236 lbs...dancing turtles

I went to 7-11 and got crap. I love 7-11 and not only because it’s full with heavenly doo-doo from hot dogs, chips of every shape and color and cheese and chili that you have to milk out of a bag – really...ask to see it, it’s in a bag and sometimes it needs to be milked. It’s because you can go there as you are. For some reason, I feel like I can go there with my hair a mess, no makeup on and clothes all askew and nobody will notice. Kind of like when you’re in your car, you think you’re invisible, of course until somebody next to you is staring at you because you’re, well, you know – trying to keep your finger warm.

At MY 7-11, yes MY 7-11 in Oregon City, there is this great gal there named Malia. She has a great smile, always nice to see at the counter. She’s one of those people that are a pick-me-up, somebody who could be having the worst day of her life, but you’d never know it. A few weeks back she had been at the counter when I purchased a hot dog, hold the bun. After seeing her puzzled look, I told her that I was trying to lose weight.

This particular 7-11 “crap” run night, she asked how the diet was going and I looked down at the bag of Doritos, the slice of pizza and the candy bar in front of me and stuttered “ahhh, not so good.” I explained to her that weekends were bad for me. During the week I was cool as a cucumber, but weekends were like the food devil was driving my self control train straight to Hell. “I’m so sorry”, she said. 7-11 is to me, besides being a place where I can totally feel frumpy, is like a convenience bar. You belly up and tell your woes. I think it’s the 24 hours thing – they’re always there for you, no matter when, because they are open 24 hours! It’s a friend that never closes. I truly believe they should add bar stools to the counter...I'll get right on that...

I explained to her that I had seen a video recently of myself dancing last year on stage at the blues festival and I looked like a dancing turtle. I had told a co-worker that too and she had asked, “Have you ever seen a dancing turtle?” I told her no, but I think we might be close cousins. “What’s a dancing turtle look like?” Malia asked. I started making my dancing moves, hunching my shoulders up and she said with a sad “ohh” with a look of recognition like she had just found her car in the Disneyland parking lot after 12 hours straight in the park and the lights were left on.

She smiled and said the most incredible life changing thing.

“Just don’t dance.”

For a moment, I thought about it. I’m after all, not a really terribly good dancer, turtle or not. I mean, I'm not awful, awful, but I sometimes am a white guy in a white girl’s body. I don’t really HAVE to dance. I can find an alternative. I saw the amazing Susan Tedaschi in concert a couple times and she didn’t dance. She just sorta swayed with her face turned every so slightly up, looking almost angelic. Yea, I could just sway. I mean, there's nothing in the guidelines of blues diva-ness that says I need to dance. I never really got a contract after becoming a musician that laid out the terms of my new entertainment career that said I must dance and jump around like a fool. I just took to that on my own - the fool part comes naturally. I could sway. I could sway.

Or I could just sit on a stool. That is pretty cool. And rhymes…. I sometimes sit on a stool at my gig out at The Horseradish in Carlton. Actually, I really just lean against it to be honest. Maybe leaning is the way to go. Is that more sexy than swaying? Swaying might make me sea sick. But then again, leaning might appear that I had low blood sugar. I’d had to have to stop the show every time somebody came up to me with a glass of orange juice.

Nope, that won’t work.

You know what else won’t work - NOT dancing. It would be just stopping myself from doing something enjoyable, just to continue to avoid changing myself for the better. Dancing feels good! Getting extra weight off will help it look good too (to me, and that is what ultimately counts).

I can’t dance…I mean RUN from that fact.

Let the turtle dance!

236 lbs...I feel so down...

...And it's good! It's a good down! Not a I'm going to sit on the couch, grab a pint of Rocky Road ice cream and try to dig my way to the bottom pretending to be a miner. It's the, the scale's has been good to me - down. Or as it goes today on Superbowl...TOUCHDOWN!

Speaking of touching. It's funny, I feel so much more in touch with my own body when I eat good and pay attention. I don't really see much in the mirror yet in the way of seeing a change, but inside I do. I feel more awake, more alive.
I've never really paid much attention. If I was a princess, I would never had felt that pea in the mattresses. i would have just wondered why I had a bruise in the morning!

240 lbs...condolance cards accepted

240 lbs? What the heck happened?


Well, I have an inkling. It involved a fork and a couch at one point.

I realize more and more that an exciting major change in my life like getting healthy and losing weight can't go off duty just because it's the weekend and holidays. I do well Monday through Thursday while I'm at my day job and sticking to the tupperware container that controls my portions, but Friday through Sunday (and this last Monday) it was every man and fat cell for himself, no tupperware, no control.

Funny though, I hardly had any birthday cake on Saturday. Usually, I'd be way all over it, eating it like it's going out of style, trying to even squirrel away the candles to lick later when I go back to my cave. But, no, I enjoyed it. Well, them! There were two cakes. It was a great time, but then again, calories can be liquid so I've been told and I had plenty of fluids to fill in the cake gap thanks to special birthday drinks and a gal behind the bar that patrons dream of - very generous.

So, here I am again, I'm back to 240 lbs, waiting to get the letter in the mail, saying I've been drafted to the NFL and realizing that positive life changes can't go off duty.

It makes me think of cops. Even police officers don't REALLY go off duty. They may pretend they're just sitting enjoying a cup of coffee at a cafe, or just getting groceries at Fred Meyer, but they really not. They put in their time on the beat, then step out of their uniform, but are still on, like when I get going on stage, singing and then step off - still on, having a blast with the audience, enjoying myself. These men in blue may not be on the clock physically, but mentally, they're there. They walk around in their plain clothes and you would never know that they are ready at a moment's notice to step in and lend a hand and help take control of an out of control situation. Because they're on duty in their hearts.

My brother is a reserve command officer on the side and more and more I see how he is always on and as much as I hate as the little sister (it's my birthright you know...), to give my big tease-me-to-no-end-growing-up, "why can't you be like Chad" bro a major kudos, I have to say that's it's pretty darn cool. And yes, I think I need to be like Chad.

For my sake, my health, my life, I have to be on-duty all the time....

...or hire a cop to follow me around and arrest my appetite.

235.5...I found the love of my life!

I've seen my love before here and there, but never really truly paid attention. I just took it all for granted.

I am in love with salsa!

Ok, so it's not a two-legged kind of love, but it may be better, because with salsa I don't think I ever have to feel disrespected in the morning.

You see, I've been eating chicken for over a week now and it was getting kinda, well, boring. The chicken was getting old, sitting in a rocking chair and not wanting to have any fun. I've gotten more comfortable now with what I'm choosing to eat, just the basics, hitting all the things I think I'm supposed to be hitting, a little vegies, protein, fruit, oatmeal and that yogurt that makes you gag, no matter how good it tastes. I'm ready to experiment, I got a little confidence under my belt along with my extra tire (one more tire and I could have had a full set!).

I noticed salsa in the frig and it was my roommates...obviously. Now, if you know me, you would know that my frig is basically just a cold square thing that gives me crushed ice at the push of a button. You might not even think that there could ever be food in it. I sometimes forget that there's actually doors that open. I'm so used to eating out all the time and mowing down weak patrons to get to the good fatty grub at gigs, that this losing weight thing actually turned the frig into what it was attended for - holding my food.

When my new roomie moving in (BC "Before Consideration of living a healthier life), she sent me an email asking if it would be OK if she could move some stuff aside in the refrigerator for her stuff when she got to my house since I wouldn't be home. I immediately called my friend Dave, then my friend Connie and we laughed...we laughed...oh God how we laughed. Kind of funny that they laughed and that's all I told them. I said sure, there will be plenty of room! She figured it out when got to my house and realized that the me and the frig weren't quite on speaking terms - yet.

Well, that salsa was eyeballing me with a come hither stare, that I expected to pick it up and see "come do me" red pumps on the bottom. Next time I went to the store, I got some salsa and plopped it down on the chicken, shut my Tupperware and put it back in the frig, not knowing what lay in store. What the heck.

The next day, I heated it up during a break at work and WHAMMO! I'm in love. Hmmm...does this count as my vegetable portion of the day? Of course, I went around gleefully telling everybody, I LOVE SALSA I LOVE SALSA only to have somebody ask if I had taken up dancing.

It's amazing how just a little bit will go a long way to enjoying something. I really enjoyed the new taste. I never really thought about putting salsa on chicken. I guess I'm so used to eating a half of bag of tortilla chips with salsa before I accidentally choke, making myself stop enough to actually let my taste buds do their job. I love that wonderful long couple of seconds when you're gasping for air, thinking back on your life, hoping you don't die because of food and for a split second go...wow, that tastes good.

"Teri" made some great suggestions on a comment she made on one of my previous blogs and I thought about her when I was eating the chicken/salsa and I followed her advice. She said put down the fork after every bite, taking a sip of water, chewing slowly. I did this and enjoyed the taste and experience so much more, with chicken rather than chips. Also, it's always better when you're not fighting for your life!

She also said something that I have tried before and it's surprisingly easy, but even easy is hard sometimes.... When you get something to eat, you put the usual portion size on the plate and put the other half back. I'm going to need the strength on this one! I love to eat, which is obvious, but what isn't so obvious, is that I love to eat out, especially places I play. I may be on stage, singing and jumping around, but when I'm off, I like being a patron too and buying dinner. This weekend, I'm gigging for the first time since I started really really wanting to see my shoes.

The M&M in Gresham gig is coming up this weekend and they have a steak dinner that I love.

Here's a question. Is steak bad? Well, it's bad for the cow, but can it be possible to enjoy yourself and not enjoy yourself when it comes to a steak dinner and all the goodn's?

And how about the cake? What cake you ask? Well, it's the birthday cake on Saturday for me and my friend Jamie's birthday. How am I gonna handle that? I have to find something creative. Has anybody ever tried to suck a birthday cake up a straw??

You know, there are some things I don't know and that's ok. I don't know if I will have the steak or the salad this weekend I don't know if it's possibly to eat cake through a straw.

But, one thing I do know...this will be my last birthday that I'll wear a shoe without a view.

236 lbs...I am actually 6 foot, 10 inches tall

I looked at a website today that told me what the healthy weight for my height was. I was told by my friend Connie not too. A few people said the same thing as if looking at it would burn my eyes blind. I found this here http://www.healthatoz.com/healthatoz/Atoz/tl/cl/healthyweight/healthyweight.jsp and it says for my height of 5 foot, 3 inches, that a healthy weight for me would range from 104-141 pounds. Wow. I'm SO not that. So not cool. So, I played around with the weight calculator and came up with a good comprimise that was WAY more healthy for me. If I was 6 foot, 10 inches tall, my weight would be healthy. So, I am officially a basketball player. Tell all your friends.

Speaking of sports, I am now wearing my tennis shoes every day to work. I work in an office environment and although I "CAN See My Shoes", when they're on my shelf -my footwear usually consist of some good black and brown boring professional shoes. Boring, but presentable and comfortable. But, I figured out something. I work in a cube. Not a bad cube mind you, I love my job, but a cubicle nonetheless. Who's really looking at my shoes? Well, that's not what I figured out that counts big time. It's this: when you wear athletic shoes, you'll feel like doing something athletic. And not just the high fives at an office holiday party when somebody let's you take home the incredible leftover pie your boss made (on a side note, how can somebody look good, be actually in their low healthy weight range and be able to bake a pie like a fiend? If I baked like that, I'd have to ask somebody to duct tape my mouth and tie my stomach behind my back).

So, I'm wearing my tennies at work. Believe it or not, it DOES make the stairs more inviting. Of course, going down is always better than going up and I still take the elevator sometimes. But, it's less than before, small steps, small baby tenny shoe steps you know. I think no one actually notices the shoes I'm wearing as I'm sitting at my desk. I figure what happens below and under the computer desk is fair open game. I could be doing my own version of Riverdance, clogging my way to a slimmer me. Maybe crushing grapes in my own Grapestoming Festival like they have a St. Josef's Winery. Would make happy hour easier to get to...


The tennis shoes are working for me. It was by accident. I didn't plan it, I just was running late and grabbed the quickest pair that was on the floor. I could wear regular professional type shoes and bring the tennis shoes in a bag, but I know I'll purposely forget them and gleefully ride the elevator up and down pushing all the buttons, telling people "Linens, towels, womens apparel..."

Don't know how long I'll wear these square jocky white shoes, maybe all the way to my 100 lb loss or until they need to be washed or until I get tired of talking about them.

I do miss the other shoes a little. There's something about shoes that click on the floor to make you feel all powerful and important.


Why is that? And who needs that kind of superficial ego boosting?



Gotta go. Have to push some flat tacks into the bottom of my sneakers...

236.5 lbs...Numbers Don't Lie, but they do cuss...

Numbers don’t lie. But then again, they don’t tell you that you look fat in THOSE pants.

I felt like a child left unsupervised this weekend. Like a toddler you leave in the kitchen for 5 minutes, you come back and your white walls are now coated with tiny brown handprints. You HOPE that it was the chocolate cookie he was eating.

Well, I am that toddler. I don’t work Fridays, so that pristine office condition, where you just bring to work the stuff you need to be eating and you’re sequestered with files, computer, paper cuts and just your pre-measured grub, is not there AT ALL. Friday morning, I woke up and realized that the world was my cookie…I mean oyster. And that wasn't good. My first weekend as a born-again eater and it didn't go very well. Maybe I need to be re-baptized in fat free jello (although I think chocolate is easier to wrestle in).

There was the night at my friend's for dinner on Friday. It was a good way to learn how to control myself under different situations. What do you do when someone is cooking for you? Do you bring your own food, do you make sure you are able to pick what you want to eat there? Is it rude to ask what they're serving? Well, my usual old way is to make like a vacuum and suck it all up before it even has a change to plume up heat smoke. Maybe even start eating it before it actually has a chance to be fully placed in front of me like a hungry bulldog. You know, I love when people cook for me. I'm such a push over on that stuff, since I get so bored standing over a stove. I might be 25% male since the way to my heart is through my stomach. I love it so much that I liken to somebody giving me a part of their liver to save my life (no bacon and liver please...). It's such a joy to me that I would pick having a chef over somebody that can do my taxes, massage my aching back and fix my car all in the same afternoon. Hey, did I tell you yet how much I love somebody to cook for me??? (possible suitors please take note).

So, she was serving steak, wow it was good, along with bread, potatoes and salad. I got a little frisky with the bread, I molested it big time, eating some before dinner, waiting for her to turn her head so I can get my grubby hands on another piece, hoping she thought it was just taking me a long time to chew ONE piece and was not actually the 2nd piece I helped myself to, The loaf might now have a restraining order out on me as of tonight. The butter was staring at me and I have to eat it to make it stop. The butter's buddy sour cream was whispering was complaining that it lost it's friend, so I had to help it out so they could be reunited.

Looking back on that dinner, it was ok. I realized that there were plenty of things I could have done better. What those totally are, I'm not sure. Are you? What could have made it better?

Maybe the steak didn't need any sauce, it was awesome as is. What could I have put on the potatoe? Should I have ignored it completely or maybe just use it as a hand warmer, forgetting all the juicy goodness just inside it's rough exterior?

Friday didn't seem so bad of course when Saturday night rolled in like a cozy summer breeze and I made my vacation stay at Pizza Hut. Warm and toasty, 4 pieces deep. I had another dinner at a somebody else's house! What was I thinking?? He even brought out a little platter of vegies. I think at that time, after smelling the pizza, that the vegies would have to have been hidden in cheese for me to notice too much.

Ultimately, I learned that I'm still human. I could choose to be angry and brow beat myself, but the fact of the matter is, the way my body feels today, Sunday "the day after" is punishment enough. After over a week of eating good, feeling good and seeing some progress, feeling so sluggish and weighted down isn't quite sitting as comfortable as it used to be. Two meals, two days out of the rest of my life, is just a couple pages out of a really good book that I had to go back and read again. The rest of the book is still there to enjoy.

You can move ahead too. You may have had a setback or two or five! But, it's not over, you can still make a difference. I know that there's the last moment, the one that got away, but that means there's the NEXT moment. That's the one we need to concentrate and be excited by.

Back to the scale.

A friend told me not to weigh everyday, but for me, the numbers staring up at me like 3 digit beady eyes are my friend, whether they’re more than I would like or less. It tells me if I’m on the right path for me. Having a false sense of security that I’m getting smaller may be worse. Some people just can feel when they’re gaining or losing weight. But, if you have a life lived habit of eating whether you’re hungry or not, makes you numb to what’s happening just below the belt until you look for your favorite jeans and they’ve run off with the circus. It reminds me of a story I heard once of a lady who was at her son’s wedding. I saw her and she was a big’n. One of those women who can give you a squeezing hug and you can feel the after effects a month later. She was wearing an antique pin and hugging people all day ecstatic that her son finally found somebody who can take him out of the house, no doubt. As the festivities wore down and out, she felt about the same – down and out. She was out of breath and really tired. Come to find out later, that the long sharp pin in her antique jewelry and stabbed her in the chest and deflated a lung! MY GOD! But, for people who don’t realize they have gained weight until they become what would be deemed enough to feed a cannibal’s family for a month, this is about right.

Some of us, big girls, not all, but some of us - have a habit of ignoring stuff and disengaging ourselves from what is below our neck, hence I can’t see my shoes…or pants…or shirt buttons…

So, if weighing in on the scale everyday helps keep you insanely sane, then so be it. Just don’t get one that talks back to you. No one should hear that much bad language.

235.5 lbs...Not so Early Riser, Foraging for Food Like a Cavewoman

I heard the alarm this morning I'm sure, but I must have thought it was in my dream, maybe I thought it was the fire alarm in one of those steamy I can't quite see through all the ripe romance fog dreams where you wake up with a smile on your face. Yea, that dream where the alarm is roaring at the 5 alarm fire and the husky fireman with a very cute goatee is climbing a ladder wearing his yellow, I'm dirty because I'm hot - pants and he flings me over his shoulder and carries me right down to a waiting candlelit table for two, with smoked salmon and salad and bread, lots of bread, on the menu. I don't like fish, but I would for that dream.

Ok, so I think it wasn't THAT particular dream, probably more the one where my teeth are falling out and I'm trying to put them back in, or I'm naked at high school behind a rock and no one notices it but me and the alarm bell is ringing for the next class. Besides, the firemen wouldn't have a goatee, being that they really aren't supposed too (except in dreams where they help me with my smile) and he'd have to take time off to recuperate from carrying my ass.

Point being, I didn't remember the alarm as the kind that makes you get up and make something out of your life at the day job you need so bad so you can keep buying mic stands you leave at clubs (if you find one, it's mine).

So...I didn't quite hear it completely.

Here's the deal on this:
I start my day job at 7:30 a.m. and when I looked at the alarm, it said 7:23 a.m. Thank God I live 4 minutes from work. So, math, which isn't usually my best suit, was in high gear and it meant I had exactly 3 minutes to get dressed and out of the house. I got to work at 7:34, none the wiser, except of course when I boasted about it.

That being said, I realized that I hadn't made my Bor-Bulous (fabulously boring) 5 meals a day extravaganza like I had been doing so good with the last 3 days. I freaked. What am I going to do? It's a scary tasty crap world out there when you're ill prepapred. But, this is when forgetfulness can come in handy. I forgot that I had left a bag of apples on my desk that I had brought in for and had forgotten to take to a meeting. Fruit - check. And then there was the Gen-Soy bar I found squished in the bottom of my briefcase - Gen/soy, whatever it really is = check!

So, that sufficed for a while. Later at my lunch break, I had to do an errand. Wow, stepping out into the tasty crap world where all my best buddies are. Wendy, McDonald, Carl (the son, not the dad) and Jack. Fast food restaurants to me have been my crack buddies for years. I don't smoke or do drugs, but if I did, the guys hanging on the street corner with me, would be these dudes. They'd take a bullet for me! Or a curly fry. They're family! But, just like family, you need it in moderation. So, going and doing this errand would take me right past my red haired step-sister and my old man, the farmer. Surprisingly, like always, I found my van pulling into the Wendy's driveway. Surprisingly because I wasn't on auto pilot like when I chew my nails and don't realize - I knew I was pulling in there! I pulled up to the menu microphone and starting talking in another language. I said "grilled chicken wrap with no sauce and extra lettuce." It just came out so natural. I almost looked into my purse to see if a passport had appeared, it was so foreign sounding to me. I guess hanging with the dudes on the street corner isn't such a bad thing afterall, especially if they're clean cut kids that don't cause too much trouble.

I smiled to myself as I approached the window and came face to face with a frown. "I'm sorry", the drive up window professional said. "Can you wait 4 minutes?" What??! Didn't he know I was in the middle of changing my life here? I got to embrace the change while the fire is hot! It can't wait! Turns out the grilled chicken wasn't the hot ticket item (like I hope to someday be...). "I'm not sure", I said and he told me that they did have cripsy chicken and BBQ all ready instead. Again, I started talking in another language "I'll wait for the grill chicken."

NOTHING tasted as good as that grilled chicken. I'm still not quite sure if it was because it actually tasted good because I stuck to my guns or because I was so friggin' hungry.





LESSONS
Forgetfulness can be your friend.
Fast Food isn't the enemy, you are.
Food is more enjoyable when you actually let yourself get hungry.

FOOD EATEN
coffee with light cream and sugar (3)
apples (2)
Gen Soy bar
grilled wrap chicken, no sauce, extra lettuce from Wendy's
bean and cheese burrito from Carl's Jr/Green Burrito
cup of chocolate milk
cup of tea

EXERCISE
Does walking down the stairs after work count?

236 lbs...THE Monday...you know those...

If you've ever not been able to see your shoes and there was no interference happening - it was all you, then you know THE Monday. It's that Monday that is the end all be all of your existence, where your life will change. Never mind, that in most people's minds AND calendars, the week actually starts on Sunday.




Well, it was THE Monday, where I started eating 6 times a day instead of eating one time 6 times a day, for a family of 6.

The tupperware has 5 sections in it and I filled each section up individually, this day it was with 1. plain chicken (where's the BBQ sauce?), 2. Oatmeal (yes, the cereal made for kings), 3. Yogurt (why does that last bite make you gag?), 4. Vegetables (where the friggin A is the cheddar cheese sauce like you get at overpriced movie theaters?) and 5. Hard Boiled eggs (yes, they came before the chicken).

It was interesting today, picking out one section at a time, about every 3 hours. It become kind of like a game, how many can I eat and take out of the larger container?

What kind of prize would I get if everything was eaten? Well, I know what prize I WON'T be getting. An extra side of me.

It's only been one day of this new food way and I'm not able to see my shoes from up here.

Someday, I'll know what kind of shoes I'm wearing...for now, maybe I'll wear socks.