Well, that sucked.

Know how people are all, "Give nice guys a chance?" 

For the past 15 years, thought I did... but I guess I never really did.  The last few months, I've had an opportunity to look back at the guys I've chosen routinely and realized that they've all had some serious issues right from the get go. 

The ones I've picked to stay with had issues with intimacy, issues with their moms, issues with their dads, or issues with me.  But in all cases, they strummed a chord right on my heart strings - that chord being: "Stay.  Help Me.  Fix me."

And apparently that chord always works with me.

In truth, it doesn't mean that they weren't nice, but it does mean that they had some red flags.

So each time, when something ended, I found myself inching the door to the possibility of a lasting love a little more closed.  I have believed that those dreams - those nice things - weren't for me. 

The guys I passed up?  They were the nice ones.  The guys who treated me the way I should be treated - right from the get go.  But the chord that they strummed never seemed melodic to me. I chalked it up to the chemistry not being there and moved on.

Ending the relationship with Joe, was a great time to realize that the problem wasn't with ME.  It's with the people I've continually picked.  Which, okay, WAS with me.  But hopefully you get what I mean.

I took the time to re-calibrate my heart strings. And I realized that the ones that called for help weren't quite as melodic as I had thought.  And the ones that offered genuine feelings of happiness and love sounded better than I ever believed.

So this past month, when I had the opportunity to really look love in the eyes, I did.

It started with a wonderful question - something along the lines of "Are you ready, really ready to be in love?  Are you ready in your heart and your mind?"

I looked within me, brushed off my newly re-vamped heart strings, and answered, "Yes."

And it was WONDERFUL. The act of falling in love is an amazing feeling.  It's fast, it's all consuming, and it feels beautiful.  Like my blinders have been ripped off my eyes - and now I could start to see life's full beauty - which includes ME.

I found myself peering through the crack in the door to lasting love.  I found myself lured by it's charm.  I started to (gasp!) hope.  And when my brain tried to tell my heart to slow down, I reminded it that THIS type of story happens to others.  Why not me?  Why not us?  Why not now?

We even said several times that it felt like we were 15 again - to feel like the whole world was ahead of us and that we could figure out anything that came our way.

To me, it felt like the first part of a drop on a roller coaster ride.  I was scared, white-knuckling it...until something inside me encouraged me to just let go; to just enjoy it.

And oh, how I enjoyed it.  Because that feeling?  It's amazing; intoxicating; heart-stoppingly beautiful.

Until it wasn't.

Realistically, I've recounted the weirdness of what happened many times with my friends and they all believe that something is clearly going on with him.  And from the stories he told me about some of the girls that he met, they all reacted with similar disbelief when things ended.  Judging from the outside looking in, this seems to be his MO.

So, logically, I know it's not me.  Or maybe it is.  But I know that even if his opinion of me and us changed that quickly, it doesn't have anything to do with me.  Yeah, yeah...maybe he got scared...but maybe he was just playing me.  Maybe he's just damaged goods with entirely too high of standards.  No matter how hard I try, I can't figure out what happened.

Because to me, even if I got weird vibes or mixed messages, I'd want to ride the roller coaster again.

But eesh.  It still hurts.  Just like the heartbreaks of 15 year olds.

So how is it that I'm more upset about things ending with a man that I haven't known nearly long enough than ones that I've stayed with for entirely too long?

Because my heart strings strummed a song that seemed to be in tune with his (and even I puked in my mouth with how cheesy that sounded).  But that tune? It was one of the most amazing things I've felt and heard.

So here I am.  Sad, disappointed, and hurt.  Maybe this is the rebound relationship effect.  Or maybe it's because we really could've made it work.

But I do know this: I need time to repair the damage - to re-tune my heart strings and repair my pride.

So that the next time a nice guy asks if I'm really ready - for love and all the wonders it holds - I'll have the courage to say yes.  I'll have the courage to walk through that door, down the aisle, and wherever else that path leads.

I pretty much hate today...

One year ago today, I had to put my dog, Chassis down.

This morning I just found out that Joe’s closest friend, Pat, has a brain tumor. He is probably the nicest person in the whole world. Of course, you never *really* know what kind of marriage two people have, but from the outside looking in, he and his wife of decades have an excellent marriage. Their kids are the two best behaved (and still very real and vivacious) kids I’ve ever been around.

He and his family come up to visit in Denver a few times a year and they’re four of my favorite people in the world. They’re so welcoming – they make me feel comfortable being me. They respect and understand my relationship with Joe. They’re thoughtful, considerate, and funny. The parents and the teenagers all hang out. How they interact gives me hope that some people actually *do* have healthy families, boundaries, and love.

Joe’s parents and step-dad died before I met him. He has no siblings. His grandparents have been in the ER, hospital, and rehab facility in the last few weeks (for completely separate issues). And honestly? His grandma isn’t exactly the most welcoming, considerate, or thankful person. No matter how available I’ve made myself to help her and her husband, she makes it clear that she’d rather only interact with Joe.

I may not get to pick the family that Joe has left…but our friend? He’s Joe’s family; they grew up together. The kids called him Uncle Joe from when they were babies. They’re all so close. And wonderfully, he has made me feel like I’m a part of Joe’s family. I actually love this guy.

And he has a freaking brain tumor.

I know it’s not a death sentence (or anything close to it). But it’s major surgery. ON HIS HEAD. WHICH INCLUDES HIS BRAIN. WHICH IS SERIOUS. WHICH SCARES ME.

They’re operating on Friday. It’s two inches in diameter and is located on the right side of his brain underneath his skull. That’s about all I know.

Well, that and they’re so far away that I feel helpless.

I have more news about my life and my health, but for now, will you just say a quick prayer for my friend, Pat?

The art of ignoring

Note: This post ain't pretty. But it is where I'm at and honestly? It's where I have been.



When I was a kid, and other kids teased me, my mom always told me to ignore it.

"Ignore it and they'll stop."

The thing is, although she was right in that situation, it's not exactly a healthy coping strategy for things that bug me now.

So here we go...

I want to get married to Joe.  I want to have kids with Joe.

And, for the most part, Joe doesn't want that.  It's not that he does NOT want it, he just doesn't WANT it.  Make sense?

Basically, he's not sure.  And the not sure thing?  It's eating at me.  So I'm eating it.

When I went into surgery, I weighed the same as I did when I went to my mom's for Christmas.  Since then?  I've gained 7 pounds.  So you tell me how I can not gain weight in two months, most of which I spend as a sedentary blob, and now I'm gaining weight like a champ when I'm busy and active?

Ahhh...yes.  That would be me - bolting from the reality that is my life.

I use food to veg out.  To check out.  To take my mind away from the reality that I have a few outcomes in front of me - most of which involve my relationship going by the wayside.

"But you seem so happy!," you might be thinking.

And the kicker is?  You'd be right.  I am *SO* happy.  We laugh and have fun.  He fits with my family and I absolutely adore his family and friends.  We have a good sex life and we are there for each other when things aren't so great.  We take refuge in each other's arms - like ducking under a shelter in the middle of the sh!t storm that is life sometimes.

But he still doesn't realize that.

And I am left feeling like I'm not enough.  Like this relationship, the best thing I've ever been a part of in my entire life, isn't good enough for him.

Wednesday, the day of my interview (that I rocked), I came home in a foul mood.  We had gotten a few measly inches of snow which turned all the drivers around me into sliding, fumbling nincompoops.  The normally twenty minute drive took over an hour and a half.  It was, to be clear, a very frustrating time.  But as I sat fuming in my car, cursing the drivers around me, I realized that I couldn't possibly be *this* pissed about the weather and driving.

I walked in the door and found Joe who was making dinner (the first in our whole time together).  He was smiling, warm, and happy.  And I wasn't.  I was cranky and when he asked about the interview, I told him I didn't want to talk about it.  I told him that it wasn't him, it was me, but that I just needed a moment to myself.  I went in my room, changed into warm and comfy fun pants and then came out to talk to him.

At one point, when we were talking about the job, he encouraged me to do whatever it was that I wanted.  Calm, supportive, thoughtful, and sweet - that's Joe. 

But all of the sudden it was too much.

"I don't get to do what I want," I said. "Because if I got to do what I wanted, I'd marry you right this instant.  I'd have your babies.  We'd get a dog.  I'd move in more of my stuff into our tiny place.  I'd quit my job, become an elementary school teacher in the same district as our kids so I could have summers and holidays off with them.  Don't tell me to do what I want...because I can't do that."

He stared at me and then opened his arms, where he folded me - crying, sobbing me - into his comforting embrace.  He didn't say anything to refute what I said.  He didn't assure me that it would all work out.  He didn't tell me that he wanted the same.  He didn't tell me that he didn't want the same.  He just hugged me.

It's the same dance we've been doing for months now.  It's this THING in our relationship - one of the few things we actually disagree on.  But this thing?  It's becoming bigger and stronger than I am sometimes.

It's not that I have to have kids or I won't be happy married to Joe.  If we couldn't have kids, we'd find some way to have them in our lives - adoption, fostering, or being a Big Brother or Sister in social organizations.  I'm not interested in marrying him for his sperm.  But I'm not going to say that having my own children isn't a HUGE pull for me right now either.

It's that I feel like I have two chances.  The chance to marry Joe and the chance to have kids of my own. 

My worst nightmare is having my OB say to me that it's too late to have kids.  He told us when I was in his office (during the whole uterine fibroid thing), that after mine was removed, we'd have a few years in which to have kids.  Then, my awesome lady bits would likely keep growing fibroids - ones as big as the grapefruit-sized one that I had removed - ones that probably would crowd out any fetus wanting to grow in there.  Is he 100% right?  Maybe; maybe not.  Could I go to other docs to get a different opinion?  Probably.  But the thing is, he's the specialist I trust.  I trust that what he's saying is true.

So let's say I hang in there with Joe and hope that he comes around.  Let's say he never does.  Let's say I eventually leave him.  Let's say that a while later, I find someone who is ready to settle down and treats me almost as well as Joe does.  Let's say that then?  It's too late for me to have kids.  Now I don't have Joe or kids.

It boils down to this: I'm finding myself trying to choose between the chance to have kids someday and the chance to be Joe's wife someday.  The hard part is that I don't know what my actual chances are at either.

If I were given the choice to marry Joe or have kids, I would pick Joe every time.  But the very real choice of giving up the chance to have kids for the chance to be Joe's wife is too risky for me.

But really?  That's big talk.  Because I also can't see myself walking away from a relationship as wonderful as I believe ours to be.  That doesn't come along every day...so why would I walk away from it?

But then again, if it's so great, why can't he see that?

So that's where we are - in a crossroads of our relationship.

In the good news department, we had a big ol' fight mid-Decemberish.  Mostly about other stuff...like his inability to trust me with some parts/aspects of his life...but this issue came up.  It's not exactly a unique fight - with me or previous exes.  He's 44 and until I moved in, he'd never lived with anyone else before.  Never been engaged either.  Inability to commit isn't exactly a new thing for him.  Ultimately, he agreed (reluctantly) to see a therapist - both for himself and with me as a couple.

Those people are specialists too...and they should be able to help us figure out what we want to do or what we don't, right?

He had his first session with the therapist in December.  We had our first session as a couple on the 13th of January and all I can say is oh.my.gosh this going to be tough. 

In the meantime, it's me.  Me and a whole lotta' uncertainty.

Know what's easier to face than the uncertainty?  The plate full of food in front of me.  The drive-thru lady during my lunch break.  The supermarket clerk on my way home.

Because in those moments, when I'm hurriedly eating food, I don't have to face the fear that I'm not enough for the person I've loved most in my life.  I don't have to worry about how I may never feel a baby kick inside me.  I don't have to worry how I'm going to handle being the Maid of Honor at my baby sister's wedding in two months when what I want most is to getting married myself.  I don't have to weigh possibilities or plans to change anything.  I don't have to think about steps to leave the best thing that's ever happened to me.  I don't have to deal with the worry that I might be pushing and sabotaging my relationship for something that I don't even know that I can do.  I mean, it's not like I've ever TRIED to get pregnant anyway.

So eating when I'm hungry?  I can do that. 

But stopping when I'm no longer hungry?  When I do that, I feel empty.  Alone.  Foolish.  Left-over.  Passed-over.  Not good enough.

I'm not sure what the solution is.  I know that I'm actively doing things to try to figure myself and us out.  I know he's doing the same.  I know that's something.

I want to fight for this.  But sometimes?  I want to ignore the fact that I have to fight for this.  I want to ignore the idea that another sh!tty thing might happen to me in the long line of sh!tty things that have happened to me. 

I want to ignore the voice that's screaming "I told you so" when I had the audacity to hope.

I might be hiding Jimmy Hoffa

Yesterday afternoon, I had the best of intentions to eat, go to therapy, workout and watch The Biggest Loser.

Confession: I didn't do that.

Instead, I remembered that I had a follow-up appointment late in the day with my OBGYN to make sure that everything post surgery and post ruptured cysts were okay.

This meant that I was lucky enough to get another visit with the vaginal ultrasound.  I even told the tech when she inserted the ultrasound wand (which, for the record, seems less magical every time it enters me) that I was tired of her finding stuff in there.  And guess what? She found something else.  Seriously, next time?  I wouldn't be surprised to see Jimmy Hoffa's face in there.

Yes, that's right folks, I like to grow things "down there."  It's like my own little science experiment.  This time, it's another large ovarian cyst - only on my right side.

The good news is that I'm not in a lot of pain and now that I know what ruptured cysts feel like, I hope to not worry excessively when it ruptures.  The really good news is that they're not endometriosis cysts.

The thing is?  They're ovulation cysts.  As in, I'm still ovulating.   As in 95% of women on the pill don't ovulate and I'm not one of them.  My eyes got huge when my doctor told me that as Joe and I have recently resumed...ahem...snuggling.  BUT he swears that I'm not likely* to get knocked up while on the pill - something about mucous blah-bedy-blah including lining of the ya-ya sisterhood not allowing that to happen.  I was too busy daydreaming about sex in Sex Ed to while they went through this crap to know what he was talking about.  I blame Matt Grondin and Michael Shannon for being so undeniably dreamy - there is no way anyone in our class concentrated on medical terminology when they looked that cute.

Anyway, I kind of freaked out, but then I called my mom.  Turns out, she also had uterine fibroids and cysts while she was on the pill AND lumpy boobs.  I am under the assumption if she had all that and still managed to get preggo 10 times (yes, that would be 7 miscarriages) that perhaps I am a Fertile Myrtle as well.  Therefore conception is now on the list of "Crap I'm not going to worry about until later."  Just underneath that?  "How to survive 7 miscarriages."

After my vaginal ultrasound and waiting to see my doctor, I ended up being very late in leaving to go to my therapy appointment.  No time to stop and grab something in the drive thru - and besides, I really wasn't hungry - I was worried.  So I just went to the appointment where we talked about my inability to deal with uncertainty well.  Hello, timing...

I finished with my therapist, drove home, and had brown rice with veggies and chicken.  It was good and tasty.  Afterwards I watched The Biggest Loser.

But I didn't exercise.  Tonight?  I plan on exercising - even if just a bit - just so I can get back in the habit of it.  The opportunity to make my body do something - anything - that I want it to has got to feel powerful...especially since it hasn't been listening to me as of late.


*"Not likely," according to him, means that I have a 1% chance of getting pregnant while on the pill.  I groaned aloud when he told me that.  What I wanted to say was, "Seriously, doc.  You've GOT to stop saying that I have a low percentage chance of something happening.  I like to over-achieve.  I like to do things people don't think I can do.  Saying that I'm 'not likely' to have something happen is like you double-dog-daring my lady bits to grow a baby.  Stop it or I swear I'll hide your keys where only your ultrasound tech can find them."

Heavy heart

On Friday I found out that my good blogging friend, Margie, from My Healthy Living Thru Weight Control passed away a few months ago.

If you knew her or read her blog, you know that she was a long time WW member - who had met her goal weight and had been maintaining it successfully for many years.  She and her husband, Bruce, traveled around the US and went walking often.

It was on a walk that they were struck by a suicidal driver and were both killed.

Honestly?  I still can't believe it.

Margie was one of those people who was always supportive, especially on the ugly posts - the ones where you bared your soul and scoured wounds.  We had several email conversations and when she visited Colorado and couldn't stop anywhere close to me, we vowed to meet up the next time she was in my state.

She had mentioned the idea of stopping her weight loss blog a few times and honestly, I thought she was just taking a break.  Plus, I had the whole fibroid thing and was not checking anyone's blog for months.  I feel horrible that I didn't immediately think something had happened when my emails were unanswered and although I checked her weight loss blog, I didn't think to check her other one for news.

I feel so sad that Margie is gone.  I feel happy that she and her love were able to pass together.

But I feel so sad that Margie, who was a bright and beautiful person, is no longer here to share her light.

It's selfish...I know.  But it's true.

This weekend, I tried to think about what always struck me the most about her...and I think that it's that she was always kind and supportive - exactly the kind of person I want to be.  BUT she also was relentless in her quest to maintain a healthy weight.  Sure, she and her husband were retired, but that didn't stop her from sharing a plate of food (to exercise portion control) on her vacations or monitoring her weight closely each day.

She was dedicated to her healthy lifestyle - even though she was older, even though she had already lost her weight, and even though she could've done what many of us do - relaxed a bit in her attack. 

Her resolve and dedication to her lifestyle and her health should be a reminder to me.

I have missed Margie and I will continue to do so.  I hope that her (and her husband's) passing was quick and as painless as possible.

When I got home on Friday, I hugged Joe for a solid few minutes, crying on his shoulder, and continued to tell him just how much he meant to me.  I hope I remember to do that often.

New Craptastic Post (now with 25 percent more crap!)

(source)

My family keeps asking me what I want for Christmas.  I find it hard to give them an answer...mostly because at the end of September, when I found out that I had the uterine fibroid that needed to be removed via surgery, I started living in a countdown mode to the surgery date.

And then, I had every expectation that I would be in countdown mode again for when I would be better.

But the last four weeks since the surgery have been painful and, although I probably am getting better (in minuscule amounts), I'm still not healed.

It's hard for me to recognize that Thanksgiving is a few days away and that Christmas is just around the corner.  How can that be?  I'm not ready.  I'm not doing better.

I STILL have an infection and an open wound at the incision site.  I'm still on antibiotics and now have a fun yeast infection to add to the mix (due to being on all of these antibiotics).  Yogurt wasn't able to stave it off.

Last Wednesday, when I went in for my second appointment of the week, my OB looked at the wound and sighed and said "It's not any worse, but it's not getting better.  What is going on?"  I don't know.  She got the other doctor and nurse practitioner in the office to look at it.  They are stumped too.  My surgeon (that I saw on last Friday) said I'm the first patient with complications in over 7 years.  And I'm the first that had a wound that won't close up in longer than that.  No one gets why it's so slow to heal.  I don't have diabetes, my blood work is great.  I don't smoke and I eat healthfully.  My weight is the only contributing factor.

It's a wake up call, but one that I can't do anything about right now.

I feel helpless.

The wound (which is at the natural crease that everyone has from sitting - it's right in that bendy area) is starting to heal bit by bit (ever so slowly), but the best way to get it to heal is to have it exposed to air.  Know what that involves?  Taping up my stomach chub to the upper part of my body.  I can't tell you the mental toll that that action takes on me daily.  I have to pull up a part of my body that I think is disgusting and tape it to other parts of my body just so they won't touch.

It's completely humiliating.  I'm taping my extra skin and residual fat from 55 pounds ago.  Every day, I'm aware of what I did to myself by eating to numb.  And every day, I'm aware of how far I have to still go.

At first, it worked okay (no, the wound wasn't healing, but I was able to tape my chub and skin up to allow it to breathe).  But my fair skin (that in those parts have never seen the light of day), is pretty sensitive.  So everytime I take off the "no hurt" paper tape, I get a painful welt on my stomach.

Sunday, after two weeks of doing this to myself with little progress in the healing, my stomach decided to not take it any more,  when the tape was removed, it ended up tearing off the upper layers of my skin too - leaving a few raw spots (yes, those are now bloody and weeping) too.

So now I have to tape around those raw wounds...which means that I can't lift the sagging skin as well to air it.  Which (you guessed it) means that it won't heal as quickly as before.  And let's be clear, it's not like the healing was fast then.

Part of me wants to post about how thankful I am for life, for my life, and for all things.  I logically know that I have a blessed life and that I have so much to feel thankful for.

But the other part of me is tired of plastering this smile on my face.  That part of me just wants the complications to stop.  That part of me is tired of hobbling around, of being in pain, and of having another thing that is going wrong. 

What's more, I can't do much about it.  I can't make it better.  I can't will my body to heal faster.  I'm doing all I can and it's still not getting better - at least not noticeably better.  And I can't do much to dissipate the stress.  In fact, right now I'm visiting my dad and sisters in Chicago - and have already felt like I've had to referee two fights.  I arrived yesterday afternon.  They just starting getting into it downstairs so I left and came up to the room I'm staying in to try to get away from it.

A year ago, I would've turned to food.  But I'm proud that that hasn't been what I've been doing.  I won't say that I've only eaten when I was hungry every time since the surgery...but that's been my goal.

Six months ago, I would've turned to exercise via running or DVDs like the "30 Day Shred" in a stressful situation.  But I can't do that either.

And yet, I'm still down 6 pounds from my surgery day.  I know that means that I'm doing something right...even if I can't fit into anything other than sweatpants because I'm still swollen around my abdomen.

I'm tired.  I'm weary.  But I'm here. 

I miss catching up on your blogs.  But I'm realistic enough to realize that I'm just experiencing some situational depression.  I can't bring myself out of the fog enough to read your blogs and put a thoughtful or optimistic spin on your doings.  I hate that.  I hate that I can't be as good of a follower or friend as the kind and thoughtful women (you know who you are!) that have left faithful comments.  I feel guilty that I'm not giving back.

I'm just spent.  I'm at the point where I feel that if I lose a few followers or subscribers, so be it. 

I just can't do more than what I'm doing right now.  I'm treading water, but it's taking a lot of energy to do that.

I know.  This isn't a happy fun post.  I hate that too.  But I felt like I should give you guys SOMETHING to read since last week...even if just to say, I'm here and hanging in there.

Logically, I know I'm thankful.  And I know I will heal eventually.  

But in the meantime, I'm struggling with a positive attitude (gee, you think?) and that has to be okay too.

Re-distribution and a wake-up call

In a lot of ways, I'm not lucky.

But in some ways, I am.  Take my body for instance...I may have more weight on my body, but it's proportionate.  I've got curves and a hourglass figure.  Ample bosom (what am I? 90 years old?  Who uses the word 'bosom' anymore?), plush derriere, and a waist that indicates more "Jessica Rabbit" and less "the apple guy from the Fruit of the Loom commercials."

At least that WAS the case.

See, I've been feeling BIGGER.  I've got this muffin top thing going on while in some of my jeans.  And to be honest?  I look like I'm expecting...not full term, but I know people wouldn't be shocked if I said that a new baby was on it's way.  And how embarrassing is that?  Very.

Side note: that t-shirt to the right?  WHO WOULD WEAR THAT?  Even if someone would, I doubt it would be the size 2 model pictured.  I find this bizarre.

So I bit the bullet and stepped on the scale again - the last time was a week ago.  No change.  And last week's numbers?  No change from the beginning of September.  I'm still the same weight I've been all summer.

So what gives?

I'm not sure exactly what has been happening lately, but it sounds like my weight has to be re-distributing, right?  Sure, some of it is probably due to the uterine fibroid pushing some of my tummy out, but I can't help but think that it's also because I haven't been exercising.  I'm not going to indicate that I had SO. MUCH. MUSCLE. that has gone by the way-side and fat is taking it's place.  While I was a cardio lover, I wasn't exactly Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2.

Yet another side note: I just saw "Terminator 2" a few weeks ago for the first time.  And OH MAN, is she built or WHAT?  Good grief!  It was pretty sexy is all I'm saying.  Kind of like Annette Benning's arms in "The American President" in that scene where she's dancing with him.  I want arms and shoulders like that.

So anyway, I'm not quite sure what's going on with my body, but this has kind of been a wake-up call.  I've heard women older than myself say that weight re-distributes...especially around the mid-section.  And after experiencing this, I've decided that I'm not a fan of it - not of how it feels and not of how it looks. 

I've decided that I can use this surgery as a jumping off point.  I can use it as a way to tell myself that taking care of myself has to be a priority.  I can document and remember how it feels to look down (while buckled in the car) and see my tummy pooching out.  I can vow to change my situation, once I am healthy enough to do so.  I don't like the feeling of my boobs resting on my stomach...I've gotten used to NOT feeling that...and I haven't missed it.

What are some sensations that either you aren't going to miss or that you don't miss?

A thousand points of pain (repost)

Know how Jack Sh*t has "Same Old Sh*t Saturdays?" A few weeks ago, I decided to steal borrow this move from his playbook with a different twist. So on Saturdays (at least through August), I've decided to post a little something about me or my life. Think of it as a way to get to know me better...about stuff other than weight loss and healthy eating.



Today's post is from my other blog - one that I started first. There isn't really anything over there about weight loss or healthy eating, it's pretty much just me being silly, funny, and gross. So basically it's like me, only as a 15 year old boy.
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Yesterday I went to my mailbox only to find that the inventors of the book and DVD "The Secret" sent me an exclusive offer.

If you know anything about "The Secret," you know that the idea is that you can manifest things to happen. Like if you concentrate and believe you can make things good or bad happen. It's kind of like the idea behind how Tinkerbell can come back to life if you clap hard enough. Now I personally think that there is something to the power of positive thought and the principles behind this idea.

However, I was tired. I had just spent time with the girls at my monthly dinner out. And no, that's not code for anything. So I decided that I'd just shred the thing - like what I do with all of my junk mail.

Only the packet was so thick, I knew that it would jam my shredder. So I started to open the envelope with my thumb and slide it along the top to open the thing. That's when I got about forty paper cuts which equals one thousand points of light pain.*

So, in going with "The Secret" philosophy, what the hell was that brought on by? I didn't meditate on the thought of pain. I don't think that the makers of "The Secret" bulk mail visualizing people opening their mail and being cut is a great marketing strategy - so it's unlikely that that is what brought it on.

I guess I just think it's strange that I was cut by complete chance (in my opinion) by a sheets of paper in a bulk mailing promoting the idea that NOTHING happens by chance. Everything, according to them, was manifested and brought on by something.

So just in case there is some evil person visualizing my demise, I want you to know that your message was received.

And I hate you.

* See? Not all of my posts have Democratic undertones. That reference was just for you, Bush lovers. AND NO, THAT'S NOT CODE FOR ANYTHING.

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind...

Q: What does it feel like my thighs are going to be doing in about 2.4 seconds?

A: Blowin' in the wind.

Why?

Well, because my FAVORITE pair of jeans are SO worn in the thigh area that I'm just expecting them to rip open any minute.

The last time I wore them, I noticed they were getting a bit threadbare. That was Wednesday. I washed them yesterday.

I put them on this morning and didn't think much about it - mostly because I was running late. But on the 4 block walk to the parking garage I was aware that things felt...well...different there.

When I finally sat in my car, I noticed that they are so pilled and threadbare that I could actually feel the pills of denim through my jeans. Classy, no?

I'm almost afraid to get up from my desk and walk anywhere - any added friction will likely cause them to either:
a) rip upon impact or
b) burst into flames

Scale this morning says I'm up a few pounds from Tuesday morning weigh in. Also, I'm sporting some zits on my face that are so big they're starting to think for themselves.

Lastly, in the category of "things that suck", I may or may not have forgotten deodorant today.*

So basically, my self confidence? A mite low.


*I'm not sure if I forgot it or I broke out in a cold sweat worrying about my jeans making it through the day. Luckily, although I don't have an extra pair of jeans, I *do* have a locker in our shower room where I keep extra deodorant. Thank GOODNESS!

Snooty and Snobby

Ugh.

Can I tell you a secret?

I'm going to eat at a place tonight that I do not like. I'm going to meet people that I do not like.

Lemme' back up.

Last year in October, I suffered from a bout o' crazy. I had decided that my old birth control was boring (even though nothing was wrong with it) and instead decided to try Nuvaring. You can read more about that fun/hellish ride by clicking here. I want a stiff drink just thinking about that time in my life.

Anyway, at this time, Joe decided to introduce me to two of his friends. I'll admit, I thought that it would be FANTASTIC. Here is the "other couple" that we've been waiting for. The one that we would go on double dates with, the one that we would play cards with, the one that we would laugh and take vacations with. We found our couple friends - at last!

Only when I walked into the severely overpriced restaurant, I felt uncomfortable immediately. We met the couple (who were more than politely late) and for the sake of this blog, I'll call them Snooty and Snobby. They started talking about concertos and what their favorite sonata is. They discussed people I didn't know and topics that I had nothing to do with. It was the.most.boring.dinner ever.


They suggested ordering a bottle of wine for the table and then made a joke about how they should just order White Zinfandel. Peals of laughter exploded from their lips.

"As IF we would order that swill," said Snooty.

"I know! How do people even drink that? It's preposterous!" said Snotty.

Joe gave me a look as if to say 'sorry' because he knows that that was usually what I ordered at restaurants. I have since graduated to Pino Noir which is still below their acceptable wine level.

When it came time to order dinner, they decided to split an entree' saying that it's just so much food to eat! No one could possibly eat all of the food that they serve at this place! So, Joe and I decided to do the same.

Dinner arrived and our plate had 6 ounces of fish on it. That's right. We had to split 6 ounces of fish. Luckily we ordered a side of asparagus (which was great) to help fill in the black hole that is my stomach. Only, Snooty and Snobby decided to help themselves to our side of asparagus and continued to talk about the most boring crap ever.

By the end of dinner, I had only been asked one question which was "Are you German?" When I said no, I had to listen to reasons why they THOUGHT I was German. And here's the thing. I don't give two craps about what someones lineage is, but really? That's the one thing you want to know about me?

During these "conversations" I felt insecure. So much of what I was feeling was due to the hormone instability from the Nuvaring, but I couldn't shut down my emotions. I felt picked on, belittled, unimportant, and sad.

The waiter came back to entice us to order dessert. At this point, I was so OVER this dinner that I declined to order. Joe looked at the menu and, knowing that I was watching my weight but that I like ice cream, recommended the KIDS ice cream cup on the menu while the three of them would split a dessert.

I almost ripped his face off right then but it would've gotten blood on the custom linen tablecloths and I didn't feel like paying a dry cleaning bill.

The bill for two entrees, one appetizer (which only they ate), two sides, and one bottle of wine was almost almost as much as my car payment. So what if I was raised by people who drank wine out of a box from time to time? The $150 bottle of wine didn't taste discernibly better.

I remember leaving that dinner hungry and sad. I doubted my own worth and couldn't believe that Joe didn't stick up for me more.

We got home and had a "discussion" where I SOBBED. I told him all the things that I was feeling. I told him how I thought his friends were snobby and snooty and how I didn't want to ever be around them again. I cried my heart out. I was disappointed in myself for buying into the belief that I wasn't good enough.

I was sad that they weren't the couple that I wanted them to be.

Joe apologized for not bringing the discussion around more to me and my life and tried to console me...but he thought I was over-reacting too. And in his defense, I was. I knew it. I'm usually pretty even keel. To this day, I blame my OVER reaction on Nuvaring. I mean, it was not a fun dinner, but it wasn't something worthy of SOBBING about either. *

So, we were invited to their house for a Christmas wine tasting (I am SO not kidding) that was passable, but only because I had 5 glasses of wine. And every time Joe has been invited to go out with them, I've had other plans.

Until tonight.

I don't want to go. I don't want to be hungry. I don't want to re-live the doubting myself, the tittering laughter, and the uber boring topics. But I do feel like I want to prove that I can hang out with people in dreadful circumstances and still act sane when it's done.

To be clear, Joe said that I didn't have to go. And I know that if it sucks again (and seriously, let's be honest, it TOTALLY WILL), I won't choose to go again. I think I just have to go this one time to feel like it's not me, it's not the Nuvaring. These people really are douche canoes.

I'm going to go and try to remember this quote:div>
"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." ~Eleanor Roosevelt

So any suggestions on what I could or should do at dinner tonight? We're going to the same overpriced restaurant as before.

(le sigh)

* I don't know why he's friends with these people. I've met his other friends and they're fantastic - not snooty or snobby at all. He used to work with both of them and I know that they were two of the people that helped him at his old job. But I have no idea why the heck one would actually choose to hang out with these people.

I'm not going to lie...

I've been having some serious back pain at night that's been making it hard to sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time.

So I went to the chiropractor today (first time ever!) and it took about 2 1/2 hours (after x-rays, consultation, weird relaxation thing with cold paddles, and the adjustment). That meant that I had to catch up on work.

I knew that I would probably stay a little late.

But after the bowl of ice cream that I had and about 15 different "bite size" candies, I also was reluctant to weigh in for the first time in three weeks.

So I ditched Weight Watchers. And for the record, I totally feel like a kid that just ditched school...guilty as all get out.

I KNOW! It's not like the scale won't know NEXT week when I come back (oh, who am I kidding? Next week is my birthday, I probably won't go then either).

I didn't eat horribly all week long...sure I indulged a bit on Saturday night (and then today with all the crap that is currently causing a MAJOR sugar headache). I'm not really worried about what the scale will say.

But I am worried about what my leader will say. The same leader that I really do like made a pretty big deal about me gaining weight the last time I weighed in. And I guess I want to avoid that.

It's stupid.

I know it.

You know it.

But it's the truth.

Realistically, it's too late to go now - if I leave now, I won't even make it there by the end of the meeting. So I'm promising to go tomorrow - at a place that isn't too far away from home. I mean, at least then it will be over and done with.

And lest you think I overlooked it, NO I was not mindful about the overindulgences I had on Saturday night and all day today. I'm working on it. I promise. Until then, I need to remember that this pounding headache was totally self-inflicted. I need to remember that the next time that the Butterfingers and Twix bars tempt me. This feeling SUCKS no matter what the scale reflects.

The pack mentality

A few months ago, I saw a catchy little commercial about a new form of birth control.

It was this nifty little ring - the NUVARING! And even though nothing was wrong with my birth control (at all!), I found myself fascinated by the commerical with the jingle that sticks in your head more firmly than the tune of "Tom's Diner."

You know the commercial...the one where all those synchronized swimmers are singing, "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, EVERY day..."

All of the sudden, I realized that my daily birth control was THE MAN. It was keeping me down. How could I ever think about having to take one tiny little pill EVERY DAY? The burden of having to remember it every night started to weigh on me. Who cares if I have to take other medication at night? Who cares that I've never missed a pill? Clearly HAVING to remember it was impacting my life and clearly, being on the pill was JUST LIKE being in prison.

If you've seen the commercial, you know what I'm talking about. Clearly: people that take boring, stupid birth control pills are boring and stupid. And they're not popular. And they don't get drinks served to them at the pool side while wearing sexy bikinis. And they wear bright red lipstick which is somehow lame.

The only solution for any sane, non-swimming cap person was to "break free from the pack" and enjoy all of the freedom that came with Nuvaring!

Nuvaring!

I could see myself living my life as a free person. Why, with the Nuvaring inside me, anything was possible! I'd probably win the lottery. I'm sure I'd have more green lights on the way to work, where I'd undoubtedly get a raise. I'd never burn another dinner and I'd always remember my grandma's birthday. In fact, I'd probably have less dropped calls on my cellular phone...all thanks to Nuvaring.

Three cheers for Nuvaring!

The first month it was awesome...unless you count the times that I was consumed with worry that it would fall out at any moment, that I hadn't placed it in just right, or that it would be stuck in there FOREVER.

The second month is when I started having problems. One day I felt down. As a normally "up" person, it was a little odd, but I figured I'd bounce back in no time. Only I didn't.

And then? I went a little a whole lotta crazy. I wanted my space and then quite quickly I wanted nothing of the sort. I wanted to talk stuff out with friends until I started to panic and then I would've set myself on fire if it meant getting away from them.

I was angry - like really angry and cranky. The only thing that would stop the cranky and anger would be the unexplained tears. I complained at work more than I normally did and snapped at people when I normally would've laughed off their jokes.

Clearly, I had turned into a teenager.

The entire time, I kept thinking that this wasn't like me. Where was my zen desire to be healthier in mind, body, and spirit? What was wrong with me?

So, like any crazy person, I decided to not call anyone and not do anything with anyone. Because when you're crazy, you think you're doing a good job of hiding the crazy... especially if you stop all communication with everyone else.

The only person that I couldn't quite dodge successfully was the boyfriend.

I'm sure that I drove my boyfriend bonkers because I was one of the neediest, bitchiest, and most confusing person in the world. And just so you know, I've worked hard to try to eliminate the drama in my life - and during the last week on Nuvaring(!), it was like I was putting on my own one-person play. In fact, the word "drama" doesn't even cover it. Now, it's true, sometimes he was being a bit of a turd and probably deserved some amount of communication about it, but he definitely didn't deserve the crap I was shoveling out.

And hoo boy, was I shoveling out some crazy crap.

The misery of the situation is that I didn't put two and two together until the end of month two... and I only put it together because I had had a similar (albeit much more minor) reaction several years ago when I was on a generic birth control. So if you're interested in specifics, you should know that I lived in Crazy Town (the medical term is "emotional lability") for two to three weeks.

And here I am, after 6 days off of the ring (and on my good ol' LoEstrin), feeling significantly saner. Without going into gory detail, I'll just say that my body is oh-so happy to have that particular type of hormone out of me.

Oh, and you know what was the biggest bummer of all? EACH AND EVERY NIGHT I still had to remind myself that I didn't need to take my birth control pill any more. Like I would be falling asleep and I would wake up nervous that I had forgotten it. GAH!

(sigh)

I am writing this post for two reasons:
1) To publicly thank my boyfriend (who will quite possibly never read this) for believing me (or at least pretending to) when I said that the crazy behavior WAS NOT ME. I'm not sure if the craziness damaged our relationship permanently...but I'm okay with whatever outcome happens, mostly because I feel more like me. And the me that I am can handle anything that will come, even the demise of something that could've been great.

b) To let the women out there know that hormones can be dangerous things to mess with. While it's true that some women may never experience the same symptoms, it's good to know that it CAN happen. I just feel horrible thinking that there could be a woman out there experiencing the same hell that I went through and not even knowing that her birth control (Nuvaring or any other one) could be to blame. Although to be fair to Nuvaring(!), I know of two people personally who loved it and never had any of the same issues I did. The same hormone can affect women differently (obviously).

In a society where everyone wants the next coolest thing, it's easy to want to be on different medication that seems cooler...but like that saying goes, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

So if you need me, I'll be in the pool practicing my boring and stupid synchronized swimming - cap and all.



Disclaimer: This post was originally posted over at my other blog, From the Mixed Up Files of Happy Fun Pants.