Uncomfortable

Un-comfort-able.

I am in a "i can't be consoled" mood. For the last two days, I have been particularly prickly. The driver dropped me on the left, not the right side of the street, someone who had approval to charge my Amex didn't call me to tell me he was going to, I keep asking for everyone's manager/supervisor, "don't you know who I am" etc etc.

I am a total princess. A prickly prickly princess.

Today-- I walked over to the tasti-delite which has fat free fro-yo. And got a small. And then got a couple sugar free chocolates. And ate three, and then got sick on the subway. Prickly princess got pissy when the cute boys that were talking moved to rating celebrities. One comment too many and prickly princess, rather than shutting up and getting off at her stop, ate another sugar free chocolate. Then gave them to her diabetic landlady "look what I bought for you".

After eating a reasonable meal, and then the fro yo, I sat in the living room thinking I was uncomfortable. Not a feeling, physically, but emotionally. I am uncomfort-able. No one can comfort me. Nothing can comfort me. Food-- no-- sleep-- not really. Walking around-- not really.

Hmm.

I'm giving myself through this vacation to shake it off. And after, I am back to water, workouts, vitamins and meals on schedules. With none of this extra holiday crap.

Overall, I ate pretty well. Protein first. Some salad/veggies. Vitamins. But the peanut brittle and the toffee. "For the kids" as my mom said. In the kitchen. In Connecticut. The kids are in North Carolina.

There is so much anger there. "I'm going to slap your hands if you eat another piece". Then don't put it out. Don't tempt me and then punish me for eating what is terrible for me. Don't think that baking is going to bring this family together, that the perfect meal will make things all better, that I will be good, he will start listening, she will be less vindictive and he will be less angry. Don't think for one second that if you do it perfect, it will all come together and it will be perfect.

Because it never was. And it never will be.

It's scary to think my mom is one of those WLS'ers that has woken up to her life and has a husband who has been right there for her all along and she is disappointed and critical of him. "He's an old man". No, you married a 21 year old 38 years ago. Who has been patiently waiting for the last 27 years for you to want to be active and love him, and he you, and to do things together-- travel and dream and dance and show each other off. And you have gotten incredibly uncomfortably comfortable with each other. And now, give him a chance to catch up, because he will.

And the idea of my parents breaking up kills me. And I don't think it will happen, but it's all right there-- right? People fall out of love. People move on. And if they break up, I can't pick up the pieces of my broken father without weeping. Without hating her more than I do for her putting roadblock after roadblock up. Stop giving me your clothes that are too big. And making me try them on. And I don't want anything from you.

Except I want my mom. And I want you to want to hug me, and stop trying to buy me. Just love me. I may never get skinny. This is not a fucking competition. Stop treating like such. It kills me that you won't show your vulnerable side. That's the squishy-ness we keep trying to remember that's underneath the prickly thorn throwing darth vader you show to us.

Just fucking let me love you. Let him love you. Slow down. Take a breath. Stop worrying. And really, if you smack my hand, I swear to Christ, I may punch you square in the mouth.

Christmas is for giving. Forgiving.

I'm sitting here listening to Christmas music on one of the local stations that play Holiday music from Turkey day till that baby is born. And I just had the coolest flashback.....

Two years ago I was head over heels in love with this guy. And planning to move to, of all places, Buffalo. Thank god for small small favors, I didn't and have my perfect job, a really great life, but that's not this post.

This post is about opening eyes to something new.

At the end of December in 2005, I took this guy to his first concert. It was an interesting thing to be an adult, over thirty, and taking someone to their first concert. Because all that kid stuff comes back-- the excitement, the anxiety, the noise, the fanfare. So it wasn't the coolest concert-- we are not talking Guns and Roses or Motley Crue, or even RadioHead or the Dixie Chicks, or Garth (ahh, Garth-- I love you). It was the Trans Siberian Orchestra. And it was just after Christmas, and it was perfect.

We had floor seats, we were dressed appropriately. The lights dimmed, and he started to move in his seat, wiggling back and forth to see the stage better. The first riff of the guitar, and his eyes lit up. "This is the coolest".
At some point, there was snow over most of the audience on the floor. Like a kid he stuck out his tounge. "Soap".
Then the lasers started. "This is so amazing. Thank you."

The music was good. It was Christmas music, with that guitar and rock opera feel to it. It was awesome to see couples of all ages enjoying a concert in that huge stadium. We held hands, we smooched, and we were transformed into a little coccoon of wow together. Like two little kids discovering Santa. I knew at that moment that we would be forever linked. And we are.

I miss you but not in the way I should. I miss seeing the soft underbelly of your vulnerability, of me showing you my vulnerable side, me being able to put a smile on your face without taking my clothes off. I miss those first wow moments, and wouldn't ever give those up, regardless of the other wow moments that lead to the disinigration of us. Every time I hear that Christmas guitar riff, no matter how cheesy I think it to be, my heart warms up a little bit. Because I know you are still a little kid inside all that other stuff. Wherever you are.

Merry Christmas. Thank you for opening my eyes to something new and completely unexpected. For-giving. Forgiving. Forgivness. Which turns around to joy for the holidays.

I can only say this.....because I need you too.

This seems like the best forum to do this. I have a varying group of friends that for whatever reason are stuck in different areas-- work, career, job, relationship, love, housing, life, etc.... and I want to say something to each of them, but collectively. And when they come to this place to read it, it will be like a little note just for each of them, something that they would normally find on their windshield, under their doorstep, on their desk chair, or in a discarded Christmas card.

Here goes.

Hi. I know it's really scary right now. Things are dark, and you really don't want to look at them, don't want to shine any light on the situation, because knowing how big the problem is right now is scarier than anything you have or haven't done about the problem. But consider this, it's not really a problem. It's just your life. You choose every day how to live it.

My darkest day was realizing that I might die from obesity. That because the way I've been going, I might get sick, have a heart attack on my couch and no one would be able to help me. That no matter what I would never be something different than what I have always been. And you know me, I would lose a couple pounds, and then put it back on with a vengeance, become comfortable yet again with the old habits. But those old habits destroyed me, my hope, my adventure, my spirit and were very close to destroying my life. I may have had 20 years left to live a life of great phone conversations, internet surfing and solitude, hoping that something might show up on my door.

Here's what I have to say to you. I love you. I really do. I want you to be happy. Stop looking for happiness as if it exists outside yourself. Get real with your situation, shine some light on those dark corners of whatever problem or anxiety you may be facing. I will be right there holding your hand, not judging but loving you. I remember letting myself feel scared and sad and alone, and then I took myself into action about it. Let yourself feel the emotion, the pain. I promise you, you will not shatter, you will not break. You will not step over into crazy to never appear again. You will be strong, you might be overwhelmed, but you will have the ability to tackle whatever it is you need or want to tackle.

I promise to keep having conversations with you that make you mad, that have you want to run away, that get you upset. I am not judging you. I just can no longer be the Kim that soothes everything with food. I can no longer get ice cream or treats or late night sammiches, or cocktails over problems. I've changed, and I can't be numb anymore. I want you to have the life you want, and whatever that is, I am standing for your ability to have it. In doing so, those difficult conversations are going to come up and it's going to suck sometimes, and truly, you will probably not like me because I will keep mentioning it over and over. Because if it's weighing on your mind, why not tell me, your friend, your sister, your confidant about it? You do not have to go through all of this alone.

Repeat.

You do not have to go through this all alone.

Now repeat it until you understand and feel it.

Now I love you. Now I love you and forever I love you. Tied together like three-legged racers, lean on me, let's find a cadence and speed we can work together on, and I will lean back. Because I need you too.

The Kim that Ate Tokyo

It seems my hunger has returned. Waaaahhhh!!!! I was hoping I'd be one of those "I'm never hungry again" people who dump on sugar and fat and milk and cheese and everything but protein powder and fibersure. However, I guess I am one of the lucky ones.

Lucky-- but how? Well, I can have two bites of cake. I can eat one cookie (or seven, depending on how long it takes). I can have a ground hamburger, no bun, and not feel like I am going to die. I can eat a piece of pizza and not feel like I am being deprived at all. Here's where the tools of this being WLS comes in.... I get to choose.

Wait, choose? No no no-- no choosing. We want our food to be spooned to us by a nurse for the rest of our lives, with punishment handed out and with shock treatments when we drink water too close to having eaten. We want big brother over our shoulder. Choosing is equivalent to death. Choosing is what got us here in the first place. I chose Wendy's and Del Taco (mmm, del taco) and cakes and cookies and pies and bread and jam and all the things I love. I chose to have dinner parties for three, invite no one and consume the entire meal by myself. Usually in one sitting. In front of the TV. Wanting more.

Oh oh oh, here's a sneaky trick I used to do. When I obviously ordered enough food for Ethiopia-- (do they like Italian?) I would say to the non English speaking delivery man-- hang on, my boyfriend has to get the money. Then I would close the door, and pull money out of my wallet and say "Honey, dinner's here!" and then pay the guy. I wonder if the delivery guy saw that before as he was making his tour of lonely fat girl specials (extra cheese, more garlic, one coke), or wondered why that lazy boyfriend never helped with the meal collection (an entire pizza, pasta and a salad balanced precariously on my hip as I paid). Obviously, there was never a boyfriend, because really who would date this scrunchy bunned, flannel jammied, ice cream dripping mess that was me.

There's the good bit. It was me. Was. So I ate Tokyo. Like D said, it needed to go. But I came back a pound and half lighter. I didn't totally over indulge. I make choices that I make. I now know, when I am tired, it is not time to eat. When I am hungry, I need to drink water, because it's not hunger, it's thirst. I have to get all that water in every day. And since my hair is leaving a trail all over mid-town, eat 70 grams of protein a day.

And choose to do it. Choose. Then maybe, just maybe, I'll really see collarbones and a size 20 pant by Christmas.

Oh, and it's time to go to the gym and work off Tokyo. And sleep for jimminy crickets. I have TERRIBLE jet lag!

Godzirra

I ate like a fiend in Tokyo. I ate my way through tofu, seafood, chicken and some not so sweet sweets. I drank cafe lattes like they were on a fire sale.

I only lost 1.5 pounds in a week. Because I ate my way through Tokyo. I am so close to being in twosville it's painful. So stinking close.

I feel like Godzirra. More on that later.

I ate this temple right after I took this picture. I finished it off with some sugar coated fried rice snacks. And ate the photographer.

Then I had some miso soup and a nap. Ahh, Godirra!

72.5

Since August 2nd I have lost 72.5 pounds.

The words don't mean anything to me. I keep thinking It should have been more, I am still not under 300, wow, I have such a long way to go.

In three months, 72.5.

M yelled at me. I'm not trying to be difficult. I'm not trying to be ungracious or snotty or snobby. I am not trying to have some sort of victory pity party. Because I am not. I am trying to understand what this means. That although I am still over 300, I am a size 20/22. That I am getting rid of clothes left and right. That I am way more active than I ever thought possible.

I don't fit comfortably in my desk chair anymore. It feels weird. Same with work. The comfort that used to be there is gone and now it's just a chair. The arms have somehow moved further away from my body. Magical transforming desk chair.

I have a couple goals I want to accomplish. The big one is to come back from Tokyo under 300. It's totally do-able. Another is to work out while in Tokyo, and do some walking. Maybe, possibly even do some swimming. I have goals for further down the road, but those aren't for sharing yet.

72.5. I am going to appreciate what I have accomplished.

My "goal weight" according to the doctor is 146.5. I was rounding the corner on 4th grade the last time I saw that number. Holy crap. I'm not sure I can get to that number. Or even want to. I use the term "goal weight" losely, because I don't think that's my goal at all. I would reconsider at 160 maybe. 180 would be a good start.

Wow. It's been only 4 months. And my body is changing in great ways. I sometimes forget and want to eat a cheeseburger, and I can't. I sometimes forget and want to get a cookie, but I can't. Not like "oh that's bad for me" but the physical "Can't".

When I was in Mexico I smoked. Now, the idea of smoking completely turns me off. but I have moments of I want to. However, "can't" shows up, and I can't think of buying a pack, or asking someone for a loosie. Just can't. It's foreign to me to even look at the cigarette display behind the counter, as well as the candy display at the counter, the fast food place or the bakery.

I threw out a half of a pumpkin pie and a cheesecake. And leftovers (except I am TOTALLY eating mom's meatloaf before I go), including bagels, hummus, stuffing, green bean casserole, mash potatoes, 7 layer salad and turkey. I do not know this person who just throws away food when she is done with it. There is a bit of guilt attached to doing it, but once it's in the trash, no more guilt. I don't need or want it anyways.

All this to say, 72.5, and going. And moving and grooving. Apparently this does work.

Check Up

I have my three month check up tomorrow. I was supposed to have it last week, but the Doctor had a cold.

I have so much to do before tomorrow. I'd have loved to have lost another 7 pounds, but that has not been in the cards. However, I got through Thanksgiving with love and generosity and a healthy does of photos. Soon to be updated (thanks D). This next week I leave for Japan for a conference. I am so not packed, or ready, or anything. Somehow, I'll work it out.

Therapy didn't suck. It was actually great. I am very glad I didn't run away from it. I have to remember this is me taking care of myself, giving me the tools to have a great life.

I just want to say, I have REALLY amazing friends. REALLY. And my parents-- for as much as I bitch-- they are LOVELY.

Okay, back to bed. Night all!

Is it Normal?

Is it normal to want to back out of every stinking therapy appointment? I know that working with someone to deal with the emotional issues that come up from losing weight, or overeating, or anger or letting myself not be numb is a good thing, and ultimately will be helpful in having me be the best person out there, but let me tell you, right now-- I want to do everything but that.

I started to fill put forms, mostly questionnaires on what I feel when I feel, and I kept getting stuck. Because I have felt bad in the past, but don't right now. And am doing that thing where I don't want to look at the past right now, because I am still who I have always been (although getting sleeker every day) but I am still that woman that doused her troubles away with fried ranch covered goblets of goodness. And still walks into Wendy's hoping that she can do it again. But this woman then walks right out the door. Not running screaming, mind you, but at least out the door.

But these forms. They go on forever. And ever. And wow, I so don't ever want to have the level of detail of this emotional inventory. Ever. Or at least can we start with the happy stuff? C'mon already.

I am still deciding if I can just bail on the appointment. The victory would be to go and just say what's there for me. At $200 a pop. What a fucking scam. Although the lady is nice, and I did get to work through some interesting stuff last time.

Okay okay, I'll go. I would rather go back to bed and not go into work today, and see the doctor about the sore throat, but instead, I'll go to therapy.

Sheesh. Fine. Be that way.

Back and Forth and Back and Forth

I have over the last week not exercised at all. And eaten chocolate. Last night I did something great (hmmph-snark)-- I made oatmeal cookies with chocolate chunks and raisins. And had one. And gave the rest out. And got that crap out of my house.

This week I have two of my dearest girlfriends staying with me. D-- all the way from Cali-town, is most likely in the air as I write this. There will be tons of photos and tourist things with her. And D2 is coming up from Virginny on Tuesday. She will also play the tourist, but with some idea of where she wants to go and what she wants to see-- and then all of us will head to mom and pop's for gobble gobble, but I think we are going to do the Turkey day parade before. I am so excited to have my girls here.

Both of them know me so well. D2 has been a friend since high school-- we lose touch ever couple years, and then jump right back into it. And she knows my folks well, and they are really excited to see her again. And D has never met the folks, but she will feel right at home. She asked "Is Thanksgiving formal in your house." and my response was, "As long as you wear a bra and pants, then you are dressed for dinner."

I include this picture from the Luchas Libres (Mexican wrestling) as it fits my mood right now. Hiding, defensive, and completely wacky.

My promise this week-- ONLY meals. NO Snacking. And Balanced meals-- with vegetables and plenty of protein. My hair looks like it is thinning up top, and I refuse to be that woman. I also refuse to be the woman who "tires to get away with it". From now on, it's make it happen time.

I will have the low fat pumpkin parfait mom has lovingly made. And have one piece, and no stuffing. Maybe some stuffing. Or only my favorite part, the sausages part.

Something Else

I could tell you all about Mexico, and I will, I promise in another post (I've forgotten the cable to download photos from my camera at my hosts house, and well, I'm not sure when I will get it back). However, this is kind of about Mexico, but more about confidence.

While down there, walking the streets of Condessa, I enjoyed myself. Window shopping, trying clothes on in shops, having cafes in cafes..... wait. record drag. Trying on clothes in shops?

Yes.

A very cute designer with clothes not for the pretty plus person I am and have been for my life had a small sale. I tried on coats, dresses, shirts. Nothing really fit, but it is a matter of pounds. Jackets were slightly tight in the arms, dresses were inappropriate for NYC winters, and the shirts-- well let's say the colors will be better in spring. And also, a matter of being able to look at clothes that aren't from the LB or Avenue and guess about the size I am.

I went to the Luchas-- Luchas Libres-- professional Mexican wrestling. (More on that later) This is what did not happen-- men attacking me for being round, catcalling me as I paid for my mask and beer, or whispering nasty things to me as I lit up a cigarette (it was Mexico, I smoked for 1 week only). What did happen was very nice looking, well educated men lit my cigarette, bought me beverages, and offered to walk us back to the car. In the cafe, another well-educated nice looking man asked me out on a date.

When I went walking on the street where my friend lives, there was no catcalling, no insecurity. I held my head high, and although my Spanish is terrible, I communicated to the world that I am a powerful, sexy, well-educated, beautiful woman, and that I am not an object of lust no more. I am no longer that woman who will "make due" or settle or expect to be whistled at in the street like a dog. I am now desirable in a way I have never been. I am now a catch, whole and complete, because I believe myself to be. The men I encountered smiled, nodded, and quietly lusted, rather than the full frontal vulgarity that happens to women of a certain size with men of a certain age.

I have always been the girl that has made friends with the frat guys so that they won't make fun of her, the girl that has poked fun first, etc etc. Now, I am a woman, solid, proud. No holding my breath as I walk down the street to listen for the inevitable comments. Now I let comments surprise me. For so long, I have been holding my breath, waiting to hear what I have always said to myself "not worth it, ugly, fat, lazy" and now I say something bolder, something more enlightening......

"You are a beautiful woman, an entire package, and a great catch. Stop mucking around with the peanut gallery."

I am turning into the woman I have always wanted to be. The nice thing is that some of my friends from way back are telling me I have always been that for them. Well, now it's the truth, because I have made it so, both inside and out. Confidence abounds, and lordy it's gorgeous.

I'm Back

Expect a long post somehow, later today. However..... big exciting news.....

I am 8.4 pounds away from being under 300 for the first time in my 20's/30's.

The day I walked into Jenny Craig, I was 17, and I weighed 309 pounds. That's what I weigh today. Holy crap. I lost about 40 pounds on the JC, and gained it all back the first week of college (hello, pint sized Ben and Jerry's is NOT a meal?). In my adult life, I have never been under 300, or at least I don't think so. I think there was a time in the 295's but come on.

I look good. Curvy. Still thick, and I am not ashamed of it. I walk great, run better, and have smaller clothes.

Interesting. It's working.

A little taste of Mexico

I'm about halfway through my trip, and today is the first day of vacation. I am so so happy. I slept in late, ate some leftovers, and now am considering heading to a museum. I'm not sure. I might sit on the balcony and read Generation X. And feel disgusted.

The wedding was spectacular in a beautiful and deliciously cheesy way. Ahh, it's all for a longer post, but needless to say I danced with man men in tuxes, had on a pretty great dress, kept my shoes on and a fight broke out over a coffee that I ordered.

For now, entertain yourselves with the photo above. That's right people, indoor fireworks.

Gotta

love Mexico.

Sing it to me, Sweet Baby James

Today I leave for Mexico.

Initially it was for work, and now it's for a bit of work, and mostly play. I am very excited. The wedding, a baptism, dancing and carousing with some old friends, and relaxation.

I so need this. This week has been a hard one for me, lots to do, lots of drama. People keep getting caught up in the drama of why something happens. It just does, now it's time to move on.

Last night was a cocktail party. I had fun. I don't drink cocktails anymore, but I do a lot of water and talk to a bunch of people, and I always have a good time.

Still dating. I made a pumpkin cake that went over well with the wookie. I like him for now. Maybe for later too. He makes me feel so good and we laugh well together.

And that's it. Maybe more to come when I am on the road, maybe not. Pictures galore, I promise, and I'll yap at you all in a week or two!

Besos!

Update after Boston

Boston was interesting. I saw a bunch of people I hadn't seen in over a year. I sent an email to my old director saying, "No one really notices in NYC because they see me everyday. They ask if I got ned glasses or cut bangs, etc-- when you see me say something just as inappropriate like "Did you do something with your hair?"".

From across the room, wineglass in hand----OMIGOD YOUR HAIR LOOKS AMAZING!

After tearful hugs and I miss yous--she went on, quietly, "You were always beautiful, now you are beautiful and confident. You've got "it"." The answer to that is yes, yes I do. I am learning to take compliments well. Although I laughed it off "This is what happens when you get laid on a regular basis."

I went on a date. And another, and another. I like this guy. Not forever. But for now. He's a really nice caring, generous, smart, funny and witty man. And he says "You are so hot, and because you have no idea you are, it makes you even hotter." Ohhh, Daddy.

But the real reason for this post is clothes. I have been shut out of department store shopping for too long. Anything above a stretchy 24 has not been on my agenda. This week, I bought a suit at Filene's Basement in a 20 jacket, and a 22 pant.

I SAID A 22 PANT.

The last time I remember a 22 pant is college, and those were shorts in my freshman year. Holy crap, this thing is working.

Then, I dragged Christine to Macy's and I modeled some evening dresses for the wedding of the century in Mexico City this weekend. I bought a gorgeous red and black formal. I LOOK ABSOLUTELY STUNNING IN IT! And again----

A SIZE 22.

Holy crap. Hello-- is this thing on?

Then we went to the movies where I cross my legs and didn't obsess over the arms being stationary-- because I fit into the seat with room.

Victories. Victories all over the place, like little drops of rain.

This Week in for Big Girl, Big City

Heading back to that Fall City on Tuesday for a conference.

The first conference since surgery. The one where people will either notice or not. Does my self esteem depend on it? You bet.

Well not really. Most of these folks I have met before and haven't seen in quite some time. So it will be good to see them. Of course I am still working on the details like dinner and room assignments, but I have all day today....

Wait. I have a date at 5pm. What? Yup, a date. I've already met him, and he's nice and a gentleman (or as much of a gentleman as I want), and we're going to see a concert and have dinner in a small live music venue which I love.

Online dating isn't totally terrible. I mean it can be, but I lucked out with this one. I told him upfront about surgery, and when we went to dinner, I said, order whatever, I'll take three bites. I did just that and it was awesome.

That being said, tomorrow will be hell day at work, and then off to Boston for the rest of the week.

Oh, I got a massage yesterday. I feel decadent. Truly decadent. Indulged. As a good girl should.

Not a lot of gym activity, however, lots of walking to do in Boston. I can't wait. I so need this.

Mama of the Melts-- I'm in your town and on an expense account. Come meet me for lunch Wedensday where we piss off the wait staff with our shared appetizer order.

The Random Things People Say

I am having a great day. Now that Mercury, my ruling planet of communication, is in retrograde, people are saying the weirdest things to me. It's like being on "Laugh-in" all day every day.

Every day for about a year I would get coffee at this little cart near work. I liked it because the guys would see me walk up from the subway, I would have my $1.50 ready, and no matter how long the line was, I got coffee first. They also have a sign that says "Smile if you are not wearing any underwear", which I totally don't get but I would smile anyways because that's what I do.

After surgery, no more coffee. In the last couple weeks, I might do one cup every two days-- so I go up to my guy.

"Large French Vanilla creamer with two sugars"

Oh, no- I just want a small with skim.

"Alright honey, that's a good change. You'll be so pretty with this change. Men will flock to you."

Yeah, thanks. Umm. How much?

"You should go to the gym. Bally's. They do a body good."

Dear readers, also picture this with a thick Pakistani accent. Aside from the fact HE'S TELLING ME TO GO TO THE GYM. A complete stranger is giving me advice because I have changed my coffee order. WTF?

The guy behind me laughed in line. I didn't care.

"Honey you look good. Here's your coffee."

Great thanks. Have a good day.

"Go to the gym."

I hate you. I hate everyone that tells me the most obvious thing ever. My god-- work it out. But instead of losing my cool, I just laugh. Look at it another way. This guy cares enough to say whatever is there for him to say. And not spit in my coffee. And be interested enough to know what my coffee order is, over the thousands of people he serves a day.

I'm special. I'm that fucking special.

The Gym

I like going to the gym.
I like clearing my head, getting on the treadmill and cranking up the music. Or the TV. And sweating was never so much fun.

I wanted to get up early enough to take belly dancing class today, however, I didn't. Last night was fun hanging and talking about boys, lack of boys, and boys in the future. Ahh, boys.

But this is a post about the gym. I stayed up way past my bedtime, and didn't make it to class this morning. I really want to try this class, it looks like fun. I used to dance, back in my childhood, and was always one of the first ones on a dance floor in my teens. Now, not so much. I'd like to be a better partner dancer, if for nothing else, the weddings coming up I'd like to not make a complete ass of myself. And maybe get a little exercise in there when I can.

The last couple days I have been feeling restless and anxious. I'm not really sure why. But let me tell you, I am excited to hit the gym today. Because going makes the scale go down. I am in a heavy losing mode these last three weeks and I'd like to be down 72 pounds by the time I get to Mexico. I've got about 10 to go, and I think it's totally do-able. Just something to shoot for.

I can't believe how well my broken by-pass surgery is going. I can't believe that I feel different than how I've always felt. I'm turning into that person without all that armor-- not weak, but fortified by her internal strength rather than her width. It's not a surgery for everyone, and it's not a quick fix, however, for me, it is the most positive solution to a lifelong issue.

Train Wreck

Big Girl, how do you meet men in your Big City?

Well, online of course!

I hate online dating. I like social networking because it gives me a clearer idea of who people are at work, I have one place where I can keep up with college friends and family members around the world. Or two, or three.

I online met a man. Funny funny funny. The feminist in me wanted to disagree with most of his profile, but as you know readers, this Big Girl likes a challenge. She doesn't like people, especially men, getting away with anything. Especially snarky comments about womanly things. He engaged me, I said no. Said I wasn't interested in talking to or being friends with the Train Wreck.

Fast forward three days later. I've spent far too much time emailing and chatting with this Mr. Train Wreck. And being on the roller coaster of "it's something new, it's good" and "he's full of shit and you are wasting your time". He is full of shit, and we don't want the same thing. My intuition tells me as much, well, and that he said he wasn't looking for a relationship "and if something developed..." which to me means "hook up, and then maybe we'll see". I don't want to play that game-- of maybe someday. That's my whole friggen life.

I know I am wasting my time. I want a relationship that inspires me. A partner in crime. A man that will push all the right buttons and some of the wrong ones, and together we are better than our fabulous single selves.

So here's what there is to say. I am worth the type of relationship I want. I can settle for nothing less. It's not a match to go to a school for engineering when you want to be an artist. It's not a match to physically take care of myself, but emotionally be starved.

No more, Mr. Train Wreck. No more. And I'm not sorry. I've wasted hours on you. You lucky bastard. Most people don't get moments of my time.

Ahh, I feel better. In other news, I jogged for 12 mins yesterday at the gym. Had to do some head clearing. And then on the bike. And I look at myself this morning and have a little bit of a collarbone. And feel good. Satisfied. And Strong.

Boston

Mom and Pop and I went to Boston on Sunday. Unfortunately, I had to make a pit stop to a Micky D's bathroom for ... well, a pit stop... and then had to wait for the medicine to take effect. This is no longer dumping. This is something needs to leave my body.

Anyhow, I'll call the surgeon's office today.

Boston was great. We walked Newberry street, Boston Commons, sat on a couple park benches, ordered free brunch (my job is pretty cool) and then mom and pop got to see how I get to stay in hotels. Nice hotels. Where they call me Ms. Lastname.

Mom was duly impressed. As she should be. She's not all fire and brimstone, this weekend was a great one. She was trying to take care of me. Which was nice.

After they left I took a nap, and then headed over to my favorite bookstore (Trident Booksellers) and got a couple magazines and a book. I sat down in the cafe to a coco-banana protein shake and enjoyed. It was so nice to turn all that off. The stuff in my head, I mean.

Yesterday after spending time in the hotel and at the restaurant where we will do a dinner, I caught a train back to NYC. I am telling you, there is nothing like listening to Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits while on a train. 1) Sleepytime and 2) if no sleepytime, then thinking time. I thoroughly enjoyed my entire time on the train. I ate two bites of a hot dog, no bun, and was done.

I even took the subway home, and walked to my apartment, rolly bag in tow.

In all, this weekend I have put in about 2 hours of exercise. Walking. And then on Saturday, I jogged on the treadmill. I am not unrecognizable, but this is similar to when I quit smoking. All of a sudden I had new habits and I didn't need the old ones. It feels like that.

I jogged. Only for about a minute at a time, but jogged. It felt good.

Dumping

I dump on the weirdest things. Like water. Or egg salad. Or chicken.

One day I am completely fine, the next day, rumble rumble, gurgle gurgle, ick. Bad news. The nice bit is that it stops the blockage, and cleans me out. The bad bit is that it is usually at work, I feel like I need to lie down for a couple hours and sleep.

Other than that, I am doing great. I have meetings this week at work that are pretty interesting, and have to head to Boston on Sunday for meetings on Monday. I am taking Mom and Pop with me on Sunday and asked to split a meal with my mom (who also had surgery) when we go to brunch. No verdict on that yet, but it just makes more sense then wasting two entrees.

Small victory-- I have lost over 58 inches since the start of this adventure. I feel like I am right on track.

I am now starting to think in terms of goals per month. It will be two months Oct 2, and I thought it would be a good idea to have a goal to work towards for month 3/6/etc. Does anyone want to share their goals? I feel like saying it outloud helps me align with the universe in making it happen. Sharing your goals would help me in determining where mine should be.

Not so scary food choices

I went to wedding extravaganza yesterday. Just a beautiful wedding. And a gorgeous day, on the river, overlooking Manhattan, getting a little bit of a suntan.

Except for the duck spring roll, I think I did really good yesterday. Bacon wrapped scallop, grilled squash, 2 bites of dry pork loin, chicken salad with candied walnuts, crab and avocado crustini, 2 bites of really dry red snapper (from previous posts, no dry fish). I did have a bite of the wedding cake which was terrible, and a small pastry (almost like a mini pound cake loaf, but like the length of the tip of my thumb), but overall, great job. I drank my water at appropriate times, danced and danced, and just had a blast.

I am a good dancer. I forgot that. I did a little swing with some of the boys. That was fun. Performances all around. I love being in a room full of people that want to sing and perform. That was the best part.

The difference between yesterday and Friday is that I was so conscious of my Friday choices that I made sure I was fed and watered before I got there, and then just had enough. When the food started showing up I walked around to the tables and laughed and joked with the others. I asked things to be taken away when I was done. No more picking for me!

scary food choices

I had two small spareribs, a handful of calamari, a pork meatball, and four bites of tiramasu, three bits of ice cream and a bite of a apple egg roll.

I feel sick. I gave myself permission to eat this way. I am most disappointed in the sweets eating portion. I don't even like tiramusu.

So what is there to do-- plan meals. Don't let a meal happen accidentally. Plan it out. And stay away from going out. Eat plain for a bit, no mixing too much.

God, I don;'t want to go down the slippery slope of "oh it's just...". Because I never want to feel the way I felt just moments before surgery-- vulnerable, scared and huge.

Go Faster Go Faster

I am still doing the weigh myself every other day/hour thing. I want this part to go faster. I don't think a 7 pound weight loss in a month is good enough.

Wow.

Good enough. That's the cycle I keep repeating-- nothing is ever good enough. Or not enough. And I keep fighting that-- that I am not enough, and consequently, too much. That somehow I am lacking the willpower or stamina or strength to have 20 pound losses in the first couple months out from surgery. Since surgery I have lost about 30 pounds, but in that two weeks of liquid diet I lost 20, so it should be more, right. Because other people have this success.

A couple years ago, a book came out that said if you weren't dating in a serious relationship by 25, that you were not going to be married, et al. It tore through the I-bank I worked at, scaring admins and female bankers into relationships that they are now trying to extract themselves from. Just because some book said you have to be in a serious relationship by 25 to get married by 28 to have babies by 30, etc etc.

Anyhow, I am treating the information of -- the first 3 months you lose the most, you stop losing after a year, your likelihood of not being a statistic is 2%...... as if it is real and the same as the you muct be married book. It's just information and opnion. What's real is that my clothes are falling off, I am back in the dating game, I go out every night, and have the life that I love, with smaller clothes and better friends. By sheer will I will keep the weight off, because I will take care of myself this time and make choices I can be proud of myself about.

On the other hand, I know I don't have the broken bypass, but it should be more. Am I eating too much, or eating the wrong things? What should I be focused on? Should I exercise more? I want that feeling of whoosh, as it comes off, and my clothes are falling off.

It's just a head game. I know it's just a head game.

Okay, time to seek therapy. Get over the "you'll never be ____ enough". Add whatever adjective in there for the situation. Pretty, happy, good, patient, kind, charming, sexy powerful, smart, nice, blonde, skinny, curvy, conscience, conscientious, early. hip, cool, cute, etc etc etc.

Any advice on finding a therapist who deals with WLS patients? I am exhausted trying to explain what the surgery is, how it affects me-- I want someone that I don't have to explain my eating habits to. Who is going to take care of the internal un-reorganized me. An emotional organizational consultant, if you will.

On a whole other note-- went out last night with a bunch of old co-workers. I looked great. They looked great-- it was awesome to see them. One of them said "What am I having half of?" knowing that I can only eat a couple bites before full. This made me love her even more. Ya know-- I don't really miss drinking so much. I thought it would be worse-- but to be honest, I don't miss it.

My obligatory I can now shop at a department store story

I have a wedding this Sunday, a wedding (in Mexico City) at the end of October, and then my beautiful cousin Cassie's wedding in March. But this isn't about weddings. It's about shopping.

Tonight on my way home I thought I should try to see if Bloomingdale's had a dress I could maybe possibly wear. I know they only go up to 22's and I haven't fit into a 22 in a while. Like maybe 10th grade. While I was talking to mom on the cell, I gathered the dresses and Tatiana took them into the changing room. Yes, I was that girl on the phone talking to her mom who was just being so damn cute, I couldn't not talk to her-- while the Russian sales woman is setting up the room. I am totally a queen.

Also realize, it is "the" Bloomie's in NYC, and I work down the street from it. Which means most of the workers are career salespeople. They known their job well, it's a craft. And at 8pm they are not chasing you out of the store, or flicking on and off the lights, they are helping you decide on your purchases very nicely and efficiently.

But at Christmas-- a whole different story.

Tried the first one on. It fit. And so on and so on. All the dresses fit. Some were a little too big, some were a little too small. I looked great in them. I switched one to a 20, and it still looked great.

But then my mind starts playing tricks-- "Oh they all have stretch in them, that's why you can wear them-- they are not true sizes-- they make the 22's the biggest to compensate for the big rich ladies who don't want to admit that they are plus sized and shop at (god forbid) the LB."

And I told my mind to go sit in a corner and play with the evil gas bubble that has been terrorizing me for days.

Victory. I can shop at Bloomingdales. I, however, cannot afford to buy there.

Did I get any dresses? No. I know exactly what I am wearing to this wedding-- a nice 50's party dress with the bolero from Torrid I got in July. It still looks great, I can curly up my hair, and dance in my new silver ballet shoes from the LB. And I didn't have to spend a dime for the really really happy victory of "I can shop at a department store."

Soon, I will go back and purchase the black cocktail dress when it is on sale, and I have a coupon. And I'll slip a $20 to Tatiana for helping me find it months ago.

My obligatory I can now shop at a department store story. FU to those that sideline this victory. I've been trying for years to make LB, AVE and Catherine's work for me-- and doing a good job. Now, more options-- which is why the surgery was done in the first place-- more options..... the first one being to live.

I'm living. With evil gas bubble, but living.

Product Whore

I am of huge fan of Melting Mama and read her stuff every day, every couple hours, because that woman can post. One of her favorite things for breakfast is the ISS Oh Yeah Wafer bars-- so I naturally thought I'd try them. Because she loves them, and so far, I have gotten good advice from her and her blog.

Ummm. Yeah. Really stinking good.

I went to both the GNC and Vitamin Shop in the neighborhood-- both stores had no idea what bariatric surgery was, and both tried to sell me Hoodia for weight management. Umm, no. However, the Vitamin Shop did have an assortment of both Oh Yeah and Power Crunch. And for about $20 I got one of each kind. To test. And get all my protein in.

OMIGOD. It's good. In a "I wish I could each a mellow candy bar" kind of way. Last night I have the mint choc from Iss. Yumm. This morning the French Vanilla from Power Crunch. Yumm Yumm. For being about 6 weeks out from surgery, it breaks down easy enough, the flavors are nice, and I don't have to choke down more isopure to get in all my protein.

And I like it. It's the right size for the purse, it's cheaper than buying a sandwich at the deli (which I will only eat half of excluding the bread) and almost tastes like a candy bar.

Thanks MM for introducing me to a whole new way to get in the protein.

Botanical Garden

I went a-walking, and a-hiking, and a-walking today. I took pictures......

I looked at all the flowers, and actually stopped to smell the roses.

Funny thing, I can see me losing weight. Through the photos.

I'm liking this a lot.....

Living the Juicy Life!

This week was an interesting one. Every night I have had something to do-- dinner, movies, coffee, workout-- so I am just getting used to being home and relaxing. I watched a great documentary called "Control Room", and rather than get into a political discussion, I will say that it opened my eyes to what the news really is.

Today I re-did my shoes. Meaning I threw out a bunch. My feet, after only 40 or so pounds, are not as wide, and not as swollen. So the ones that are too big, I tossed. The ones that I got "just in case" I tossed. There are a couple I am still hanging onto because they are sexy, fun or useful for a specific outfit.

I tried on a pair of size 24 jeans that I haven't been able to wear for 2 or 3 years. And they fit. They don't look great, so I'll wait another couple weeks, but wow.

I think I am going to dig into my closet and get real with the clothes I like, and the ones I don't, and do a purge. It's time.

No more living "for now". No more. Everything I own I want to love-- from the furniture I sit on, to the clothes I wear, to the food in my body to the lotion on my skin. Everything else gets tossed.

I feel I am getting ready for another big change, and hanging onto stuff just has me hang onto stuff. Which includes weight and emotions and etc etc. I want the space for a juicy delicious relationship that I love, with a hunky charming passionate man who adores me. It's just about creating it!

I'll let you know how it goes. Well, at least about the clutter clear.

Just Angry

I had a not so great conversation at work today with my boss, and I end up crying on the phone to Christine for no good reason except to vent. I just want to vent.

Yesterday at my session with TK, the ex came up. A lot. I don't write about him much because he's an ex. And he broke my heart, and energetically he is still around and I can't shake him. So maybe, just maybe, if I am honest and tell you, then his energy will go away.

I am going to journal about him first. As honestly and completely as I can, not smoothing over anything. And pray for health and help for him. Or else TK is going to kick his energetic ass.

I love being back in session with TK. He's good-- multidimensional therapy. It's a lot of different modalities that kick my butt and make me laugh and cry and kick my feet. Can't really google multi-dimensional therapy. You just have to be there and it happens.

I went to the gym tonight. 30 mins of treadmill walking. During the Biggest Loser-- I love that show. Now I'll walk with them and not sit on my couch smoking/eating and judging. I'll be right there with them, with the help of my internal re-org. Ha ha!

This is the first time I have been to the gym in a long while. After 5 mins of uncomfortable, it was fine. I have to remember it is always fine. Everyone is looking, but no one is really looking. For now it's just walking, but soon it will be more.

Angry angry angry. I want to go back and never have met the ex-- knowing that was a slippery slope to go down. I want to be open and loving, and am still hanging onto his faults because I want to crucify him over and over. I want a relationship, and yet I hang onto this one because I can prove "I am not worth it-- see even he though so-- he married someone 6 months after we broke up and I still tried to be friends with him. He replaced me. I am not worth it."

I am so fucking worth it. I don't believe that fully yet, but godamn it, when I do fucking watch out.

I am agry that I can't eat this away, drink it away or smoke it away. Thank god for small little things like taking care of myself. Otherwise I would be sitting behind a plate of food with a side of Parliment lights for the week.

Okay, not so angry anymore. Thanks.

The Yoga Pants

About a year ago I was wearing my favorite work pants-- black with a light blue pinstripe and a knit top. Sitting down to my normal breakfast of the morning (2 eggs, ham and cheese on a buttered roll, large coffee with milk and sugar-- over the amount of calories and fat I take in a whole day now) I split the seam of the pants. Mortified and upset, I told my boss (after of course, finishing my breakfast and doing some work) that I had to go get another pair of pants because mine had split.

I went to the Avenue about 7 blocks away, walking in sandals in the humidity. When my swollen body got to the store, the only pair I fit of pants I fit into were a size 28 yoga pant with some detailing on the bottom. Nice pants-- comfy like sweats, and I wouldn't be able to rip them.

These pants have traveled the world with me-- Shanghai, Miami, Chicago, Beijing, Buenos Aires, CT, Paris and London. I tour the cities in them, I sleep in them, then I have hotels launder them. I pack them lovingly into my suitcase next to treasures and adventures. I wear them at home, I go walking in my city in them. I love them.

After one trip, I washed them myself. They shrank a bit in the length. So now they look like high water yoga pants. I put them away for a while. Lovingly, but away until I "lost some weight".

Last night, I found them. I put them on, did a modern dance and an "ode to the detailed yoga pant" poem. And then I walked out of them. This morning I found them at the bottom of my bed. And now, if I get up from this chair, in two steps they will be at my knees.

Yup.

Goodbye beautiful yoga pant. I never yoga'ed enough for you......

The best bit of protein on the Planet

Today is beans. All day, beans beans beans.

When in NC last week, Mom made her famous ranchhouse beans that Grampa used to have at the restaurant (back in the 60's). I always hated it because I thought they were marinated beans-- like with vinegar and califlower-- but NO. They are not.

Here is the recipe.

2 cans dark red kidney beans
1/2 cup mayo (must be mayo for your miracle whipper's)
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 Large white onion, finely chopped

Drain but don't rinse beans, put in bowl, add everything else. Mix until a little soupy, without breaking the skins. Chill for a couple hours. And YUM!

Mom and pop like this with steak on Saturday nights. So do I if I ate steak (not yet).

And then, of course, I am making bean soup. Yummo. For the week. God bless my cubicle mate.

In other news, I am wearing size 18-20 tops from the LB. What what? Oh yeah. And a size 6 blue denim. Whatever there new sizes mean.

There is a lady at the LB around the corner who is a hag. And mean. Never takes me in line. Yesterday I asked-- is there a problem-- she wouldn't even look at me. I asked again. She said rudely-- No. I said good, and then asked who the manager of the store was, who the general manager was and so on. She gave me a 30% discount.

I might be blonde, but sweetheart, I'm a bitch. No doubt about that.

Quiet Moments

As everyone else in the world, I too hate getting up for work. I just have so much to do and not enough time, etc. The thing is, I adore my job. I like it, it's comfortable, I get to see the world, and I am very good at it. But getting up before 6:30 is just painful.

However this morning wasn't so bad. Creating my day in my head for the optimum goal, to do as much as I can, no stress, and get back into the work cycle completely. I need that. Laying in my comfy bed and listening to the birdies, thinking over how I want things to go.

I stepped on the scale. Down 3 pounds from last night. Okay, the bypass isn't completely broken.

Is it possible I was eating too little? Maybe?

I love September. I want to go out and buy new notebooks and trapper keepers. Maybe a new bookbag, a turtle neck in a fall color and a jumper with wooly tights. That is back to school. Instead, I am going to wear out the suits until they fall off my ass, and then maybe pick out something spectacular come mid September.

I like the quiet moments. I want more of them, creating my day.

Off to work. Then home by 6:00, dinner at 6:30, walk at 7:15, living room clean up at 8:00, bill paying 8:30 and bed by 10pm.

Labor Day

I went to NC for the holiday weekend and discovered some new amazing things.

1) Bread isn't a good idea.
2) Neither are crackers, but they do go down well. Refrain from all crackers.
3) I can eat ground meats-- turkey, hamburger and chicken with no issue. Pot Roast on the other hand.... hmmm, not so much.

I still think my bypass is broken, and my mother watched me LIKE A FUCKIN' HAWK over everything I put in my mouth. Because she's 8 months out and I am apparently doing it all wrong.


"Mom do you want some cheese"
"No, i don't eat cheese it's too fatty and I'd never lose weight. Maybe that's your problem."
"Okay, never mind."
"Kimmie I am just teasing. Can't you take a joke?"

Sometimes I just hate her. And then I realize that she doesn't know how to love me any differently, and she wants me to succeed. If she could get past teasing me about everything, I might be able to stop reacting like a 16 year old. The teasing is old. Get off the cross Ma, we've got a fire going on over here and need the gosh darned wood.

Okay, enough about that. I lost 4.3 pounds while I was away. And I have my period, kind of. I keep waiting for it to be like... normal. It's really really light. I hope it's like that forever from now on.

I love my calcium chews. Like bits of candy. I save them for treats. Probably not the best thing to do with supplements, but whatever.

I need a nap from the 10 hour car ride. All that napping requires some more napping.

Okay, I don't really hate my mom. I just want to have out the big argument with her and have her be sensitive and generous and kind and not tease me. Have her see the impact of her emotional stunts, and create a new relationship.

Or I could find the lost city of Atlantis.........

Oh yeah. I ,um, ate a little too fast.

After a very long meeting, I took out my bumblebee salmon steak, cut open the package, nuked it for 30 mins and the ate about 1/3 of it. I was so excited, 2 meals for under 3 bucks and maybe I could stretch it out to 3 meals-- high protein which means less hair loss (I am so fucking vain).

Then trouble hit.

I knew I wasn't chewing enough, the salmon was very very dry and all I wanted was some water to drink with it. But then I took a last bite and knew that I was going to throw up. And 10 mins later, at my desk when I did, I felt gross, weird, and oddly better. Because I didn't puke like normal, I just puked the last two bites. A mouthful of foam.

So, learning points are:

1) try out new foods at home. Not at work.
2) Chew. Chew some more.
3) If it feels dry, it is. Please use some common sense, Kim, and don't eat that yet. You'll have the rest of your life to do that.
4) Puking isn't terrible. It doesn't hurt, actually alleviates the pain. It's the terrible "erp" sound that is weird-- and the foamies-- that's just disgusting.
5) Slow down. Work can wait.

I told my boss who is fascinated with this whole process, and she told me to go home. I slept on the couch for 3 hours when I got home, woke up and ate three turkey meatballs and crushed tomatoes. Not to overfull, but satisfied. Yeah for turkey meatballs.

I still think I have a broken bypass. However I am listening to everyone else about my success-- because I know the neighborhood between my left and right ear is a bad place to be.

The Scale's not Moving

And I am pissed. Convinced that this is the weight I'll be forever.

It's a little mind game I've got going..... I feel like I am eating too much (three bites of turkey meatloaf), drinking to fast (one sip, not a gulp, at a time), and that I can't .... well, poop.

So there it is. Scale hasn't moved. I'm the one with the broken gastric bypass. My doctor did it on purpose because he likes the lap-band better. In fact, maybe I have a lap-band and don't know it.....


Pity party for one...... pity party for one.......

Taking myself for walks

Yesterday I got home from work and had dinner at a reasonable hour-- some smoked salmon (not like Lox or Nova, but real true smoked flaky salmon- yum) and a piece of cheese. Trying to get my protein in everywhere. I ate almost 3 oz of that, and still didn't feel full. But not to worry, I am doing what I am supposed to do, eat until satisfied, and the numbers on the scale are going down.

Then I took myself for a walk around my neighborhood. I live in the most amazing place. One block over from me is a Italian/Serbian club with tables outdoors and lots of hunky men smoking outside, then further down is a mafia owned Italian restaurant-- how do you know it's a mob place-- there are no windows to get shot through...... well, and the prices are incredibly high. Then around the corner from that is an international food market, then little Brazil with shop after shop of bikinis, short dresses and brasilian flags in the windows.

Then I walked a different way, and went through little Egypt-- people, we are talking about Hookahs, cafes, restaurants after restaurants, and it is all about 1 block from me. I've lived here for 10 years and never paid attention. It looks so cool-- again, hunky men, sitting outside smoking apple tobacco, old and young, looking at me like "Who is she" and me just smiling and thinking I need to take more walks.

My favorite was passing by a store that said "Islam Fashion" and displayed headscarves, tunics and sandals for women who cover themselves. I have (ignorantly) never thought of this as fashion, however, it very much is. The beading, the colors, the type of fabric-- it's all very fashionable. I felt proud to live in a place where this store isn't destroyed every night with graffiti or the neighborhood doesn't rise up against the anti-arab sentiment that seemingly has laid over the land we love. My neighborhood instead says "Welcome. Pay your taxes, enjoy what little we have."

I do live in a vibrant mix of a neighborhood and love it. Little communities pop up all the time.

I need to go on more walks, try out a hookah bar (and eat some amazing middle-eastern food) and then maybe make some friends with the hunky men.

Oh, I've decided, I am no longer interested in a boyfriend-- I just want a man to eat my leftovers....... :)

Back to Work

The great part of my job is it's flexibility. There are times where I need to be at work by 7am, and then there are times where I don't come in until 11:30am. It's nice answering to one person.

And I have the luxury of working from home if things go wonky. I can't imagine being a mom and having this kind of flexibility, I can only assume employers go "No No No" once you birth a child-- as if you are the child and need to be instructed. I've seen it done before, I know people and employers who do it.

So for now, single, flexible and losing weight. Oh the scale doesn't know I losing weight, but my pants do.

Going into work-- some people know about the surgery, some people don't. But I work with investigators, so eventually they will figure it all out.

Desperately Seeking.....

Something. I don't know what. When I find it, I'll let you know.

I hit an angry pocket last week and got back in touch with TK to do some energy work today. Hocus Pocus, but not looking for a cure. Looking to breathe deeper and open up my heart yet again to love and to emotions.

I am having a mellow day. Listening to "a way back to then" from [title of show] a new musical. If you were a drama geek, or an Annie fan, danced in the backyard, putting on shows or wanted to be an actress ever, this is your song. I pulled it off i-Tunes.

I dare you not to tear up. I dare you.

I have to go to my appointment with TK. Haven't seen him in a while. Don't want to have my old guard up, but my old guard does not understand what it is to be furloughed. I don't need walls around this man. He is not out to hurt me. He is good at his work, just trust.

Ackk.

Desperately Seeking Trust.

FUCK!

Stepping on the Scale

It's such an interesting game I play with myself. Like no one else plays it. Holler "Aye" if you do this....

I only record weight when I have lost it, but not when I have gained it. So therefore no updates for a couple days. I must have stepped on that friggen thing about 15 times in the last three days, but it hasn't moved, and in fact goes up and down. By a couple of half pounds, but I am paranoid-- omigod the surgery doesn't work for me, I will never lose the weight, I have to exercise more (I can't under doctor's orders), I have to eat more (which I do), maybe I am stopped up and need to clean out my system, etc etc etc.

So here's the deal-- only on the scale once a week. I don't want to do what I have done in the past and give up or think that going to the bathroom will help, or weighing the first thing in the morning, or whatever other little game I can play with myself.

My first time on Weight Watchers, the night before my first weigh in (I was 15) my gramma asked me what I wanted my last meal to be. I didn't quite understand, but she schooled me in overeating to unbalance the scale-- that night I ate spaghetti-o's, mother's iced oatmeal cookies, frozen snicker's bars, etc. I went to WW the next afternoon with my father and weighed somewhere in the range of 280-250-- somewhere like that. 15 years old, people. 15. Yes, 5'9", and I am about 100 pounds from that weight, but fer chrissakes, 15.

I was too busy unbalancing the scale during my teenaged years to focus on anything but a gay boyfriend.

I learned most of my terrible food habits from the women in my life. My Aunt Patty apologized (herself being a WLS'er) for teaching me to eat frosting out of the can, Aunt Susie for getting stoned with me in college and eating out way through cakes and lasagnas, sausages and cookies. The lady down the street let me sneak cookies from the cabinet, my mother teaching me to have dinner but to leave the leftovers out, "just in case" you were hungry later.

When I was home during recovery-- the first night my folks had steak, as they always do on Saturday. I liked the smell, but was barely drinking back my protein shake. But then-- she left the leftovers out. I asked them to please put them away. I don;t mind the dinner and the smells, but leaving the leftovers out-- c'mon. Just give the bottle to the drunk, whydon'tcha.

What I would like to do is give my nieces and nephew, and hopefully children, the good habits. Eat when you are hungry, drink when you are thirsty, If you want the cookie, have ONE cookie-- not an apple in front of mom, and sneak the sleeve of cookies into my room for later. No hiding while eating. No fast eating. Sit at the friggen table, turn off the tv. If leftovers happen, but them away. No easy pickins.

And only step on the scale once a week.

Being Honest

Interesting, I have had a couple of phone calls about honesty today, when I did or did not happen to tell people about the surgery.....

People, let me explain something to you. This wasn't a community decision. It was my decision. You were not consulted because this had nothing at all to do with you. At all. Except maybe the teeniest tinest glimpse of Phhhhhhttttt for saying stupid unthoughtful comments really early on.

Years ago someone told me that I would be the last person who can keep a secret..... oh yeah-- up yours mother trucker. Up fuckin' yours.

So now that this has been cleared up..... Other bits of honesty.

Decisions to have surgery was really when I got honest with myself, and knew that no diet would help me lose weight. No amount of exercise. I needed help, and I was scared if I started yet another diet, I would gain another 20-30 pounds...... when I decided to "cheat a little". For me, being on a diet is like saying I go to Church.... I always want to say I am going to Church, because that's what I "should" be doing-- when in fact the last time I was in a Church for a service was well over a year ago for a funeral. So I would be fooling myself again about being "on a diet" when in fact I was "not on a diet at all, and eating whatever got stuck in my path".

Also, no amount of therapy would help me lose weight. Body work, energy work, talk therapy. ETC. Alone at night it's me and the fridge and the fridge does not ask me how I feel at all. It doesn't care. So diet and therapy didn't work.

I took long honest looks at myself, and was with every potential scenario, and this was the best fit. And I am proud of it, of my healing scars. Proud of making a decision without asking for fucking permission from anyone.

So do you hear that...... I have a good job, I get to travel the world, a good life, and good insurance that affords me to have this surgery and the follow up I need to continue a lifestyle that is already starting to shift what I look like. It may even shift all that personal responsibility I have felt over the years from me back to you...... so I lose both physical and emotional weight.

Omigoodness-- I think I just hit an angry spell. Hmmmm. No apologies for it. Just being angry and feeling it.

Corporal restructuring

Or Internal Re-organization.

I can't decide how I will tell some of my co-workers about surgery. What I want to say is "I've been on vacation", but that's a lie. I've been at home, choking down isopure and ricotta, and believe me, that's no vacation.

Or I want to tell them everything-- about the time when I was five my mom caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, and then when I was 10 and after getting an ice cream at McDonald's my mom made me go try out for volleyball-- which I loved, but I never finished the ice cream and it melted all over the dresser) and then when I was twelve and my brother said I'd never be popular if I was fat, and when i was 17 and my teacher said I was pretty and then when I was 22 and gaining weight because my boyfriend was gay and on and on to not feel not think, and dive into the comfort of food. And how this surgery was the last straw in a long battle with weight, and I hate needles and talk about me all you want behind my back, but dammit I am not going back to fat.

Or I can say this:

I had an internal re-org, a kind of corporal restructuring. One division was over-performing and eating up profits at not much of a loss, so that division has been reduced and sidelined--effectively been cut out and furloughed, but I don't see any chance of it coming back into action. One of the divisions on the lower part of the ladder has reduced forces, and are re-worked into the receivership of the now smaller, once over performing division, cutting out the middle man. These two smaller divisions streamline the process, retracing the habits of the older division, but without enduring servitude for the head of the company.

I like that one better. Don't you?

Fun things to do

Today I woke up later than the 6:30am wake up of earlier in the week. I slept all the way through the night with no pain meds. In fact, I haven't had any pain pills for three days.

I jumped out of bed, re-did some of the lovely flowers both work and friends sent me for recovery, making four boquets where there were just two, and toss the rotting stuff. All before breakfast-- and I was just so active.....

Then breakfast-- I tried the Myoplex lite powered shake. Chocolate. Not for me. Not with milk, for sure, but really, not for me at all. Anyone want some free packets of this stuff? I'd just so much rather with the pure protein in a can. So much better, so much easier.

Cleaned up a little, watched Babel, then did some powerpoint rescue for a friend. Then dinner. Baby food veg and chicken-- yum yum. Tolerated well.

THEN I GOT ON MY TENNIS SHOES AND WALKED AROUND THE BLOCK.

Just in case you didn't hear me....... I got out and walked. Around the block. I haven't done that but four times in the 11 years I have lived here. And three of those times were because my car was around the corner.

I had a little gas pain so I thought, get out and walk-- so I did. Like a normal human being. I went for a walk after dinner, not a long one, not an arduous one, not a sweat breaking one, but just to move around.

I like this new Kim. She's cool. She doesn't stop to think, she just does........

Watch me now.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Turn and face the strange......

I switched it up. It's easier for me to read. I look so cute in glasses, but that's only for show. Those little letters were killing me, and although blank space aids in the digestion of reading, I needed less blank, more words on a page.

Home Home

I got home Tuesday night from my folks. And I feel good. I love sleeping in my bed, except that I can't sleep like I like to-- I am a side/stomach sleeper, and that just feels weird right now.

When my mom was in for her surgery back in January, I got her a froggie that is big that she could hang onto if the pain got so bad. Last night, with inherited froggie-- I just cried. Cried that my mom didn't have her folks with her to go through the surgery with her.... that she might have been scared too, but she'd never let it show.... that she didn't have anyone to guide her and love her.... and froggie let me know he hugged her as tight as he was hugging me. (well, not really, but kind of).

Sometimes mom can be an unthinking asshole about the details, but in the overall, she just wants to make it okay for me to live my life and have success. I cried about that too. Cried that I will miss her when she's not there anymore, and hope that someday when I have babies she can hold them and love them and sing to them and love them. And they will love her.

Okay, enough crying.

Yesterday I cooked. And cooked. And it felt great. I wanted to do something nice for my friend who is opening a show later in the week and has no time to even think, much less cook for herself-- I had time and the interest so I made a chicken enchilada casserole. Actually it was just hamburger helper with other stuff thrown in, but all that other stuff made my tummy go sour on the thought of it-- salsa, corn, chicken, etc. If felt so good to cook and not be tempted or obsessed, just interested. Maybe now I am allowed to love food, and really be a foodie.... when I lose these 200+ pounds.

Can you imagine-- she gets surgery and then becomes a foodie..... how funny would that be.
Although I don't think I can be a foodie with hamburger helper in my kitchen.

Okay, off to the DR.'s for the checkup and appt making, then home for nap time, then movie watching, intermingled with scrambled egg and cheese. But just a little.

Home

But not really my home. My folks home, in CT, and living in the sad little room I lived in for about 6 months when I was unemployed ten years ago. Now it feels different. Not so sad.

I feel good-- all systems are go-- everything that is supposed to happen did--and I didn't cry except when the gas guy tried to get me in the other hand with a needle.

SO this is what the whole thing looked like......

Mom and pop picked me up.
I was nervous, but not too bad.
We sat around for almost 4 hours.
Then met with the surgeon.
Weighed, measured, blood pressured.
Sit in the waiting room. Try to read people magazine. Instead talk to mom about the chili dog I am craving. She understands.
Nurse comes and gets me.
Blood pressure again.
Wait.
hospital gown on, everything else off. Omigod-- this is it.
Gas guy (cute cute cute) tries to stick iv in the left hand, not the right-- vein rolls, I pass out. Smelling salts from some other woman.
"I'm really thirsty"-- gas guy (again, so cute) says this will help.
Does IV in other hand. It hurts not so much.
Bye mom and pop.
Go into surgery room, get on small table and goodnight.

Wake up with people talking to me
my mom rubbing my face (that was annoying because there were a lot of people there)
my dad hanging onto my foot.
"My tummy hurts"
press the button-- I love my folks, tears, and goodnight.

Sometime at 2 am they tell me I will be here all night because there are no rooms so in recovery I stay. It wasn't bad. Anna my nurse was awesome, the ladies talking at the end of my bed I kicked out because I couldn't sleep. Some ice chips, swab water.
4am woman presses on my stomach-- I'm hear to wash you-- I scream at her-- I just had bariatric surgery you bitch, get off me. I cry a lot, put the button and sleep.
I can hear Anna telling her to go away. I love Anna.

Moved about noon the next day into a room with a hip fracture woman. She wasn't so nice.
Move out of room to my own room.
DO laps around nursing station.
Shots to my tummy (oww, oww, oww)
Then broth, tea, water, fitness water and press the button sleep.
Mom and Pop and Christine come and hang out for a bit.
New room is much nicer.
Mom and pop leave, Christine and I chat.
She leaves, I watch the thunderstorms over downtown. And sleep.

Middle of the night.
Gas pains,
Can I get a chair to sit in.
Read magazines, poor lindsay.
Read Potter, poor weasleys.
Walk walk walk,
and sleep.

6am-- going home today.
Pass gas then go home.
PASSED GAS!!!! Yeah me.
who knew a fart would mean so much?

Call mom and pop-- by 10am, gotta get outta here.
At 5 to 10, mom shows up.
Wheeled out.
get in the car-- ow, ow ow-- feel googly inside.
Every bump is a curse.

Home with tears.
Up to the house
in the chair and sleepy time.

I've been on sleepy time for a while. I like it.

Home home will be tuesday or Wednesday. Then the real fun begins.

Peace!

Kim

Blech

I just got off the phone with my sil.
"This is going to be a great journey for you, I wished you had shared it with us sooner."

I didn't share it sooner because I didn't want to. Because my brother and I don't speak to one another, because he gets angry and I cry, because sil is perfect, and you have cut family members out of your lives in your perfect cookie cutter way. And to be honest, it kills me every day not to be a part of my family, to see my nieces and nephew. I love these people, I really do, I just don't want to feel like I have to constantly protect myself around her.

I told mom she could tell brother, I wasn't hiding it from him, if he or wifey had happened to call I would have let them know, but they didn't so what's the point. Mom made it a big deal 'she didn't want to tell you because blah blah blah....".

Hopefully my mom will be able to manage her anger. She wasn't so great to me today.
I told her I was going to get a massage and a scrub, and her response
"Well, do you think that will help?"
"Help... help what? Me lose weight? (silence)"
"I mean is it worth all that money?"
"Yeah mom it is. It is worth the $150 I will spend to be rubbed, scrubbed and relaxed prior to the most important decision day of my life. I want to be as calm as possible without taking a pill."
"I was fine. It's no big deal" (we'll revisit this topic later on and with more fury)
"I know mom, you are perfect that way." I didn't say this outloud.

I know she loves me. How I want to be loved is her to reach through the phone and hug me, rock me to sleep and say you are my baby and I am here to protect you. I want her arms to hold me, and her to say I love love love you just as you are, and just as you aren't. In her heart, I know she does. She just doesn't know how to do it out loud.

And then poor A heard something and started coaching me on it, but really I am in no mood to gear up for a coaching battle. I trod into this with my hat in my hand, humbly saying I've done my best, now take care of me.

And this energetic person awaits on the other side-- this half-frozen being is waking up, and she will heal and move and dance and laugh and love and she will not have to put up walls to protect herself-- she will express hurt and frustration.

Okay, maybe that's a little much.

I was thinking about all the things I want to do.
1) I want to go swimming (thanks pin-up)
2) I want to learn to partner dance, and do the tango.
3) I want to learn to run.
4) I want to get my massage license. I want to help others get as relaxed before their surgery as I was today. What a cool gift would that be to give to others-- the gift of loving touch before their surgery.

Okay, I am weepy. My admitting time is noon-- mom and pop are picking me up at 10:30 and I wished I smoked and am seriously craving a chili cheese dog from Der Wienerschnitzle. Thank god I live on the east coast and can get none of that.

Goodnight. Godbless. Prayers, energy and thoughts for me. Lots of them.

To my Sassy Gals-- I could not have done this without your support. I mean it. Every comment is like a little hug, a little push, and people who are saying "I know, and it's going to get better". Thank you for having me in this community. I have read some of your blogs for over a year and it has had me choose surgery, this surgery, and this date. I feel prepared, forewarned, loved and supported.

Here's to a new life.

Kim

Now

Well actually, this is Buenos Aires and then New York about 3 months ago.

No cake please.

Approved.

August 2

NYU Medical Center
Dr. George Fielding

I'll be in until Sunday morning, then off to Mom and Pop's for recovery. I am nervous, excited, happy, weepy, and all of the above.

That day is also my brother's 37th birthday, so now we share one, his birth, and my re-birth.

Happy birthday to me.

Conference Done

I finished a week of conference. And a week of liquid dieting. Here's what I learned.....

Always have something handy. I had to pull off the side of the road because I thought I was gonna pass out. Always just have a shake handy just in case.

Minnesota can get hot. Really hot.

Myoplex shakes are not terrible. They have 21 grams of protein and take the edge off of any crankiness that comes my way.

Drink as much water as possible.

I can get through a dinner, even two, while liquid dieting. I could eat salad so that was okay, and I was okay to eat it. I did have one candy bar, and I did eat a chili dog, but I always stayed within my 1000 cal for the day. And still lost weight.

People were weird. Just have a bite came up a lot. I have so much to talk about, so much to say that I was fine with not eating a lot. Or at all. I felt really good about myself. Really really good. I know I can do this, I just have to get on the other side of surgery and continue the good news.....

My ankles hurt. My body hurts. I am looking forward to resting a lot, and healing a lot after surgery. Maybe even reading Harry Potter.

Bumps in the road-- still haven't heard on insurance. Still waiting on the surgical coordinator to call me back on that.
Hopeful. In good spirits. In a lot of good spirits. I never even drank one sip of alcohol, and my system feels really clean.

Although, i never thought salad would give me guilt.........

And because I can..... Plan

I plan events for training conferences, and next week we have one in Minneapolis, MN. I am very excited to have this one, because its my US folks, and because it's in beautiful God's country. I don't like using the word God too much, for some people it has a bit of a charge to it, but I have never seen anything as glorious as where the prairie meets the sky. Beautiful white puffy clouds against a blue backdrop, green green grass that just goes on for miles. (God in the vast universe I feel so small way--life is a majestic mystery and thank you way, not the praying for the fellow on the cross way. All in the same, I know, I know, I'm Catholic.)

Another nice thing is that people are actually NICE there. I am a NY-er by way of Southern California, so nice is not necessarily in my regional vocabulary. (look here for explanation: http://bigcitygirl.blogspot.com/2005/04/big-girl-finds-home.html ) These folks are nice. And they care. And the men, omigod, they are hunky, they make them in big and tall, they smile and act goofy and wow, cowboy take me away.

I am on the prowl for a nice goofy charming man who comes in a big and tall size. I like my guys to be hunky. I wonder if that will change after I lose weight.... interesting. So ladies, if you know of any, please let me know...... but they have to follow these guidelines:
http://bigcitygirl.blogspot.com/2007/04/pointers-for-men-on-online-dating.html


I have loads of work to do before I fly to MN on Monday, and have to head into the office today to get some of it done, but I don't mind. See, the thing is that all this prep takes my mind off of surgery Aug 2. By the time I get back late Saturday night, I'll have one leftover house guest from Buenos Aries and the she leaves Sunday night, then I have three days to get work in order prior to surgery. My house is clean, the fridge has been dumped and put back together, cabinets have no trace of anything remotely interesting, and I am ready to go.

Liquid diet-- I have to say I don't mind so much in the morning. It's at night that kills me.

I am happy my doc chooses to go this route-- it has me really think about what I will be putting my body in after-- because now I have to make decisions. Also, I want to lose as much as I can before surgery for an easier recovery. Here's the funny part-- 5 pounds in two days. I know in a minute my body will slow down but really, 5 pounds in two days-- c'mon.

Now if I can just stay focused while I am liquid dieting, all will be well.

Liquid Diet

Okay, day two of liquid diet. And since I am being honest these days, it's really day one. Because the real day 1 I ordered a big ol Chicken dinner with garlic cheese bread and had my last meal from start to finish without putting down the damn fork. 1600 calories in that dinner alone.

I felt full, like I love to feel, that full full feeling that is warm and comforting. I got to say goodbye to that feeling, honor it for it's position in my life, and let it go.

So liquid diet-- I am digging the pure protein shakes, and I am not digging isopure. The taste isn't horrible, but the smell, my god it's terrible.

It's nice not having a choice on what to eat. Like wearing a uniform to school-- just make sure you have one and go. I have to plan properly though-- I have to make sure I have a shake with me at all times-- because I leave in the AM and don't get home until late late late. So three shakes packed in the morning. Otherwise, hungry, cranky, lightheaded and really bitchy.

My goal is to lose about 22 pounds (or a stone and a half for you UK'ers) before Aug 2 surgery date. I think it's totaly doable. The scale said I was down 4 this morning. Marked improvement from last week in which I ate everything. Including the really really yummy truffles from Trader Joes that had me lay on the couch and go "unnnhhh, uhnnnn". I am glad I did it, because -- never again. It's like when I quit smoking, I had to make the choice-- okay, now you can smoke all you want, but tomorrow, no more. And for almost 6 months, I have not had one moment of a puff, a drag, or any of it. And now smoking repulses me.

I realize I am going to have to do that with food. No more watching TV-- I can watch DVD's but no programming (too many food commericals). No trashy magazines, because again, food advertisements. As long as I can stay untriggered for the next week, while I get used to the liquid diet, I'll be fine. Then I can coast until surgery, and be re-routed, a permanent beautiful detour.

Hmmm. Good for me.

When did I stop Skipping.....

Today I had a very simple procedure where they looked at my stomach and whatnot with a camera to check me out, make sure everything is where it needs to be. I don't think I have been so scared in so long. I don't like the invasiveness of needles, IV's etc-- I feel so vulnerable and icky. But the drugs the put me on felt fantastic. Take the good, take the bad. The Facts of Life.

C was there right when I needed her. Drugs, wow, it was like being wake and bake stoned for most of the day. I felt fucking fantastic. Now my tummy hurts a little, but I think I'm going to be fine. And I don't feel the need to pull out my Greatful Dead/ Steve Miller Band collection or tie dye anything.

Before we settled into our not quite a documentary movie for the evening, we began with "What's there to be created for this new body, this new person?" I want to do things that scare me a bit. Like working out regularly, hiking, biking. For sure, I will be swimming. That is a no brainer, and I am going to start the second I am cleared for exercise from the surgeon. I love swimming-- stroke, and float and clear my head, and breathe.

As we were creating, two little girls went skipping by.
"I want to do more of that"
Absolutely.

When did I stop skipping? It was a faster way to get from place to place, it felt like flying and running but in a more fun way. I can't remember when I stopped, but I am starting up again. No more running for the train, I'll skip. And do it with a smile on my face. People can't scowl skipping-- and I am going to skip, dangit!

Some more things for the list of "that's scary but I'm going to do that":
1) Speed dating-- Christine and I make perfect wing men for each other, we are total opposites, and yet we are fun to converse with Getting to a size that is normal will provide her with a partner that wants to engage men and talk to them, and she can swing in for the kill, while I chat up their much cuter but dorkier friends. I know I could do it right now, but at this weight, I don't want to .

2) Rock Wall Climbing. This is a compromise. Something about a "Night Hike" that had me go-- umm, never. Camping for me is staying in a cabin with no running water. So rock wall climbing. But you will never see me in a sleeping bag hanging off the side of a cliff because "it's cool". Cause that's just stupid.

3) Tightrope-- I've always wanted to try this-- not high off the ground, but to walk across and balance.

4) Single's cruise. Yes, we have just turned into those two "very special guest stars" on the love boat.

5) Adventures-- She can horseback ride all she wants, I'll jump on a trampoline and swim in a lake.

6) Double date-- I'd love to double date with C. She's a hoot. And sometimes if I time it right I can get her to almost lose her diet coke through her nose.

I'll add more to the list. C says that she is committed to working out and feeling better about herself, and me too, so together we are going to have the whole world.......

The interesting thing is that C is really for me having this surgery as a way to feel better about myself She is possibly the only person, besides maybe TK, that knows how scared and depressed and anxious I get over new situations. New situation coming right up.

I'll write more on the skipping. It needs it's own blog.