz Dorm. It was the living embodiment of my worst nightmares. I wanted to be one of the guys! Then, suddenly, my sister talked me into buying a pink satin skirt with embroidered flowers on it.

I thought it was beautiful and I wanted it so badly but I hadn’t had a skirt on my ass for years. I didn’t do skirts. It was so lovely, though.

Shortly after that I met Sugar Muffin and her roommates. They were totally girly and it was amazing. We read Jane Eyre and The Blue Castle together out loud and sighed without shame at all the endearing moments. It felt… amazing.

The next year Sugar Muffin and I met three other girls who would become our other best friends. Each and every one of them was a total badass but in a totally girly way. They pulled off wearing pink and sequins while still being sarcastic, intelligent, and… well… a little badass.

They’re still my best friends.

We did the most girly, silly, and fun things together and Skanky Tuesday was born. Suddenly “girly” was no longer condescending but freeing. I was free to be feminine and I embraced it. My skirt selection multiplied.

In October of this year, I met The Boy and he adored this combination of girly and kind of badass. I loved that he felt that way. I felt free to be myself. Then he disappeared and I met someone else. He was more of a man than I had ever been romantically involved with. I mean, he was the epitome of manly. He too liked the oh so feminine things about me.

Yet, things fell apart and then I fell apart. I started trying to be what I thought would gain others approval and at the time, “girly” didn’t fit into what I imagined that picture to be. I tried to be one of the guys again.

I suppose my thought process was that if I couldn’t be the object of his affection, I still wanted to be his friend. The problem with that was that he was so damn masculine. I didn’t think that he would want to be friends with someone so… not.

So I started to change myself again. I stayed away from the pinks in my wardrobe, opting for the darker colors instead, stopped wearing my pretty headbands, shirked jewelry, and tried to bring back that little tomboy I once was.

Then he stopped coming around. I was still lost.

In February, I escaped the destructive cycle when people who cared about me finally called me out on my behavior. After a lot of introspection and talking things out with a few friends, I eventually felt okay again. I felt like I had regained my sense of self. On the Saturday before Valentine’s Day I even had a fake date with a friend and got all gussied up. It felt so good to be in a dress again.

That night, he came back. Things were different; like they used to be, and he kept coming back.

Then I started to worry. As I was furnishing my apartment I kept wondering if it was too girly, if he would want to be here when it was definitely a girls apartment. Instead of the pink bedding I wanted, I went with a red Indian inspired one. Instead of putting up my favorite and very girly art, I left it in a pile in my closet.

One night as I was listening to Telephone it started to hit me, the parts of me that were missing, the fun parts. Later that week I was walking home listening to The Fame album and it struck me.

I am that girly.

I was worried about him thinking I was that girly, but I am that girly.

My next thought, in my exact words was, “If he doesn’t like it, he can go fuck himself.”

That’s the badass part of me, I guess.

So, I went home, took off my sheets and my bedding, exchanged it, put up my art, and put on a headband and pearls. Suddenly, my apartment became my home and the girl in the mirror became Kendra.

This is how I express my femininity. There are other ways, you don’t have to wear pink and sequins but I do.

And what about the one who came back? I had forgotten that he liked the headbands, sequined tank tops, cardigans, and sparkly shoes. I had forgotten that we don’t have to be the same. He can be a man, let me be a woman.

But still, if he doesn’t like it, he can go fuck himself. That stands true for everyone. And, of course my ladylike tendencies have their limitations… especially when it comes to swearing.

236.8lbs, .6lbs Lost This Week, 59.2lbs Lost Total

2011-04-04T16:56:00.000-07:00

This weekend I got the kind of news that took the air out of my lungs. It's all still up in the air and I don't know what the outcome will be but suddenly I was reeling.

As I went through the short list of "Kendra's Coping Mechanisms," I realized that they all suck so instead I decided to sit on my floor and cry. The vodka bottle remained untouched. After a fleeting moment of, "how can I be self destructive so that this won't hurt so much?" I fought my natural inclination to stuff down my emotions, texted my best friends, and let it out.

This ~~morning~~ afternoon when I woke up I felt that hollow, empty sort of feeling that you have after you've cried too much. I processed the dreams I'd had, thought about how I ought to proceed, and finally made myself get out of bed. I've decided that I can't let myself spiral. I won't let myself get depressed. I won't do the self destructive things I sometimes do. I'm going to be honest with people, take things one step at a time, and hope that things turn out differently than they look like they will at this point.

For the sake of dispelling fears, I'm not sick, no one is sick. I'm not pregnant. No one is dying. This isn't even about me. I'm collateral damage in this situation. I know it's really annoying when a blogger gives this sort of vague description of... well, anything, but this is a case of NMI. I can't tell someone else's story. I can only tell my part of it.

Right now my part is simply waiting. Waiting sucks. It's out of my control.

I guess this is the time to focus on things that are in my control right now.

Like the fact that I'm writing this at 4:30pm and haven't eaten yet. Or the fact that I'm ignoring things that need my attention much more immediately than this situation.

I suppose, though, that I can give myself today to just be in this moment, to have that pained look on my face that I have no desire to replace with a smile, to not care that people expect me to smile like I usually do, to make a plan and not lose all that I've gained.

This isn't the end of the world.

Let's talk about goals.

Last week's goals didn't work out so well because I'm still not 100% with health and working out didn't seem like much of a good option when I'm still having a bit of difficulty breathing. I did walk quite a bit this week without trouble but I didn't want to do anything that required heavy breathing. I also did strength training exercises throughout the week when I felt like it but it wasn't anything formal.

This Week's Goals

1. Go to two workout classes: The Seattle 24 Hour Fitness has a lot classes that I've drooled over for a long time but because of that pesky job I had I couldn't attend any of them. Now that I'm in the blissful state that is unemployment, I can go to as many as I please. This week I'd like to attend at least two.

2. Eat and eat well: We all know by now that when some thing's going on that's got me down I don't eat. Waiting until 5pm for my first meal of the day is unacceptable and certainly does not equip me to deal with things well.

3. Go to bed by 2am: I'm a total night person and I really don't like going to bed early but I also don't like sleeping through the day so I'm imposing this bedtime (which I totally failed at last night).

4. Drink as much water as possible: I'm pretty sure that what's going on in my body is post nasal drip causing other issues (breathing and whatnot). Drinking a lot of water in combination with a decongestant and antihistamine can do wonders for dealing with that.

I Need The Arts

2011-03-31T18:05:00.000-07:00

If I don’t get back in the arts, my soul will die. I suppose the fact that I don’t believe in the soul should make this a moot point, but still…

Until very recently I’ve been somehow involved in the arts; either I was dancing, singing, working in development, or something similar. These last nine months have been the first time in my life that I had nothing to do with any dance company, opera, theatre, or the like. Why?

Because I’ve been a boy chasing, dumbass.

There, I said it.

We all know it’s true.

Today is my last day at my current job. Originally my contract was supposed to expire on December 31, but they extended it. Unfortunately, due to a low volume of business, they could not extend my contract again.

That’s okay. As much as I liked some of the things about this job (steady income comes to mind), it’s not actually something I wanted to be doing long term. This end date gives me an opportunity to explore new arenas rather than just staying here because it’s a well paying job.

I don’t know if my way back into the arts will be through a new job or what, but I realize that this is an opportunity to reassess and figure out what comes next. I’m a little nervous but also more than a little jazzed.

Tonight I’m going to see another musical that I have a feeling will rock my world, it’s about a dancer. I’m going to feel that buzz of needing to move, dance, jump up and down, and find the guy I like asap.

I’m just plain feeling inspired again. I’m also feeling a part of me that I haven’t felt in a long time. That driving passion I once had for what I wanted life to look like is back with a force. It’s making me reexamine my own meta-narrative.

Long story short: I need this stuff in my life.

Run Forrest Run: I’m Not A Runner

2011-03-30T12:16:00.000-07:00

I really like running. I’d say that I borderline love it. Despite the “Why the jiggle?!?!?” feeling I tend to get for the first minute or so as my ample flesh adjusts to the jarring repetitive motion, running always feels amazing.

Yet, I don’t feel that connection with it that most runners do. I never did. Even when I ran cross country in high school I still felt no real “this defines me” sort of feelings.

This weekend my mother and I went to go see Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre and I discovered several things. First, I love jazz. I don’t know when that happened because I used to hate it but the jazz section of the show they did was amazing.

Second, and most importantly, I am a dancer.

My body might not look like a dancer’s body, I might not be able to do what most dancers can do (right now), and it’s true, I haven’t done any sort of dance performance in YEARS, but in my heart and soul (yeah, we’re going there) I am a dancer.

As I watched the movements of the dancers on stage, I felt it. My muscles started twitching with the memory of what those moves felt like and with excitement to be reliving it. I couldn’t sit still and yet I couldn’t move. I was caught in a thrilling limbo of emotions.

I jumped up and down, ran in circles, excitedly talked too loudly all the way home. I just couldn’t contain my excitement. Incidentally, in that neighborhood of Seattle no one takes any notice of someone walking down the street acting like a fool. It’s too common of an occurrence. I love my new home.

It occurred to me that THIS must be what runners feel when they cross a finish line, make a new PR, or complete a new distance… you know, do runner stuff. That is something I never felt while running, not in a single race, ever.

When I used to do trail running I felt a definite thrill to be running in the woods, leaping over roots and rock, and going all kinds of Pocahontas wanna-be (you know, because I have to represent my Native American heritage that I don’t resemble at all, thanks for the genetic fail, dad), but that was pretty isolated to trail running.

I can dance anywhere, in any style, at any time and get the same thrill. The way I feel after a dance workout or even just strength training that resembles what I used to do in those nine years of ballet, is incomparable. Nothing holds a candle to it.

So, here we take the first step in simply being who I am. I am a dancer. I am not a runner. I like to run but I am a dancer. Nothing will ever change that.

Also, I’m pretty convinced that I burn like twice as many calories during one of my impromptu living room solo dance parties than I ever did during a run. Wait, you didn’t think that I was kidding about those, did you? Oh, no, they’re for real. The building across the street probably gets a kick out of it if they pay any attention. My downstairs neighbor… probably not so much.

Last week I decided to be who I really am no matter how anyone feels about it. I decided that neither friends, family, acquaintances, nor romantic interest get to determine who I am. This week as I analyze myself for what those traits are that authentically make up me and what I’ve taken on for approval, I realize that this is a big one for me.

*So, this was actually supposed to be the second post in this line of “OMG! I’m discovering my identity!” but yesterday I was plagued with the worst/first hangover ever and a lot of mysteriously missing vodka. I’m not sure what happened. The Skanky Tuesday post was just too important to write when I wasn’t really present. I couldn’t even muster dirty thoughts, and that’s really saying something for me.

237.4lbs, 3.8lbs Lost This Week, 58.6lbs Lost Total

2011-03-28T17:57:00.000-07:00

So, wait, no one wanted to ask me anything? You really didn’t want the opportunity to get all up in my business? I mean, how could you possibly ignore my totally transparent attempt at a new level of attention whore-ism? Fine.

Okay, it’s out of my system.

This weekend I discovered and dealt with a few things. It’s all still whirling in my head right now and I need some time to actually articulate it in a way that anybody besides my mother would understand, but let me drop some hints.

1. I’m a girl and that’s okay (Skanky Tuesday)

2. I’m not a runner but I like to run (Wednesday)

3. If I don’t get back in the arts, my soul will die (Thursday)

4. I’m Owning It again, it needs to be done (Friday)

For today I’m going to simply try to get through the day and be somewhat productive as far too much flows through my head.

This weekend I also nearly finished putting my living room together. It almost looks like the home of a young adult. I have a few boxes still lingering around but I’m nearly done with getting things where they need to be. Of course, doing housework means that it was also dance party time so my whole body is ridiculously sore.

It really is far too hard to get myself to stop dancing. I might have a problem.

Whether cooking, cleaning, organizing, or “relaxing,” if there’s music I just can’t sit still.

It’s an affliction.

Let’s talk goals!

Last Week’s Goals:

1. Get rested: I win. I was really careful about getting enough sleep and even stayed home on Friday and Saturday night to rest. This little extrovert might be going a little stir crazy but at least I’m getting well.

2. Drink lots of water: For some reason this one was really difficult. Despite keeping a bottle or cup of water with me at all times and making sure to be sipping throughout the day, I strangely felt too stuffed up to drink much. I felt like every little sip was overwhelming. It was strange because usually I can suck down a glass without thinking twice. It was really uncomfortable. I still managed to make sure I was drinking a good amount of water.

3. Don’t be a lard ass: I was senile last week when I made this goal and I have no idea what I really meant by it. Sometimes even I don’t have any idea what the hell I’m talking about. I’ll just say that I passed this goal because it was a highly productive week and I definitely didn’t simply let myself go in the process of getting better.

This Week’s Goals:

1. Exercise twice this week: Yes, I do count my living room dance parties. I’m pretty sure that I burn more calories during one of those than I do when I go running. For this goal, though, I’ll specify that these should be workouts at the gym.

2. Walk home from work once: In the back of my mind, walking home from work once a week was a goal from the time I moved. Incidentally, this is my last week here so I’m going to go ahead and get this one in.

I know that I usually have food goals too but I don’t feel like I need them right now. I’ve been eating really well lately. Now that I’m doing my own grocery shopping, I have healthy food in my apartment and it’s harder to not eat well than it is to do so.

You Make Me Sick

2011-03-25T13:04:00.001-07:00

Did you know that I’ve been sick all week? Yeah, that’s been fun. For real, though, you should just be really proud that I haven’t been bitching about it all week like I usually do. Why didn’t I? Because I was waiting on blood results to tell me what kind of sick I am. Since they aren’t forthcoming just yet, and since it’s Friday and I really want to complain like a spoiled white girl, I decided to just tell you all about it.

Oh wait, I might have mentioned it on Monday. Whatever.

The symptoms I first went back to the doctor for seem to not really have been an issue. My kidney is probably fine. I just have this damn chest cold, or for the much more dramatic sounding technical name: acute bronchitis. Dr. Google says that it can take up to two weeks to go away. Dear. God. No. I sound like a consumptive smoker. That shit’s only romantic in an opera and then it’s still bad because you know the leading lady is going to die at the end. There, I just ruined opera for you. If a character coughs; they die.

Unless it’s a Mozart opera, then all rules are off, good guys are really bad guys, lovers are really mothers, and everybody’s sleeping with everybody.

Um… focus has been a bit of a problem this week, did I mention that? No? Did you guess?

Probably.

What was I talking about? Hold on, let me go back and read.

Well this post sucks so far. We’ll just call it shitty chic.

I’m really hoping to regain full lung capacity soon so that I can start working out again. I’ve been losing weight over the last few weeks and am starting to see changes again. I’d really like to help those changes along with some strength training.

I’ve decided that I want to look hot.

So, to wrap this thing up… and since I really can’t think of anything else (appropriate) to write, I’m going to do something completely and utterly unique in the blogging world. I’m pretty sure it’s never been done before. I’m going to answer ANY question you want to ask. Just leave me a comment with any question and/or questions you want answered and I will do so on Monday.

I’ll even be honest.

No really, don’t make me feel unpopular, ask something!

Feel free to do so anonymously if you want… like if you want to ask about something really sketchy. Fine by me.

The Elusive 235

2011-03-24T07:45:00.000-07:00

I fixate on this number. I lust over this number. I want to get past this number. I want it like I want… never mind. Why? It’s the weight at which I started college. I pretended that I felt pretty at this weight. I didn’t really.

Looking back, there wasn’t anything all that fabulous about this weight, but when you’re at 296 and look like this (Yes, I actually was singing that song while pretending that my iPod was a microphone):

You tend to long for the days when you looked like this:

I used to call that the “This is what I’d look like if you were drunk” photo. Yeah, it’s a little creepy looking but I thought I was being cool. Please do judge me for that, I do.

Incidentally, that was also before my sinus issues made my nose go slightly crooked. Ah, the good old days! I foresee a nose job in my future. Not.

I digress.

While there was absolutely nothing special about that 235, and when I think about it I wasn't actually happy at that weight anyway, I fixated on it. At 296 it seemed like if I could get back to 235 I would get to start a whole new life and everything would become all kinds of fabulous.

I also felt pretty sure that no boy was going to like me until I got under that weight. I KNEW that I would fall in love when I hit 235. I also knew that I would be married at 19 so take that shit for what it's worth... again, go ahead and judge me.

Having snuck in a mid-week "I'm too curious because I swear I look thinner this morning" weigh-in, and seeing that I've just broke into the high 230's, the number is haunting me again. I want past it. I want it bad.

Yet, it has a different meaning to me now. Now, with the benefit of healthier emotions and hindsight, I can see that 235 was the weight at which depression conquered me for the second time. I was 220 the first time. Now it feels like getting past these weights will feel like I'm conquering those incidents. It was the same when I hit 265. Suddenly the car accident had less power over me.

Every one of these milestones feel like I'm shedding the damage of that particular weight and whatever happened at that weight. By beating the weight, I'm beating the trauma. By beating the trauma, I'm setting myself free. What could feel better than that?

And so I chase that 235 and hope that I don't get stuck at it, processing, like I did when I hit 265. I chase that 220 and hope I'm ready to face the emotions. I chase 170 and hope that when I get there I'm ready to talk about what happened.

While so much of my weight loss is about vanity (Sorry I'm not sorry), it's also about reclaiming what's been lost... oh and health and all that jazz...

This process has been physically easy but emotionally hard. There's been up, downs, emotional implosions, and so much laughter I can hardly believe it. The journey is a bumpy ride. Luckily I have built in padding. Hopefully I'll need that less as it dissipates.

With a long way to go and plenty of numbers on which I can fixate like a crazy lady it's exciting to be so close to something that was so significant and that I've fixated on for almost four years. It's almost vindicating.

Once Upon a Time When I Was Vegan

2011-03-23T07:45:00.000-07:00

Remember how I told you that I was once vegan? It was a brief stint and after a few months I omitted Sundays so that I could have that delectable omelet. Basically, I failed miserably.

In light of the new “Veganism as a weight loss tool” craze, I wanted to talk about this little time period.

It first started as a ten day “Daniel Fast.” If you aren’t familiar with this, it’s basically where you eliminate everything from your diet that doesn’t grow from a plant. I didn’t eat any processed food or anything that I suspected had any fillers or preservatives. After the ten days, I reverted back to my old eating habits and immediately felt like crap.

Clearly I needed to go back to this lifestyle, or so I thought.

After hijacking a spiritual discipline for my own vain purposes, the logical next step was to start the fast again for Lent. Obviously Jesus wanted me to lose weight, so it was totally the holy thing to do.

So, what did I eat? A LOT of plain brown rice, salads sans dressing, a combination of sunflower seeds and unsugared raisins, fruit, and some cooked vegetables (only after I had given the third degree to the café worker who was serving them about what they were cooked with).

The hardest part was cutting out my tea (with half and half), In-N-Out Burger, soda, and the omelet.

So, the question you’re probably all wondering: did I lose weight? Yes, I did. I was also more or less starving myself. I had already been struggling for a long time with my “I don’t want to eat because I’m feeling {Fill in the blank with any emotion other than happy}" and the fact that you have to eat more when fruit, vegetables, seeds, and rice are all you’re eating was not conducive to me staying conscious.

Yeah, I passed out.

The major problem here was that I was only doing the whole thing for weight loss and because I thought it would make me look better. I didn’t care at all about animal rights or environmental issues. To be honest, I’m pretty selfish. I’m still much more likely to do something for the sake of health or vanity than I am for… um… anything. It’s not good, it’s not nice, but it’s true. I’m fundamentally a selfish person.

It’s not that I don’t have empathy, but I get overwhelmed by empathy. If you show me a video of bad things happening to animals, bad things in Sudan, or bad things as a result of a tsunami, etc, I’ll probably just shut down rather than act on it. I just can’t handle it. I guess I’m not mature enough.

At the end of the whole thing, just after I passed out mid-conversation, my friend handed me a piece of toast and told me in no uncertain terms that she was not moving until I had eaten the damn thing. After that we were going for pizza. I did what I was told.

So, what do I take from this whole thing? Veganism is bad? No, it isn’t. It’s a lifestyle that deserves serious consideration of both the benefits and the consequences.

Deciding on a whim, or because of Oprah’s Vegan Challenge, to go vegan might not be the smartest idea. I also take issue with the fact that I’ve seen the lifestyle used as an attempt to veil eating disorders. Like I said, you have to eat more when you’re eating things that are so low calorie. It’s easier to look like you’re eating enough because the quantity of food is greater even if the calories are less.

It’s neither my job nor my expertise to tell someone how they ought to eat or what is the best lifestyle. I mean, I think that vodka and rum are a necessary part of any healthy and balanced diet so I suppose that tells you something…

Here’s what I do know, the lifestyle doesn’t work if you aren’t doing it for the right reasons. What exactly those “right reasons” are, I’m not sure. For the answer to that you’re probably best to ask a non-failure of a vegan.

Isn't it lucky that I just happen to know two of them who are pretty darn awesome? Bess wrote a really fabulous post over at Hollaback that was part of the inspiration for this post. Check it out. A.J. is another vegan queen who you chould check out.

So, have you had any similar experiences with trying out any diets or lifestyles? Or for the vegans out there, how do you feel about those who approached it like I did?

Skanky Tuesday: The Six Inch Rule

2011-03-22T07:45:00.000-07:00

Remember back in college when you sat around with all the other silly girls in your dorm listing your non-negotiables in the man that you’ll someday marry? Yeah, me either. Clearly I wouldn’t do something so silly…

Shut up Sugar Muffin…

Okay, so I might have had the conversation once or twice and I might have had a list that’s as long as the list of my neuroses. It’s possible.

As I grew and developed as a person, though, the list of neuroses didn’t shrink but the list of criteria did. By the time I met The Boy, the list had barely five items on it. Of course he met each and every one of them… except for one. He was younger than me which would normally be a complete deal breaker. Damn, I was smitten with him.

The criterion that gained the most popularity among my friends, though, was The Six Inch Rule. It might seem shallow, it might seem ridiculous, heck, it might even seem like I’m asking a lot, but this one was important to me.

Even as a non-dating Christian college student I knew that some things were just required to make me feel a certain way… you know, how you want to feel when you’re with someone big and strong and all that jazz.

Even when the “he must be left handed” and “he has to like opera” fell by the wayside, the six inch rule remained fully in place. Nowadays every time I start dating someone and/or crushing on them, the first thing one of my friends asks is if he meets the six inch rule. It’s THAT important.

I mean, not all of my friends agree on the importance of the rule. Schnookums once told me that she thought it was ridiculous. “What, are you going to get out a measuring tape?” She asked me. No. Probably not. Maybe. I don’t know.

So, I know you all must be wondering if a certain someone meets the six inch rule…

No, he doesn’t, I think he’s only about five inches taller than me.

Wait, what did you think I was talking about?

Perv…

Really though, despite my ability to twist any benign phrase into something dirty, it never actually occurred to me that “The Six Inch Rule” sounded like anything other than what it is; “he must be at least six inches taller than me.” How is it even possible that I could be so naïve? This is me we’re talking about…

So, about a week ago when my favorite co-worker/gossip buddy and I were discussing various boys and I made the offhanded comment about one not meeting the six inch rule, you can imagine how other coworkers around us looked at me.

They literally stopped what they were doing, turned, and gaped.

I had no clue.

I just couldn’t figure it out.

Gossip Buddy finally had to explain it to me.

OMG. WFT. Holy Shit.

I tried to think back to how many people I had mentioned the six inch rule in front of without realizing how it sounded. I had no idea.

I just really like tall guys.

Fail!

241.2lbs, 0 Lost This Week, 54.8lbs Lost Total

2011-03-21T14:43:00.000-07:00

Ooh, look, I took measurements! I'm less fat!!! I also would weigh less but I drank my weight in vodka on Saturday night and am retaining water. Yes, it was worth it. After spending the last six weeks or so staying home with almost saint like behavior (almost), I finally went dancing again. Oh how I missed the deafness-inducing subwoofer.

The thing about not showing up for six weeks, though, is that when you do come back again all the people you used to hang out with want to buy you drinks. The next thing you know, you're drunk texting everyone that you haven't seen for while and informing them of how much you miss them, how wonderful they are, and how despite being lit, you can still text with perfect grammar and spelling.

At least the next morning you have something to laugh about... and one of your estranged friends back. Yay for drunk texting!

Despite waiting to drink or go out until I was finished with my antibiotics and doing my best to take better care of myself, it seems that going out was too much too soon. I woke up on Sunday with a temperature and a chest cold. After eating, drinking water and Gatorade, and taking some medicine my temperature returned to normal but I'm definitely taking this for the warning that it is.

I'll be making a concerted effort this week to make sure that I'm taking care of my body's needs and I'll probably stay in next weekend. A few more weeks of taking it easy will be completely worth it to stop this cycle of constantly getting sick. Besides, I'm not feeling that anxious need to be in constant movement anymore. I went out this weekend because it sounded like fun, not because I felt some manic need for it.

Still, too much too soon... I'll go back to dancing in my living room for a while.

Here, check out my measurements and oogle at how flaca (in the words of my stepmother) I'm becoming.

Dear Universe, thank you for not taking my boobs away. For real, though, how does someone actually have two inches of extra fat on their neck? Really?

And damn! Almost ten inches from my waist, belly (where my belly-button is) and hips? Friggin awesome, methinks.

Let's talk goals!

Last Week's Goals:

1. RUN! It was my goal to run twice but I only did so once.

2. Start cooking at home. Oh yes, I totally did. Why hello delicious omelet.

3. No sugar. I did great with this one for the first part of the week and then it fell apart on Thursday. Blame the Irish.

This Week's Goals:

1. Get rested: As much as I like staying up way too late reading Vanity Fair (no really, I love this book!), I need to get properly rested if I'm going to get past this whole constantly being sick thing.

2. Drink lots of water: Everything tastes bad to me when I'm sick. Water is the worst.

3. Don't be a lard ass: I don't know, I guess I really mean make healthy choices or something like that but my brain is pretty much fried and really only has room for two things. One is my longing for a nap.

So, my comments have been way down for a while, do me a favor and give me a little ego boost by telling me what your goals for the week are... or say pretty much whatever you feel like saying. Yeah, I'm being shameless.

Run, Forrest, Run: She's Mental

2011-03-18T09:51:00.000-07:00

7:30am: Why am I awake? My alarm isn’t going to go off for another fifteen minutes. Grumble, grumble, grumble, ooh! I want a banana!

That’s pretty much what my inner monologue sounded like on Wednesday morning as I prepared to strike out for my first run since the Running Drunk Incident and since I broke my toe. Ouch and ouch. Originally I was going to run on Monday since that was the six week mark but due to “the universe hates me/beware flying printers” incident… oh, and the missing shoes, it wasn’t really an option.

Tuesday I was tired from walking all over my lovely city.

Wednesday, that was the day for running. It's Business Time.

Morning, that was the time, partly because I wanted to make sure that I really did it and partly because I have to move my car by 8:00am anyway so I might as well.

So, off I went to the significantly less hoity-toity 24 Hour Fitness here in downtown (I miss you pretentious Issaquah location and your pretty showers with doors!!!) to do intervals. The plan was to run for a minute and walk for two, repeat. Clearly this called for Lady Gaga music.

As I tried my hardest not to sing along and/or break out into dance during my warm-up, I was almost afraid of the running.

“What if my kidney hurts again?”

“What if my toe is reinjured… or breaks in half… or just plain snaps off??? How will I wear peep toe shoes then!?!?!?”

“Oh wait, I don’t like peep toe shoes.”

“What if I just gained back all of my weight in the last 3 minutes and running is too hard again?”

“What if….”

And then the time came.

Interval One: Noooooo… body doesn’t want to mooooove. Why the jelly inside bouncing too much??? Why the flub move???

Interval Two: Oh, maybe my legs do want to move like this. Hmm… the bouncing feels a little less sore. Remember Kendra, the first ten intervals are all in your head.

Interval Three: Oh... this is why I love running so much. I can fly!

Interval Four: My kidney! No, not the kidney, side stitch. Breathe properly Kendra, come on, you can do this. Inhale 2-3, Exhale 2-3, Inhale 2-3, Exhale 2-3. Yes, that’s how we prevent death.

Interval Five: Breathing, check. Got it. This is totally easy again! Oh, stop slouching! Shit! Was that a twinge in my toe? Am I imagining things? Man I forgot how much I sweat when I run. My skin is going to be totally soft when I'm done. Awesome.

Interval Six: No, the toe is fine. Is that Saved By The Bell on TV? Geez, I haven’t seen that show in ages… oh sixty seconds are up. I need more of a challenge, I’m going to do the last two intervals .5mph faster.

Interval Seven: Well, maybe just the last one. No one likes an overachiever… Oh, Kendra, stop being a lazy ass and do it! Maybe I should make that omelet again for dinner. Mmm... omelet. I'm hungry.

Interval Eight: HAHAHAHAHA!!!! What a coincidence, I’m listening to Show Me Your Teeth as a teeth whitening commercial comes on. That lady's holding a sign that actually says "Show me your teeth!" Maybe I should whiten my teeth a little more. I mean, look good but they could be whiter and I do have half of the box left. Yes, I can totally run at 6mph without inducing sudden death.

Interval Nine: Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe. You’re almost done, last one, don’t die. If you die now you won’t get to have a wrap for wrap day. Don't stop!!! 15 more seconds!!! Done!

Cool Down: Clearly this calls for a happy dance... no, wait, just get through the cooldown first. One foot in front of the other, keep moving. Why is this cooldown not actually cooling me down? Damn I'm red! Hey, I survived, score one for the home team.

Damn, it felt good to run again!

There’s No Place Like Home Omelet

2011-03-17T07:45:00.000-07:00

We have to talk about this omelet. I love it. I crave it. I dream about it. I don’t know why it took me over two and a half years to actually cook it myself. Two nights in a row.

I started my love affair with this omelet when I was in college. I had a Sunday ritual, you see. Tea with vanilla creamer at church and then this omelet for lunch afterward; this I did every week. Even when I temporarily became vegan, I still omitted Sundays so that I could have my omelet. I called myself a weekday vegan. That's commitment for you.

Alas, I was not a vegan for moral reasons, but for my own vanity. I thought it would help me lose weight. I was doing what many Christians refer to as “The Daniel Fast.” It’s a diet of only unprocessed fruit, vegetables, nuts, and other natural things.

We'll leave that story for another time...

Still, I could not give up this omelet or my tea. Now I have reunited with both. Life is good.

Welcome to my new kitchen.

That was before I actually put anything in it. Here's a more accurate view of what's going on here.

Let's make an omelet, shall we?

Here’s what you’ll need:

Yes that is a glass of champagne. In my kitchen the champagne is mandatory. Also, the Extra Virgin Olive Oil is not pictured because it didn’t look artsy. Oh, and significantly less olives than pictured actually made it in to the omelet because I couldn’t stop munching on them. Oops.

Chop everything into bite size bits. You’re not getting a picture of this one because I can’t chop and snap photos at the same time. I mean, maybe I could but I like my fingers more than this post. Priorities, people.

Beat two eggs in a bowl and add salt and pepper to taste.

Pour some of that un-pictured Extra Virgin Olive Oil in a pan and let it heat on medium. If you flick a small amount of water into the pan and it sizzles slightly, you’ll know it’s hot enough. When you get that going, pour all of the vegetables and turkey in the pan (probably grab some more olives from the fridge) and sauté them until it’s hard to resist eating them straight… erm… or something like that. Okay, the mushrooms should brown slightly and the spinach should wilt.

Spread out all of your ingredients in the pan evenly and pour the egg over it. Tilt the pan as necessary to fill in all of the crevices.

Sip champagne while you try not to salivate.

This is usually the point at which I use my master ninja flipping skills to flip this thing without a spatula but when you use a pan that is over 12 inches across, that just isn't going to happen. Sadly my omelet just took a turn for the ugly/not-actually-an-omelet because I can't flip and fold it.

Fail.

If you don't have master ninja flipping skills or if your pan is too big too, just break it up into pieces and flip them individually. When the egg is cooked through, sprinkle your cheese on it (that I broke up because I was too lazy to shred it), let the cheese melt a bit, and slip it onto a plate.

I was hoping that by picturing it with booze it would look more appetizing. I don't think it worked. What if I put it next to some oatmeal?

That's the only picture of oatmeal you'll ever see on my blog...

Still ugly.

Does this help?

No? Burt the Bear is highly offended. Oh well. This is why I'm not a food blogger. If you want actual quality in your recipe posts, you'd better head over and see Meredith.

Ingredients:

2 Eggs

4 Crimini Mushrooms

1 Cup of Baby Spinach

4 Slices of Turkey (I usually use cubes of turkey but this was all I could get this time)

A Handful of Olives

A Few Pinches of Cheddar Cheese

Salt and Pepper To Taste

2-3 Tablespoons of Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Vegan Version:

Tofu or This Recipe (that pretty much makes mine unnecessary)

4 Crimini Mushrooms

1 Cup of Baby Spinach
4 Slices of Turkey (Cut up Tofurkey Sausages would be a good Vegan Alternative)
A Handful of Olives
Daiya Cheddar Style Shreds
Salt and Pepper To Taste
2-3 Tablespoons of Extra Virgin Olive Oil

*Thank you to AJ who provided most of the vegan alternatives I have listed here!

Directions:

1. Chop all dry ingredients into bit sized pieces.

2. Heat pan with oil on medium heat until it spits back if water is flicked at it.

3. Sauté ingredients except for cheese until mushrooms are browned and spinach is wilted.

4. While dry ingredients sauté, whisk two eggs in a bowl until homogeneous and add salt and pepper to taste.

5. Pour eggs over dry ingredients and tilt pan to fill in any gaps.

6. Flip omelet or break it apart and flip individual pieces when the bottom of the egg is cooked.

7. When the eggs are nearly cooked through spread cheese on omelet.

8. Put on plate and enjoy with Champagne, tea, or any other beverage of your choice.

Yum.

Follow The Yellow Brick Road

2011-03-16T07:45:00.000-07:00

Here in the Emerald City, we know the importance of a good pair of shoes. So what’s a girl to do when her “oh so lovely and far too expensive, best ever running shoes” go missing? Clearly she throws a bitch fit.

No, wait, she is a lady.

She empties her closet, every box in her apartment, looks in the fridge, texts her mother, and searches her car. That was Monday morning… then she throws a bitch fit.

So, I went to work and moped.

Mid-morning I received a text from my mother informing me that she had found my shoes. Cue the happy dance here. They were in her closet. Why? I have no idea and I didn’t care.

Setting out after work to retrieve my beloved shoes, I make the mile trek up Capitol Hill… erm… the forest of Spooks (or not, this metaphor kind of sucks already) and realize that Dorothy had it easy. There were definitely not hills like this in Oz. No matter, my sights were set on finally laying my hands on my ruby (pink) slippers (running shoes) again.

Arriving at her apartment, my heart sank. The shoes sitting there were distinctly not my running shoes. Surely my mom wouldn’t have made such a mistake. She didn’t. I called her and told me where she had put the actual pair of shoes she found. When I saw them, though, I nearly wanted to cry. These were not the right pair either. These were a super cheap and painful pair I had bought several years ago and no long wore. They were in her closet because we were going to donate them.

Disheartened, I just wanted to go home. Lacking the ability to tap my heels three times and be there, I searched my wallet for bus fair. But wait, where was my wallet?

Goddammotherfuckerimgoingtokillsomeonerightnowifanythingelseshittyhappens!

Deep breaths…

Retracing my steps, I walked back down the hill in much poorer spirits. I made a side trip to take a self-pitying look at my car in the alley where it was parked for safe keeping. One more look inside, I decided, this exercise in futility couldn’t hurt anything.

For the record, since I’m using this whole OZ thing, I should note that I think of my car as the Wicked Witch of the West. Why? She’s green with a black top and she flies. Fortunately, since I live in Seattle, rain does not melt her.

So, I checked the junk in her trunk (hehe), the backseat, and finally the back storage area. On a whim I looked in a box that I knew should be empty. Lo and fucking behold, someone put my shoes in there. I know who did it and usually I would be mad but I was just so happy to find my shoes that I literally shrieked with glee.

I happily tied them to my bag and went to retrieve my wallet.

Feeling significantly more light-footed and not wanting to pay for bus fair, I decided to try walking home. Just under two miles and only slightly hilly, it felt like the perfect plan. I could stop at the market on the way home, make dinner, and have a lovely evening.

Walking through my city as the slight drizzle curled my already messed hair, I felt happier and freer than I have in a long time. I mean, I’ve been happy again for the past month but it was like making good better.

In my little big city, I feel at home. It exhilarates me just to walk through it. I got home exhausted and slightly sore but the dinner I made shortly after cured any little thing I might have complained about. It was a moment of utter bliss. It may have taken four miles, blood, sweat, and tears to get me there but, shit; there’s no place like home.

Stay tuned tomorrow for my "There's No Place Like Home Omelet"

Skanky Tuesday: Naked In The Afternoon

2011-03-15T14:50:00.000-07:00

We've talked about how much I like being naked, right? I mean, what did you think was going to happen once I got my own apartment without the birds objectifying my naked ass?

Besides the impromptu dance parties in my living room, I mean.

Oh yes, we will be naked.

And by we, I mean me.

It took me all of 28 seconds after getting home last Monday night to be walking around sans clothing. Why not? I dropped those blinds and dropped my pants.

Free at last!

There's something about doing small tasks naked that make you feel all kinds of mischievous. You're not just getting a glass of milk, you're doing it naked! Washing dishes suddenly becomes kind of sexy. Hanging up that shelf feels even more badass. It totally brings out the giggling little girl in me. You know, that little girl who wore jeans, a tutu, her bathing suit, and a tiara and thought she was totally fashionable.

Unfortunately, the awesome wore off when I walked into the bathroom. My bathroom mirror is huge. When standing on the other side of the bathroom I can see almost my whole body. I appreciate this quality when I'm clothed. Naked, though, is another story. Between the big mirror and the all too high quality lighting, I could see every flaw on my body.

That pooch I've been agonizing over? It felt like it was glaring back at me. The body negative thoughts that shot through me don't merit repeating but it felt more than slightly withering. So, I stared at myself for a few minutes; analyzing every lump. I agonized, wondering how anyone could be attracted to me. I poked and pulled at various spots.

Then I stepped back and looked again. How could I not love this body? True, I'm losing weight evenly and I do have excess skin but still... with all the things I can do now... I thought back to how my body looked last year and how, in the uneven shrinking of it, real curves have started appearing. I reminded myself that I was still in progress. This is not the end result.

And so I did the only logical thing to do when you're in the bathroom naked. I took a bath. It was lovely.

Then I spent the next week in states "I might be dying."

Once I started feeling better, though, my naked antics returned... and I learned a few things about what one must do before stripping down at home.

1. Lock the deadbolt. True, random people don't burst through my door but still, unless that sucker is bolted there will be unceasing fits of paranoia. Every. little. noise.

2. Don't forget to lower the blinds. Obvious, right? Not for someone who didn't used to have a window looking out over a major city block. And my window now? Not a window, but a wall.

Oh hello people across the way in the emergency services housing who saw me dancing (clothed) and waved at me before I fell on the floor laughing. Why yes, I do think I'll pull down my blinds before I start walking around naked.

I actually didn't really think about it one evening when I started to walk into my living room before realizing what I was about to do and flinging myself back into my bedroom to put something on. I'm not that kind of attention whore.

3. The only thing you should cook naked, unless you are wearing an apron (see the link for the bird comment), is cereal.

4. Probably don't tell your houseguests, "Oh, that's the best chair. I like to sit there when I'm naked." Actually, do tell them that if you don't want them visiting again. For the record, I don't actually have a chair or couch yet so you don't have to worry.

Now spill it! Surely you have some interesting stories about hanging out naked and/or mishaps because of it!! Gimme the gossip!

241.2lbs, 3lbs Lost This Week, 54.8lbs Lost Total

2011-03-14T15:54:00.000-07:00

It turns out that being nearly deathly ill and totally unable to stomach food is pretty good for weight loss. Interestingly, the fever was pretty damn good for my skin too. It’s quite soft again. Overall I think I’d recommend a kidney infection as a good way to jumpstart both your weight loss and your skincare regimen.

Not.

Though I did get quite rested…

Still, no.

After mostly sleeping through the weekend, this morning my life became all too eventful. I woke up at 4:00am this morning. 4:00 in the freaking morning… no, 4:00am at night. That’s night time people, I don’t care what any of you early birds say. On the weekends I’m usually still up at 4:00am! But no, I woke up. I woke up and could not fall back to sleep.

So, I tossed and turned and moped and grumbled and willed myself back to sleep. Still awake… Then I read for a little while and listened to music. Still awake… So, I drank some water and ate some yogurt. Still awake…

Fuck it, I decided, I’m going running!

Today is the first day that I’m allowed to run again. Incidentally, I can also get another set of piercings as well but I think I’ll wait a few more weeks. I excitedly put on my pink running underwear, my brand new sports bra, my pink running tank top, my pink running socks, and my running pants (black). I grabbed my I-Pod and went to finally pull my pink running shoes out of isolation again.

They weren’t in my (pink and black) gym bag. I dumped out my bag of shoes. They weren’t anywhere to be seen. I searched in every bag and box in my apartment. Nada. They MUST be in my car, I thought. I run out to check. Upon rounding the corner to my car I notice some… debris around it. Strange… Someone has apparently dropped a printer/scanner out of a window. Welcome to downtown.

Whatever, I want my shoes. I scour my backseat, back storage area, and trunk. They aren’t to be found. They MUST be at work. Sometimes I leave shoes at work… As a last ditch cover-all-my-bases I text my mom and ask her if she’s seen my shoes. No answer.

I go back inside admitting defeat for the moment but reminding myself that I can still run that evening if I find them at work. I pout all the way to the shower, taking a moment to consider the bottle of vodka I have on the counter. I mean, I’ve been up for quite some time; it wouldn’t really count as drinking first thing in the morning…

Just kidding.

Who drinks Sweet Tea Vodka at 7:30am, anyway? Clearly champagne is the way to go.

I get ready and prance out of my apartment thinking that I can stop by my mom’s before work to check on my missing shoes.

Upon approaching my car this time I notice debris on top of my car as well. They didn’t drop the printer near my car, they dropped it on my car. Bastards. I walk around to the front and see that my windshield is shattered. How did I not notice that before??? There’s also a broken X-Box across the street that had been thrown as well.

Angry woman?

I wait two hours for the police to show up while my mom makes calls and finds out that a new windshield will cost less than my deductible. I’ll never know who threw the damn thing but I find out later that apparently this building is known for having things tossed from it.

I’ll never park there again.

Deep breaths.

Goals for this week

1. RUN! I get to run again! I get to run again! I get to run again! I get to run again! I get to run again! I get to run again! I get to run again! I’ll make it a goal to run twice this week.

2. Start cooking at home. I’m not quite fully equipped to make any masterpiece meals but I do have chicken and green beans. That’s good enough for me!

3. No sugar. I was going to give up sugar for lent but when I got sick I started eating whatever I could stomach… which was not much. Some sugar definitely made it down my throat because of it. I’m going to eliminate it this week and take it a week at a time with this one.

When Pain Is A Symptom

2011-03-11T12:32:00.000-08:00

So, what happened on Sunday after I finally forced myself out of that oh so sweet paralysis and made myself get up? A pain started in my side. I assumed it was a cramp, though, because I hadn’t been drinking much water and I’d been working hard to get all of my things packed.

Throughout the day it lingered, which I thought was odd, but we were moving stuff and so it didn’t surprise me that much. All those stairs can put a stitch in anyone's side. That night, though, it went from lingering to throbbing.

I realized that I hadn’t really had a real meal since Friday at lunch and that the pain must be hunger. I walked down to the corner store, got something to eat, and drank as much water as I possibly could. The throbbing turned back into a dull pain.

Monday morning I woke up and the pain seemed to be gone. Greatly relieved, I went to work and made an effort to get enough water. I spent the day complaining about how far away the weekend was, wishing it were still early on Sunday morning, and trying to actually get some work done. Around lunch time I felt a stab of pain… and then I felt a few more.

I realize that at this point most people would be scheduling doctor’s appointments and such. I am not one of those people. It’s one of those left over issues from being an extremely overweight girl with depression and anxiety. When you are said girl; things just plain hurt. There’s no explanation for most of it except that you’re fat and depressed.

I used to get a pain in my side all the time just because of how my fat folded in causing a cramp. It’s hard now to change my mentality and realize that I’m not as fat, I’m not depressed, I’m mostly not anxious, and if something hurts; something is wrong.

Well, I didn’t realize it. It wasn’t until Tuesday night when I came home from work, fell asleep right away, woke up several hours later shivering in my very warm apartment that I realized my pain had a valid cause. I knew the symptoms of a fever if nothing else. So I took my temperature. 99.4 degrees might not seem high for most but I don’t get high fevers.

I wonder if my body temperature is so warm only because I’ve been sleeping next to my heater under warm blankets. I wait 30 minutes and take my temperature again. 102.4, how does someone increase in temperature that quickly? I start shaking and shivering violently and it’s making my body and head ache. I’m trying to decide whether I should go somewhere tonight or in the morning. I take my temperature again fifteen minutes later: 103.5.

I call my mom, crying now both from pain and fear, asking her to take me to the hospital. She tells me that she’ll be there soon and to keep monitoring my temperature. I call a friend just to have someone to talk to in the meantime.

In the half hour it takes my mom to get to my apartment, my temperature’s gone up again to 103.9 and we rush to the hospital. Before the doctor will even talk about the rest of my symptoms, he gives me medicine to reduce my fever. It brings me back down to a cool 103.4. At least it keeps me out of brain damage zone. After being examined they determine that I have a kidney infection.

Antibiotics, fluids, and rest… and rest. I don’t think I’ve been awake for a solid hour since Tuesday night. The thing that I’m learning here, besides the fact that kidney infections unequivocally suck, is that while my past certainly effects how I look at things now, I have to learn to move on and remember that circumstances are different now. I don’t hurt for inexplicable reasons anymore. Pain has causes and cures.

Clearly I've been struggling with this concept for a while. It took me far too long to realize that there really was something wrong with my IUD.

While I was proud of myself to responding right away to the fever, I probably should have known before then that the pain was indicative of more than a cramp or hunger. It's one of the things I continue to struggle with as I work on getting healthier.

Skanky Tuesday: Paralyzed

2011-03-08T12:50:00.000-08:00

I can’t get up. I’m watching the clock, knowing that I have to be up in a half hour and wishing I could stop time, wishing that the morning wasn’t really here. I have to get up, though. I have to finish packing my stuff because we’re moving it today. These are the last moments we’ll have like this until... who knows, though, and I just can’t tear myself away. It's been such a lovely weekend.

I look over my shoulder and see that he knows nothing of my internal struggle. He’s got that half smile on his face he sometimes gets when he sleeps. I doze off again.

It’s 7:55 and I have five minutes until I have to get up and go. He pulls me a little closer. I can’t move. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t leave this. I look again, the smile is still there. I tell myself that 15 minutes won’t hurt anything. I can stay until 8:15. That won’t be a big deal…

I put my hand on his thinking over the past few weeks. I try to pretend to forget the few months before that. I realize the power of a look, a comment, and a touch in how I feel about myself. He makes me simultaneously want to keep getting healthier and feel perfect just how I am.

8:30, I can stay until 8:30. Clearly 15 more minutes won’t matter that much. I can’t pull myself away. I feel his breath on my shoulder and his hand in my hair. I can’t help but smile. Sneaking a look at him again I think about the progression of how he’s become more affectionate and open over the last few weeks.

I’m finally past that unbearable anxiety over every detail of my life so I can actually enjoy these moments without wondering when it will fall apart. I can let it go where it will without agonizing over each detail. I’m not going crazy this time. I’m not losing it again.

He’s seen me at my worst and yet here he is.

Here I am, holding things together with a new apartment, the possibility of a new job, and still losing weight (despite my lack of official weigh-ins, my scale was still in a box this weekend). I’m not falling apart again.

Just a few more minutes, I tell myself, surprised that no one else is up yet. I’ll get up before 8:45 if no one comes out to wake us up. I’m too comfortable, too content. I think about how comfortable he makes me feel in my skin. Despite the fact that last night I was looking in the mirror lamenting every sagging inch of my body, this morning I feel beautiful. He doesn’t point out my flaws or avoid those parts of my body that I cry over. He makes me feel like every inch of me is worthy of being adored. His affection washes away the shame I felt over my body and choices for the last few months.

My body image and self love is my responsibility but it doesn’t hurt to have someone else reaffirming it.

At 8:44 I finally gather the strength to slide myself out from under his arm and get up. I look forward to what comes next. We’re moving all of my stuff out of my dad’s to my own apartment. The amount of stairs we’ll be climbing alone certainly counts as a workout. I’d better have a significantly perkier butt after this!

I wake up my mom who I’m driving to work before taking one last look at that half smile and putting on my poker face for our families. They know but we all pretend it’s a secret.

As I drive back to my dad's I wonder how it will feel having him in my room, my space, and moving my things. I get home and my stepmother points at my neck and smirks. Oops, I forgot about that. A scarf might just be in order.

March Goals and February Reflections

2011-03-02T14:16:00.000-08:00

Oh February, you came and went too soon. I loved you so.

Really, though, February was a glorious month for me. In addition to finding my sanity once again I made strides in several areas of my life and discovered that even when the bottom drops out I will eventually end up back on my feet again. That’s huge for me. In fact, it’s more important than a 50lb loss.

Of course, the loss is good too.

So, how did the goals from last month pan out? Let’s take a look.

1. Start cooking again – I did a lot more cooking this month than the previous months but I did not resume my weekly preparation of meals. So, while I certainly passed on this one, I could have done better.

2. Work my way back into regular workouts – I failed this one with flying colors. Between breaking my toe, getting totally sick (I’m still not better), and all the events I’ve been going to, I just plain failed.

3. Make weight loss, not boys, my focus this month – Oh, what do I even say about this one. No, I was not focusing on boys this month and yes, I did lose weight but I’d be lying if I said that someone hasn’t been on my mind since February 13. What? I’m good with dates and numbers. It’s something that I’m taking one step, one moment at a time. Even though it’s ALL I’ve wanted to talk about since then, I’ve also been trying to do this one without an audience. That’s hard for me. To make this goal, though, and keep sane I’ve had to compartmentalize this into a “he only exists on weekends” category.

4. Start the job search – Check! I’ve been working on this one like crazy. I have some prospects and we’ll hope that something pans out before March 31 when my current contract expires.

5. Move to a new apartment – I’ve filled out all the paperwork and I’m still waiting to hear back. It’s totally trying my patience, you have no idea. I want my apartment now!!!

6. Set a budget – Fail!

March Goals

1. Start running again AFTER March 14. I’ve spent the last week wanting to run so badly. It’s really hard to motivate myself to do other forms of exercise because I just don’t like it as much. It’s bad, I know, and I’m a brat. I really can’t wait until I can lace on those sexy Nike’s again and get my ass on the treadmill. I might even try running outside.

2. Do strength training once a week. I bought a bunch of the Core Fusion DVDs and now I have no excuse (not that I did before) to not do them.

3. Get a job! This current contract has been great, I love where I work but sadly, they cannot keep me after March 31. Though, as much as I do like it here, I like it because of my co-workers, not because of the work. I don’t really use any of my major skill set.

4. Get more organized. Because I’ve been in transition mode I’ve let my usually organized life turn all kinds of hot mess. Yesterday I was so half asleep when I was getting dressed I didn’t even realize that I was putting on pants that were a size too large for me because they were put in the wrong place. I had to hold them up all day. It was really attractive, I'm sure.

5. Eat something green every day. I made this a goal for the week but I think it merits being a month long goal too. So far this week I've been doing really well.

So, how'd you do last month and what are your goals for this month?

Skanky Tuesday: That Dress

2011-03-01T11:13:00.000-08:00

I stood in my dorm room nervously going through the motions of my music, hearing the song in my head rather than singing it to save my voice. I had just bought a new performance dress because it pretty much fit and that was good enough for me at the time. While Che Faro Senza Euridice flitted through my head, it had to fight to stay there. Instead I was thinking about and worrying about how I was going to look in this dress.

My cardigan didn’t match but God forbid I show my arms, it would have to do. Money was tight and I wasn’t about to buy something to match this dress when I knew it didn’t really look that great on me anyway.

The dress was beautiful but I was chunky. My lumps showed through the light fabric and my left boob was dangerously close to falling out. I did the performance, though, without wardrobe malfunction and then went home and vowed never to wear that dress again.

Fast forward a few years. The dress still hangs in my closet. Why I haven’t burned it yet, I have no idea.

I’ve been shopping for weeks for a dress for two upcoming events I’m attending that have had no luck with anything under $400. My budget beats my vanity. So, I finally give in. I pull my dress out of the closet and decide that I have to wear it.

The only problem is that it’s about 50lbs too large.

Life is hard.

No matter, I’ll take it in. Saturday night I sit with my dress in hand, two sets of needle and thread, Sweet Tea Vodka with lime on standby just in case I butcher the thing and need fast consolation.

“Shit,” I yelp as I accidentally sew my thumb into a seam. It’s okay; I caught that spot next to my nail where you can’t really feel it.

“Whyyyyy did I decide to do this by hand?” I whine at whoever is listening, which of course is no one.

One of those present makes some joke that I don’t remember but I remind him not to make fun of me while I’m holding pointy objects. I threaten him a few more times before I’m finished. I don’t actually stab him with the sewing needle because there are witnesses present but I'm sorely tempted.

I finish the dress and scurry in the other room to try it on. Perfect fit. It never looked like this before. I smile, take it off, and go enjoy my vodka. I put the sewing kit away before I become too tempted to sew somebody's mouth shut. I'll let you speculate who.

The next night I put on the dress, worry once again about a boob popping out, and try to stay calm as I wonder if my seam will stay in place. If that sucker pops, it’s all spilling out.

I walk into the living room to grab my purse. The looks I receive from those present make me blush. My mom’s husband tells me that I look beautiful. I’m not used to him saying things like that.

I’m proud to report that the seams stayed put, there were no nip-slips, and despite the raging windstorm that killed my hair, I felt lovely.

That lasted until about 5pm on Monday when the pictures hit Facebook. As I browsed through them I came to this one.

Maybe you’re not seeing what I see. Perhaps my flaws don’t stick out like glaring eyesores to you. I hope that’s the case. All I could see was this.

Hair ruined by a windstorm, eyes too tired from not getting enough sleep, double chin, flabby arm and underarm, and the almost gone dark patch of skin I have in my cleavage wipe everything else from my memory. Oh, and that is NOT my haircolor. Bad lighting much?

It makes me think of Marie's post from New Years. At the time I thought it was crazy that she would find anything wrong with that photo. I thought she looked amazing.

But I get it now. Seeing this photo made me forget the fact that I had to take somewhere between 6-8 inches off the dress, how I felt dancing in it, how people told me how lovely I looked, and how far I've come to be able to sit and mope about looking this way in a dress at a party I never would have even been invited to last year.

So, while I sit and obsess over what's wrong with this picture, I forget the fun, the champagne, the new friends made, and the look I received from someone who had always been honest with me to a fault. I forget that this is still in progress and that for being in progress, I look pretty amazing. I forget that I wasn't even wearing spanx.

Weigh-In Fail

2011-02-28T17:02:00.000-08:00

I didn’t go home this weekend and therefore stood up my scale for our weekly date. I’m sure that Frank will forgive me for the slight. It wasn’t personal; I just had too busy of a weekend in Seattle to make the trip out to Issaquah. See, this is why I’m moving into downtown. Sleeping on my mom’s couch bed is not the most comfortable or restful thing ever. It does come with the perk, though, of waking up to eggs and bacon.

I mean, who doesn’t love free food?

Though between all of us there it sounded like a symphony of coughs, sneezes, nose-blowing, and various other mucus induced noises. It would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that I was a major contributor to the coughing section.

I’m in this middle ground of “I’m not sick but I’m not well,” (Please tell me that you just got Flagpole Sitta stuck in your head.) and it’s making me lazy. I’m not sick enough to actually justify the fact that I just want to lay around in the evenings but I’m not well enough to muster up the energy to do anything else. I think I took three naps this weekend.

I could use another one today.

Despite my wellness purgatory, I still had a lovely weekend. I’m finding that my courage is returning and that’s a really good feeling. My anxiety is starting to feel a little bit more like a memory again, as well. There seems to be a distinct possibility that I am getting my shit together again.

With that sentiment, I’m starting to get tired of my lack of progress lately in weight loss. There’s something wonderfully addictive about seeing your body constantly changing and I miss that. There’s also something wonderfully addictive about others noticing that change. Yes, I’m admitting it.

So, on to goals!

Last Week’s Goals

1. Try the core fusion DVDs I purchased – Nope. Didn’t happen. I did get some exercise but not from these.

2. Lay off the processed stuff – Unless you’re counting that bit of ice cream I couldn’t tear myself away from, I did pretty wonderfully with this one. I also cut down on the amount of sugar I was consuming because of it.

3. Go buy some goggles – I totally forgot about this one.

4. Be mindful of monthly goals – I printed them out so that I could remember what I was supposed to be doing and while that’s helped me with some of them, it’s not going to be a 100% month.

This Week’s Goals

1. Eat green every day – It doesn’t have to be a specific vegetable but I’m going to try to eat at least one serving of cruciferous vegetables every day this week.

2. No more soda unless there’s alcohol involved – Bad health blogger, right? Shouldn’t I be talking about choosing healthier options for drinking and whatnot? Maybe, but I think that a little rum and coke is worth losing weight a little more slowly as long as “little” is the key. This might actually bring me dangerously close to practicing moderation.

3. Get some sleep – Yes, getting out and socializing has been one of my goals but getting enough sleep is also incredibly important.

4. Exercise – I suppose the fact that my lungs are still raspy makes for a good excuse but once they’re clear I need to get back in gear.

Kendra In Wonderland

2011-02-25T12:27:00.000-08:00

Do you ever have one of those days where you're so full of love for the world that you just want to hug everybody?

Me either.

I'm pretty close, though, I just don't really like touching people that I don't know that well.

So, what's bringing out the jolly in this little snark?

Last night I attended a fundraiser benefiting the American Cancer Society. Here's something I learned; "fundraiser" is actually code for "rich people want an excuse to throw a party and spend some money." In this case it meant, "Seattle's young professionals are getting schnockered at The Ballroom in Fremont."

It's probably a good thing that I don't live in Fremont because I might have to go there every single night. While I didn't partake in the beer specials that they had for the fundraiser (I don't drink beer), I did have a slice of their pizza. Man do these guys mean business with pizza. That "slice" was about the size of my keyboard. I definitely couldn't finish it.

After the party, a small group of us decided to go down the street to The White Rabbit. On the way there, I was dubbed Alice. I haven't seen the new version of the movie but apparently between my outfit (black dress with pink and black striped cardigan, as seen on my sidebar), my hair style (down and wavy with a small pink and pearl headband), and the fact that I was holding a cupcake; I was reminiscent of the new Alice. I'll take it.

We got in the bar and the first thing I saw was a drink called "The Looking Glass." YES! Clearly I had to have one. Just one, I was driving home, after all.

It was one of those night's that reminds you of how you once imagined life would look.

Yes, that's all and good but a recap of my night doesn't really have much to do with anything unless I just want to brag, right? Yes, and no.

One of my goals for the year was to make my social life a priority and make friends that are local. I wanted to spend time with friends and invest in relationships. Surprisingly, I've been working on that one. This is the second of these types of events I've been to lately (I broke my toe at the first one) in an effort to find that post I-still-wish-I-was-in-college crowd.

As much as I do wish that I was still in college, only because I didn't finish not because I know anything about what non-Christian college is like, I find that I'm attracted much more to the types who seem to actually have an idea about what they want life to look like and how they're going to go about it. They inspire me.

This weekend I'm looking forward to another such party for the Oscars.

See? I'm working on adding other things to my life that don't include dropping it like it's hot.

At least on nights of the week that aren't called Friday.

Show The Blogger Love, Nominate Me!

2011-02-24T11:36:00.000-08:00

You love me, right?

Yeah, you know that when someone starts out like that, they want something.

Have you heard about Women's Health Blogs We Love 2011? It's a contest to get on their blogroll. All you have to do to nominate me is go to this link, enter http://www.kendrathroughthelookingglass.com/ (I know, it's long. I typed it out so you could just copy and paste it because I don't want you to have to work hard) in the URL field, select Weight Loss for the category, and tell them why you love me so much in 50 words or less.

While you're there you can nominate your other favorite bloggers as well. Might I suggest Rachel Wilkerson for the Sex & Relationships category and Leah of Your Nutritionista for the Nutrition category?

The Rules Are Back

2011-02-23T13:12:00.000-08:00

Remember back in the day when I was having trouble getting myself to eat? With this most recent round of getting sick, once again I just don't want to do so. I think it's been at least three days since I had dinner that didn't consist of a pseudoephedrine, loratadine, guaifenesin, and Vitamin C cocktail, followed by an Afrin chaser.

BTW, I'm pretty sure after three days of using Afrin you wouldn't be able to tell my nostrils from Lindsay Lohan's.

Despite my lack of dinners, I wake up in the morning and still don't want to eat. I have to coax myself into eating a banana so that I can take my medicines without my stomach feeling like it's being attacked by wet gremlins. What is it with me and gremlins anyway? Never mind.

In order to prevent another full scale "I don't want to eat and can't get myself to until I've collapsed in three unique locations," I'm reimplementing the rules and adding a few more.

1. I may not shower or drive anywhere until I've eaten something. I also shouldn't drive anywhere until I've showered but that's for other obvious reasons. I break this one every week day because I don't usually eat breakfast until I get to work. Tonight I'm going to go make a set of egg cups so that I can pop one of those bad boys before I shower in the morning.

2. Dinner is not optional. Dinner is usually the first meal to be abandoned by me because it's the one I plan for the least. Dinner is now mandatory.

3. If I skip a meal, I tell someone. Totally incentive to not skip a meal.

4. If I really don't feel like I can eat, have a smoothie. Ultimately, this was how I got myself back on track last time.

5. Write down everything you eat, at least temporarily.

While there's every possibility that my appetite will return to normal when the yuck in my head subsides, I don't want to repeat old destructive patterns.

How do you hold yourself accountable for eating when you don't want to?

Not So Skanky Tuesday

2011-02-22T10:57:00.000-08:00

This morning I was going to wax philosophically on how being bendy can be good for you… and fun. It just doesn’t feel appropriate right now, though. You see, my cat died in my arms this morning. I knew it was coming… but still. I loved her.

I guess we can think of this as a test. I’m well aware that some of my friends and family are watching closely to see if I am going to go off the deep end again.

I’m not going to.

I’m acknowledging that I’m not okay and I’m dealing with those feelings.

Granted, that doesn’t mean that I won’t go home and drink tonight. I might, but it won’t be to hide from my feelings. It won’t be to hide from reality… and it won’t be enough to cause my mother to have to take away my cell phone.

I guess the human heart really is resilient. It’s amazed me how many times it could break over the last few months without shattering completely.

We rebuild and we move on. Most importantly, though, we learn and grow. No, the most important thing is that we love.

245.2lbs, 2lbs Lost This Week, 50.8lbs Lost Total

2011-02-21T08:00:00.000-08:00

How completely unexpected and awesome. I thought I was going to gain weight this week. I mean, the weight of the mucus stuck in my head alone should have accounted for a 46lb gain this week alone, right? Well, maybe I'm exaggerating.

I'm now at the lowest weight I've been since I started this whole weight loss shebang and I feel moderately to extremely bitchin about it. Actually, I feel stuffy and a little snotty but I'm sure that when the Sinus Infection symptoms go away, I'll be much happier and fully realize the weight (pun intended) of being back on track.

Do you know what you really really really really should not do when you're sick and have lost all semblance of impulse control? Go to the grocery store. I mean, I had good reason to go, I needed medication, but I probably should have asked my mom to go for me. Why?

I came home with all the medicine I needed (good), Coconut Water (also good), cottage cheese for breakfast (still fine, though I shouldn't eat it while I'm fighting mucus build up), an apple that I couldn't resist nabbing (fine still), tissues, chicken strips (I always crave them when I'm sick), two containers of Ben and Jerry's ice cream (because I couldn't decide on one flavor and decided that I had to open them both and sniff them when I got home to make the decision), a bottle of wine, chipotle ranch dressing (I have no idea why), chocolate milk (remember, I don't like chocolate), Turkey Kielbasa, and pork sausage (that I left with my mom).

I had to be physically ripped away from the Brussels sprouts, cake mix (and frosting), cookie mixes (I loudly declared that I HAD to make cookies when we got home), coffee (I don't drink it), stemware, and magazines. My mom seemed torn between shaking her head at me in annoyance and laughter over the fact that I really couldn't stop myself.

She drew the line when I declared that I absolutely needed almond champagne.

I also discovered that QFC stocks the tissues kitty corner to the ice cream. I don't think that this is a coincidence.

Of course, when I got home I realized that I wanted almost none of what I bought.

Luckily this impulse-fail put me back less than most of my impulse buys on amazon.com, so all is well in the world of my budget.

It's just a good thing I didn't walk into J Crew. I'd be flat broke. I also still think that I needed the almond champagne. Have you ever had that? It's just beyond amazing, especially when you serve it with a sliver of a strawberry to add extra sexiness.

Anyway...

Let's talk about goals!

FAIL!

Okay, maybe not...

Last Week’s Goals

1. Turn in the rest of the apartment paperwork – Check! Woot! I'm just waiting to hear back now and decide on a move in date. OMG ICAN'TBELIEVETHATI'MACTUALLYDOINGTHIS!!!!

2. Cut down more on sugar – Um... I'll give myself a half pass on this one. I did for most of the week but other days I felt really reliant on having a soda. This process is going to take a lot of work again.
3. Exercise Twice – I think that I can claim once for this.
4. Emotional Honesty – Yes and it was really hard. I have one relationship in my life right now that is really hard because I haven't been honest about how I really feel, either to myself or to this person. It's taking a lot of work to backtrack, clarify, and undo months of fronting. I have do so first in my own mind before I can even come close to actually talking to this person.

This Week's Goals

1. Try the core fusion DVDs I purchased - I got a set of three of the DVDs and one stand alone. I'll leave the details to be discussed later but I just want to try them out this week.

2. Lay off the processed stuff - I never feel well when I eat lots of processed things and yet when I get sick, it's all I want. Ridiculous much? I think so. Even if I'm not quite ready to give up the soda yet, this will help me feel much better.

3. Go buy some goggles - I'm not saying that I have to go swimming but odds are that if I buy the things, I'll want to. Come to think of it, though, I'm going to have to try on my bathing suit again because I bought it about 20lbs ago. I might be too big. How awesome would that be?

4. Be mindful of monthly goals - Sometimes I forget completely what my monthly goals are. I make them for a reason, though, so I ought to actually put come effort into remembering what they are.

As always, what are your goals for this week? Do you get as impulsive as me when you're sick?

Sick Day

2011-02-18T10:54:00.000-08:00

Despite my complete lack of carousing and troublemaking I’m sick again. I would like to take this opportunity to shake my fist at the universe.

There, done.

Yesterday I started to feel a tickle in my throat so I took an antihistamine. Everyone seems to be sick right now and I didn’t want to be. I drank water and tea and felt my symptoms slowly get a little worse. Before going to bed I took some real medicine in hopes that I could cut this thing off at the start. No such luck.

I woke up this morning with a fever, painful throat, swollen lymph nodes, and all kinds of sneezy.

Despite my previous penchant for feverish frolicking (alliteration unintentional), I’m taking this as a sign that the universe wants me to stay home tonight. By that I mean at my mom’s where I can properly milk the sympathy card since she’s the one who probably got me sick.

So tonight I’ll be curling up on my mom’s couch, groaning in agony to acquire control of the remote control, before putting on the most girly movie I can find and allowing myself a moment of sappy bliss.

Why hello Ever After.

Yes, I can quote almost every line of that movie.

Yes, it is my favorite ever.

Yes, it does have a distinct lack of cynical snarkiness and seems an odd choice for me.

Yes, I do get chills when they’re in the ruins and she whispers “Henry.”

Yes, I cry every time I watch it.

Apparently I’m a real girl.

Okay, enough with that…

While fitness may have taken a backseat this week to other important life changes, I’m getting tired of all my fits and starts. Business, tiredness, laziness, and whatever else are just excuses and gaining momentum is hard if I don’t actually make it a priority.

Since I’m leaving my current little hometown for the big bad city, I should take the time I have left there and say a sad farewell to my favorite 24 Hour Fitness location. My dear pretentious Issaquah location, I love you and shall miss you. The Downtown location’s got nothing on you. The newer and more pretentious Northgate location is… well… in Northgate. We shall have to work things out anyway, though, because I value snobbiness and the Downtown club just doesn’t bring that to the table.

I should totally change my Facebook status to “It’s Complicated with 24 Hour Fitness.”

By the way, they don’t pay me to say this stuff. I actually like them.

I mean, I don’t even get a free gym membership from them NOT THAT I’M HINTING OR ANYTHING…

The moral of the story here is don’t blog when you’re sick and on all kinds of medication. This is how it turns out.

And stay away from the Girl Scout Cookies. I broke my tooth on a Samoa last night. I told you that those things were evil.

Ahhhhh, Freakout!

2011-02-17T11:10:00.000-08:00

So, there are some ~~majorly scary and OMG NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME~~ minor changes going on in my life right now. I don’t like change. It makes me feel anxious and fidget a lot before just plain wanting a nap. A nap sounds really good right now, actually.

I might be exaggerating a little about how much I dislike change (though I still want the nap), but when several of them are about to happen at the same time, it can feel a little overwhelming. It can also make me want to eat a box of Samoa’s.

Can we just talk about Girl Scout Cookies for a minute? I’m pretty sure that they’re lovingly hand made by Satan, maximizing both the deliciousness of them and their ability to stick directly to my ass, thighs, and pooch. I’m also pretty sure that Girl Scouts are really just his little demon minions in disguise as cute little girls who get a little teary eyed when you say that your ass can not afford that box of cookies.

Yes, I was a Girl Scout.

Troupe 775 in Portland, ME.

My mom was the troupe leader which I think makes her someone really important among hellions.

I guess that explains a lot about me.

Oh, right, about me…

I’ve turned in all of the paperwork and am now waiting for a response. I will soon be in possession of my own apartment. I’m also in the process of getting a new and permanent assignment for my job. I’ll be living and working downtown which is exactly what I’ve always wanted. It’s also really scary because I’ve always wanted it.

Yet, it means that I’ll have my own kitchen (cue the Hallelujah Chorus), my own washer and drier (as apposed to the broken set I battle with now), and my own humble abode. Le sigh.

The new job will mean that I’ll get to play dress up in grownup clothing on a daily basis. The “business casual” practiced at my current office is a little more “casual” than “business.”

Ah, but those are not the only two changes…

If all goes according to plan, I’ll also be starting school and opera training again part time.

Deep breaths…

These things have been planned for a long time. I’ve been saving my money and biding my time but now that it’s time to take action… OMG.

It’s created one of those situations where I’m so focused on future events that I’m not thinking about my choices right now. My mental space is too full of “where the hell am I going to get a couch I can afford that hasn’t been shat on by a cat?” and “I wonder if I can fit a small dining room table in my bitty little space?” It’s just not conducive to also processing, “should I put down the devil cookie?” and “which is better, broccoli or Doritos?”

Long story short (as if that ship hadn’t sailed LONG ago), I’m having a rough week for healthy eating.

In Which We Do Not Settle

2011-02-16T12:18:00.000-08:00

"We decide what we can settle for in life and then we do just that."

A few weeks ago someone said this to me and I haven’t been able to stop thinking it since. It’s so true.

As a kid I was 100% sure that I was going to be the most amazing adult in the history of EVER (quoted from my five year old self). I was going to be a singing, dancing, superhero, fire(wo)man, spy. Yep, I’ve always been a multi-tasker.

My “most amazing adult in the history of ever” momentum significantly slowed down in middle school when my focus shifted to “keep my dad alive.” Any children of alcoholics out there are probably nodding right now because they know exactly what I’m talking about.

For most people the moment of shifting from chasing dreams to limping with reality happens much later.

I learned what I could settle for and then I did.

In weight loss I’ve recently done the same thing. I can live with myself at this weight. I’m able to do almost everything I want to, I can fit pretty much anywhere, people find me attractive, I’m starting to think that I’m authentically pretty and not just “pretty for a fat girl,” and I’m not in nearly as much pain as I once was. You’d think that this would be good enough for me. Unfortunately, you’d be right.

I’ve been settling for what I can live with. Complacency has beat out my drive for better things.

Last night I laid in bed thinking about what I want life to look like, imaging what that firecracker of a five year old would have to say about what I should be doing. She still wants to play dress up and sing. She’s still writing stories on scraps of paper just because her imagination is bursting with ideas. She’s still waiting for her prince charming and would settle for nothing less. If there’s no tiara, no deal!

After that I fell asleep and dreamt of Fearless Leader. The short story of the dream (without all the WTF details that are present in all of my dreams) was that she was reminding me that I have choices. Those choices create a trajectory and that trajectory determines what my life looks like.

Touché, my subconscious masquerading as Fearless Leader, touché.

In weight loss, relationships, career, and every other aspect of my life I have to decide where to set the bar. Sure, I could keep doing things exactly as I have been but can I settle for this? No, I can’t.

I won’t settle for hovering around 250lbs, I won’t settle for a web of “it’s complicated” relationships, I won’t settle (permanently) for working somewhere just because a job is a job and it pays (most of) my bills.

In the last few years I’ve gone from being too afraid to go out and be in public, weighing almost 300lbs, not having a job, living in pain, and just plain failing at life to being out and about, losing 50lbs, having both a job and multiple side projects (hello blog), and starting to feel like I might have an idea of what life could and should look like. It may have taken going to hell and back but I think it’s worth it.

If I can do this in just a few years, maybe I can still please my petulant five year old self. Above and beyond the tangible things, I’ve changed. As I’ve learned to deal with past trauma and present emotional issues I’ve become a whole different kind of Kendra. I've become a Kendra who has decided that she can't settle.

So maybe people who achieve great things are just the people who decided that they couldn’t settle. Maybe that’s the only difference.

Skanky Tuesday: Little Blue Pills

2011-02-15T12:42:00.000-08:00

Confession: Because of the calendar layout of the pills, it almost feels like a “don’t get knocked up” advent calendar. I was never very good with advent calendars, though. I would have an appointed time to open that little perforation and eat my semi-stale German chocolate but often I would forget and then the next morning I would feel guilty about it not yet being the right time to eat the chocolate so I would wait and have two that evening. Then I’d want more and cheat and eat the next days as well.

Clearly I can’t do that in this situation.

* * * * *

So, it’s true that this is probably the place that I should have started with birth control: simple pills. The problem is that all of those qualms I had about side effects are, in fact, justified.

For the next several months I’ll be on an estrogen and progestin combination. My doctor chose this one because it will help with the Endometriosis caused by the IUD (really caused by my irresponsibility with the IUD). The estrogen directly affects the endometrial cells, reducing the ones in the wrong places and should relieve my symptoms in the next few months.

I’ll be taking the pills with hormones continuously for three months before I take the week of sugar pills. After six months my doctor and I will reassess my options and decide where to go from there.

While the reasons for taking this particular pill are valid and necessary, there certainly are pros and cons. Let’s look at some of those.

Pros

I only have a period every three months. This really needs no elaboration. It’s awesome because periods suck.

No insertion, no pain. There’s no “procedure” involved in taking pills. They aren’t painful to take and I don’t have to recover from them.

No mood swings. On Mirena I experienced mood swings despite the fact that only a tiny bit of the hormones made it into my blood stream. I haven’t had that problem with the pill yet.

No risk of expulsion. With Mirena there was the very real risk that my uterus would expel it. In fact, that’s exactly what it was trying to do once I got sick. I don’t have to worry about that with the pill.

I feel more in control. Because I have anxiety issues it's kind of nice to have something that I feel in control of. The IUD was placed and I had to just trust (while checking the strings periodically) that it was doing it's thing. I mean, it's pretty much the same with having to trust that the pills are doing their thing too but I feel more in control.

Cons

I’m hungry, no, famished. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I’ll finish a large (protein rich) meal and still feel like I haven’t eaten in days. I literally feel starving all day. No hyperbole here, I mean it.

I have a mild migraine. It started the second day I took the pills and hasn’t stopped since. It’s just bothersome enough to affect my ability to concentrate, but not strong enough that I feel justified taking a sick day.

I’m anxious, very anxious. This was my biggest concern because of my history of anxiety disorder. I am as anxious and I feared I would be. This was the biggest reason that I started with the IUD in the first place.

I have to set an alarm to remember to take the pill. At work I use Outlook and on the weekends I use my cell phone alarm. I'm terrible at remembering my vitamins (like the Vitamin D and Iron I'm supposed to be taking... oops) and this is definitely more important than vitamins.
I also have to make sure to have them with me every day. I lose things like you wouldn't believe so this worries me. I actually just lost my mini red binder which is my equivalent of a little black book. My life if in that thing and I almost had a meltdown when I realized it was missing.

I’m breaking out. With my super pale skin, it shows like crazy. My usually clear skin has gotten blotchy and bumpy over the last week.

It’s expensive. The IUD cost me a $20 co-pay and had things not gone wrong, that’s all it would have cost for the next five years. The pills I’m on cost me $9 every three weeks and a quarterly $20 co-pay to see my doctor for a new set of prescriptions.

Weight gain. 'Nuff said.

Knowing that I’m only using this for about six months is comforting and helps me deal with some of the side effects. I also hope that some of them will go away as my system gets used to the new hormones. I’ve put my body through a lot lately and I realize that it probably needs some time to adjust.

247.2lbs, 1lbs Gained This Week

2011-02-14T12:07:00.000-08:00

I’m about as unsurprised as you could get that I gained weight. There were a few circumstances this week that I knew would contribute to a gain, I’m just surprised that it was so minimal.

So, what were the things that plumped me up?

1. I did some strength training this week. I always show a temporary gain after doing so.

2. I went my first week on the new birth control pills (we’ll talk more about this tomorrow). It’s one that is pretty hormone heavy because it will apparently help with the endometriosis. I don’t have to be on it permanently but it made me absolutely STARVING this week. I wanted to devour everything in sight and then chew off my right hand (I’m left handed). Not so much fun.

3. I didn’t drink all week but did on the weekend. You may have noticed that for a while there I was talking about drinking more than usual. Part of getting myself back on track emotionally and with weight loss was cutting out the drinking as much as possible. I still gave myself permission to drink of weekends because I didn’t want to be overly restrictive, but after abstaining for so many days (I didn’t really drink last weekend either) I retained a lot of water from the few drinks I did have.

4. I went out to dinner at carb heavy places this weekend. I celebrated Valentine’s Day over the weekend with a few friends, had a fake date, and really just had a blast. Unfortunately that “blast” included lots of food that I don’t usually eat. Sorry I’m not sorry.

This weekend did give me a lot to think about, though. Between long conversations and self analysis, I think I might be starting to have an idea of what I actually want in several areas of life. Sometimes it’s good to have friends who will call you out on your shit. Other times it’s nice to have the friend who just listens and smirks. I’m thankful to have both.

Let’s talk goals!

Last Week’s Goals

1. Turn in the apartment paperwork – I turned in what I THOUGHT was all of the paperwork. Nope, that turned out to just be the small packet to get the whole thing started. Oy Veh.

2. Cook – My mom and I cooked together most of the week so this was pretty successful.

3. Exercise somehow twice – Check! Neither was exactly an orthodox workout but both were way more fun than running. On Friday night I taught my mom a bunch of dance moves and we busted a move in her apartment for a few hours. So. Much. Fun. I hurt in places I didn’t know actually had muscles.

4. Start Tracking all of my expenses – HA! Nope. Fail.

This Week’s Goals

1. Turn in the rest of the apartment paperwork – I’ve been waking up for the past several days thinking about how wonderful it would be if I was not waking up in my current apartment. I have one pretty large packet to finish.

2. Cut down more on sugar – I’m not going to lie; I’ve been using sugar to cope with some of the annoying side effects of the new pill. I hope that they won’t last but I don’t want my weight gain to be permanent.

3. Exercise Twice – You know, in a way that does not include dropping it like it’s hot in my mom’s living room. While I definitely recommend that form of exercise too, I like things with a bit more structure.

4. Emotional Honesty – I haven’t been very emotionally honest with myself. While I’ve been working on this for the past few weeks, I want to make a concerted effort this week to really look at some things. I’m in a place right now where I do have to make some decisions and get some clarity so that I don’t keep spinning in circles.

And what are your goals for this week?

Oh yes, and HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!!

Cottage Cheese Wins

2011-02-11T12:10:00.000-08:00

Remember how I used to HATE cottage cheese and then I tried it? Remember how angry I was about liking it so much? Oh, and remember how I eventually got over it and started eating it without being angry that it won in our life long standoff and then started to thoroughly enjoy it?

Good because today I’m going to be singing its praises.

Or, typing its praises, I suppose.

I love it.

I’m not ashamed to admit it anymore now that the sting of defeat has worn off.

This morning I love it a little more than usual because I did something genius. I added cinnamon.

Let’s face it, you do NOT want to see a picture of what that looks like but I assure you, it’s scrumptious.

You know what makes this breakfast even more awesome? It’s super good for you. Combined with almonds, this is a pretty low calorie meal that is high in protein, low in sugar, and quite nutritious. It also won’t leave my hungry in an hour.

In completely unrelated news, I leave all you single ladies with this invitation:

I hope you all have a fabulous weekend.

Run Forrest Run: Or Don’t…

2011-02-10T10:00:00.000-08:00

You know that I’m a total creature of habit, right?

It takes me serious effort to deviate from a routine once it’s established. So, um, what’s a girl to do when she’s got a broken toe and can’t run?

Gulp… try new things?!?!?!?

Oh shit.

Well, either that or I could just do nothing for six weeks and lose a good deal of the ground I’ve gained in the arena of physical fitness. Clearly that would be an awesome option.

Not.

So, what can I do that won’t hurt my knobbly little toes?

Let’s look at a few…

* * * * *

Exercise: Swimming

Excuse for not doing it: I know this defies every fat girl stereotype but the bathing suit issue doesn’t even bother me. It’s the whole “I can’t breathe underwater” thing that feels a bit more worrisome. Did you know that I have a fear of suffocation? Well, now you do. I also seem to lack the ability to swim straight. I also don’t have goggles. And what will the pool do to my hair?

Why I should do it anyway: Zero toe impact and one hell of a workout. The ability to stand up in a pool also nullifies the validity of the whole “I can’t breathe” issue.

The game plan: Go buy some goggles tonight. New things always excite me and the guilt of spending money will then make me feel obligated to actually try swimming. Guilt is obviously the perfect motivator.

* * * * *

Exercise: The Rowing Machine

Excuse for not doing it: The last time I went up against the rower it kicked my ass. I hate it. HATE. IT. It’s hard and makes my limbs feel all kinds of jellified.

Why I should do it anyway: The fact that it’s hard and makes me feel jellified is exactly why I should do the rower. Clearly I have some work to do on the muscles used for this sucker. In addition, my massage therapist once told me that I should use the rower because it would help break up my scar tissue more effectively and help decrease my pain.

The game plan: Whine, bitch, moan, and complain to my mother while I’m getting ready. Tweet petty complaints. Start with a few minutes at a time and work up from there. I’ll probably need to pretend that I’m rowing furiously away from Ursula.

What? She scared the shit out of me as a child. It didn’t help that my step-grandmother totally reminded me of her. Just imagine Ursula in a poncho. Precisely.

* * * * *

Exercise: Stationary Bike

Excuse for not doing it: It hurts my butt and it’s boring.

Why I should do it anyway: It won’t hurt my toes.

The game plan: I’m not going to. I already have a hurt foot; I don’t also need a hurt butt. Yes, I’m a brat and might backtrack on this but whatever.

* * * * *

Exercise: Strength Training

Excuse for not doing it: There is none. This is not a new activity for me and there’s no pretending-to-be-valid excuse that I can come up with for this one. Actually, I do have one whiny tidbit to add. I’ve been working really hard at planks and now I can’t! Excuse me while I sob in my tea.

Why I should do it anyway: You mean besides the thrill of easily picking up something that a guy tells me will probably be too heavy for me? Strength training helps facilitate pretty much every other activity in life. Besides, muscles are hot.

The game plan: I have to replace a few of my usual exercises with new ones because how they require me to bend my toes. It’s an opportunity to learn some new things and expand my repertoire.

* * * * *

Exercise: Stair Stepper

Excuse for not doing it: I ~~could~~ ~~should~~ do swear at myself just for thinking of this one. I hate this machine even more than I hate the rowing machine. It’s just plain sadistic. You get to the top of the stairs and it starts moving. Suddenly, you have the choice of climbing or falling off the bottom step that suddenly tilts and disappears. I’m pretty sure that these treadmill stair steppers were created in the seventh circle of hell.

Why I should do it anyway: Strong legs and a perky butt come to mind.

The game plan: The last time I did ten minutes on the stair stepper I really didn’t think I could make it. I kept the tempo slow but that sucker is HARD. Just like the rower, I have to start with a small amount of time and work my way up. How do I talk myself into it? Look at my legs. That’s pretty much all it will take.

So, any other ~~torture devices~~ exercises you can think of that won’t hurt my little piggies? How do you get yourself to do exercises you hate and /or try new things?

You Don't Have To Be Ugly

2011-02-09T08:00:00.000-08:00

I remember the day I realized that I didn’t have to be ugly.

It was long before I realized that I didn’t have to be fat but it was the stepping stone to that gem of an epiphany.

I was on the Sound Transit 554 in the evening heading east. I sat watching the people around me while listening to music that was probably slightly louder than was polite on public transit.

My apologies to my fellow riders.

There was a girl about my size sitting in the seat diagonal from me. I was jealous of the way she looked. Her clothes were stylish, her hair was highlighted and straightened, and her makeup was neat and flattering. Despite being about the same size, she looked about a thousand times better than me.

During that period I looked about like this.

Not so good.

Ever since second grade I had been the dirty kid.

My best friend in college once joked about it, but she had no idea how much it hurt my feelings.

I didn’t know how to take care of myself.

When I was little, I was as girly as a little girl could get. As the epitome of “little princess,” I hadn’t yet figured out that my family was virtually dirt poor. My mom knew how to be resourceful and I was in my proper little la la land.

When my family picked up and moved across the country from Portland, ME to Seattle, WA (and landed right smack across from one of the biggest drug dens in Seattle at the time), I was completely out of my element. I attended a school where I went almost an entire school year without any friends, due mostly to racial conflict in the neighborhood.

If that doesn’t make a seven year old depressed, I don’t know what would.

That’s how I became the dirty kid.

I had flings with shampoo and makeup after that but the relationships never lasted. I mean, I could make myself look pretty but I didn’t have the energy to maintain it.

I went for funny instead.

Or dork, I'll let you decide.

Flashing forward to that day on the bus, I nearly glared at that girl because she had figured out what I had never been able to do; look good.

I went home that night determined to be pretty even if I was fat. I saved all my money (which was not much at the time because I wasn’t working) and bought high quality makeup. I started brushing my hair… and then realized what a frizzy mess that caused and promptly stopped. I did continue washing my hair, though. Shampoo and I became pretty close friends.

Then I started losing weight.

I started to feel downright beautiful. Those feelings were only interrupted when I saw a picture of myself.

Yet still, slowly, I started to feel a little different. Other people started sometimes describing me with adjectives such as “beautiful,” “hot,” and my favorite, “lovely.”

I’ve since abandoned makeup for the most part, now wearing only mascara and eye brightener.

What you see in the right hand corner is just that. It’s a picture of a girl who’s finally learned how to be pretty. She’s learned to be pretty because she’s learned to be happy and healthy.

Even just out of the rain with messy hair…

Skanky Tuesday: Music Edition

2011-02-08T08:00:00.000-08:00

There is one theme, one word that can summarize all of my workout music: Trashy (yes, with a capitol T).

The genres are diverse and the mood changes, but it all needs to be pretty darn trashy. Like, I’d like my mother to blush if she knew that I was listening to such lyrics.

I have a sneaky suspicion that not one of you is actually surprised.

I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that I’m such a sweaty mess while working out. Clearly any time you're a sweaty mess, trashy music is the way to go. If the song’s appropriate than it’s just not going to do it for me.

SIDE NOTE: My favorite band in the history of ever is The Swell Season, so I’m not 100% all about the dirty music.

Why hello me before I started losing weight with Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. Yeah, we’re BFFs now. (Note: cell phone cameras suck at night)

I have a spreadsheet containing every single one of my “favorite” workout songs but that list is roughly 568 songs long. I won’t drag you through the whole thing. Here are some highlights, though.

Song: Dangerous by Kardinal Offishall, featuring Akon and Sean Paul.

Why I love it: I have to start with an obvious one. How could I not love this song? I discovered it when I started going to clubs and then fell in love with it one night when it was on the radio and I heard the phrase, “No, no, no disrespect.” I thought “how kind of them” and it immediately became one of my favorite songs. Considering how running always makes me feel like such a badass, it seems only natural that I would love this song. I wanted to be that dangerous woman.

Why it would make my mom blush: There isn’t a line in this song that doesn’t meet this criteria but the one that takes the cake is “I want her to make my black snake moan.” I mean, that line even makes me blush.

Exercise it’s best for: Running.

* * * * *

Song: Don’t Tell Mama from Cabaret, sung by Sally Bowles.

Why I love it: The pure mischievousness of this song makes me smile and feel slightly giddy. I used to sing this song to my mom just to annoy her.

Why it would make my mom blush: Sally basically says that her whole family knows that she’s performing in a sleazy club but implores the audience to keep the secret from her mother. My mom would be appalled less at the performing in the sleazy club than the idea of it being kept from her.

Exercise it’s best for: Body weight strength training.

* * * * *

Song: You Spin Me Round by Dead or Alive.

Why I love it: The beat, the catchy lyrics, the “you look like you're lots of fun;” how could I not love it? Plus as a child, one of my criteria for dresses and skirts was that they had to spin properly.

Why it would make my mom blush: Let’s face it, this may be a ridiculously fun song but the sleaze factor is pretty darn high. "Open up your loving arms right now, here I come" might be one of the worst pick up lines ever recorded in recent music history (If you like opera, you'll know why I say recent).

Exercise it’s best for: This song works for pretty much anything.

* * * * *

Song: Beautiful, Dirty, Rich by Lady Gaga.

Why I love it: I don’t think there’s anything about this song that I don’t love to pieces. Words cannot do it justice. The line that really got me, though, when I first heard the song was “Daddy I’m so sorry, I’m so s-s-sorry, yeah. We just like to party, like to p-p-party yeah.” I don’t know, I just thought it was adorable. Plus I really like the idea of being beautiful and dirty rich.

Why it would make my mom blush: This song probably actually wouldn’t. The fact that it doesn’t meet this criterion and yet I still love it really says something about how amazing it is.

Exercise it’s best for: Anything dance-y, running, or anything high energy.

* * * * *

Song: E Amore Un Ladroncello from Cosi Fan Tutte by Mozart, sung by Dorabella.

Why I love it: Dorabella uses this song to totally justify to her sister why she’s more or less abandoning her fiancé who is supposedly off to war for an Albanian who just happened to show up right when her fiancé left. The song is both repugnant and adorable. It’s also pretty much the stupid shit I’ve been doing for the last few months and it makes me feel better to know that even Mozart would allow such a girl a happy ending after she learns her lesson.

Why it would make my mom blush: My mom likes to think that women are smarter and wiser than this. Listening to the straight-up justification of a girl’s bad behavior would make her shake her head more than blush but she would not like it either way.

Exercise it’s best for: A Fast walk or slow jog, elliptical, bicycle

* * * * *

Song: Paralyzer by Finger Eleven

Why I love it: The line “If your body matches what your eyes can do…” makes me want to have a body that can do what my eyes can. This song is like a straight-up narcissistic affirmation for me (emphasis on the narcissism). I know that I have amazing eyes and I want to have a body that matches. I also love the hardcore-ish-ness of this song. I’ve been known to rock out to some serious “WTF are they yelling?” songs in the past and this song feels like a light version of that.

Why it would make my mom blush: The song is really all about a guy trying to get a girl to go back to his place with him because she apparently has amazing eyes. He’s super awkward. My mom would probably be embarrassed for him and his lack of game.

Exercise it’s best for: running, kickboxing

* * * * *

Song: Don't Stop Me Now by Queen

Why I love it: I feel like the awesomeness of this song requires no explanation. It's Queen for one thing, and OMG how can anyone not love this song??? Plus this song is totally equal opportunity. Dude wants to make a you supersonic whether you're a man or a woman.

Why it would make my mom blush: This is one of those songs that people listen to without realizing how dirty it really is. My mom doesn't really listen to the words of a lot of the songs she listens to and in this case it's a good thing. "I am a sex machine ready to reload, like an atom bomb about to Oh oh oh oh oh explode." Gosh, I WONDER what that means...

Exercise it’s best for: It's the absolute best running song for the middle sluff of your run but I'm going to approve this for any exercise you're doing. It's that awesome.

* * * * *

Songs that should have made the cut but I’ve talked about before and didn’t want to be redundant: Poker Face by Lady Gaga, Dynamite by Taio Cruz, Sexy Bitch by David Guetta and Akon, Club Can’t Handle Me by Flo Rida (absolute best end of run song, like when you feel like you’re about to die), Let Me Blow Ya Mind by Eve, Paper Planes by MIA, and so many more.

Your turn! What are your favorite workout songs and why? Holla back at me!!

By the way, I lovingly ripped this format from Laura's Outfit of the Week feature. Go visit her, she's pretty darn awesome.

246.2lbs, 3.8lbs Lost This Week

2011-02-07T11:37:00.000-08:00

You realize what this means, right? I’m only .4lbs away from my lowest weigh that I hit back in December. It means that I’m almost back to making new ground. It means that I apparently can get my shit back together when it feels like it’s all falling apart.

A few things happened this weekend that are noteworthy. First, I finished unraveling the web of “complicated” relationships I’ve started over the last several months. I felt both immense relief and a sort of “what now” emptiness. This one was the hardest to let go of. My dear Stoic who I really cared about but never treated right.

It was the right decision but it was also a very hard decision.

I didn’t realize just how sad I would be about it. It was an entirely different quality of emotion from what I’ve felt with any of the other endings. It still makes me want to cry. I’m trying not to look at the picture that was taken of us just before it happened. I spent Saturday night writing half a dozen blog posts about it that I will never actually publish. At least I’m letting myself feel it this time.

Oh, and I spent Saturday night snapping pictures of myself in true narcissistic style. See the new picture to your right.

Another noteworthy event from this weekend is that I looked at an apartment. It’s in the neighborhood that I love but it’s really small. I’m trying to decide if it’s worth it but I’m leaning toward yes. I can sign a six month lease and consider it my six month experiment.

When empty, the size feels slightly oppressive but I think that once I actually put some things in it that will make it feel like a home, it will be a different story. I actually quite like the idea of this experiment.

How can I make this hobbit hole a home?

A third object of note is that I found out that my toe is broken. Last Monday I went to a fundraiser for the Seattle Opera Young Artist Program and was accidentally stomped on by a stiletto. My toe hurt all week but I figured it was bruised. Nope, it’s broken. It’s the second time that I’ve broken that particular toe so I should have remembered how it felt right away.

Given that I’m actually trying to take care of myself again, is it okay to run on a broken toe? I mean, I don’t want to use it as an excuse to not work out but I also don’t want to do more damage. It doesn’t hurt that bad so it feels like a poor excuse but as I’ve all too clearly established already, I have a tendency to disregard things like this and push through when I shouldn’t.

The last weekend even to discuss is that I started my new birth control pills this weekend. I’m nervous for how they will affect me (weight, emotions, anxiety, etc) but it was the next logical thing to do.

Anyway, let’s talk about my goals.

Last Week’s Goals

1. Run twice toward the end of the week – Between taking “taking it easy” seriously, and finding out that my toe is, in fact, broken; this was not a goal that I should have passed. I went the smarter route and did not run.

2. Focus on whole foods – This was a mostly well done goal. I ate much more whole foods this week and had the BEST dinner on Friday night. I mean, doesn’t everyone eat uncured turkey bacon and green beans for dinner? Check out this culinary masterpiece.

3. Cook – See that above picture? Yep. This is probably the only picture of a meal I’ll ever share but for some reason I felt like I just HAD to snap this picture. There was no logical reason for it. Anyway, I cooked a few meals this week and did better than I have in a long time but still not as well as I should have done.

This Week’s Goals

1. Turn in the apartment paperwork – I’m pretty smitten with the idea no matter how scary is seems to me right now. I’m just going to get this thang started.

2. Cook – I only half way didn’t fail this one so I’ll try again.

3. Exercise somehow twice – Figure out what won’t further injure my toe and do it!

4. Start Tracking all of my expenses – My apartment is going to cost me a whole lot more than I pay now but will also save me money on my commute and food costs (funny how my food seems to disappear in my current refrigerator). I need to take a look at what I’m really spending now and how I might need to make changes.

That’s all for this week, what are your goals?

Humps, Lumps, and Bumps

2011-02-04T11:45:00.000-08:00

That sounds like a personal problem, doesn’t it?

There’s something strange that happens when you start to lose a massive amount of weight, your body shape actually changes. Duh, right? I know, I know, that’s the point. It shouldn’t come as any surprise but for some reason it does.

In theory, I certainly knew that I was going to get smaller. What I didn’t quite realize was going to happen was that, due to the uneven rate of shrinkage, certain parts of my body would start to bother me more. There are certain bits of pudge that I never really took notice of, but now make me scowl at them when I look in the mirror.

At the same time, some of the other areas that used to make me want to cry a little are now totally not an issue. Some days it almost feels like I’m looking in a funhouse mirror, or like I’m looking at someone else’s body that happens to have all of my scars. I suppose I ought to be grateful for those scars or I’d never be able to identify myself! Let's be honest, by now I love them anyway. Battle wounds.

Despite this shift, I seem to be more or less stuck with the pooch for a while. WTF is the pooch? It’s the lower belly fat. I really should draw you all a diagram with my nicknames for all the areas of my fat.

My mom thinks my “technical terms” are amusing…

The pooch used to just blend into the whole “fluffy” shape that was my torso, but now that a lot of the mass from my stomach is deflating, the pooch is becoming more and more noticeable. Sure, it’s shrinking too, but not at the same rate. It makes me half way reconsider my once “genius” idea to rig a vacuum cleaner to do at home lypo. Clearly that would be a safe and effective thing to try.

Actually, that idea isn’t original. I saw it on Tales from the Crypt and THAT didn’t end well. Come to think of it, nothing on that show ever did. Was anyone else’s child-psyche completely scarred by that show? I mean, that dude’s laugh alone… Plus he’s a perfect example of why moisturizer and good conditioner are essential. Yes, I was that vain even as a child.

Anyway, this pooch business really gets me down sometimes and you can only listen to Fat Bottom Girls so many times on repeat before your neighbor ~~thinks~~ knows there’s something wrong with you.

Yet, there is a serious plus in this whole “my body’s changing shape” thing. My upper body has never looked so good. The extra flub that sat on my sides and under my arms has shrunk so much that it no longer looks like I have wrap around boobs. You know, boobs that just plain connect into your back fat. Oh, and I appear to have a real live neck which is something I never even suspected.

Really there’s nothing that I can do about the pooch situation except for continuing to lose weight, do strength training, keep Fat Bottom Girls on repeat, and try to pay more attention to the positive changes than the negative ones… and never watch Tales from the Crypt EVER again.

In Which We Take Responsibility

2011-02-03T12:19:00.000-08:00

This morning I woke up to an email. It wasn’t an email I expected to get but certainly one I needed to get. People were worried about me.

It’s come to my attention that I’ve been acting like an idiot. Both online and offline, I’ve made an ass out of myself more times than I can count. While I considered just plain shutting up and taking a break for a while, I think that would be more irresponsible than I’ve already been.

As bloggers, we become role models whether we like it or not. We are responsible for our words and what we communicate. For the past few months, I haven’t been careful about what I’ve been communicating. I’ve been hiding behind sarcasm and laughing things off. I’ve made light of very serious things because I couldn’t deal with the seriousness yet.

In my attempts to do a real, un-sugar coated, "here’s what this process looks like," I turned it into cheap exhibitionism. I treated my own broken heart with a level of indelicacy and coldness that I would never show another person. Then in an attempt to just get past it, I made light of it. I wrote posts while my emotions were still raw and didn’t communicate what I had hoped. Most of those posts I didn’t even go back and read or edit before posting them because I couldn’t handle reading what I had just written.

If you can’t read what you’ve written, you shouldn’t make others do so.

I wrote those things because I felt an obligation to show the whole picture. I failed when I left it at that. I didn’t discuss the consequences of that full picture.

We need to look at what we’re communicating to our readers. Whether you post your meals and marathons, blog about fashion, write about your sex life, or even talk about white girl problems; as bloggers we must be aware of what message we’re sending both intentionally and unintentionally.

I appeared flippant about drinking too much and sleeping around. The reality was quite the opposite. I was worried about both so I talked about it. Unfortunately I couldn’t resist making jokes. I was trying to protect my ego, no; I was trying to protect my self esteem.

I keep going back and forth between telling honestly and matter-of-factly what actually took place, and just letting it go and moving on. I’m not sure which would be more constructive at this point, both for me and for my readers. I won’t do it today, though, because I’m going to try to take my own advice and not write about it while my emotions are still raw. (Yes, I realize that by writing this post at all I’m breaking that, but didn’t feel it was appropriate to not address it once I realized how things have looked.)

I’ve been a poor representative of both myself and Hollaback Health. I apologize to both my readers and my fellow Hollaback Girls. I went blatantly against the “Please Blog Responsibly” message that we stand for. I’m grateful, though, that it was them who cared enough about me to say, “Kendra, there’s a problem here.”

February Goals: Like It’s January, But Better

2011-02-02T12:12:00.000-08:00

I have a tendency to start over every year in February. Maybe it’s part of me always being late to the table or just that I don’t like to do things the same way as everyone else, but I just don’t like to do the January thing. Besides, January is almost never a very good month for me so as far as I’m concerned, January can kiss my ass.

Let’s talk about February. I love it. It’s a mischievous little month. It likes to be different and every so often tricks you by just plain adding a day. Plus that silent R is pretty sexy. So, I’ll just start my year with February, thankyouverymuch.

Goals

1. Start cooking again. My long held habit of making food at the beginning of the week and eating those meals throughout the week has probably been one of the greatest reasons for my success thus far. I've had good reasons to not be able to cook but I've also felt the difference in how I feel because of the quality of food I've been eating.

2. Work my way back into regular workouts. I had good reason for a while to not be working out but as my bottle of antibiotics is nearing gone, so are those reasons. I want to focus on strength training over running for now because while I love running, I don’t have a new race scheduled yet and strength training will lessen the likelihood of future running injuries.

3. Make weight loss, not boys, my focus this month. Let’s face it; I’ve been a little… distracted over the last few months. Weight loss has not been my number one priority. Maybe, just maybe, I can handle 28 days of focusing on something else.

4. Start the job search. I have until March 31 before my current contract expires. My supervisor did give me permission to take something sooner if I needed to and I really ought not to wait until the last minute before I start looking. Say, do you know any companies in Seattle looking for a highly productive assistant who also randomly breaks into song and dance?

5. Move to a new apartment. I hesitated roughly a bajillion times to actually make this a goal because it’s SCAAAAAARY. Why is it scary? Because the move that I’m strongly considering will see me giving up my car, increasing my cost of rent, and becoming a full fledged urbanite in one of the coolest neighborhoods in downtown Seattle (in my not so humble opinion). I mean, am I really ready to be hip? I still wear headbands with bows… Um, it will also be the first time I’ve been independent since my accident.

6. Set a budget. Honestly, I’ve always just kind of winged it when it comes to money. Don’t judge. No, actually, go ahead. That totally deserves it. Seeing as I’m all growed up now, I should actually take some responsibility for some things in my life. I mean, I need to make sure that I can properly afford headbands and vodka… and rent.

So, I’ve got a lot to accomplish this month but I think it’s doable. I guess we could call this "Get My Shit Together Month." Yep, that's catchy.

What are your goals for February?

250.0lbs, 5.2lbs Lost This Week

2011-01-31T12:55:00.000-08:00

First thing’s first, the winners of the book giveaway are Emma and Bethany as per Random.org’s random number chooser-majig. Please use the contact form to send me your shipping info. I hope that you love the book as much as I did.

This morning I dreaded the idea of stepping on the scale. I’m still a little swollen and to combat some of the nasty symptoms of all the medication I’ve been taking, I’ve been drinking a LOT of soda. I was drinking it for the sugar but I knew that it would have a negative impact on my weight. I was a little surprised to find that I’ve gone down over five pounds.

This week, sans soda, I expect that I’ll be doing close to the same for weight loss. I won’t be totally cutting out the soda yet because I’m not done with the medication but I will definitely be cutting down on it. I finish the medication on Saturday so after that I’ll be cutting myself off again.

Oh, and the rum might have had something to do with the weight retention. It was a lot of rum. And vodka. And peach schnapps. And whiskey.

Maybe not the right combination.

I still didn’t get a hangover.

That’s because the drinking gods love me.

Oh, right, this is supposed to be about healthy stuff. Well, I did work out last night for the first time since the IUD misfortune. It might have been a little too soon because immediately afterward I got the cramp back. It was much lighter than it was before but the little bitch was definitely present.

This whole “taking it easy” is definitely a mission failure.

I did strength training exercises because I thought it would be less jarring than running but it still might have been too soon. It felt too good for me to feel bad about it though.

I woke up in the middle of the night aching from head to toe, not because of it being too soon for a workout but because it had been SO long since I did any strength training. I was happy to find, though, that my ability to do the exercises was not very negatively affected by my hiatus.

Anyway, let’s do something we haven’t done for quite some time, let’s talk goals!

This week my goal was just to run once.

Um, does thirty seconds of running down the street in downtown Seattle at 3:00am because I’m so freaking giddy count? I mean, I had just made it clear to a guy that I liked him and he promised to hang out next weekend. (BTW, stay tuned tomorrow for my “I just dumped a douchebag/cautionary tale/if he humiliates you, it’s fucking over” that preceded this flirting.)

No, the thirty seconds of giddy running does not count.

Am I the only one who just feels the need to start running when they’re bursting with giddy glee? For real, I can’t help it.

Anyway…

This Week’s Goals

1. Run twice toward the end of the week – Yeah, I’m supposed to be taking it easy which is why I’ll plan to do it toward the end of the week but I really want to get myself back in the routine of exercising and healthy habits.

2. Focus on whole foods – I was doing this last week too and felt so much better for it. I really think that whole foods are the key to healthy living.

3. Cook – I hate cooking at home. I love cooking but I hate doing it at home. You see, I have this step-mother who has the glare of a watered down gremlin and it just gets a little uncomfortable when she decides that she doesn’t like how I’m cutting my broccoli. Alas, I am terrible about eating dinner, though, and cooking at home is the best way to make sure that happens.

Ah yes, that old routine felt good. So, what are your goals for this week?

Why Hello Acceptance

2011-01-28T12:04:00.000-08:00

I’m smiling again.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, processing, and putting on a brave face but lately I haven’t been smiling.

Maybe it was the Vicodin, but last night I started smiling again.

Last week I was crying in public, bruising my wrist by punching a wall with the side of my fist, trying to pretend that I didn’t feel like I was giving birth to a phantom baby, and trying to pretend that I wasn’t hurt by something I witnessed.

Hot mess doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The next morning I woke up smelling like spilled vodka and regret.

I decided that it was time to take care of myself again.

The plan was to pop into the Urgent Care clinic, have the IUD issues resolved, go grocery shopping, make my meals for the week, and then go run. Instead I ended up spending the day and night in the hospital… but you already know that story.

A week or so prior I had written on my arm “In Veritas, Libera” which I forgot was mixing languages but means “In truth, liberty.” I had decided that I would not live in denial and I would accept the truth, whatever that may be, so that I could be free. Yet, even in the midst of that promise, I was unable to see a few key truths.

This week I’ve been working through those, letting my bruises heal, downing pain medicine like candy, and finding my smile again.

I realized that for the last few months I’ve been doing things for others but not for myself. My motivation for weight loss, running, dancing, and pretty much everything else I’ve done was to impress, conform to expectations, strive for approval, or become what I thought I ought to be. I’ve backtracked like crazy on this whole finding myself thing.

I’ve also accepted the fact that The Boy is over me. Hmm… you’re probably all wondering about why I would mention him again after all this time when there’s been The Visitor, The Stoic, and a few unnamed others in the meantime.

I suppose there’s also that small detail that I was supposedly over him back in December… or was it November. Oops. Well, I fell again. I fell and then I harbored hope… and things seemed like they were going to start again… and then I saw him kissing another girl on Friday night… and then I punched a wall… twice. Actually three times but the third punch was a reflex due to a really painful cramp and it wasn’t on purpose.

Don’t worry; I see the hypocrisy in my emotions. I’ve been sleeping with other people but get upset when I see him kissing someone else? Whatever, it hurt. Also, I had a fever, was drunk, had phantom baby contractions, was still getting used to new hormones in my body, and ran into a series of other people I didn’t want to see that night.

The point here is that I was a mess because I wasn’t acknowledging reality.

I was in denial about The Boy, I was in denial about the IUD, I was in denial about being sick, and I was in denial about the fact that you can’t go through all I’ve been through and just bounce back like nothing happened.

Last night I sorted through a lot of my emotions and just plain felt like smiling again. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the friends who have been metaphorically walking with me through this whole thing. I felt happy lying in bed at 9pm reading tidbits of the pile of books I had just purchased. I felt optimistic about the future again.

Oh, and then I found out that my hypothetical porn star name would be Velvet Cumberland.

Childhood pet plus the name of the street you grew up on. What’s yours?

My Bookshelf: The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl GIVEAWAY!!

2011-01-27T12:26:00.000-08:00

Did you guys know that I like to read?

Actually, let me rephrase. Did you guys know that I’m a ridiculously big nerd who does her best to hide her excitement over math, philosophy, classic literature, and new books?

This is a T-shirt from Snorg Tees. The image links to the product page.

Don’t worry, I balance it out by also loving drinking, dancing, carousing, and general misbehavior that ups my coolness quotient (that just ruined it, didn’t it…).

Ahem.

In my usually form of being late to the table, I recently (i.e. before Christmas and before the proverbial shit hit the fan) read The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl. We need to talk about this book.

Shauna is one of my inspirations for starting this blog and also for the whole get-less-fat thing in general. It was after reading through all of her archives that I decided to do this thing. Yes, I admit it, I blog stalked her. On the off chance that you’re actually reading this, Shauna, I hope you don’t think it’s excessively creepy.

Even if you’ve read her entire blog, the book is worth buying, reading, buying for your friends and family, and telling your readers to buy and read it too. Why, you ask?

Yes, I could go into all the usual “OMG it’s so inspirational and honest with such wit and charm” and that would all be true, but those adjectives hardly do it justice.

Perhaps I loved this book so much because I’m living aspects of it but I think there’s much more to it than that. Shauna lets us in to those places that most people glaze over. In both the journey to fatness and back I identified so strongly with her process because of the emotional transparency she displays. It’s messy, complicated, and sometimes snarky, but it’s real.

She preaches no “way” to do it properly. She only tells her story. By the end I felt like she was my friend rather than some stranger who I’ve only emailed once with groupie like adoration and nearly wet myself when I got a response. Both the book and the blog reaffirm my belief in the value of simply sharing your life and experiences.

For my more sappy side, there’s also the story of her meeting, falling in love with, and marrying her husband. Le sigh. Oh, and she moves to the other side of the world.

Whether you are trying to lose weight, have lost weight, have no need to lose weight, or don't give a damn about your weight, The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl is more than worth your time.

I thought about my copy of Dietgirl to show you all how much I really do love it, but then I realized that I love it enough that I don’t actually want to part with it. But you know what, I probably have enough money in my checking account to send you a new copy. So, you can enter to win this fabulous book three ways.

Leave me a comment here telling me who inspired you to start blogging with a link to their blog (not your own!).
Tweet about the giveaway and comment here letting me know that you did so.
Blog about the giveaway and comment here letting me know that you did so.

For those who don’t like contests, you can get your own copy of the book here:

You can enter until midnight on Sunday night (PST) and I’ll announce the winner on Monday.

EDIT: We will now be giving away two copies of the book. No, not the royal we, Athlete Comes Back has generously offered to purchase a copy of the book for one of my readers too! You now have two chances to win.

The Second Year

2011-01-26T11:42:00.000-08:00

I was going to celebrate my one year Get-Less-Fat Anniversary yesterday but I thought it was more important to share what was going on with me. It’s certainly not every weekend I spend in the hospital with a dozen hands up my vag. I mean, usually that happens in the privacy of my own home. Not really.

I did still restart this whole thing and did weigh in but given that I was such a swollen mess, the weigh in was far from accurate. I literally gained a pants size over night due to swelling. It’s going to be about two weeks before I’m really better but the pain will start to go away sooner than that.

With the swelling I weighed in at 255.2lbs. I’m not too fussed about it, though, because I know what to do to get it back off… and keep going. It’s really a matter of getting back to basics.

Yesterday that involved eating only whole foods (except for cottage cheese because it helped my stomach with the meds), getting enough liquids mostly in the form of herbal tea, and letting myself rest when I needed it.

I’m going to try to run once this week, twice next week, and three times the week after that. I’ll build myself back slowly. I’m waiting a week to start strength training again for no better reason than I feel really weak right now. I don’t want to do it because I don’t want to discourage myself at the outset.

So I’ve got the plan and the start of the execution in place. Things are already getting better.

You know what’s really great about this whole thing, though? I get to be totally high at work. Every one knows I’m high and it’s perfectly permissible. Have I ever told you all how much I love Vicodin? Well, I do.

I’m not going to lie; work is much more fun when you’re floating along.

Here's to another year of getting less fat!

Skanky Tuesday: The IUD, Act Three

2011-01-25T11:15:00.000-08:00

You can read Act One and Act Two to catch up.

Act Three, Scene One: I leave the office and wait in the lobby for my mom to pick me up. I’ve planned to go straight to work from the doctor’s office. As I get in the elevator, the cramping starts. It’s nothing I haven’t been through before but it certainly isn’t pleasant. I curl up as much as I can on a couch to try to minimize the cramping.

I get to work and go about my day for the next hour trying to pretend that it doesn’t hurt nearly so much. I find that standing feels better than sitting and walking feels better than sitting still. By 11:30, though, I realize that I’m too distracted by the cramping and while I could stay and work, I’d rather go home and go to sleep. I mean, why not sleep through the pain if you can?

Act Three, Scene Two: I wake up around 5pm aware that my body has been hurting while I was sleeping but glad that I feel mostly better now. I decide to go to a comedy night event. I feel fine through the evening but the three Sex On The Beaches I drank might have had something to do with that.

The next day the cramping comes and goes but is nothing I can’t handle.

Act Three, Scene Three: It’s Friday night and I have no reason to not go out. I feel fine enough and haven’t cramped much that day. I’m sure Dr. Dashing would approve of the exercise. Never having had any foreign hormones in my body before (um… unless you count the disgusting use of it in our food which is why I eat mostly organic) and did not quite realize that my emotions would be so effected.

Unable to find the boy (not The Boy) I wanted to see that night and exasperated with the boys who do keep trying to dance with me, I go outside and nearly start crying. I don’t cry, people. After a long drama of leaving with someone who I thought was just a friend, texting, phone calls, finding out that the other boy was there, making excuses to the “friend” who was now trying to hit on me, leaving the “friends” apartment like a bat out of hell to get back to the other boy (who shall henceforth be known as The Stoic) who was waiting for me at the club; I realized that these crazy-girl-emotions were probably from the IUD.

Completely unrelated to the story at hand, he says that I’m like fire. I’m not sure of his exact meaning at the moment but I liked the look on his face when he said it. Yeah, I just wanted to share that…

Act Three, Scene Four: 5am on Friday morning, I experience the first of the major cramps. I gasp and curl up, frightening The Stoic. I assume that two days after insertion is too early for having sex (twice). He gets me pain medicine and watches anxiously while I fall asleep.

The next day I sleep for most of it and then fall back to sleep by 10pm. I’m aware that I’m getting sick but am trying not to.

Act Three, Scene Five: My throat swells and hurts like a bitch. I’m worried that being sick is going to make my immune system attack the foreign object in my uterus. The sicker I get, the worse the cramps get. It’s gotten to the point now where I have to stop myself from gasping at some of the cramps. Although I’m aware that I should go back to the doctor, I have funeral arrangements to finish and so I push through the pain.

Act Three, Scene Six: It’s been a week and a half, the pains are only getting worse and I’m getting sicker. I’ve had a fever for at least a week but I don’t know if that’s due to my throat or my uterus. I can’t stay in one position when I try to sleep and I go back and forth between wanting to eat everything in sight and not wanting to eat at all.

I decide that I need to get things checked out. I go to the urgent care clinic near my house since it’s Saturday and my doctor’s office is closed. They first examine my throat and tell me that I have tonsillitis. Then they exam my abdomen and pelvis. The doctor decides that I need to go to the emergency room. I’m sicker than I thought. I get an IV line and they draw blood to do tests. I have more tests and exams. An ultrasound shows that my IUD is sitting far too low.

They give me Vicodin.

I like them all a little more.

They tell me that I need to have the IUD removed and that I have Endometriosis caused by the IUD. They also tell me that the pain I’ve felt for the last ten days is from my uterus contracting. They said that I’ve basically had ten days of labor pains.

The removal was painful but fast. It was only painful because of the irritation already present and usually would not be so.

They give me a prescription for Vicodin (again I like them more and more) and Doxycycline, tell me that the pain should decrease in 48-72 hours, and to schedule a follow up with my primary doctor.

Act Three, Scene Seven: I follow up with my doctor who prescribes me more pain medicine and more of the Doxycycline because of having multiple infections present. He agrees with me that the problems with the IUD very well could have been caused by me getting sick or by my stress levels because of the funeral.

It could also be due to the fact that I’ve never even been on birth control so the introduction of hormones and a foreign object might have just been too much.

Epilogue: Chances are, if you’ve made it this far and don’t yet have an IUD, you might be thinking that you’ll never get one now. While this experience has been painful and unpleasant, I fully recognize that many other factors came in to play and that the timing was really off. I rushed it.

My doctor prescribed oral birth control for the next few months to see how my body deals with that and then we’ll try again in six months as long as I am healthy. I still think it’s a smart choice for birth control and probably the right choice for me. I just jumped in too quickly.

I know many other women who have gotten an IUD without incident and who are extremely happy with it. I’m sure that in the future I will be too. If you are considering this option, I do urge you to take the after care of yourself much more seriously than I did. I was unwilling to take the time to rest and let my body adjust.

Oh, and don’t get tonsillitis.

Skanky Tuesday: The IUD, Act Two

2011-01-25T09:53:00.000-08:00

Act Two, Scene One: I’ve picked up the new pill and I’m standing on my mom’s deck looking at the snow falling. The Visitor is on the couch taunting me about the snow. “Yep, it’s going to get bad,” he says with a smirk. Bastard. He doesn’t know why I so desperately don’t want it to snow this week but he likes to rub it in that I will have snow to contend with whatever I’m trying to do.

I glare at him. He laughs.

If I have to take that fucking pill again without being able to have this thing done, I’m going to be really angry.

The Misoprostol had continued to work for a day after the cancelled appointment and it made me more than a little grumpy. A snowstorm was predicted for the night before my appointment this week and I didn’t want to take the thing again if I wasn’t going to actually have the appointment.

Act Two, Scene Two: Tuesday night I decide that I’d better run because I probably won’t feel like it for a while. It was a glorious run. I went home and inserted the new pill, wishing that I had another travel toothbrush case but making due. Once again the symptoms start. My phantom baby is a little bitch.

I look out the window, seeing the snow falling hard now. I wonder if I’ll regret doing this what with the possibility of my appointment being cancelled again. I take the four Ibuprofen and lay down. I call Sugar Muffin to complain. She laughs at me as I describe my symptoms.

Act Two, Scene Three: The snow melted enough that no one can justify not carrying on with business as usual. I’m sitting in the lobby of my doctor’s office waiting for my name to be called. I took four Ibuprofen this morning and then took four more about an hour later. Yes, I know that's more than I was told to take. I don't care.

The nurse calls my name, shows me the room that I’ll be in, and gives me instructions. I’m to go in the bathroom next door, give a urine sample so that they can make sure that phantom baby is really a phantom (i.e. make sure I’m not pregnant), take off everything below the waist, and then sit on the table with a paper blanket over my bare bits. She tells me that the doctor will then come in and talk to me.

In between completing these steps, I can’t help myself, I have to look at the items they are using for the procedure. They’re just sitting there on the tray with a sterile cloth over them. How can I resist?

I can’t.

I should have.

The first item I uncover looks like a Nazi torture device.

I don’t know what these are for…

And then there’s this…

As it turns out, most of the tools weren’t in the room yet. I considered snapping a picture of them all after the fact but there was too much blood and even I’m not that classless.

So, Dr. Dashing comes in, asks me if I have any questions, and has me sign something that basically says if I die my ghost won’t come back and sue his ass.

Then he asks me to lay down and go all spread eagle with my feet in the footrests. He tells me that there will be three major cramps.

For some reason, it’s almost comforting when he inserts the speculum. It makes it feel less like there’s some dude all up in my vag and more like the medical procedure that this really is.

He then does three swabs of betadine at my cervix.

Easy.

Next, he inserts something that he is clamping to my cervix to hold it in place. Cramp number one. Yes, it hurts, but it’s not so bad.

He then tells me that he’s going to measure my uterus. Cramp number two. I flinch at the onset but again, it’s bearable. This is supposed to be the most painful step of the procedure and apparently sometimes women faint from the pain. It definitely wasn’t that bad for me but it was painful. I start translating Italian Arias in my head for distraction.

Lastly, he tells me that he’s going to insert Mirena. I assume that because I’ve been told that the prior step is the most painful, this one won’t be so bad. I JUMP. YOU FUCKING CALL THAT A CRAMP??? I start counting to distract myself because it’s simpler. I get to 40 before the worst of the pain stops. While it was far from the worst pain I've ever experienced, it was intense. After the initial jump, it's not hard to bear it but it was worse than the second step.

Then he trims the strings, removes the speculum, and tells me that we’re done. We discuss the need to check the strings, the fact that it will be seven days before it’s effective, and under which circumstances I need to come back in to have it checked.

He leaves the room so I can get dressed. I’m a bit dizzy and sore but feel like I made out pretty okay.

Originally I was going to milk this story for the next few weeks but because of what happened this weekend, I will be posting the rest of this story later today. Stay Tuned!

Surprise!!! WTFoot?

2011-01-24T14:20:00.000-08:00

So, what exactly could make me say the F word loudly in public… while on the phone with my mom… in a crowded store? You’d think from reading my many expletives that the answer would be a lot of things but I assure you that is not the case. I don’t usually swear in public… unless I’ve had Absinthe, whiskey, rum, vodka, no sleep, or a really startling occurrence. I reserve my potty mouth for the privacy of my home and for my little corner of the interweb… and isolated incidences of road rage.

So, what made me break that boundary? I shall make a short story long… or something like that.

I had forgotten my dress shoes at my mom’s on the day of the funeral and could not very well wear my pink, white, and silver running shoes with my black dress. No, that fashion foible is even too much for me. I went to go buy another pair of black shoes.

Deciding to at least pretend to be classy, I grabbed a pair of classic black pumps. Trying them on I was surprised at how roomy they felt. I mean, I’ve had trouble fitting into some size 9s in the past and with the four inch stiletto heel (under 6 inches and it can still be called classy… I think) on these, I thought they might be a tad tight. Au contraire, mein herr, they were distinctly roomy.

Suspecting that the brand was like Old Navy who lets me pretend that I’m slightly less fat than I am and buy the next size down, I grabbed an 8.5. These were still a tad loose but felt right.

Oh a whim, I decided to test out this theory and grab a different brand to try their 8.5. They fit. And another. They fit. And another. They fit. And another. They too fit. Holy fuck Batman, my feet shrunk.

I mean, I had heard that this happens sometimes when you lose weight but I didn’t actually think it would happen to me.

The phrase, “Oh my God, that’s fucking awesome,” might have escaped my lips before dialing my phone and telling my mom, “I fucking lost a shoe size, like for real, holy shit.”

The next steps, of course, are obvious. I have to replace my entire shoe wardrobe. I mean, I can’t wear ill fitting shoes, can I? No, I didn’t think so. It’s the only responsible thing to do. I got a jump start on that task by buying an extra pair of sparkly black flats. I mean, you can’t just let chores like that go, you have to get on it.

So, if you see a wild haired girl salivating in the 8.5 clearance shoe section of Nordstrom, Macy’s, DSW (sans clearance because all of those suckers are already on clearance), or any other pretentious stores; you’ll know that I’ll soon be strutting in a new pair of stiletto healed something’s that might get me mistaken for a high class hooker when leaving a friend’s apartment at 6am in downtown Seattle so that I can go to my mom’s house and get ready for work.

Not that it’s happened.

On Friday.

Still in my black dress.

With a flower headband.

No sir, I’m sorry, I do not have a business card… nor any available appointments.

And my hair always looks like this.

So, what’s the most surprising change that you’ve encountered with weight loss? Did you discover cheekbones and collar bones like me? Or find that your eye lids seem to have more space on them? Please do tell…

Finding Closure

2011-01-21T12:12:00.000-08:00

Closure – It’s one of those words I’ve always scoffed at. I’ve never understood the idea of closure and how things can just stop affecting you. In my experience, things just kind of linger and slowly, over a long period of time, start to hurt a little less and at some point it only creeps back in your consciousness every once in a while.

That’s the experience I’ve always had. Yet, I think that yesterday I might have actually found closure on several levels.

First, I buried my grandmother. The tragedy that was her life has come to a full close. It’s a story that has been placed on the shelf only to be revisited when we need to learn from it. While I’m sure at some point I’ll feel the pain of the loss and tragedy again, for now, I feel closure on this whole thing… and I hope to never have to go back to Ellensburg again.

Second, I became my mother. I saw it coming on. We make the same facial expressions, the same snarky comments at the same time, the same “It’s time for a drink” sigh, and the same smirk when we know something we shouldn’t. We have the same ability to get said information without really trying. This really just scratches the surface but on so many levels my mother and I are completely alike.

Once upon a time my goal was “never become like my family.” I called myself the white sheep of the family (lovingly, of course) and wanted to be as far away from them as possible. Slowly, that’s changed. It wasn’t a growing-up-and-realizing-that-your-parents-aren’t-so-bad thing. It was a my-mother-did-what-I-thought-she-would-never-do thing. She apologized. When the shock wore off, we talked through it. She changed and then I changed.

As much as I always wanted to disassociate myself from my family, and her extended family especially, it warmed my heart a little bit to realize how similar we are and how in many ways we were also similar to her mother. Granted, that warmth could have been from the vodka she snuck with us in a flask, but still…

Third, I went into a church again. Not only was I not immediately smited by the wrath of God, I actually made it through the funeral without anyone trying to spray me with holy water. Okay, I’m exaggerating… no one, save my mother, even knew that I don’t believe anymore.

While at the church, before the funeral, I did a lot of reflection on my prodigal status. I was to lead a hymn but felt like a hypocrite doing so. I was doing it for my family, though. I think I came to peace with where I am for the first time.

You see, because my closest friends are friends from my Christian College, it’s been hard to share this process with them without feeling like I’m disappointing them. The thing is, though, my worldview can not be dependant on what I think will gain approval. I’m still in process but at the moment I’m at peace with feeling clueless about the world. I don’t need to have the answers. I'll get there.

I got back to Seattle late last night with my grandmother’s jewelry in my trunk and a sense of peace and direction.

It’s time to get back in the game.

I’ve found closure.

This Badass Bitch is back.

Weight loss details shall resume shortly. I had a lovely surprise... one that made me say happy explatives in a store... while on the phone with my mother...

Skanky Tuesday: The IUD, Act One

2011-01-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

Act One, Scene One: I sit on my bed holding the bottle containing the pill I’m supposed to be using the night before insertion. Misoprostol 200 MCG. My doctor says that it will make me cramp a bit and that I should take four Ibuprofen. I assume that it will make me cramp a whole lot for him to suggest that much. Meh, that’s nothing new. I’m supposed to put this pill as far up my “vaginal cavity” as possible.

I love how clinical instructions always sound a little off. It makes it sound like my vagina is a large cavernous space. If you yell up it, would it echo? Let’s not try that.

Upon close inspection I realize that this pill appears to be an oral pill, not the kind you usually shove up your vag. Not that I’m in the practice of shoving pills up my vag or anything but it just doesn’t seem quite right.

Act One, Scene Two: I’ve decided to double check with the pharmacist to make sure that I have the right pill because this sucker is supposed to make the whole procedure much less painful. The last thing I want is for the pill to not properly dissolve, Dr. Dashing to start the procedure, and pull the pill out like, “WTF woman? Wrong pill.”

The pharmacist listens to my concerns about the pill and agrees that it doesn’t look right for the manner in which I’m supposed to take it. We dance around using the word “vagina” because he’s an awkward man and because we’re in a crowded Target.

He checks various bottles, some large book, and then the computer and comes back to tell me that this is the correct one. Despite looking like a large generic aspirin, it will properly absorb and do what it ought.

Act One, Scene Three: The night before my appointment I once again sit on my bed suddenly wondering exactly how I’m going to get that thing high enough to do what it’s supposed to do. My fingers aren’t very long. Um… tongs? Ouch, no. I definitely am NOT close enough with any of my friends to ask them to help. A boy? I was currently in between them and that just asks for complications. Besides, I’ve decided against sluttery for the moment.

My own two hands it must be then. I get it as far up as I can but that’s not very far. Really, I have quite small hands. In a moment of genius/crazy-why-the-fuck-not, I decided that my old cylindrical shaped travel toothbrush holder was perfect for shoving it up the rest of the way. Success! Aaaaand I’m throwing THAT away now.

Act One, Scene Four: Things start to feel a little… odd. I’m not cramping yet but I can tell that something is happening. No, scratch that, there’s the cramps. Where’s my Ibuprofen?!?!?!

There are strange tinglings, movement, and sensations in places I've never felt before.

Act One, Scene Five: The next morning I get up, take four more Ibuprofen, and leave for the appointment. Five minutes from the doctor’s office I get a phone call from the doctor.

“We’re sorry; we have to reschedule your appointment because we’re out of Mirena. We just realized this morning.”

*blink blink*

“We’ll call the pharmacy and send in a new prescription for you for the next appointment.”

*blink blink*

“Let’s schedule the next appointment for this time next month”

Not Cool.

Intermission: I call back later in the day and schedule a new appointment for the next week. In the meantime I decide to do some research on Misoprostol. I've done my research on Mirena but I didn't really look into Misoprostol. It's out of character for me to put something in my body without first doing my homework on it.

In conversation with my mother later that day she tells me that what I described sounded like the early stages of labor. Minus the baby of course. When I look online I find that she is exactly right. Misoprostol is used to induce labor.

Stay Tuned next week for Act Two!

Ugh, Monday

2011-01-17T13:10:00.001-08:00

Nowadays I usually hear my alarm go off in the morning, roll over, hit snooze, and take five minutes to get my brain functioning. I might check my email and Facebook on my cell phone, bemoaning my broken laptop and how much it costs me to do this in the morning now, think about what I’m going to wear, whether or not I’m working out, what I should cook, etc. When the five minute alarm goes off, I’m ready to start the day. I get up and go about my morning routine.

For the past several days, though, rather than this calm and automatic routine, I’ve simply rolled over, smacked my cell phone/alarm and bemoaned the fact that I had to be awake.

“Whyyyyyyyy do I have to be conscious???????? Whyyyyyyyy?”

Incidentally, I’ve also readopted the sleeping position I used as a baby and child. I lay on my stomach with my limbs sprawled around me. If you drew a chalk line around me it would totally look like a stereotypical crime scene.

It’s the closest I’d like to get to doing a cameo as a dead body on Law & Order thankyouverymuch.

Oh, and I’ve got white girl problems up the ying yang that aren’t remotely worthy of mention… which is why I’m going to bitch about them here. No really, some of these should never be verbalized, such as:

I forgot to check the tags of these four really cute tops I just bought at Express (because I can fit in their tops now!!!) and after I wore them I found out that they’re hand wash only. Who the hell has time to do hand wash only?!?!? Can’t I just pay someone else to do it for me?

My hair doesn’t feel right today because I ran out of my organic conditioner and had to use Tresemme (Microsoft Word spell check wanted to change this to “Threesome.” Clearly it thinks I’m a slut.) which made my hair all weighed down and not look quite right either.

Despite the fact that I have a good job that pays well with great coworkers, I want another job. I want something that pays a little higher and that allows me to use more of my skills. I want something that makes me excited about the day, not just excited to gossip about the weekend over lunch.

I'm not getting the new laptop I thought I might. I was going to try to "Franken-Computer" a few laptops to see if I could get one working but without the one that it all relied on it will be at least one more week without a laptop and extra charges for checking email and Facebook on my cell phone.

I should probably be slapped for each and every one of these.

I mean, first, really Kendra? Could you sound like any more of a spoiled rich girl? Seeing as you aren’t either, you really need to STFU on this one. Second, it’s only one day of my hair feeling different, is it really that big of a deal? Third, do you know what the unemployment rate is right now? You’re fucking lucky to have a damn job. Lastly, dude’s giving you a totally top of the line laptop for only the cost of replacing one part and you’re complaining? It’s probably for the best anyway because with the cramping you experienced this weekend you might have been too tempted to punch him. Hard.

I also have a few real and valid issues that are getting to me but those are so much less fun to discuss. One of them we’ll talk about tomorrow.

You’re probably wondering where the weigh in is for this week. There will be none. I accidentally-on-purpose forgot this morning. I decided that in light of all that’s been going on, I’m going to wait until 1/25 (the one year anniversary of this whole shenanigan) to start weigh-ins again. Oh, and I’m going to change my weigh in day to Sunday. I think.

Now, in the meantime, I’m trying to get over a painkiller hangover and not punch anyone.

Eleven Goals for 2011

2011-01-14T12:17:00.000-08:00

Please pretend that this post was done two weeks ago. Thanx.

My first post ever was called Ten Goals for 2010… no, scratch that, I just went back and looked and saw that I wrote one called “A New Weight Loss Blog” first. Damn, what a genius title that was.

Ahem.

In the spirit complete and utter unoriginality, let’s just repeat the exercise. It worked pretty well last time. Although I didn’t complete all of the goals, I did much better than I’ve ever done with yearly goals. I think that I have this blog to thank for that. (And sounds the collective “awwww”)

Let’s take a look at how I did:

1. Debt Control – It’s really pointless to go into the details of this one because I really put no effort into it.

2. Weight – I lost 50lbs! (And sound the collective “motherfucking YEAH!”)

3. Health (Sleep) – While I still have trouble sleeping, I’ve improved exponentially in this area. I might not make my midnight bedtime every night but for the most part I do and am able to get my ass out of bed without flinging myself up at 8:00am.

4. Living Situation – I didn’t move out. I did look at an apartment but it was terrible and I really wasn’t that committed to this one. I am now, though.

5. Make mini monthly and weekly goals – I did this for almost every month and most weeks so let’s call this one a success.

6. School – I started… and then I stopped. The money just wasn’t there at the right times.

7. Music – I worked for a few months with a piano teacher again but I didn’t put enough effort forward here. I think that fear had a lot to do with why I just let this go. I talked to a voice teacher but never actually started singing again.

8. Vanity – I did, in fact, whiten my teeth and maintain my eyebrows. Not only that but I also learned how to make my hair look like slightly less of a hot mess. Can you say flying colors?

9. Travel – I didn’t leave the country or acquire a passport but I did make a few trips to California to see friends and family. That was good enough for me.

10. Job – I definitely completed both parts of this one. I now have a full time job that is much better than what I was doing before.

With the theme of “The Year In Which I Get What I Want,” here are eleven goals for 2011.

Fitness

Run a 5K without stopping.
Be able to do 10 push-ups, badass style, not the girl ones.
Do exercises that increase my flexibility again.

Money

Pay off the old credit card debts and misc debts
Make and abide by a budget

School

Go back, get GPA back up,
Prepare material for scholarship contests

Social Life

Make it a priority to spend time with friends and invest in relationships

Standing my Ground

Continue to gain confidence to make my own decisions and not seek approval of others.

Music

Start working with a private teacher again for both piano and voice
Work of Music Theory

Vanity

Get underarms and legs waxed (I really hate shaving my underarms, it’s the only place where I get razor burn… it’s just ridiculous.)
Try Latisse. I already have amazing eyelashes but it would be cool to have even better ones.

Get a higher paying position

Weight Loss

Lose another 50 lbs

Health (Non-weight related)

Fix the Vitamin D and Iron situation
Get my teeth fixed (long story)

Living Situation

Move into downtown and see how I like it.

So, what are your goals for this year?

And I Am Officially Back

2011-01-13T11:59:00.000-08:00

Yes, that's right, the badass bitch is back.

Monday and Tuesday nights saw me bringing back the habits I've spent almost a year cultivating. On Monday I went to the grocery store (erm... three grocery stores) to get unprocessed food and ingredients for some of my favorite meals. I had forgotten how much I love grocery shopping and how good it is to have real food in my house. Incidentally, all I wanted to eat for dinner that night as a result was the lovely Brussels sprouts and uncured turkey bacon I had just purchased from Trader Joes.

Delicious.

On Tuesday night I decided that I had eaten enough on both Monday and Tuesday that I could justify letting myself run again. While I'm trying to take it slowly to get back into the swing of things, I also wanted to push myself. Twice in the prior few days I had to cut runs short to 20 minutes (with 5 minutes for warm-up and 5 minutes for cool down) because my body just couldn't handle how much I was pushing it. This time I did 30 minutes (with 5 minutes for warm-up and 5 minutes for cool down).

While that's still five minutes short of my usual workout, I felt so accomplished because I did the time I set out to do. I knew that I was not trying for the full time and gave myself grace to be okay with that. I just wanted to finish. It felt glorious.

It felt especially glorious because I almost stopped part of the way through. I got a cramp, had a moment, wondered if I was pushing too hard again, but looked over to my right and saw one of the inspirational signs that 24 Hour Fitness has on the wall. It said “Change Your Life.”

I couldn’t help but think of all that I’ve been processing lately and what I talked about in my post yesterday.

Change doesn’t happen by continuing to do the same things and progress doesn’t occur without effort and, yes, pain.

I breathed through the cramp and did my last five minutes, smiling like a fool through the cool down. Having finally earned my favorite post workout song again, I did my best not to dance on my way back to the locker room while blasting Feel Good Inc on my IPod.

While those motivational signs usually annoy me to no end, I suppose they really do have a purpose. I hope that the powers that be at 24 Hour Fitness feel good and smug reading this (because they do, of course, read my blog!) seeing as I’ve scoffed at a few of those signs several times before.

Long story short (as if that ship hasn’t sailed long ago…), it feels really good to feel like myself again. Getting past the week in the hospital and death of my grandmother was one thing, but I have to confess that it was deeper than that. I’ve felt off center for a long time. Actually, I’ve felt off center since October 1.

Whether that ought to be attributed to the incident in the car or meeting The Boy, I’m not sure, but I wasn’t quite equipped to handle any of it yet. I’ve been fumbling along since then. Now that I’ve untangled the emotional web and actually been honest with myself, I know that I can handle it all.

So I’m back; back to taking care of myself, back to acting like myself, and back to working toward a better life for myself. Coming out the other side of all of it, though, I feel like an adult for the first time in my life.

And I’ll be Right Back At It By The End Of The Night

2011-01-12T08:00:00.000-08:00

I do not need airplanes in the night sky like shooting stars; I make my own wishes come true. I’m well aware of the bold narcissism exhibited in this comment but sometimes you just have to take that attitude. Sometimes that’s exactly what it takes to start over again.

Let’s backtrack, shall we?

The day after Christmas my mother and I drove half way across the state to find out what was going on with my grandmother. Instinctively, I knew that she was dying. Later my mom told me that she felt the same thing.

I’ve always felt a distinct disdain for my mother’s parents. No, it was stronger than that. I hated them. Feel free to surmise why and you’ll probably have at least one piece of the puzzle correct. I cannot explicitly say what, though, because it’s NMI (not my information).

We went thinking that we were going to have to tell this silly, stubborn woman what to do and get her to the hospital. The situation was so much worse than we could have imagined, though. We didn’t imagine that she would die a week from that day.

That night I got out my mom’s laptop at the hospital and wrote a post detailing all the truly gory details. Yesterday, I deleted that post.

Over the week I spent in the hospital with my grandmother, my opinion of her changed completely. It turned out that she was not the selfish, bitter woman I had always thought she was. Separated from her husband, she was a very different person.

I ended up learning about how much abuse she had suffered from multiple people. I had always known that my great-grandfather had been hard and cruel when he was young but I had never known him that way.

To me and my mother he was the sweetest, most generous and caring man we had ever known. He’s one of the few people I’ve ever heard of authentically changing so completely that they are unrecognizable. He was the picture of Christian repentance and transformation. For a long time I didn’t believe that he really had been that terrible man.

Whether we like it or not, truth is truth and he was once cruel. I like to think of him as being a bit like Dumbledore. Yes, I’m a nerd.

When my grandmother was sixteen, she dropped out of school because of debilitating anxiety. Soon after, she met and married my mom’s dad. She went from the home of one abuser to another.

She never had a chance.

She died of Stage IV unidentified Cancer because she was controlled by someone who believed in “pray it away” and because she couldn’t get past her own fear.

There was nothing we could do to save her. Her husband had been telling her for months that God had told him that she would be healed. All we could do was get her to the hospital and make her comfortable for the last days.

I walked out of there actually knowing her and loving her. I also walked out with a true sense of just how tragic both her life and her death were.

In the car, on the way to my uncle’s house, I wrote “In Veritas, Libera” on my arm. It means “In Truth (In Latin), Freedom (In Italian).” My brain was so fried by the end that I didn’t realize I was mixing languages. Oh well.

We couldn’t save her but we can find some redemption in taking a lesson from her life.

A few weeks ago, I wrote that 2011 would be the year in which I get what I want. I’m revising that now to this lifetime being the life in which I get what I want.

My mother and I agreed that the best thing we can do to honor her now is to live without fear and never back down from what we dream of. She lived believing that if she sat, waited, and prayed with enough faith, things would be delivered. I won’t sit and wait. She also lived in fear, seclusion, and under the control of a man I still hate. I won’t repeat the mistakes of earlier generation. I’ll live and teach my someday-to-exist-children (yeah, that’s changed) to live without fear. Seek truth and live free. I may not know what absolute truth is, but I won’t be bound by what it’s not.

The brand of Christianity by which she lived, a brand that had been twisted and manipulated for the purposes of others, is something I will never touch again. Though the week in the hospital taught me that I might still believe a little more than I thought I did (I had to argue theology to get her to the hospital, to get my mom’s dad to accept that she needed pain medicine, to help her come to peace with the fact that she was dying, and to help my uncle do the same), I’m more determined to make all of my choices in life more deliberately and with well thought out reasons.

Skanky Tuesday: The Pap Smear

2011-01-11T08:00:00.000-08:00

This post was written on the same day as the exam but had to be put off several times because of other events and me forgetting to schedule it. As promised, here is my experience with my first pap smear.

I walk in the room, this time there are no tools, no tray of scary things covered by a towel. I sigh with relief until I remember that it’s necessary so that I can get birth control. Remember that post “In Which We Don’t Get Knocked Up?” Yeah, we still don’t want to get knocked up.

I sit wondering if I should say anything while the nurse takes my vitals and once again sounds surprised that I have healthy blood pressure (119 over 70). She asks me why I’m there today and I tell her it’s for a physical. She leaves and then comes back and informs me that I need to switch rooms.

Ah yes, there’s the table with the scary vagina utensils.

I try not to look.

She instructs me to change and wait. I do so while thinking that they really ought to get more fashionable gowns thankyouverymuch.

I wait.

My heart starts beating hard. How can I not think about the fact that I’m about to be vulnerable and exposed? I mean, he hasn’t even bought me dinner yet… No, the jokes aren't helping.

I try to remember the happiest of the times that I’ve been vulnerable and exposed, reminding myself that this whole procedure is worth it. I can’t help but smile.

I send a panicked text to AJ…

I remind myself of the ability I once had to make things “clinical” in my mind so that they would not be awkward. All of those times, though, I was on the other end of it. I was the one doing the procedures. It was easier.

Dr. Dashing (yeah, he’s hot) comes in the room and does all the mundane parts of the physical. I start to feel at ease as we discuss my diet, exercise, the shampoo residue in my right ear, etc. He asks if I have any questions and I tell him that I made my decision about birth control. I let him know that I don’t think that Implanon is a good fit for me and that I would prefer an IUD. After listing my reasons he agrees with me and says that I can schedule an appointment for insertion.

I do an internal happy dance and silently say a “fuck yeah! 2011 really will be the year in which I get what I want!” We decide on Mirena because it lasts for up to seven years and fits my general “If I actually want offspring…” timeline.

Then he brings the nurse back in and asks me to lie down.

I immediately start shaking.

As I try to suppress the fear response that is so deeply programmed, he lets me know that he will talk me through the whole thing. He’ll tell me what he’s doing before doing each step. He had me scoot to the end of the table and put my legs apart.

Panic.

PANIC.

PANIC!!!

Breathe.

I had to fight to not flinch when he first touched me.

Nothing hurt and it wasn’t even that physically uncomfortable.

It was just being so… out there.

“Listen to his voice, focus on that,” I told myself. “Make this clinical.”

And I did.

As I took myself out of the emotional part of my brain and into the logical, it became easier. I listened to the steps of the procedure, why he was doing each thing, and what he was looking for.

And I relaxed.

It was over much more quickly than I would have thought.

He covers me up again and tells me that I can sit up. I instinctively and protectively snap into a cross legged position with my hands in front of me in my lap.

Yeah, he knows…

He asks me if I’m okay and lets me know about getting the lab results back.

It’s over.

All that’s left is getting a shot and scheduling the insertion of the IUD.

I remembered Meredith’s advice about the lubricant the doctor used and how I’ll want to clean up a little bit. She was right.

Apparently more than I thought was used, though, because in the elevator I felt a little *ploop.*

Gross…

Welcome to adulthood.

I can handle this.

In Which We Finally Break Down

2011-01-10T12:42:00.000-08:00

You know all of those things I was trying to avoid doing? Yeah, I did them all. Saturday night found me drunk, chasing a boy around a too crowded apartment for reasons I can’t remember, knocking over furniture and a plant, falling on the ground laughing while he cleaned it up, and eventually breaking down and crying.

No, I didn’t cry over the plant. I didn’t care about the plant. I thought that was damn funny. Despite the fact that I had been trying to stay sober until I had dealt with the emotions of the last few weeks I decided to have some wine with my family. That turned into two empty bottles shared between many and me looking for what other forms of libations were available. When I found the bottle of Hypnotic, I knew it was all over for me.

Then The Visitor arrived…

I never would have started drinking if I had known that he was coming. I didn’t want to lose control around him but it was too late.

When the festivities of the evening were done and everyone was going to sleep, I suddenly felt it all.

The combination of guilt, sorrow, emptiness, loss, confusion, and loneliness had finally surfaced and taken control. What earlier in the night had been laughter, drunken chases, and lively conversation dissolved into the feelings I had been hiding from myself.

So I cried. A snotty, swollen mess, I confessed everything I had been feeling and could finally breathe again. In the stairwell of my mom’s apartment, I cried so hard that I couldn’t breathe. Then I went back inside and asked the visitor if I could sleep close to him.

Falling asleep curled up against him I was finally honest with myself about my emotions. Who knew that simply sleeping next to someone could be so comforting? While I usually crave space and distance, perhaps the thing I actually need is closeness. Or therapy.

While I realized that I was authentically over him, it warmed my heart a little when I woke up in the middle of the night to feel his legs curled across mine. Waking up the next morning as he gently pulled away to get up I finally felt like myself again.

Through all the stages we’ve gone through, he’s seemed to be exactly what I needed at the time. Now he’s what I need more than anything; a friend.

While some might be disappointed to hear that things turned out this way, I’m not.

But this is not a romance blog and so we move on…

Sunday was the first time I felt like myself again and it showed. It also warranted a run. Clearly that was the logical thing to do.

After the running fail on Thursday night, I needed a good run. I didn’t get it.

I had forgotten that I had only eaten eggs and a piece of toast that day. Before running I tried to fuel with a small chicken breast and tomatoes, some sliced turkey, string cheese, and coconut water but it definitely wasn’t enough.

By the end of the day I probably netted under 1000 calories but still didn’t feel hungry.

In light of this, I’m opting to track all of my food in the next week because I doubt that I ate over 1000 calories on any given day in the last two weeks.

Long story short: Let's get this show back on the road, shall we?

Run Forrest Run: Running Drunk

2011-01-07T12:28:00.000-08:00

Probably don’t do it.

Or do, and then post about it.

Last night I knew that I had to get back in the gym and get running again. I wanted to work out my feelings without actually, you know, feeling them…

The hitch in the plan came when I found out that I was going to dinner with my family which is an occasion that demands at least one stiff drink. Last night it required three.

Alas, I live just down the street from my gym and it was no problem to go anyway and run off my angst. I petulantly informed my family that I was, in fact, still going running and that I would be back shortly.

So, off I went; sparkly headband in hair and running gear on.

The first five minutes were a frickin breeze. I mean, wow, you have no idea how much easier that warm-up part of the run is when you’re… um… hydrated? Or something like that…

You might start texting friends while running, multitasking is EASY!

You also might not realize that you are, in fact, singing aloud to your playlist. Why hello creepy old guy in the corner. Yes, I am singing Bad Romance to you, and I mean it.

The next few minutes you start to feel a little less awesome…

Your drunk-running texts might start to get a little more crabby.

You might start to want to swallow the contents of your water bottle in one gulp.

You might get a leg cramp.

Ten minutes in you might start to realize that this was a bad idea.

It might have been the three Sex on the Beaches that you drank while suffering the comments of your family for ordering, or it could be the too little food eaten for the last two weeks, or it could even be that you haven’t really slept for the same said time. Come to think of it, that severe Vitamin D deficiency might also have something to do with the CRAMP in your right leg.

Either way, you might start to realize that this was a poorly planned run.

But you push on because you are a badass bitch like that. Keep calm and carry on or some shit like that.

And then you might hit that point of doneness. There’s no coming back from doneness and all you can really do is slow down and move on to your cool down and hope that none of the gym staff realize that you were just a major insurance liability and kick your ass out.

So, you might only get twenty minutes in your run this time around before you stumble into the showers and decide that the only proper way to make up for the ten minutes cut off the run is to go dancing.

You know, now that you’re finally properly sober and all, surely it’s a good idea to drive to Pioneer Square and dance on a work night only to get there and find out that Thursday nights bring out all the rave kids and that there isn’t a hip hop beat to be found for miles.

Bad hair and plaid? Plenty.

You may also end up giving your number to the after hours party planner who you realize after the fact is the drug hook up. Quality.

Another Day...

2011-01-06T13:01:00.001-08:00

I woke up this morning with heavy limbs. I felt like I just couldn’t move an inch. I let my alarm go off for far too long before it finally shut itself off while I tried to pretend that I didn’t actually have to force myself out of bed. I wondered if I ought to resort to flinging myself out of bed like I used to but thought better of it because I probably wouldn’t be able to catch myself with the level of lassitude I felt.

So I grabbed my phone and checked my email.

I decided that my coworkers would understand if I smelled a bit like I hadn’t showered for two days and let myself lay in bed for the twenty minutes I usually spend in the shower. Sorry coworkers.

I then realized that I had to process this whole thing.

It’s true that not doing so is helping me get things done but it’s also making me sick. The weight of the emotions I’m holding in really is making me sick. So I guess it’s time to acknowledge what I went through last week and the loss.

But I can’t.

You see, I have dancing and drinking to do tomorrow night, funeral arrangements to take care of on Saturday, more dancing and drinking to do on Saturday night, and trying to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do about my complicated boy situation that is ongoing.

So you see; there’s just too much on my plate to me to actually have feelings. Feelings make my judgment shaky.

I’d rather just go running.

And while I should probably just be dealing with this offline, I think you all know me well enough to know that I don’t have the ability to keep my shit offline. Yes, I am a certified attention whore.

Honestly, all I really want, though, is a strong drink and an even stronger hug. No, I lie. It’s not just a hug that I want but I don’t think it’s healthy to use sex for the numbing of grief. It was cute in High Fidelity but maybe not so much in real life.

I do have a few confessions to make while I’m here.

1. I haven’t been eating. I just can’t. I feel too sick. I mean, I’ve been eating a meal here and there but nothing consistent.

2. I’m tired of being around my family. I just want my friends. I want to get away from the emotions of others and be around those who are happy.

3. I don’t want to work… or do much of anything but dance.

4. I’m trying to fight the urge to use someone to make me feel better. I know that it would help me but it would really hurt them in the process. I’m not a very good person sometimes.

5. I’m afraid to drink because I’m afraid I won’t stop. I haven’t really drunk much of anything since New Years. I want to because I like drinking but I’m afraid that I already don’t really have complete control right now. Still, rum sounds really good…

6. I don’t want to talk about it or answer questions about how I’m feeling. I feel shitty, okay? We’re done, let’s talk about you.

I'll Be Back

2011-01-05T10:59:00.000-08:00

First of all, I apologize for the false advertisement. I forgot to schedule the Skanky Tuesday post yesterday. While I usually take the Hollaback advice to not apologize for whatever posting schedule I choose, this is an exception because I said I would post and did not.

I’m still not completely back mentally we’ll be leaving again tomorrow to take care of some things. I’m still trying to process and think through the whole thing before I let myself feel anything. “Numb” seems to be the theme of the moment.

I hate it. I want to be the peppy, smiling, sarcastic, always on the edge of laughter girl that I’ve become over the last year but I just don’t have it in me yet. It comes in fits and spurts but it’s going to take a while still.

I have a new and quite long list of things that I want to post about but I don’t yet have the mental capacity back to do so.

So, because of the false advertising post on Monday, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll still be out for a while. I’m not ready yet.

It's Last Week...

2011-01-03T16:14:00.000-08:00

Look, just go with it, okay?

I'm not ready for it to be after the New Year and to acknowledge that I just spent a week in the hospital with my Grandmother while she died.

It was tragic and heartbreaking. I'll tell you all about it over the next little while because it has huge relevance to the things I talk about here.

Today I weigh 247.3lbs, just to check in but I don't care yet.

I'll care by the end of the week.

For now, it's December 27th and I'm planning my goals for the next year, I'm analyzing this last year, and I'm preparing to celebrate on Friday night.

Call it denial, delusion, or whatever, this is how I'm getting through the next few days. It's going to be a busy week.

Tomorrow I'll resume Skanky Tuesday with a post written a few weeks ago so please do come back and check it out.

Thank you to everyone who's sent me an email, tweet, Facebook message, text, comment, or letter by carrier pigeon (okay, that didn't really happen...), every single message helped me and my mom through a really difficult week.

I'm sorry that the last post was so vague and for the possibly offensive image I used. It was insensitive at the least.

Coherence will be back soon.

BRB

2010-12-27T08:19:00.000-08:00

I’m dealing with some hard things right now. It has nothing to do with weight loss, body image, boys, or any of my usual ridiculousness.

I don’t know enough yet to properly talk about it but I will soon.

If you are in the habit of praying, please do. If you send vibes, karma, good thoughts, psychic mind control, or any other form of well wishing, please do as well. If you make delicious baked goods, again, please do. My family could use it all.

I’ll be back after the new year.

AAaaand in the spirit of my usual irreverence…

Unlearning Lessons From School

2010-12-23T10:48:00.000-08:00

I had a plan.

I was ahead of it and I was going to take over the world.

I finished my Associates Degree before I graduated high school.

Yes, I had the super overachiever version of the Associate of Arts and Sciences Degree at seventeen. I was going to finish my Bachelors Degree in another two years, go straight to Masters and quite literally take over the world.

Somewhere along the line, though, things went a little Pinky and the Brain on my ass.

I fell apart and my plan failed.

I failed.

Okay, so technically I decided on a different career path, decided to double major and double minor so I could do four years, and then ran myself over with a car and had to leave it all behind.

Do you know what it looks like when you’ve lost all the things that make up your overachiever identity? Go check out my progress pictures. The “before,” that’s what it looks like. A mess.

I wasn’t okay either physically or mentally. I spiraled.

A year and a half later, with all of my expectations for myself dashed to hell, I reemerged into the world. I did things one step, one day at a time. I had no thoughts to going back to school, going back on stage, going back to the world of socializing, or anything else. I had a job and that’s all I was doing for the moment.

Six months later I was ready to make changes again, to try again. I knew that I had to do it differently, though, that I couldn’t encumber myself once again with the expectations I once had. I was already a failure so no matter what I could exceed the expectations of others, I simply had to reduce the expectations I had for myself. I had to unlearn most of the behavior I had learned at school.

Since then I’ve been working on unlearning two particular lessons from school. The first is failure. In school you can get an F but I don’t think that there really is such thing as failure in real life. It only counts as failing if “can’t” is accompanied by “won’t.” For me, these two old friends shall never meet again. “Can’t” shall have to become well acquainted with “yet.” Just because I can’t do something now doesn’t mean I’ve failed.

There is, of course, “failure to stop” which will get you a hefty ticket if you do so in front of a cop but that’s beside the point. I haven’t gotten caught done that.

The point is that in any endeavor, just because you can’t do it yet, it doesn’t make you a failure. Even if you never can do it, still, perhaps it’s just an indication to go in another direction with things.

The second lesson was unlearning deadlines. How many people have you heard say things like “I want to lose 25lbs by my birthday?” I’ve said similar things many many times. In fact, one of my goals for 2010 was to lose 50-100lbs by the end of the year. I hit it and then regressed a bit and that’s totally fine with me. So I’ll be off by a few days in getting back to that range… is that really such a big deal? I don’t think so.

Sure, I won’t be at a healthy weight in any timely fashion but as long as I get there and stay there, I’m happy. As mentioned above, I’ve set far too many arbitrary deadlines for myself in life and letting go of those has been one of the major factors in my happiness.

So, these are the first two of the major lessons I’ve unlearned from school. What have you unlearned since entering “the real world?”

Reharnessing Badassery

2010-12-22T11:02:00.000-08:00

I am well aware that neither of those words of my title are actual words, but that’s just how much of a badass I am. That’s right, I make up my own words. Like Shakespeare.

I do what I want.

I totally mean that in the white trash, I could be on Maury way. Come to think of it, recent behavior might actually be able to get me on Maury. Actually, not quite, my grammar isn’t poor enough. Seriously, though, who didn’t love the Chicken Tetrazzini episode?

Incidentally, I only saw it because I was visiting my sister, my TV watching incidences few and far between.

I digress.

For the moment…

The last few months have been amazing, stressful, exciting, and absolutely draining. It wasn’t until my recent blood tests that I found out why I felt so haggard. I’ve been extremely lacking in both Vitamin D and Iron. The result? A very tired, achy, and anxious Kendra. Bye bye badassery.

I’ve spent the last week or so taking profuse amounts of both. Yes, I can still poop. No, I have not used the “I’m walking funny because of the iron” excuse yet. Yet. I’m also starting to feel human again.

So, last night I went running again for the first time in weeks. I’m not going to lie, it was a fucking hard run and I stopped two-thirds of the way through because I knew that my body simply wasn’t ready to take on the full thing again. I didn’t feel bad.

We certainly need to know when to push ourselves but sometimes we also have to know when to stop. I needed to stop. It was still a good workout.

This morning I’m definitely feeling the effects of the run. It might have been too soon because while I fell asleep a little early, I feel a level of exhaustion that’s been the theme since the beginning of November. The word lassitude has never been more relevant.

So, I’m going to try something new for a while. I’ve never been a yoga type. I don’t really do Zen. I mean, I like being fast paced, high energy, and moderately to highly spastic, it’s just the way I am. My gym offers yoga quite often, though, and I think it could benefit me in several ways.

Firstly, it’s low impact. My scar tissue really starts to ache in the damp winter and while exercise definitely helps reduce that pain, getting started again can be hard. Secondly, I’ve been losing flexibility since starting to run more. I like my flexibility and I’d rather not lose it. Third, it’s a new and shiny thing for me so I might actually do it for a while before defaulting back to running.

Or I might hate it.

I guess we’ll find out.

So, how is all of this actually relevant to reharnessing badassery? I’m taking control again. I’m telling vitamin deficiencies, scar tissue, and anxiety that it can go fuck itself because I won’t be controlled by any of them. I’m stronger than that and I will win. I’m throwing excuses and restraints aside and will get what I want anyway. Obstacles are only a challenge.

Skanky Tuesday: Body Image on the Isle of Lesbos

2010-12-21T09:59:00.000-08:00

Have you guys ever read Queer Vegan Runner’s blog? No? Well, you’re missing out. Not only is AJ (or Dr. A as I like to think of her) a fellow Hollaback Girl (which automatically makes her awesome) but and all around kickass lass. A blend turned friend, she is sometimes on the receiving end of my ridiculous drunk texts and yet somehow still talks to me. Go figure. Anyway, she was kind enough to indulge my curiosity about body image on the Isle of Lesbos and write a Skanky Tuesday post for me. I'm sure that you'll all understand why I may have a little bit of a platonic girl crush on her. Without further ado…

I was honored when Kendra asked me to do a Skanky Tuesday guest post. I’m more than thrilled to bring my skankitude to share on this awesome blog feature. Kendra asked me to address this topic because “being attracted to the female form it makes me wonder if you are harsher on your own body or how it makes you look at your body differently than a heterosexual woman would.”

The easier answer is “yes.” (oh, quick disclaimer…this is my opinion on my experience as being a lesbian. Just as no heterosexual woman could be presumed to be the sole voice of all heterosexual women, I in no way imply that this post applies to any lesbian besides me.)

The ideal image of female gender expression is more fluid in the lesbian community. I mean you got your high femme lipstick lesbian, your butch, your soft butch, your baby butch…and a veritable rainbow in between. In order to be found attractive by other women and to feel attractive, there is a broader definition of attractive. In some ways this is very freeing. My experience of going to the club is pairing the right jeans, with the right chucks, with the right t-shirt. Or button up shirt, if we’re going fancy that night. So unless I’m choosing to indulge my lipgloss lesbian persona, I’m pretty damn relaxed and casual at the club. But it’s a perfected casual that takes effort and care. Sure more gay girls may have short hair, but don’t be deceived that time and effort is not required to maintain that effortless casual look. I, for one, did not start flat-ironing my hair until after I came out.

But therein lays the problem. Sometimes a girl (me, sometimes I), likes to dress up. I look pretty damn hot in a pair of heels and a short skirt. And I’m obviously not ashamed to admit it. And I will dress up like that on occasion, usually at the urging of my partner, cause she’s knows what’s hot. But, if I were single, I truly doubt I would dress femme at the club. Why? Because I would not be read as gay. Sad truth, sometimes we lesbians buy into the stereotypes of what a lesbian looks like as much as everyone else. And we also associate the same stereotypes with femme girls (high-maintenance, high-drama) as everyone else.

Oh and the weight thing. Lesbians tend to be feminists (if you want that explained…sigh…email me). We’re supposed to be above the whole body image issue, right? And in some sense that is true. You straight girls read in women’s magazines that guys actually like girls who eat and have some curves to their figure (evolutionarily this makes sense, a guy is going to be attracted to a woman who looks like she can birth a brood of rugrats). In practice, I can vouch for the veracity of this…if guys are anything like me. I am attracted to a wide spectrum of body types. And that’s just based on looks. Once you get to know a girl, personality can make the prettiest girl pretty damn f’ugly and can make a girl who may have one or two attributes that are not exactly picture-perfect seem absolutely adorable.

And here is where the crazy-making begins. I know whom I find attractive. I know they do not resemble fashion models or movie stars (not that I don’t have crushes on movie stars or fashion models…Jessica Simpson, if you’re reading, hit me up, thanks) but in my head I’m very clear that the girls I find attractive in real life are adorable without being Barbie dolls. YET, I am unable to not hold myself to those ideals. I am unable to pass by my mirror at home without lifting my shirt above my belly and looking at my profile (it’s an obnoxious habit). I am unable to get dressed without asking my partner “do I look fat in this?” And when I’m out, I can’t help but compare myself to other girls. Why? I know I am attractive to my partner. I know that girls don’t hold other girls to the same harsh standards we hold ourselves. I know that standards of beauty are by definition unreachable and serve as part of the means by which woman (gay or straight) are oppressed. I know this and yet it is so hard to NOT engage in negative self-talk. It is so hard to disengage from the result low self-esteem and high anxiety that accompanies this.

For better or worse, this sort of negative self-talk is discouraged among lesbians. In a way, this is great – we don’t disparage our bodies as a way of bonding the way straight girls do (I say this having been there, done that). But this silence also serves to perpetuate a stereotype (positive stereotypes can be just as dangerous as negative stereotypes). It perpetuates the Myth of the Isle of Lesbos, that lesbians are immune to the pressures of heterosexual society’s impossible standard of beauty. Or that we are immune to eating disorders/disordered eating. Or that the fetishism of hot girl-on-girl action by the straight porn industry does not affect us. Or that we don’t have our own standards, which may be equally hard to achieve, if not downright impossible.

248.6lbs, .2lbs Gained This Week

2010-12-20T13:00:00.001-08:00

This weekend was one mostly spent deconfusifying my emotions and gaining clarity about what I really want. I’ve decided that while 2010 was the year of change; doing the things that needed to be done, putting in hard work to change the trajectory of my life, and trying new and scary things; 2011 will be the year of getting what I want.

2010 certainly got me on the path of getting what I really want but it also was full of doing a lot of things simply because I HAD to. Most of these things were done for myself but a lot of them were done for the sake of others. There were still too many times that I had to put myself on the backburner.

Rather than going back to school, I used that money to help my sister pay rent and get into a new apartment. Rather than get my own apartment, I’ve stayed with my dad for fear of what would happen if I was not there. I’ve lent out my car to family members who have not taken care of it as carefully as I would, causing damage that I will end up paying for.

While I certainly believe in helping others and a certain measure of selflessness, there comes a point where you simply lose yourself.

So, in 2011 I will not be putting others first. Yes, I will be selfish. No, I’m not sorry.

I guess that begs the question, what do I want?

1. A new job. I actually like my job because of who I am working with but I don’t like what I’m doing or how much I’m getting paid. I’ve put off searching for something real, though, because this is comfortable an I know that my boss wants me to stay. Bad reasons.

2. To go back to school. I miss the academic life, I miss training with a private teacher, I even miss the hours spent researching things that I won’t care about in a year. I want to go back and finish… incidentally that will help with the whole better job thing.

3. An uncomplicated relationship. I was perfectly content being single until The Boy crossed my path. By crossed my path, I of course mean that he grabbed me away from another guy who was annoying me, danced with me, charmed my name and number out of me, and made me smile like a dope for several weeks straight. My contentment with my single status took a flying leap out the window. And then things got complicated… times three.

4. To lose 50lbs more. Given that I was able to lose 50lbs this year with a major break in trying for roughly a third or more of the year; I think that next year I will be able to do the same. I also want to focus on building muscle because I want my body shape to change, not just for the pounds to come off.

5. New Friends. It’s not that I don’t love my friends, I do. I really, really do. I miss them so much that it’s almost painful. That’s the problem. They aren’t here. I’ve been making the trek to visit many of them on a semi regular basis but I need people to spend time with on a day to day basis.

High Maintenance

2010-12-17T14:12:00.001-08:00

It’s an understatement…

“Hi, can I get that sandwich wrapped in lettuce instead of the bread and can I also get cabbage added to it. Oh, is there any added sugar in that dressing? Yes, please, do check for me. Thank you. No, I don’t think I’ll have that, can I get this dressing instead? Thank you. Can you also add some cucumbers and extra tomatoes? That’s good, thank you. Oh, you wouldn’t happen to have mushrooms and olives as well, would you? On the salad bar? Can I add it from there? Oh, wonderful! I really appreciate it. No, I wouldn’t like any fries with that. The vegetable side? What were they cooked in? Does that contain any added sugar? It does? No, I think I’ll pass on that too. No, I wouldn’t like any bread on the side either, thank you. Oh, I can get salad bar instead of having these sides? That would be lovely. Would know happen to know if the dressings have added sugar? They do? That’s okay, I have my own in the refrigerator. Oh, no, I wouldn’t like the drink that comes with the special. I’ll just stick with water or a cup of tea.”

Yes, the servers at my work cafeteria know me as “High Maintenance.” No, they do not know my real name.

I’m not insulted. It’s accurate and they don’t mean it maliciously.

So yeah, I’m that girl.

Usually I make my own lunches to avoid this song and dance but when I don’t have time, we all know what happens.

I go to lunch at a less busy time because I know that I will be asking these questions and making sure that what I put in my body is good for me. I might be that girl but I’m not inconsiderate.

What surprises me is not that I do ask all of these questions and ask for customizations, but that most people don’t. So many people pay so little attention to what they’re putting in their bodies. They have no idea that 90% of what they’re eating is laced with extra sugar, salt, or preservatives. To me, this sort of unawareness is simply irresponsible.

So, I hold my High Maintenance title proudly.

I don’t feel a twinge of guilt when I see annoyance in others at my questions and customizations. I’m polite about it but not apologetic.

I just wish that High Maintenance was the norm.

Paint By Number: Weight Loss Edition

2010-12-16T11:49:00.000-08:00

Do you remember those paint by number things? All you had to do was stay in the lines and you could create something that looked like you had mad (albeit uninspired) painting skills. I used to really eat those things up. Um… not in an “I have pica” sort of way… I loved to pretend that I painted those things all from the genius that is my imagination. Never mind the kit sitting in the garbage.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!

This post has absolutely nothing to do with those, I just wanted a creative title and it reminded me of that story.

Last week I had a battery of blood tests done because I had hit my 50lbs lost and wanted to make sure that all was well with my body. Last night I got the results to those tests and felt a definite sense of smug satisfaction.

Any overweight ladies and gentlemen will get this 100% I’m sure.

When I go in to a doctor’s office for anything and they take my blood pressure and pulse they are always surprised. They’re surprised because my blood pressure is in the normal to low range and my pulse sits right around 60-65. The “Oh! That’s good!” following the measurement is meant to be encouraging, I’m sure, but it’s actually just annoying. They’re telling me what I already know. I’m wholly unsurprised.

So, I smile and pretend that they didn’t just stereotype me into the “she’s fat so she must be unhealthy” category.

I certainly concede that I’m not yet the picture of health and I still have a lot of work to do, but with the exception of my weight, things are pretty snazzy.

These blood tests, though, were like an extension of this annoyance. My doctor tested for a number of things that he expected to be out of whack. When I told him that I was having trouble sleeping, he attributed it to the possibility of sleep apnea when I clearly knew that it was because of anxiety. The basic idea here was that he thought I didn’t have a clue about what was going on with my body and wanted to blame weight for issues that were not due to weight.

So, when I opened the letter with my lab results, I let out a loud “Boo-ya Motherfucker!” (In front of my family… oops). Why? I have completely normal cholesterol levels, glucose levels, and thyroid function. Win for the fat girl.

On the other hand, I do have extremely low levels of Iron and Vitamin D. That explains a lot of the extreme fatigue and soreness I’ve been feeling over the last few months. Clearly I need to embrace the ways of my half Native American heritage and start hunting wild buffalo. Just kidding, my tribe was a fishing tribe. In northern Maine I don’t think they ever even saw buffalo.

Actually, I’m going to be taking a massive prescription dose of both for the next twelve weeks. I hope that at the end of that time I will be feeling (physically) normal again.

I also hope that I can still poop after all the iron.

That’s a different story.

Papaya enzymes are really helpful for that by the way.

If I’m walking funny I’ll tell my mother it’s because of the iron.

See, this will be helpful in more than one way.

Uncrankifying Christmas

2010-12-15T15:21:00.000-08:00

Fine! I’m acknowledging that it’s almost Christmas! If you start playing the theme from Charlie Brown Christmas around me, though, we will have a problem. That song might just be one of the great plagues of my existence. If you want to get me in the holiday mood, though, put on Dean Martin’s “Baby, Its Cold Outside.” No other version will do.

I have to confess that unless you’re doing something really cool in a post, I do skip over most Christmas posts. Actually, I skip over most holiday posts in general. Saint Patrick’s Day might be the exception because those posts are full of stories about what you did while drunk because you were properly celebrating the day.

It isn’t that I don’t love holidays, it’s just that I’m just not feeling it this year. With all of the “Nine tips for not gaining holiday weight” posts, it just makes me want to throw a fruit cake at my computer.

Rather than having Santa come down my chimney, I’d much rather… never mind.

But, the show must go on and I will not be a Grinch (mostly because I don’t like green). So, here are a few holiday things that really do get me in the mood… for Christmas you perve.

Claymation Christmas Movies

I know them by heart. I can sing the songs, dance the dances, and recite every last line. I will love them until the day I die. I will someday be a crotchety old lady who hates everyone and throws bowls of oatmeal at passing children for sport but I will still smile and sing Snowmiser’s song.

Eggnog

I’ve never even had the spiked stuff and I love it. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and filled with familial joy. It’s delicious and I know of few beverages that can beat it. This year I would like to have it spiked, though. Duh.

Christmas Lights in Downtown Seattle

We may not have the experience of a white Christmas but Seattle knows how to do Christmas decorations right. In Westlake Center we have not only a gigantic tree but also a carousel, horse drawn carriages, a big star above the Bon Marche (FINE! It’s Macy’s now but I’m loyal!), and a tree of lights on top of the Space Needle. It’s enough to de-Grinch-ify even me!

Whiskey Santa

As kids, my sister and I were convinced that my dad was the next Santa in training. I mean, he looked and still looks so much like him! When we went to the mall to have out pictures taken with Santa and could smell the slight (or sometimes strong) whiff of alcohol on Santa’s breath, our suspicions were confirmed. Dad was totally in Santa training. Clearly Santa had a hefty stock of Crown Royal.

Christmas Cups

My mother is 100% to blame fore my love of cutsey mugs and glasses. When we moved across the country and still didn’t feel “at home” she decided that we each needed our own personalized Christmas Mug so that no matter where we lived at the moment, we had something that felt like home. I still get nostalgic when I see any sort of holiday mugs.

Bells

I was once featured in the Bon Marche holiday commercial because when I went to see (whiskey) Santa, I told him that, “I want a bell, one that rings.” The right person happened to be nearby and decided that I MUST be in their commercial. Now, adorable as my specific request might have been, I had good reason for being specific. My mom had several decorative Christmas bells when I was little. I was completely enchanted by bells in general. These ones didn’t ring, though, because they were just for show. It made me so sad. Needless to say, I got my bell. My mom even had it engraved. I still have it, though I stepped on it once so it’s cracked now.

Skanky Tuesday: In Which We Don’t Get Knocked Up

2010-12-14T12:31:00.000-08:00

Offspring are great, right? Yes, I do love children, though if you ask me on any day that ends in Y I will probably pretend otherwise. I don’t have a good reason for it, that’s just how I roll.

The truth is that I probably do want children, but not until after I’m 30. Yep, it’s another arbitrary policy of mine. I want to get to live my own life before I start trying to teach someone else how life is done.

It’s strange, though, because in the same breath people have a tendency to tell me I look 16 and then ask me when I’m going to have kids. Whoa there turbo! Shouldn’t I at least look like an adult first? That’s going to take a few years.

In the meantime this whole “let’s not get knocked up” thing just became a real issue for me. My means of birth control is no longer abstinence.

Sure, condoms have a high success rate but, frankly, I’d like to be in control of my empty womb and not leave it up to the guy to provide protection…. especially when that means him having to run to the store in the middle of the night because he was not prepared. Not that this has happened… last weekend. (Really dude? Keep one or five in your wallet!)

Also, the success rate isn’t quite as high as I thought. Apparently 15-25 per 100 women still get pregnant using just condoms. Not so good, mommy.

I’ve been researching various methods of birth control and I have to admit that the laundry list of possible side effects scare the shit out of me. Of course, the idea of a human parasite, that I will someday call squishy, growing inside me scares me more. So, research continues.

As it turns out, there are a lot of alternatives to traditional birth control pills out there. That’s a damn good thing for me, too, because I can’t even remember to take iron and vitamin D on a daily basis.

(Hold that thought… I have to take those now)

There, now my doctor will be happy with me today.

The two methods that are currently of interest to me, partially because of their success rate of less than 1 pregnancy per 100 women each year, and partially because they seem pretty idiot (me) proof, are the IUD and the Implant.

My doctor recommended the implant Implanon, which is a small single rod that they inject into your arm and it lasts for up to three years. The insertion is almost painless and once it’s in, there’s no maintenance or anything. Seems like a good option, eh? Maybe not. There are some scary warnings and side effects.

Their website cautions against using Implanon if you are overweight (I am), have a history of depression or anxiety (I do), have high cholesterol or triglycerides (I did and still might), have a history of headaches (check), and a small list of other things that aren’t relevant to me. These include a history of diabetes, seizures or epilepsy, gallbladder or kidney disease, and allergic reaction to anesthetics or antiseptics.

They also have a note saying that Implanon can increase insulin resistance. That feels like it’s just asking for trouble. It also notes that Implanon might not be as effective in very overweight women because studies did not include many overweight women. Way to be thorough guys.

It also seems to cause erratic and heavy periods. Not so much fun. One of the most frequently cited reasons for removal was the heavy and unpredictable bleeding accompanied by heavy cramps.

So, the other method of interest is the IUD. This is what I wanted in the first place and what I’m pretty much convinced that I want now.

While the insertion is highly painful (via Rachel and Libby), it doesn’t come with the same laundry list of warnings, side effects, and risks. There are two varieties of the IUD. First is the copper IUD that is hormone free, called Paragard. The other is Progestin only, called Mirena.

Both of these have “we will fuck with your period and give you cramps for a few months” side effects but with Mirena, your period will lessen or go away completely after about six months. The major plus that I see with Paragard is that it is hormone free. On the other hand, less cramps and periods with Mirena. Paragard can last up to ten years, while Mirena only lasts five.

The major downside to an IUD in general is that if you contract an STD it will go up the little strings and spread the infection faster and fiercer. It also puts you at risk for Pelvic Inflammatory Disease for the same reason. If you have one and are not in a relationship you ought to still protect yourself with condoms.

I still have studying to do and decisions to make about which will be best for me but as to the pain, bring it bitch, I’ve been run over by a car. I think I can handle it… or I’ll be eating my words, crying like a little girl, and apologizing here in a few weeks. We’ll see.

Do you have an implant or an IUD? What's your BC method of choice and how do you like it?

*Note: This post is not meant to give complete imformation about any of these methods. I am simply sharing what I have learned over the last few weeks and what's gone into my decision making process as promised a few weeks ago. I have linked to the websites and to others who have discussed their IUD experience because they are far better sources than me. Also talk yo your doctor!

How To Lose Your Worldview

2010-12-13T17:15:00.000-08:00

Of all the things by which one defines themselves, their worldview is surely among the primary. For seven years, “Christian” was the defining worldview for me. Only a few short weeks ago I said never mind, I don’t believe and have learned a multitude of lessons about what this process looks like and how it feels.

How it feels:

1. It’s freeing – Long after I really didn’t believe I continued to live by the moral code and statutes of my expired beliefs. I didn’t want to do something that I would regret later on. I was cautious and I think that’s a good thing. When I finally announced what had been true for a while, I was ready to let go and behave how I wanted to. There was no reason not to.

2. It hurts – You don’t break away from beliefs held for seven years without some sort of emotional response. Guilt doesn’t just go away. There are lingering tidbits that make you seriously wonder if you’ve made a mistake. There’s a small amount of paranoia about if you’ve ruined you life. There are your friends who no longer know how to look at you and approach you.

3. It’s scary – Mostly scary in an exhilarating sort of way. There are new possibilities and ideas. Things that were totally off limits once are now there for the taking. You probably don’t know the rules or the guidelines, though, so you might feel a little lost. What seems like a no brainer to most is complex and intimidating to you.

What it looks like:

1. You’ll do things “out of character” – Most of which you’ll enjoy immensely. You’ll experiment with all of those scary things, break some boundaries, go too far a few times, and finally find YOUR lines.

2. You’ll cry – I’m not a crier. I just don’t do it. Ever. Yet, I’ve cried at least three times a week for the past few weeks. Whether it’s because I did something that pushed the aforementioned boundaries and wondered what kind of a person that made me, a friends response to something I did but don’t feel badly about, or finding something while cleaning that reminded me of an older time, crying just seems to be part of this whole thing.

3. You’ll regroup – So you lost one worldview, what do you believe now? Chances are you might not know yet. That’s okay. Take your time and figure out what makes sense to you.

4. You’ll have a pretty kickass time – From trying new *cough* absinthe *cough* and “bad” *cough* sex *cough* things, to simply living without worrying about the eternal consequences, it’s really a load off my shoulders. Disclaimer: I’m not saying that faith is burdensome; I’m saying that my experience of that faith was burdensome because I held myself to a higher and unachievable standard.

5. You’ll move on with daily life – I don’t yet know how long it will take until I no longer think of faith or lack of faith in my daily life but doing what I do and keeping moving has been important to keep me out of my head.

The tools you’ll need:

1. A new friend – No, there’s nothing wrong with your old friends but the relationships will change… especially if you met them at Christian college. They’ll try to be understanding and not react to what’s going on in your life but in the back of your mind you’ll know that they disapprove. That hurts. You’ll need someone who doesn’t see the person you’ve been for seven years and who you can text when you’re about to do something stupid. Sometimes they’ll tell you to go for it, other times they’ll caution you against it. This friend should be someone who has roughly the same boundaries as you or the same boundaries you’d like to have.

2. Tissues – High quality ones. Don’t let your poor little nose suffer even if the rest of you is suffering. As explained above, crying is inevitable and it’s totally okay.

3. Condoms – Do I really have to explain this? Just be prepared.

4. “Waiting for the End” by Linkin Park – No, seriously, this is the perfect song for when you’re emotional and need something to yell along to in the car on the way home from one of those unavoidable hard discussions. Not that I’ve done that.

5. “Muscle Museum” by Muse – Again, this song is perfect for that moment when you’ve talked to a friend and you know that they want you to change your mind. The line “I have played in every toilet But you still want to spoil it To prove I’ve made a big mistake” is more poignant than I can even describe. It’s rage-y quality is also really good for screaming along to in the car… and while running to work out the angst.

6. Sisters – Okay, this one isn’t technically necessary or something everyone will have but I was really lucky to have three sisters who are all over the spectrum of belief and values. They definitely helped me through a lot and reserved judgments.