Measure of worth.

If my recent posts haven't convinced you that I am a certifiable nut job, I don't know what else to throw at you other than this... I am a certifiable nut job. Or, maybe not. Here's the thing about doing a blog like this. I feel like the intention is to put out there the things that I have going on inside my pea brain in an attempt to possibly let someone else that may be going through a similar thought process know that they aren't the only ones. This requires a level of honesty that I would basically never indulge in during my day to day life. I am not a wear my heart on my sleeve or advertise my problems to the world kinda person. One of my closest and dearest friends tells me that she often feels like an otter beating a clam shell when she is trying to get personal information out of me. But, between the blog and the battle with with my weight, here we are, me bearing my soul.

That is another thing by the way. I think that my brain wanting to battle all my demons at once has a lot to do with my weight loss. When you go to war with your body, you go to war with more than just the fat. You have to battle the reasons that you got fat to begin with, and more than just the "I was born with a bad metabolism" reason. And, now that I am getting down to the nitty gritty of the weight loss I am hitting a new stride at picking at myself. I am not staring down a hundred pounds in the face everyday and telling it to get lost, now I am just staring down myself and all the other things I want to get lost. Its a rough deal and its put me in an "official funk" to quote one of my best friends.

So, its obvious that one of the ways that I value my worth is my appearance. Sounds pretty vain, right? Well, don't BS yourself, EVERYONE does this to some degree. I believe it is deeper than just appearance though. We see thin people as healthy people. People that have it together enough to look good. So, yes, I judge myself by my appearance. I also judge myself by my singleness. I feel like I am single because who would possibly want to be with me, there must be some reason as to why I have made it to 32 years of age and am still single? I'm sure the good Lord has a plan for me in that department, but I'm not gonna lie, I'm getting a little tired of waiting, the clock is ticking, so to speak. Numero tres... I judge myself by job success. I am good at my job, but I am not a successful person when it comes to finance, security, etc. I am currently taking steps to remedy that, it won't be an overnight process and it is going to require some hard decisions, but in the end I am starting to feel like I at least have a game plan and am finally working towards something. I have this feeling that I wasted or misused my higher education but I can't go back and change my major now, so, its time to make the best of it and roll on. On a much smaller scale I measure my worth by whether or not I am good person. At the heart of it, yes, I am a good person. I'd do anything for anyone and especially the people close to me. I know that I need to weigh that more heavily, I'm working on it, but I'm working on a lot right now.

My boss, a VERY happy person, a VERY successful person, always tells me that she has three rules to happiness. You have to fulfill 2 of the 3 to achieve your happiness.
1) Where you live.
2) Who you are with.
3) What you do.
I currently have one out of the three. I do love where I live, but, I'm sure I could love other places to. So, in order to find my happiness I'm going to have to raise my level worth, get happy with what I am doing, or get happy with someone. Its a weird place to be in right now, and a little dark. But, I feel like I am going to have to go through it and quit sweeping it under the rug if I am going to get away from this funk. I would like to get away from it, I feel like it is time, a cross roads if you will. I have battled this far, it would be silly to stop now. I'm still going to fight for this last 29lbs, I'm going to fight to get myself to a better career path, and maybe, just maybe in the process, someone will fight to be with me. Certifiable nut job, maybe yes, maybe no.

Love. Hate. And Aviators.

Things I Hate:
Inversions. Arm jiggle. Ab routines. Zucchini. Being ignored. Mouth breathers. Being alone (not alone time, but being alone). Presumptuous cooking shows. Meatloaf. My stomach. Taking vitamins. Crying. Cleaning bathrooms. Being late. Hot tubs (they make my feet hot). Money, or lack there of. Fiction romance novels, except 50 Shades of Grey, I loved that one, Shhhh, don't tell anyone. Stuffed peppers. Dishes. Clubs, not bars. Cold feet. Chin hair (on women). Fake/rude people. Being told what to do. Not knowing what to do. Mud. Confined spaces. Tuna fish. Flying. Myself.

Things I Love:
My family (regular and extended). My friends. My toes when they are painted. Buffalo wings. Football. Beer. Rodeos. Hooded sweatshirts. Dancing (even though I am terrible at it). Long, hot showers. Beef jerky. Grey's Anatomy. Non-fiction books. Mexican food. All things cowboy. Boots. Whiskey. My horses. Wiener dogs. Cookbooks. Cameras (as long as I'm behind them).  Small town dive bars. John Wayne movies. Olives. Sunshine. Concerts. Avocados. Travelling. Sweating (good thing 'cause I do it a lot). Dried fruit. Jeans. Aviator sunglasses. Wine. Peanut butter and honey. Honest laughter (like what kids do). Hanging with the guys. Hanging with the girls. Corny jokes. My Lord, Jesus Christ. Myself.

Yesterday, the sun came out, I put on my aviators, ate some beef jerky, got the ball rolling on some big girl decisions, rode my horse, and got my sweat on. I felt a little better.

Hot mess.

I woke up this morning and I felt sick to my stomach, and my mind was racing 5,000 miles an hour, and basically I am a hot mess. Why??? I have no idea. I'm up 1.2 lbs from last weigh in, but that was after this ball was already rolling. There are a few things in my life that I haven't allowed myself to be upset about and I think the dam is about to break. I am tired of stressing about this weight loss stuff for starters. I know that is a bad attitude, I need to think about it as lifestyle change and not worry about the scale, blah, blah, blah. But here is the thing, its hard to do that when you have to weigh in weekly to see how you are measuring up. I am working my program and its working, but this last 29lbs is gonna kill me. I have lost 118lbs to date and have 29lbs to go. Most people start their weight loss journeys needing to lose 30-ish lbs, not me, I'm supposed to be ecstatic that that is all I have to go. Right now, I'm not, I'm not ecstatic. I'm bummed because I don't have as much money in the bank as I would like. I know that is something that is true for everyone, but I'm not talking about everyone, I'm talking about me. I always feel like if I just had a "enough" money I could make some changes in my life, changes towards happiness. I like my job, but often times it isn't challenging enough for me and I could be doing more, my brain could be doing more, much more. I feel like I have completely wasted my higher education and to me that is a total disappointment. I saw "the guy" on vacation, we hit it off and had a great time, and now since I am home I've hardly heard from him. His life is complicated and we live 6 hours apart is the short of it. But the thing that gets me is how short of a trip it is to put me into full blown insecurity mode. Something will happen one way or another with him and I believe if it is meant to be it will be, but right now, I still feel like ball of ugly, insecure, mess. I want to shave my head. I have had it with my hair. I want it to be long and pretty. It will never be long and pretty. I don't want to be my Mom. I love my Mom dearly, and I could go into details, but I won't. The bottom line is I don't want to end up like her, and right now I feel like that is the path I am on. So, it all sounds to me like it is time for some changes, as if dropping 118lbs hasn't been enough. I'm not going to eat my way through this blip, God I hope its a blip, but I am writing about it, and hopefully my 5,000 miles per hour brain will come up with some solutions.

Reset button.

So, I cleaned my closets the other day. It was about the same time as the underwear purge, which if you were curious turned out well. Today I was "in town" and decided that I could splurge on an item or two to fill the void. Since I vowed not to purchase any more jeans until I drop to the next size, I headed for my second love behind boots, jackets! I found a cute pea coat, but not wool, lighter than that. I also found a nice, funky, fun sweater. Since I am a clearance shopper, I got both for less than the original price of the sweater. Go me! Boring story so far... Here is the twist... After I walked away towards the checkout, I realized I was in the Juniors section. The Juniors section. In my mind I am still a plus size gal. The jacket was an XL, my mind still translates that to 'big ole ass'. But an XL in the Juniors is NOT the same as it is in the Plus size or Women's sections. I went and walked through the Plus size section just to make sure.  Everyday, all day, I still see myself as fat. Don't get me wrong, I am still overweight, but I'm not plus size overweight anymore. I don't know what to do to get my brain to make that transition. I need a reset button I can push before I go to bed and wake up seeing myself like others do. If I don't start to do that, I'm going to keep beating myself up for being the fat chic. I'm starting to think that might not be fair. Maybe seeing myself that way is what's keeping me motivated to finish this journey. Maybe this journey will never be finished. Its something I definitely don't have a grip on yet. Reset button aside, I do like my new jacket.

Moderation.

Moderation according to Merriam-Webster is: avoiding extremes of behavior or expression : observing reasonable limits.

I am a person that likes specifics. When I go to people for advice, I much prefer them to tell me exactly what to do, because left to my own devices I am a danger to myself and sometimes others. So, when the ever cliche dieting mantra of "everything in moderation" crops up I tend to cringe a little inside, if not outside as well. Moderation is not a specific measurement by any stretch of the imagination. But, I do feel like I am beginning to get a grip on its meaning. When it comes to eating, especially good food, the kind I personally prefer, I don't have much in the restraint department. I tend to test the limits of my stomach and down as much as I possibly can in a relatively short amount of time. As a side note, I think that is another fat kid trait, eating fast, like maybe so fast it isn't even happening, won't count 'cause it happened so fast. But, back to moderation. So, what happens if I don't test the limits of what I can hold? What if I slow down long enough for my stomach to tell me I am full? What if I incorporate other activities into my eating that will slow me down, like talking? Or if I am alone, reading? What if I pay closer attention to portion size? These are things I have been focusing on lately. Its not easy, its takes effort, and yes, its dumb that I have to be conscious of this every time I eat, but that is the cards that have dealt to me, its up to me as to how I want to play them. I pack my lunch 90% of the time. I prefer to take lunch for budget reasons, and more importantly for health ones. Contrary to the best decisions that you can make at fast food places, that food is not good for you and often times doesn't even qualify as food nutritionally speaking. Lately, I have two containers that I rotate for taking my lunch. They are perfectly sized to the volume that I should be eating. So, to make it easy for me to stay in control, if it doesn't fit in that container, it doesn't go in my mouth. Keep it simple. I have been on vacation this last week and am still managing to lose weight despite going out to dinner and having a few evenings of drinking. But, in true moderation fashion, I am not finishing my plate. Does it stink that others seem to be able to and maintain their lovely physiques, sure it does, but maybe they have six toes on one foot, or three nipples? Maybe their cat coughs up hairballs all over their house every night. Maybe they are color blind. I don't know their plights in life, controlling how much I eat is mine, could be worse. So, when I think I am full I push away, give it a minute, see where  I am at. Moderation. Last night we were served a delectable dessert. It was a warm, dense chocolate brownie filled with ganache and topped with pure unadulterated vanilla ice cream and a drizzle of carmel. Did I eat that? Did the eternal fat kid dare partake? You bet your hiney I did. It was sweet, rich, creamy, and divine. I ate less than half of it. I ate it slow, relished in the taste of it, and knowing that I was full from dinner, I pushed it away when my taste buds said, "hey, thanks for the treat, we're good!". Moderation.

Riddle me this, Batman???

Warning, there is graphic content in this post. I'm going to speak of underwear.

I'm under the assumption that the majority of my fat kid audience is of the female persuasion, if there are any guys out there, I apologize in advance for this post and you will just have to bear with me.

Riddle me this, Batman... Is there anything more dehumanizing on the planet than buying underwear (especially bras)??? I have still been parading around in underwear that fit me 119.2lbs ago, to be exact. Why? Because I hate, I HATE, buying underwear. As a matter of fact I am a terrible clothes shopper in general. Ask my friends. They will tell you that I never try anything on, never take anything back, and rarely have the guts to buy anything unless it is marked down no less than 75%. It wouldn't be any fun to get complimented on something if I couldn't shoot back with, "Thanks, $3 at Gordman's!!". Ridiculous. You know where you can't ever apply those shopping rules, underwear. Now the stuff I have been wearing is beyond done, size wise, and to be brutally honest, its function is nearly minimal. You can see through them and the only thing holding them up is my pants. If I happen to be wearing some of my fat pants, well, look out!! So, on my vacation to do list is:
[ ] Buy new underwear.
I have a box, it needs checked off. Since I had to hit the grocery store, I thought, well, heck, no time like the present. Here's the thing, I have no idea what size to get. Its not like the numbers match the same numbers as when you buy your pants, no, that would be entirely to easy. Nope. So here is what I am sure of. I don't need to buy the underwear that comes in the plastic bag of 6 pairs for the price of 4 and only comes in sizes large enough to wave the white flag at the enemy. I'm headed home to throw out that portion of my life as soon as I'm done here. So long, se la vi, hasta lasagna, see you at the dump!! But, am I an 8 (a number in pants that would have me jumping for joy), am I a 5 (too ridiculously small, who could be a 5??). Who knows?? Ha! So, I bought some, I guess we will see if they fit. If they are, let's say, too big, I'm sure I will wear them until the cows come home and I feel this shameful once again and have to buy new ones. If they are, let's say, too small, I will put them away in hopes of fitting them one day soon and then I guess I will go without for awhile because there is no doubt in my mind that I am tossing the old ones out, come hell or high water. If I get in a car accident, god help the EMT's. And, then, I purchased one bra. I currently sport the ultimate in comfort Genie bra because its comfortable and bras are weird. I'm lucky enough to be flat chested and big barrelled. There is no such thing as a pretty bra for that, I have searched high and low to find one. But, who knows, maybe this push-up bra with all the promises on the tag won't let me down, I have my doubts. But boy, oh, boy the promises. You know it is some woman, a trader no less, that writes those tags. She knows what we want to hear and knows exactly how to spin it. Adds two cup sizes (in pretty pink script)! Comfort wire (how did those two words EVER get smashed together). No back lines!! That is a personal favorite of mine. All my working out is beginning to make my back pretty toned, god bless push-ups, but put a regular bra on me and it back fat city!! So, there you have it, $75 later I have new underwear, a new bra (obviously a cheap one) and absolutely no self-esteem left.

I don't know my left from right.

I know I'm left handed, that's right, a southpaw. But if you asked me to turn left, good chance I might go right. You might be asking yourself what this has to do with weight loss??? This predicament is a hazardous side-effect of getting fit. That's right, exercise has made me dyslexic. Tony says right foot first, but if I don't mirror the video I get lost, so right means left for me. This could happen to you! Take heed of this warning, its very serious, they should put something on the box, just sayin.