A Christmas Miracle

I'm on the phone with ED! Second time in two days, and he called me! Oh, and I lost 12 inches over the last four weeks. I am back up to my starting weight, plus one pound, so I'm not sure how that whole thing works. And, I got an iPod for Christmas. God bless us, everyone!

Happy Festivus!!!!

You know, for the rest of us! Have a great long weekend everyone.

Gin & Juice

OK, so it was more like Gin & Tonic, instead of Gin & Juice. Not my drink of choice, but I avoided the calories of "mixers" and beer. The LAW requires that I have no more than three drinks per week (and not at the same time). However, I failed to comply and I'm sure the food police will have me arrested for multiple violations that occured this weekend.

My dad's company Christmas party was held in B-Town on Saturday night. Open bar. Topshelf liquor. Those two things led to the inevitable conclusion that I would not make it through the night without falling down at least once. It's entirely possible that I had 10-15 bombay tonics and at least 3 shots. The evening ended with me securing at least one vote for O.C. Sherrif (Not that O.C., my own O.C.) from one of my dad's employees. However, he's the same guy that kareoke'd "Take This Job & Shove It" about 9-10 years ago. At the company party. With my dad, the CEO, in the room. Nice.

Reflecting upon the evening, I realized I have not had that many drinks in one evening since my Ranch heydeys, circa 2003. A normal evening then was about 10 beers in three hours (it was dollar night, what can I say?). However, unlike my Ranch heydeys, I did not wake up next to a stranger or, in the alternative, ride home with a very drunk Summer Ayers behind the wheel. My sober mommy gave me a ride to my sister's house where I curled up (passed out) in the spare bedroom.

I worked off some of the gin on Sunday. My dad and I have an annual event where we sprint around the mall for a few hours the week before Christmas to get my mom's gifts. Four hours and countless snaps at one another later, we were done. Neither of us enjoyed ourselves, or the company of one another. That's also part of our tradition.

Monday & Tuesday were spent reviewing a file for work in B-Town. And I never want to get shot in the face.

I think I'm officially off the diet, since I've been "down South" since Saturday. Oh, well, it's Hannakuh.

Oh, gotta go, my pizza's here. :)

Cookies, Part Deux

So, I had some more cookies the other night. Same kind, the sugar cooking with the frosting. I had more than "some," too. I had seven. Then I had the remaining three this morning. I couldn't help it. Ironically, I had shrimp, too. Yup, no denying myself anything. I have to say that, after I put the cookies in my cart, I felt a lifting of anxiety. I've been really stressed out over the last few days, but I'm finally a little more relaxed.

I weighed in today. Down .2 lbs since Monday. At least I didn't gain anything.

Oh, and to respond to NewMomDawn's comment regarding my Virtual Me 3.0 model. She does look eerily like me, down to the skirt and mary janes. I thought that, myself. Scary.

Week 3

After a long, long wait to get weighed (they're totally rude, but that's a different topic), I got on the scale for the first time in 5 days. I am 4 lbs lighter. So, I'm down 3 lbs from my starting weight. [chicken dance].

Life as a Cat

It's really boring. I came down with a stomach bug on Friday morning. All I've done since then is sleep and eat, with more focus on the sleep part. By Sunday evening, even my cats were giving me looks as if to say, "aren't you going to DO anything?"

I had a momentary burst of energy last night and cleaned the apartment. Two loads of dishes had been staring me down for quite awhile and, well, I haven't had these dishes long enough to feel OK about throwing them out. :) I even picked up all the packing peanuts that had been strewn about the floor for quite some time. Oh how I love shopping online for holiday gifts.

Today, I've been slightly productive. I went into the office to check my mail & e-mail. After 30 minutes of sitting at my desk in my pajamas, I was back on my couch with the cats.

On another note, I spoke with my mom today. She was snowmobiling (Yes, we're like the Beverly Hillbillies, but with snow toys instead of the cement pond), at the cabin and managed to roll the sled (and she rolled with it) and break her ankle. Yikes. Thank god she was wearing a helmet.

And, true to herself, my mom didn't think anything was broken or, at best, she "wasn't sure." So, she snowmobiled for awhile, hung out, had her friend that's a nurse look at it, and waited until the end of the weekend before deciding to swing by the hospital to get it looked over by a doctor. She didn't even go to the local hospital by the cabin. She decided, instead, to stop by the one by her house, which means she rode in the car for three hours.

The best part about this story. It's one thing to tell yourself that you didn't break anything after an injury and ignore it for awhile. It's another thing when you've come to this determination, in error, three or four times previously, dating back to 1984. Every time, she thinks it isn't broken. Every time, it is. In 1984, she broke her ankle so badly she required a plate and screws.

You gotta love my mom.

Light a Virtual Candle, Fight HIV/AIDS

Today, Bristol-Myers Squibb, the pharmaceutical monolith that charges nearly $1,000 for a 30 day supply of one of its HIV/AIDS medications, is donating $1 to the National AIDS Fund for each person who simply visits their website and "virtually lights a candle." The tally is near 1,000,000 now.

Please, please take 20 seconds to "light a candle":

https://www.lighttounite.org/

By the way, if you're not very smart (like me), it's a confusing website. The cursor looks like a lit match. You point it to the top of the "candle," click, and watch the candle alight.

Thanks, Shanogropher, for the info (and don't sue me for plagiarizing your post).

Why I'm weird / Mea Culpa/Why I'm REALLY weird

After reading a friend's blog, I decided to join her by posting six things weird things about me that most people may not know.

1. I'm scared of possums. Yup, the animal that, when confronted, plays dead.

2. I loathe washing dishes so much that I threw away almost all of my dishes, pans, utensils, etc., from my last apartment when I moved because I couldn't bring myself to wash them. I refuse to admit how long they'd been in need of a drop of Palmolive (and an industrial strength dishwasher or sander).

3. I sleep with a down comforter in the summer (and spring, fall & winter), but have to have at least one leg out as a body heat regulator.

4. I used to be the ultimate L.A. Lakers fan in Junior High. I had the jacket, the earrings, the love. I used to cover my notebooks with the names of all the players and their numbers. I knew their statistics, their positions, their height, everything. I even know, to this day that non-factor reserve forward/center Eldon Campbell's jersey number was 45. My favorite player was Vlade Divac, #12, kind of because no one else would ever pick him as their favorite and I had to be different. I also liked Byron Scott, #4, but mostly because he was [is] one fine piece of athletic ass.

5. I can recite Pi to nine decimal points because I memorized it once in Junior High (for no good reason) and it's stuck. 3.141592654.

6. The Ultimate Weirdness: My guilty pleasure is crappy Television. (read examples to understand enormity of problem)

When I went to law school, I tried to hide my dirty little secret. After all, I was going to a place where no one knew my affinity for Welcome Back, Kotter and Quantum Leap. Finally, a clean slate. A fresh start. A chance at a new life.

"Joe Lies, Joe Lies" ['I have written 63 songs this year, all about Joe']
-Say Anything

During my first year, I was befriended by Summer Ayers, who approached me a few weeks into law school to inquire about my cast (I fell in a hole). Despite sensing the ambulance chaser vibe - i see her in class every day for weeks and NOW she says hello to me? - I gratefully accepted her as one of my first friends (I'd already been warmly accepted by CandyManVandyFan). Wichita Dawn was soon to join, even though she'd previously spurned my advances at conversation shortly after we entered the 1st circle of Hell. Soon, we were the best of friends, lounging on the patio outside, smoking together in the "cubby hole" on windy days, having lunch at the student union, etc.

However, I would frequently beg off lunch with Wichita Dawn and Summer Ayers a couple days a week, sneaking away to satisfy my needs. I covered my tracks with lies of homework and a need for a nap between early morning K and afternoon Torts. I wanted to tell them, but I just couldn't. I had very little street cred with them, as our relationship was so nascent. As an outsider, I needed to protect myself and my budding social life. I was new to the Big 12 arena. I didn't know what "Rock. Chalk." meant. I hadn't heard the term, "sorostitute" ever in my life. My accent still sounded suspiciously, "up north," as was pointed out to me everyday by some yahoo from places like Chilacothee, Joplin or Oskaloosa. So, I slunk away each time, hoping that my lies weren't detected or had given Wichita Dawn & Summer the sense that I no longer wanted to be "in."

So, each day, I secretly lived for the TLC Quintessential Quadruple Crown of daytime TV: A Makeover Story, A Dating Story, A Wedding Story and a Baby Story. With the door locked and the shades drawn, I nervously chain-smoked, alternating between feelings of contentment, guilty, and fear of discovery. I had wild visions of SA & DW innocently venturing over to my apartment, walking unassumingly through a neglectfully unlocked door, and immediately ending their friendship with me.

Then, I started drinking more and going to class less, so it wasn't an issue. I found a new passions: TGITs and hot Oklahoma/Kansas/Missouri boys, with an Australian thrown in their once for fun.

Confession Part II; Trapped in the Closet
Eventually, my addiction caught up with me again. This time, it would be a conspiracy. As if by chance one night, I was at my friend Collin Jenkins' apartment and we were flipping through the channels on his flat screen TV [cutting edge technology for a law student in 2004]. Collin let the channel linger a little longer than normal on a particular show. I recognized it immediately and realized, perhaps, that we'd shared the same dirty little secret. I'm not sure how it unfolded, but before we knew it, Collin & I opened our closet doors and, instead of outing ourselves, I ran over into his and slammed the door shut. We were in it together. For those of you wondering, I'm not talking about THAT kind of closet. For Collin, "that" closet has never had a door on it, and he never really spent much time in it, except when we were in Acapulco and he was trying to find the right polo with an upright collar. As for my closet, I only have the kind with skeletons.

The closet at issue was the one where it's OK to be fascinated with the miracle of birth and it's up close and personal shots broadcast in a Reality TV format. Soon, it was like a secret meeting of the communist party, minus the soapboxes, special door knocks and, well, persecution. Collin and I holed up together every Monday night at 8 p.m. We watched Maternity Ward on TLC, which was, much to our delight, often followed by Special Delivery.

However, the comfort we so deeply shared began to give way to guilt and subversion. Our friend, Summer, would call frequently during these showings. She would call one of us. If she had no answer, she'd telephone the other. She didn't know we were together, although I'm sure she had her suspicions after awhile. One of us would answer and explain that we were hanging out or doing homework. This was odd, as we regularly hung out in a group and rarely did homework, unless it was the last 2 weeks of the semester. I could tell she felt slighted, hurt and, most of all suspicious. I'm sure she believed we were trying to "cut her out." It wasn't personal, we loved Summer and she loved us. But, she just wouldn't understand, couldn't accept our new preJunior High fascination with reproduction and birth. I think, mostly, we feared she would expose us to the "bad kids" crowd of the Law School, which was the very core of our being. Soon, we all but disbanded. We had things to do, people to see, drinks to imbibe, tshirt contests to enter into, boyfriends who smoked crack to deal with, men to take home, outfits to flit about town in, bar benches to dance on, etc.

Oceans apart, day after day, I'm slowly going insane. If I see you next to never, don't even say forever." Right Here Waiting, Richard Marx

Someday, Collin, it'll be you and me again. We're goin going to get thant band back together, even if it has to be by long-distance telephone television watching.

I miss you guys, Collin, Summer, Dawn, the "bad kids," the Governor (a/k/a Marisa), Ox, Nhan-Nhan, Jo, Max Power, Wichita Jason, Hot Guy, CRass, CHen, Chris, my beloved CandyManVandyFan. And, of course, Borris the Russian rogue and Chris H.,

Zero-Sum Games

I'm sick. I'm sitting in my pajamas working late into the evening, and, best of all, I gained 3 lbs since Monday. Two days. Three pounds. I am now almost as fat as Oprah. With a little luck, I'll be fatter than Oprah by Friday.

After my perplexing weigh-in, I explained to the mid-twenties "counselor" that I hadn't cheated since my McDonald's episode on Friday night. Heather's "theory" was that, in some people, it takes awhile for your body to register the "bad food." Thank you, doctor. Despite the "potential bullshit" detector bleeping in my head, I found nodding in satisfaction to her answer.

I find myself nodding along a lot at LA Weight Loss. There are quite a few times when, in response to a question, they supply an answer they've formed by guessing, fibbing, or reading their sales manual. And I accept their answers because it's not worth the argument. At most, I could corner them into admitting they don't know the answer. But I already knew that. I guess I don't find much satisfaction in knowing that they know that I know that they don't know the answer. [I save that for dating and the courtroom.] It's a zero-sum game, really. Just like my diet, so far. Well, in actuality, that's a negative sum game, as I'm up one pound since my first visit.

So, back to the think tank. Heather kept me at bay for a few minutes, quizzing me about my diet and chatting about her husband. Before I knew it, I was released back into the wild. As I stood up to leave, Heather allowed me a deeper glimpse into her young, hollow, Magic City-bred mind. Here's the transcript.

Heather: So, any big plans for the evening?
Me: Nope, just going back to work.
Heather: Oh. Where do you work? [note that she asked "where."]
Me: At a law firm. [directly answering her question.]
Heather: Wow, they're still open at this time of night?!?
Me: Um, no, but I am.
Heather: [blank stare].
Me: I'm one of the lawyers.
Heather: [awkward silence]. [blink, blink]. [bright fake smile]. Good for you!!!
Me: [quizzical look]. Ah....thanks? [shuffle quickly to the door.]

Now, either I look stupid, or she assumes that women have jobs, not careers. I'm going to step out on a limb and say it's the latter. And not because I think I'm particularly intelligent-looking, although Bamboo did select some rather smart-looking specs for me. Ah, yet another zero-sum game.

Proud Momma

An apartment belonging to the son of my parents' neighbor caught fire last night. Luckily, "Mike" escaped by jumping from the 2nd story window, dressed only in pajamas and socks, into the snow and freezing cold night. He survived with only a cut on his ankle, and everyone else in the building made it out safely.

My 20 year old brother (my baby and the baby of the family), "Redbeard," was hanging out with Mike's roommate when they heard the place was ablaze. They rushed over to the scene and Redbeard gave Mike an extra pair of shoes he had in his car, a hat, and, get this, the coat off his back. The temperature was probably barely above zero. He then picked Mike up from the Emergency Room and now he and the roommate are going to live with Redbeard and his roommates until they can get everything straightened out. I've never even known my brother to talk to this guy or hang out with him, especially when they're 250 miles away from home at a big university.

The best part about this story (in addition to the fact that no one was seriously injured): my family probably wouldn't have found out about this if Mike's mom hadn't called my dad this morning. She thanked my dad for raising such a wonderful son. How cute is that??? It's nice to know you haven't raised a sociopath, I guess.

By the way, my dad's first thought when she said that was, "what the hell did he do now? [anger]"

Caffeine. Nicotine. Vodka.

I used to have a shirt bearing that slogan. Let me rephrase that. I used to wear a shirt bearing that slogan. I still have it. It doesn't fit anymore. My friend "Summer Ayres," the graphic designer from KC, MO, gave it to me. I'll be packing that, along with my not-yet-worn, "Trust Me. I'm a Lawyer" t-shirt from Urban Outfitters, for my Ozarks trip this summer. I was too fat for the UO t-shirt when I got it from my fun house-mirror image of a sister last year (she's a size 4 on a fat day and, sadly, people used to think we were twins, when she was a size 6 and I was a size 12).

That's really not the point, though. That's part of the inspiration for the topic header. The primary inspiration is that I've had too much nicotine and not enough caffeine today. I have a horrible headache. However, I do not have mono or strep throat, as I found out yesterday after spending 3 hours waiting for a 10 minute doctor visit to "Quickcare [sic] Walk-In Clinic." The receptionist was totally irritated that I didn't have an appointment. I'm sorry, change your name then. I'll sue them for false advertising and using a misleading trade name in my spare time if I'm not too hungry and strung-out to think. And if my tonsils ever shrink back to normal size.

I went grocery shopping and bought only healthy, LA Weight Loss approved foods and beverages. I fought my inner demons, my inner fat child, if you will. She's about 8 and could be aptly named, "Super-sized Girl." I did not buy the cookies I so love. As HLC can verify, these cookies are superb. I had a strong feeling of longing and disappointment as I forced myself to turn my head and walk away from the cookies. It's so stupid. I have two degrees and three law licenses. But I can't put down the cookies. Mind over stomach, mind over stomach, mind over stomach.

In exchange for denying myself the cookies, I treated myself to 8 oz. of cocktail shrimp (an approved menu item) for dinner. OK, I'll be honest. No reward there. It was painful. And it wasn't an "exchange." I'm an adult, I have an income, I could have had both. I don't feel satisfied. I feel cheated. I'm not able to deprive myself of one thing and then "trick" myself into accepting a healthy substitute when, logically and practically, I could have both. And that's why I'm fat.

I need a spendthrift food trust for where my food trustee only doles out so many dollars each week to feed my addiction. If I only had $5 in my pocket, that would be a true decision. Cookies? Shrimp? One or the other, not both. That, I can tell you would be an easy decision. Neither. I would spend my $5 on a couple of diet cokes and a pack of Marlboro lights. Like I said...Caffeine. Nicotine.

If I had another $5? I'd pick the cookies. Over the shrimp. Over the Vodka. Every time.

Babble from an aBabylonian Bastion

And down a pound (again.) Lois wasn't there and, even though I had to wait an hour to get weighed, and listen to mindless babble amongst the other ladies in (the) waiting (room), I was much less irritated with the entire process. There also was no chicken dance played when I'd weighed, which was greatly appreciated.

A word on the mindless babble, as an example of the oil(me)/water(them) mix here in the Magic City: After about thirty minutes of trading stories about their husbands (the women ranged in ages from early twenties to late forties), the four ladies were all talking about the clothes they couldn't wait to pull out of their closets to wear, once they'd lost the requisite amount of weight. When it came to my turn, I said, "I have this great silk Calvin Klein cocktail dress that's been hanging in my closet for more than two years. I can't wait to wear it."

Response: Dead silence. [crickets chirping] After an eternity and some blank stares, one said, "well, there's no where to wear that around here. I can't remember the last time I wore a dress or a skirt."

Hey, someone give me a call when Armageddon nears. I'm guessing I won't have many clues that civilization has collapsed, as it's already been wiped out here. With any luck, they'll just disappear in the Rapture and the Buffalo can take over again.

Tick-Tock

This is a good editorial that was written by Meghan Daum for the LA Times, in response to a new study purporting that children born to mothers younger than 25 are more likely to live to be 100 years old.

http://www.startribune.com/562/story/848464.html

Free Advice

1. Do not see the new holiday move, Deck the Halls. Brutal.

2. Do not take your young infant out to Applebees when it's -15F (before accounting for the windchill factor). No one cares about how cute your baby is and you are incredibly irresponsible.

3. It's not funny to swerve at bunnies crossing the highway. You are an asshole and you could easily hit a patch of ice, slip into another car on the highway, and kill real human beings, including yourself (which may not be all that bad).

4. If your two-year-old is crying in a movie theater, take him out to the lobby and calm him down instead of letting him continue to cry in the theater. Or, better yet, don't take him to a two-hour movie that starts at 9:30 p.m.

5. If your idea of decorating for the holidays includes putting one rope of holiday lights on one small tree (of many) outside your house, don't bother.

WWLD (What Would Linus Do?)

Last year, I had a big Christmas tree for my big apartment in the big metropolis. I put it up before Halloween (when I bought it for super-cheap) and, well, kept it up for an embarrassingly long time after Christmas. It was fake, so no need to picture kindling with lights plugged into my power strip in a poorly-wired old building. The rest is true, just not the kindling part.

Once Christmas had come and gone, I never quite got around to putting the tree away. After some oft-repeated jeering by a friend who demanded to know when my tree would be retired, I responded with a quick, "Arbor Day." And, the line had been drawn: the tree was going to stay up until May. By the way, this is the same friend who never quite got over the facts that my socks never match. each other.

I aptly renamed it the Holiday Tree and thought about decorating it for Groundhog Day, President's Day, Valentine's Day, Secretaries Day, Marx's birthday (and world-wide Labor Day), etc. That never happened, as I'm extremely lazy. Eventually, Miss Havisham managed to knock all the ornaments to the ground. All that remained were some red lights, which matched my red-infused living room. Quite an appropriate decorative touch, I thought.

The Arbor Day goal ended abruptly in March, however. I began seeing one hot Egyptian dentist ("Ed") The night before one of our dates, Ed suggested we go to my place for drinks after dinner. It sounded like a good plan until I gazed upon my tree. Considering his background, I thought he may not appreciate my humor. After all, dentists aren't known for their quirky sense of humor. You thought I was going to say it was because he was Egyptian, didn't you? Shame on you. Moving on...Three cats was hard enough to pull off, especially when one is missing an appendage, so, in an effort to not look crazy, I quickly shoved the tree back into its box and into the closet. (by the way, it wasn't worth it. I moved, Ed didn't, he doesn't visit me, I won't visit him until he visits me, and so on and so on).

This summer, the tree accompanied me and the cats to our new home 500 miles across the prairie to my little apartment in my minitropolis. However, my little apartment isn't suited for a tree more than a foot or two tall. And, I haven't been in the best of holiday spirits, lately. And, I hate Christmas music (which my mom tells me makes me sound like a heathen). So, I decided to forgo the tree this year.

Then, it started to look a lot like Christmas this week, what with all the snow, ice, sub-zero weather, and neighborhood amateur holiday decorating that could only look good on an acid trip.

Tonight, I braved the sub-zero temps, ice-ridden streets and, most dangerous, the half-dead drivers that plot to kill me daily, and went to Target. And proved how cool I am on a Friday night, but that's a different issue. I wheeled past the Christmas section and decided my cats needed stockings. No comments please. Then, I realized that I couldn't have stockings without a tree. So, I loaded a fiber-optically prelit tree, about 2 feet high, into my cart, and went on my merry way. The tree is up, with about 12 glitter-covered bulbs care

fully threaded over the fiber-optic needles.

Did you know that bulbs don't come with hooks? What is that about? It must be some kind of conspiracy by the decoration companies. Similar to the conspiracy between the hot dog manufacturers and the hot dog bun companies. 8 hot dogs, 10 buns. You only end up even if you buy 10 packs of hot dogs and 8 bags of buns. Think about it.

I've given into the holiday spirit, once again. Linus would be proud. But I still refuse to listen to any fucking Christmas music.

Oh, and I had McDonald's for dinner. (see how I buried that at the bottom of a really long, boring, pointless story?)

The Lois Monster

Second weigh-in this week. I've gained 1 lb since Tuesday. I'm not ashamed. It was worth it, those cookies were damn good. Actually, "Lois," my weight loss counselor for the last 2 sessions, said it wasn't just because of the cookies, it's because I wasn't eating all my servings so I wasn't getting enough calories and my body was storing the fat. However, she has no credibility with me. And I might have to eight-six her from my counseling sessions before I OD on pancakes and pies just to spite her.

So, let's talk about Lois. I have so much disdain for her. She acts like this weight loss plan is rocket science and she explains it in painstaking detail. I once knew the Rule Against Perpetuity and, after skipping 43 out of 48 Business Associations classes in law school, I got a B+. Most things don't have a steep learning curve for me, especially when all I have to do is fill in ovals with a pen each day to record my portion intake. It's like the SATs...for fat people.

YET, I'm apparently not smart enough to equally divide my portions throughout the day. The real issue is that I blow off eating when I'm at work. I know what i should be eating, I just don't do it. Anyway, back to Lois. She pulled out a "menu planner," which was a spreadsheet broken down by days of the week and boxes for each meal of each day. In each box, I'm supposed to plan what my meals will be. She explained how to fill out this sheet for 15 minutes. FIFTEEN F***ing MINUTES!

We then had a five minute discussion about how to work my 1/2 protein into my diet in the morning. The simple answer is peanut butter on a piece of bread. When I told her that, she said, "No, it should be toast." Why? Because she likes toast. And bread is just "so plain." I'm sorry, but I don't have a toaster (see below). And I like bread. I didn't protest, though, this would have just made the explanation longer. At the end of the meal planner explanation, she says, "but you pick what you like, it's your diet." I never would have thought of that.

FYI: never pack your toaster with your small Christmas ornaments when moving. They get lodged into the toaster pretty easily.

Then, she asked if I was married. When I said no, she told me it was OK to go to fast food restaurants by myself during the day and eat (things that are allowed in their menu guide). I could just take a book or something. This is after I explained that I work through lunch every day because I like to get stuff done so I can go home earlier in the evening. I don't have a phobia of being alone in public. After living here in the French City, I prefer it to the company of the locals (Shanographer and Bamboo, excluded).

Finally, she gave me her mom's "secret" recipe for sloppy joes. First, ewe. Second, it's how every housewife in this godforsaken wasteland, including my mother, make them: Tomato sauce, ketchup, mustard, brown sugar, ground beef. I hope she doesn't sue when she realizes I've spilled her trade secrets to the public.

I need a mallet....

I knew this one, too!

After all, we're both ball-busting lawyers. OK, so I'm not so much ball-busting, but she traded Stevo for Tivo and I traded Jason for Tivo.

You Are Most Like Miranda!

While you've had your fair share of romance, men don't come first Guys are a distant third to your friends and career. And this independence *is* attractive to some men, in measured doses. Remember that if you imagine the best outcome, it might just happen. Romantic prediction: Someone from your past is waiting to reconnect... But you'll have to think of him differently, if you want things to work.

Which Sex and the City Vixen Are You?

I knew it!

Your Life is Like

Say Anything...

What John Cusack Movie Are You?

Le Saboteur

That's French for, "I ate cookies and chips last night."

And the results are in...

I've lost 1.6 lbs since Friday. That's a whole baby Miss Havisham. After I weighed in and they determined I'd lost weight, the "counselor" pushed a button on a stuffed chicken with a Santa hat that sang something like, "Congratulations! Good Job! Way to go!" Kill me. 100 weeks and 3 days to go...

An excerpt

So, my friend Shanographer was dropped by my apartment this morning, as he rode into town (yup, I said town) with his wife, Bamboo, early this a.m. and didn't have anything better to do while it was still dark outside. As you may know, I sleep harder than a corpse, and he used my Bamboo's key to let himself in, so I didn't wake up when he arrived. Here's his blog posting (edited for time and content. Also edited to fit your TV Screen) of his experience in my apartment this a.m.

"So I arrive at my destination and I am immediately greeted by Oscar, aka Disco Steve. Esme was lurking but didn't want any part of all this. As I type, Disco Steve is lying on the ottoman staring at me with gazing eyes. So anyway as I am petting this furry tripod (for all that don't know, he only has three legs, he lost his left front leg in a mean alley in the twin citieswhen the whiskey was good and the dames were cheap) he starts, as Sour Girl & Bamboo say, to become 'over-stimulated' Our relationship went from casual petting to an onslaught of love and affection. He began to boar me with his head while flopping and rolling around on me like I was laced with the finest columbian nip around. I began to fear for my life from the horror stories I have heard about what this cat was capable of. I stayed cool though, cat's can smell fear, and I wasn't about to let him know I was weak, and then it happened...

What, what is that? That noise? Is it showtunes? A cabaret? Some sort of alarm clock that continues to fall upon deaf ears, and then another. Loud with its classic alarm clock toll. Seven, eight, nine, ten minutes elapse while these sounds intertwined with each other assault my eardrums. I realize now, that I am actually scared for this woman's safety. It would be quite easy for someone to blast down her front door with c4 and loot the joint, maybe have some dinner and a glass of wine, play tag with the kitties for a little while, even do a river dance or two (because the intruders are obviously Russian) and no one would be the wiser. I think for Christmas I am going to buy her a Louisville slugger."

The full story can be seen on Shanographer's blog, http://www.focaldeviant.blogspot.com/

If you go to his blog, you can also link up to some of his fab photographs at his website and deviant art.

The details

Here's my actual diet, if you're curious. Each day, I'm required to consume the following:

2.5 Servings of protein
e.g. of 1 serving: 2 Tblsp. peanut butter, 5 oz tuna, 6 oz chicken, 4 oz beef.

3 starches
e.g. of 1 serving: 1 slice of diet bread (45 cal.), 1/2 bagel, 1/3 C rice or pasta, 3/4 C cereal

3 fruits
e.g. of 1 serving: 1/2 banana, 1 small apple

3 vegetables
Anything but corn or peas
1/2 C cooked, 1 C raw

1 Dairy
e.g., 8 oz. soy milk, 2 oz. reduced fat cheese

1 Fat
e.g., 1 Tblsp. butter, 1 Tblsp. cream cheese

64 oz. of water

1/4 tsp. of Morton Lite Salt (for potassium)

I can also have any seasonings that are sodium free, oil/vinegar or lite dressing, 2 T ketchup, 2 diet sodas, 2 cups of coffee, 3 packets of artificial sweetener, two cups of tea.


I also take six different supplements throughout the day.

Sounds fun, I know.

Jello

I'm hungry. And I still hate water. I added a Crystal Light on the go packet to my ever-present H2O bottle. Now it just tastes like melted sugar-free jello. I mean, it's still better than water, just not nearly as good as Diet Coke.

I'm going outside into the blizzard-like weather to enjoy the last vice I have . . . a cigarette. At least it's calorie-free, sodium-free, and aspartame-free. I realize I've just invited a lot of hate mail where you take the time to point out all of the bad things in cigarettes. Save it. I've given up food and diet coke in the last few days. I gave up ambien (ok, not completely) a couple months ago. I need something to keep me from snapping.

Speaking of snapping, wish me luck and hope that my fingers don't snap off when I step outside to enjoy my smoke. It's apparently down to 2 degrees F with the windchill factor. Awesome.

Phew.

Looks like I'll be to Court on time. I've managed to get ready for the day, make two phone calls, review my case, and post a new comment . Have a good day, everyone!

Mmmm, Pie.

So, I had a bit of a problem over the weekend with the new diet. I had a pie in my fridge from last week. I had 1/2 a slice on Friday & one bite yesterday before I threw it in the trash. Not a horrible lapse, but I'm sure it won't be the last.

I ate everything on my required dining list today, and nothing more, with the exception of the vegetables. I just didn't want them. I'm not hungry, either, and I'm happily sipping my second diet coke of the day. I'm only allowed two.

It's midnight and I have Court in 9 hours. I know I shouldn't be hitting the "juice," so to speak, but I'm an addict for the rock that is my diet coke. Crack has to be a secret ingredient. There's no other logical explanation.

I'm going to finish my diet coke while playing fetch with Esme, my dog trapped inside a fat, gray, smelly cat's body. Then, off to bed.

Good night, all.

Scales

I have an aversion to scales. It probably began after being forced to "weigh in" as a child by my parents. I'd step on the yellow, shag-covered scale in their master bathroom, glance down at the reading, feel a flutter of panic in my heart, and then look at the horrified and/or disappointed expression on face of my mom. Once I became an adult, I decided I wouldn't allow those numbers to create a fluttering of panic in my heart.

For a decade, I gave the standard warning to the nurse at the doctor's office that I would step on the scale only if she promised to not tell me my weight. Then, after receiving a confused, "OK," I'd step on the scale backwards.

During the last decade, I think I've managed to weigh myself on only two occasions. I was 155 lbs at age 20 in 1998. I was 166 lbs in 2004 at age 25. The only previous weigh-in that I recall was in 1992, during a jr. high gym class where we were required to determine our body fat content. I was 142 lbs.

So, 24 lbs doesn't sound that bad over a 12 year period, especially when the first was taken before I'd finished growing. However, I would only weigh myself when I felt like I was on the lower end of the scale. I ranged from a size 10-12 to a size 18 during that time.

However, at age 28, I've given in. I have now paid money to have myself weighed 3 times per week for the next 43 weeks, and then 2 times per week for the subsequent 58 weeks. I signed up for L.A. Weightloss, at the bequest of my mother and her promise that my parents would pay for it as my Christmas gift. What a bitterly disappointing gift...

I had my first appointment last week. Initially, I filled out a long form that included what I wanted my goal weight to be. I thought about it, realistically, and decided on 150 lbs. I learned later that the weight counselor thought this was still too much, but I refused to budge. Afterall, based on my height and build, the appropriate range is 142-160 lbs.

Then, the moment of truth (shame). I stepped on the scale with much hesitation. The number came up and I blinked back tears as I stared in shame at the number. 235 lbs and some change. My first thought: I'm fatter than Oprah was at her heaviest. She weighed a mere 227 lbs. I was 85 lbs overweight. I suspected I was close to 200 lbs, if not a little over. However, my lack of use of the scale, along with a lot of denial, allowed me to underestimate how much weight was required to reach a size 20-22.

After a hug from the weight counselor (more embarassment, really), we got down to business. This is the long and short of it: It will take 43 weeks to reach my goal weight of 150 lbs, and I would lose an average of 2 lbs per week on their program. So, I should be at my goal weight by September 17, 2007. That's a long time to wait...

The reasons I've started this blog:
1. I want a diary to document my process.
2. I'm pretty sure I'm going to need an outlet.
3. It's easier to put it on here than calling 10 of you to cry about my frustration (note: that does not mean I won't still call 10 of you crying).
4. It will keep my accountable (I hope).
5. It will constantly force me away from denial. id.
6. It will take the shame out of it (again, I hope).

I've dealt with weight issues since I was 8. My hope is that this program will work, my mother will shut her mouth, and weight will become a non-issue in my life. I really doubt the second and third will come true, but since I've exhausted my Christmas gift list, I should get at least two wishes.