You Know What I Hate?

1. People who come and leave crappy anonymous comments. Hit and Run Commentators - go do something useful with yourself. Like, playing in traffic.

2. Why in the hell do the clothing makers assume that big people are twice as wide, instead of  - oh, I don't know - twice as tall.

3. Since when is it ok to make fat women look like they're wearing tablecloths? Or Grandma's curtains?



4. Exercise. I mean, that's obvious, but I still hate it.

5. Kids that laugh at fat people. Really, your parents have provided you with video games, dvd players, snack foods, cell phones, and iPods. Do you really have so little to do that you feel the need to point and stare? Go tell your parents to beat you for a week please, you little jerks.

6. On that note - why do some adults feel the need to yell "Shamu!" at you while walking down the street? I'm not the one drunk on my porch yelling things at strangers, loser.

7. The way skinny people stare at you when you work out. How else am I ever supposed to get skinny? Working out at home isn't working out for me - obviously. Duh.

8. Fat people that go to a restaurant and order the teeniest salad possible. C'mon - you're either pretending to care, or starving yourself stupid. Neither one is very healthy for you.

9. Folding chairs. Hard. Small. Metal. 'Nuff said.

10. Chocolate, Cheesecake and Mashed Potatoes. The trifecta of flabby arms and large bellies. Actually, it's more of a love/hate relationship - but who's counting?

In Her Eyes

Hrmm.  Seth over at Fit With A Purpose asked a cool question.

What's your favorite part of your body?

Wow. I get so hung up on what's wrong with my body, that I don't often take the time out to find what I do like. I used to - but that was when i was 100 pounds lighter. Memories...

Anyway, I thought I'd answer the question and throw it up here. (I think that's a total of 3 posts in one day....I must be bored...) And post it with a pic.

So, my favorite part of me is my eyes. I'd say it was my face, but my face has a lot of chins right now - so I narrowed it down to the eyes. I love them, the color, the shape. I just do. My mom used to call me her alien baby because my eyes had flecks of gold in them. Just a bit of info, and a just reassuring myself that I still have something going for me. (<---sarcasm, please don't think I need major therapy just from making that comment.)

Well, there ya go. Thanks for the question, and thanks for a reason to compliment myself.  I needed it.

LHAS

Ok, here it is.

Wait a minute, I gotta psych myself up for this. (inhale, exhale) Let's do this.

My pics. My very first, holy crap how did I get so fat, pictures of my self. I'm doing this for My Long Hot Active Summer Challenge, from here on out known as LHAS, because I'm not typing all that every time I weight in.

I'm procrastinating.

Here's my front,

My side, 

And my scale pic.

Yeah, I messed with that one a little, because my feet are so ugly. U.L.G.Y. (and I ain't got no alibi..)

So, this is the pinnacle of braveness for me. My husband was taking these, and I was making jokes about being fat - and my son pipes up "you're not fat mommy!". He's 9, I wish the world saw me through his eyes!

And there you have it, me in all my natural glory - minus Spanx and gut suckers of any kind. Hopefully by the end of this summer I'll see a real difference.

Blah.

Ahhh. After a whole weekend of excuses and treating myself (I can have some fun dip - it's Mother's Day!) I am off to the gym, and then I'm going to buy myself a scale. My very own "get your fat butt off the couch" motivational tool. It could become the next plant stand, or my son's new favorite toy instead, but I prefer to remain optimistic. I've gotten 6 hours of (broken) sleep on a couch. but I am going to the gym.

I need to work out more then a few times a week. I've entered into a contest? competition? over at Long Hot Active Summer, and I must lose a decent amount of weight. I don't care if I win (though that would be cool) but I have to at least lose something, or I'll always be the little engine who couldn't. So there you have it, I'll be back with my scale, and some pics. (hooray.)

Ugly Cupcake

I'm an ugly cupcake.

Now before everyone starts going  -"oh no, you're so pretty", "think positive things!" and "hummina wha?", let me explain.

First off - you can read the ugly cupcake post over at The Fat Chick Weigh. If you don't feel like doing that, then.....oh well, I guess you're screwed. Now I'm supposed to blog about why I'm an ugly cupcake.

I ain't perfect (wow, ain't didn't show up in my spellcheck....just sayin') and I never have been. I have wiggle and jiggle and junk in the trunk. I have cellulite, and moles and skin tags (oh, my!). My flab has flab, and my stretch marks have stretch marks. To my credit, I have a pretty face. I'm one of the people that can take a great face shot - but you scroll down to the rest.....and BAM, fat girl surprise. I was always the "pretty sister" in a family of skinny people. I eat celery and gain weight, they eat chocolate and lose it. (thank you once again, universe) Now I'm at the point where, even if I lose my weight, I will still have stretchmarks and skin tags.

Yeah, that's me.

I used to cling to my beauty as hard as I could. It made me valid, made me worth something, even if my body was worth nothing. My mom once told me that you had to be thin to get a man, because men were attracted to women by how they look, not how personable they were. (I still love you, Mom.) But as I age and begin to realize I will never be that skinny girl - I can let go of holding on so hard to my face. It's not the only thing that makes me beautiful anymore. I am beautiful because I am. I am beautiful because even though I have a belly flap, I have the strength to admit that I need to change it. I'm stronger than most cupcakes, and that makes me valid and beautiful.

So I'll be an ugly cupcake, but this ugly cupcake is hawt.

The Universe Hates Me

"Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen."

I'm sorry, Ralph Waldo Emerson - but you are full of crap.

I've decided many things in my life - some are realistic, some are not. For example - "I want to do the dishes" (reasonable) and "I want to win the swimsuit competition at the Miss Universe pageant" (not so much). But the biggest, baddest, humdinger of a wish is usually - "I want to lose weight". Boy, if I had a nickel for every time..... you know how it goes.

My universe does not, in any way, shape or form, help me to accomplish anything. You want to know why?

My Future Home.

Let's start with gravity, shall we? Gravity is evil. If I lived on Mars, I'd weigh approximately 120.64 pounds. Such a beautiful number. But here on good ol' earth, I am a heavy and painful 320 pounds. It takes effort to get up in the morning, to make my food, and don't get me started on how hard it is to wash my back or shave my legs. Gross - but bluntly true. When the government finally does something with all the money it spends on space exploration - and we can live on Mars - I will be a happy person. Until then, I will keep fighting the universe.

The universe, ahh..the universe. The universe decided that my home should be ridden with bedbugs. Ew. Icky. Yuck. These little pests found their way to my home through some acquaintances  who decided to pull in a couch off the curb. Said acquaintances live above my in-laws house, and I believe that the nasty buggers found their way to me while I was over there. (how's that for trying to make sure I don't look like a a dirty person?) Either way - we got them here in my house. Then they decided to nest in my bed. So who do they bite? Me. Not my husband, but Me. I had bites covering my arms and legs. Wish I had taken pictures, I could have sold them to Guinness for the most bugbites on a single person. And if anyone's been bitten by bugs - you know they itch. And when you itch, you can't sleep. Not to mention - we had to get rid of our entire bed, and spent too much money on supplies to get rid of the nasty things. So I am sleeping on the couch, and my husband sleeps in a papa san chair. A chair! I'm 500 kinds of achy and tired. The universe is not my friend.

Food. Where do I begin here? I can't escape it, I can't run and hide from it. It's everywhere I look. You ever read magazines like Woman's day, or the ones they sell for around $2? Most of those give you "tips" on how to lose weight, and then - in the same issue - they give you 30 pages of recipes. And are they low - fat, fat - free, low - cal, low anything? Nope. It's all about fat, and butter and salt. And I just love TV. Oh boy - that's my favorite. I can't watch anything - ever. There's commercials for Wendy's, Applebee's, Baskin Robbins, TGI Friday's, I could go on forever. There's one food commercial I can watch - Subway. They motivate me. (5, 5 dollar, 5 dollar footlong..any,any,any...) Food is everywhere. Gas Stations, the mall, the movies, my own home. I have to have it to survive, but why did the universe have to come up with things like, sugar. Or chocolate.

The universe did not make anything plus size. Except caftans. Or beds. That's about it. The movie theater seats squish my hips. The seat belt in the car is a danger zone and I firmly believe it will kill me instead of save me if I ever got into and accident. It slides above my boobs and chokes me half to death. I have to put the chest strap back behind my head - if I can manage to buckle it. Gyms - don't get me started there. All the seats are tiny. The bicycle seat gave me a wedgie, and the equipment does not allow for anyone to have a belly. I have to be a contortionist to fit into some of those machines. Booths at restaurants are - 95% of the time - too small. I always have to check and see if the table slides before I sit down. Amusement parks - forget it. Last time I rode the bumper cars I almost gave myself a hernia.

Ok, this is not my butt. But this is how I feel when I go to the movies.

So, that's how the universe treats me. It's not nice, not friendly, and it's not exactly helping me achieve my goals. Thanks a lot, universe.

Eating and Autopilot

Ok. This eating right thing is way harder than I thought. Way harder. Way. Harder.

I woke up today hungry (as usual) and went to the kitchen. I reached for my usual breakfast of 4 eggs (with cheese) and 4 pieces of toast (with butter). I had them out of the fridge and ready to crack before my brain screamed "What are you doing?????" at me. I immediately halted, returned eggs to the fridge and went for the Honey Nut Cheerios. Generic, of course - but who's looking? I walked over to the cupboard and went to get my tub of butter sized bowl that I use for soup, ice cream and cereal. In fact, I think it may have been a tub of butter once, but now I use it so I can have 3 helpings of anything all at once. Without having to get back up off the couch to go and get the 2nd and 3rd helping. The bowl wasn't there, and I was on autopilot looking for it - before I realized that 3 bowls of anything was about as bad as 4 eggs. I thought I was being healthy - but it turns out I wasn't even thinking. At all. Period. I finally got myself a real bowl (not a mini mixing bowl) of cereal, and sat down to eat, read, network and blog.

Yep. There it is, my "cereal" bowl.

What truly bothers me is the amount of food that must be making its way to my mouth before I realize it. I can sit down and scarf a whole tray of Oreos before I've even consciously thought about it. I can't do that with Little Debbie snacks - but only because I have to open each individual snack. I go to McD's and order 3 double cheeseburgers, and don't consider what I'm eating until I get halfway home. How do I keep track of my food, when I subconsciously eat? Sure, I caught myself today - but how do I always remain on guard? Grr.

Well, aside from my food difficulties, I have decided that I need to workout at home as well as at the gym. I want to achieve a total of 25 workouts a month - hence the ticker at the top of the page. I don't think I'm going to lose much weight unless I'm more active at home. I actually went to the gym and discovered I had gained a pound. Gained?!?!?! My friend C insists that it's all muscle. I'm going to believe that for now.

So, in short - 25 workouts, eat right. Ok. I can do this.