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.