Psych!

I'm trying to get myself psyched up.
I'm giving myself pep talks.
You can do it!
Don't worry about it!
You'll do just fine!
No one's going to notice your ineptitude.


Yeah, those are the words floating around in my head tonight.
I have two major worries bothering me that are keeping me up at 12:40 in the morning - and thus provide fodder for another blog post.  Lucky you.

They are both fears that I'm going to have to face in the next few days.

I'm worried.
I'm apprehensive.
I'm a little moist with perspiration.  (Is that a great visual, or what?)

So here's the what, friends.
Tomorrow morning...make that later on this morning...Koichi, Lily, my parents (God bless 'em) and I are heading out to Colorado Springs for my friend's funeral.  I'm very sad about that, and I know it's going to be a heartbreaking time, but on top of that, I have 2 things that I keep thinking about.

One, the most fitting for a weight-loss blog, is the eating out thing.
Eating at restaurants for every meal requires a measure of discipline and willpower.
And I have neither!!

So that makes me a little worried.

Every time I eat out, it's like I think it's some sort of special occasion, as if I've never had chicken fried steak or covered and smothered mashed potatoes before.  Like I don't get those every time I go to some "Homestyle Restaurant" which is really just code for "over half of our menu is artery-clogging-deep-fat-fried-in-lard-and-served-with-a-side-of-something-batter-dipped-in-sugar-and-also-deep-fat-fried-in-lard-and-smothered-in-two-quarts-of-gravy."

Let's just say that I have a hard time going to a restaurant and being satisfied with a salad (unless it's in a lard-dipped-and-fried tortilla shell of course).

*sigh*

Ok, time to psych myself up...
You can do it!
You CAN make healthy choices even when surrounded by golden-fried deliciousness evil, yucky temptation.
This is NOT a food celebration, it's JUST a meal replacement.
Don't give up what you want long term, for what tastes good short term.


Okay, I think I've fooled convinced myself somewhat.

Let's move onto worry number dos.

This one is less about food, and more about my ineptitude as a human being.
*double sigh*

So here's the deal....I may seem somewhat verbose when it comes to the written word, but that's just because you're easily fooled I have time to think about what I'm writing.

The truth is, in real time, face-to-face, I am not so loquacious.  Nor do I have a handy little dictionary in my hand to tell me what that means when I'm having a real, live conversation.  (It means "talkative" in case you were not an English-major nerd like myself.)

I'm a little afraid of people.
No, wait, that's not quite accurate.
I'm not so much afraid of people as I'm afraid of
*GASP!*
small talk!!!


I'm just not any good at it.
In fact, I'm really, really horrible at keeping a conversation going.
I can give you a 97% guarantee that if you and I have had a real, live conversation in the past, that I have thought to myself at one time or another, "Dear Lord, what do I say next?!" and have had some very real anxiety about trying to think of questions or quippy remarks that will help move the conversation along.

Granted, some people are harder to talk to than others...
Some friends I have are very good at keeping the conversation flowing whether I say anything or not.  My continual eye contact, head nodding, and "mm hmmm" is enough encouragement.

Other people and situations are not quite so easy.
Especially if they're members of the opposite sex.

I nearly dread the moment that cute tech guy comes waltzing in my classroom to do something, because I get all tongue tied.  Why??  Because...
A) He's a guy - and that alone makes me all twitterpated.
B) He's got the job I want to have someday in the future - so I'm constantly walking that line between casual, friendly banter and pump him for as much information as I can possibly get out of him without being offensive, and
C) He's kinda cute.  (Now don't give me that look.  You know what I'm talking about.  That "oh my gosh she's married and talking about another guy being cute -- doesn't she know that's practically adultery -- I never, ever found another human being to be remotely attractive after I got married" holier-than-thou look that you're giving me right now.  Mmm hmmm, that's the look I'm talking about.  Cause you may be in denial, but I know that my hormones didn't disintegrate when I got married and put on my wedding ring, and if they did, well, I lost my wedding ring awhile ago, so I'm powerless to stop it anyway.  So back your judgey little self off, sucka'.  Hey, I feel a little better now.)


Oh, and smart people make me nervous too!
Even one of my best friends makes me nervous to talk to.  No, not that one...the other one.  No, the other, other one.
I'm smart, but I'm not 147 IQ, playing chess blindfolded, know how to conjugate verb tenses in Russian/Latin/Romanian/and Peruvian kind of smart.
In fact, I'll freely admit that I've always been the dumbest of the smart kids.
I just barely kept my standing in upper-academic classes, and I am fully aware of the limitations of my mental acuity.

So, all of that beating around the bush to say that I'm a little nervous about having to make small talk with friends and acquaintances that I haven't seen for the past three and a half years over the next few days.

But as long as there are no cute guys (yeah, yeah, other than my husband *eye roll*) or frighteningly-smart people around, I should be okay.

Perspective

I've been battling with a demon for awhile now that I haven't been able to share with more than a couple of really close friends.

I'm going to give you the really short version:
My faith in God has been faltering.
For some time now.
Several months.
It's not been fun.

I'm trying to ride it out.  I know everyone has doubts now and then.
I've doubted before, and have bounced back, so I'm sure I will eventually.
Until then, I kinda feel like I'm in limbo.

Part of what caused this doubt is this weird...thing....I'm not sure what to call it.
I'm not sure if it's a condition,
or a personality trait that I've developed,
a blessing,
or a curse.

I used to call it a "gift of tears."
But it doesn't feel much like a gift.
It feels pretty awful actually.

Here's what it is....
It started when I was a junior in college.  I can remember the exact moment because it was such a profound experience.  Prior to this point, I would have considered myself empathetic to other's painful situations, but beyond that, I wasn't really affected by other people's pain.

One night that all changed.
I was watching TV by myself in the house I was renting.  My 3 roommates were gone for the evening.  The show I was watching was 20/20 or Dateline or something like that.  It was about girls in Africa being sold into slavery, and how the slave trade is still quite alive and well in Africa.

About halfway through the program I was so overcome with sadness and pain for these girls that I started weeping uncontrollably.  I couldn't stand, or walk, or do anything but lay on the floor convulsing in spasms of deep pain, the likes I'd never felt before.

You may not know me all that well, so you'll just have to take it from me that this was not typical behavior from me.

Since that night, I find myself often overwhelmed by the sadness of other people's pain.  People I don't know, have never met, will never meet, who are going through extraordinary pain, I find myself weeping uncontrollably for them.  I've gotten stomach cramps, coughing fits, vomiting, nausea, and have had to pull off the road several times because of this...gift?  Curse?  I don't know.

I guess it's a matter of perspective.

The thing is, it's become hard to believe in a good and loving God with all of this pain in the world.  I don't blame God for people hurting other people.  People can be idiots.  Some people are truly evil.  But, people are responsible, in the end, for their own choices.  I don't blame God for the choices of people.

It's hard not to blame God though, for the pain that is caused that no one had a choice in.
The pain of parents who long to communicate with their autistic children...
The pain of people left without homes, food, loved ones because of natural disaster...
The pain of children left without a parent because of disease.

Tonight I found out that one of my very good friends in Colorado Springs passed away last night.
She was the same age as my husband,
had two beautiful children,
and was my good friend who taught me a lot about being a teacher, a wife, a mother, and a kind-hearted woman.

I can't help but think about her son and daughter who will grow up without her, and how unfair that is.  How do you not be mad at God when something like this happens?  How do you keep believing that if He is really there, that He is truly good?

But the alternative would really suck.
If there is no God, or if there is God and He doesn't care....then there's no hope.
It would all be meaningless
and empty.

So, I'm trying really hard to just hold on to the minuscule grain of hope I have right now -
trying to remind myself that my perspective is skewed by my very human point of view -
remember that it's like I'm looking at the back side of a tapestry where all the threads are poking out and ugly and nothing really seems to make sense, but when it's turned over and looked at properly, it's beautiful and ordered and meant to be that way.

Oh please, God, let there be meaning in even this.

Extreme Abs!

For the past 2 weeks I've been doing this highly intensive exercise regimen.
I've been very disciplined.

In fact, I've been working out, doing these very vigorous exercises every 30 seconds or so for every moment that I've been awake.

I know, impressive, isn't it?

And, in return, I'm receiving the benefit of extremely chiseled abs.
I've got a 6-pack of yumminess on my belly (nestled safely under 3 inches of marshmallowy fat, mind you) that I will hopefully be able to see someday.

But although I've become accustomed to this workout,
used to doing it throughout the day,
grateful for the sculpted muscles it is no doubt producing...


I just want it to stop!!!


Because for the past 2 weeks I've been coughing my head off.
And I'm so frickin' tired of it!

I know you've been here, too.
That point at where you're so sick of being sick.
I know you feel my pain.
And since you're so empathetic, such a kind, caring individual, and since you care so deeply about me,
would you please write my sub plans so I can take sick day tomorrow?

Oh, the bane of every teachers' existence - sub plans.
How we detest them!!

Here's why...
Occasionally, I'll be blessed with an awesome sub, who not only does a fabulous job of taking care of my class for that day, but probably is a much better teacher than I am and should probably take over my job permanently.

But most likely, the sub I'll get either
A)Doesn't bother to read my 10 page sub plans thoroughly,
B)Doesn't feel like doing the activity I've left that follows the district curriculum and state standards, and instead chooses to do his/her own thing, or
C)Just hates kids - or at least seems to - and I get to come back to a list of students who caused problems that includes 22 out of my 23 kiddos.

Okaaaayyy.....maybe it's not always quite that bad.  I may be exaggerating.
A little.

The thing is, even though you might get a great sub, chances are you'll get one who needs a LOT of guidance and that leads to a minimum of 10 pages of hand holding sub plans.  PLUS, I'll still wake up early, drive 30 minutes to work, set everything out for the sub, and probably still be there getting things ready before school when they show up all of 5 minutes before school starts.

*sigh*

I apologize to any of you who might do subbing.  If you're friends of mine, you're probably the exception to the rule.  Would you like to come teach my class tomorrow?

Am I a Bad Person?

Okay, I have to make a confession...
There is this part of my personality that not many people know about because I'm so shy.
Here it is:  I'm secretly super-duper competitive.
I mean, really, really competitive.
There's one thing that has irked me for a very long time, and for some reason I feel the need to share it.

I'm secretly borderline obsessed about comparing my body to other people.
I check out other people, women especially, and wonder, Am I smaller than she is?
Or, if that person is obviously fit and trim, I can't help but look for other flaws to compare myself to.
At least my nose is smaller...
I dress better...
I have nicer hair...
I've got better lips...
My eyes are prettier...
The list could go on and on.

I really don't like this about myself.  I have to be very conscious about it to keep it from happening, because it is so automatic.

My most recent competition is with one of my BFF's and she doesn't even know about it.  Not to my knowledge anyway.  She probably will after reading this though.  She's a good person; I think she'll forgive me.  She will probably even chuckle.  I'm hoping so.

So, one of my BFF's that I have known since I was a freshman in college, has always, always been smaller than me.  Even at her largest weight, she was still about 20 pounds lighter than I was.  This has been a continual challenge for me - to become smaller than she is.  I never, ever have mentioned this to her.  In fact, I've only told one other person about this competitive side to my nature, and that within the last month.  I've been carrying this around inside of me for a very long time.

Well, said BFF is now very likely gaining weight.  For good reasons, not bad...she's preggers.  Yea for her!  And yea for me too, because this has given me the unique opportunity to lose weight and hopefully reach one of my life's goals: to weigh less than her.

There, I admitted it.
I'm awful.
I'm such a sneaky, competitive person.
Does that make me a bad person?
Or does that mean I'm just human?

Baby Stepping to the Door

Have you ever seen the movie What About Bob? with Bill Murry?  It's hilarious.
If you haven't seen it, I weep a little for you.
It's good times.

In the movie, Bob (played by one of the funniest men on the planet, Bill Murry),who is an extremely insecure and neurotic recluse goes to a new shrink (Richard Dreyfuss) and is told that he won't be able to have his weekly psychotherapy sessions because the doc is going on vacation for a month.  Instead, the doc gives him his own brand-new, best-seller book, "Baby Steps," to help Bob deal with his separation anxiety over the next month.  Bob, however, uses the idea of Baby Steps to baby step his way to the doctor's vacation home and into his life.  It's way funnier than my sad little summary makes it out to be.  You really ought to see it.

I've been thinking about Baby Steps the past few days.
I'd really like to sprint, run a marathon, take off like a bat outta - heck, you know what I mean.
I'd even settle for a scamper or a scurry...
But it seems that right now, I need to be taking Baby Steps.

Baby Steps to tracking my food.
Baby Steps to exercising.
Baby Steps to stopping eating when I'm satisfied.
Baby Steps to buying foods that are good for me.

And, though I'm moving at a slug's pace, things are going pretty much ok.
I tracked my food twice this week, which is two times more than the previous week.
And although I didn't get to the gym, I shook my booty at home to my Just Dance game.
(As a side note, I just have to say, I LOVE THIS GAME!  I'm even considering stopping my gym membership and Just Dancing full time because I am so intoxicatingly in love with this game.)
I'm being somewhat more mindful of stopping when I'm full, instead of stuffing my face until my plate is clean.
And I'm even trying to make smart choices about keeping the house stocked with foods that are better for me.  Why, tonight, I wanted to make cookies.  And make them I did...over at my sister-in-law's house.  And yes, I ate a couple, but then I gave ALL the leftovers to her because I know I can't handle them in my house at all.  That's progress my friends!

So this week I've been putting one foot in front of the other.
Baby stepping here.
Baby stepping there.
And when I went to Weight Watchers this morning, my Baby Steps had led to taking off 3.4 pounds this week!  Yea for Baby Steps!!

So I am (once again) officially smaller than the day I graduated from college, and that's a good feeling.
Just gotta keep going,
one Baby Step at a time.

101

Woo hoo!  This is my 101st post.
I can't believe I actually had that much to write about.
I wonder what percentage of my posts are mostly about poop.
Probably close to 50%, I'd say.
Lucky you.

And even better, my 100th post was completely inappropriate and sexualized.
Awesome.
I can't help but wonder who read the disclaimer at the beginning and skipped over reading it.
But even more, I can't help but wonder who read it and was too chicken to leave any feedback.
You know who you are, chicken man.

So, during this journey, I've realized two important things about myself.
One:  I am the QUEEN OF EXCUSES.
I can justify just about anything to myself.
Eating crappy,
not exercising,
not tracking,
not caring.

Here are a few of my favorites that I've pulled out of my butt the last few weeks:
I don't have enough time...
I'm too tired...
I'm a single mom and I can't make time for myself...(FYI, I'm not really a single mom, but I take care of Lily single-handedly 95% of the time, so it feels an awful lot like I'm single - but like I said, it's an excuse)
My workout buddy can't go, so I don't want to go...
I have too much work to do...
I have to grade papers/create lesson plans/make seating charts/do inane teacherly duties...
Tech boy is working on my computer and he smells too good, I'm powerless against it (if you read my blog 2 posts ago, this might make sense to you)...
I'm angry...
I'm hungry...
I'm depressed...
I'm PMSing...
I'm post-PMSing...
I'm pre-PMSing...
I'm thinking about PMSing...
I'm bloated...
I'm sick...
I'm cranky...
I want chocolate...
I want ice cream...
I want chocolate in my ice cream...


I could go on and on.
The fact is, I have an excuse for every day of not doing what it takes to succeed with losing weight.  They might seem justified at the time, but when I look back at them, I can see how trivial they are.


The second thing I'm starting to realize about myself, is how incredibly shallow I am.
I used to consider myself pretty deep, but I'm not so sure about that.  Maybe I was just fooling myself.
Because I have come to the conclusion that in regard to my reasons for wanting to lose weight such as:
be healthy
have a strong, healthy heart,
be a good example to my daughter,
be the woman God intends for me to be,
reach my fullest potential,
when all of it is said and done, the truth is,
I just want to look hot.


I can't believe I'm admitting this to you,
but I trust you'll be gentle with me and won't get all judgey-judgey.

It's true.
I want to look smokin' hot in a tight pair of jeans.
I want killer curves and a butt that won't quit.
I want men to want me, and women to want to be me (thank you Austin Powers for that quote).

It's shallow.
But it's true.
But hey, if it eventually works, then what the hey.

(NC-17) This post contains material that may be inappropriate for young readers

Okay, I'm going to warn you upfront that this post will probably be a little racy.
I'm intending it to be anyway.
So Mom, and anyone else who is already squirming, you may want to just skip this blog post.  I'm not kidding.  If you want to continue thinking of me as a sweet, innocent, good little girl, then this blog post is not for you!


Consider yourself warned.


Okay, if you're going to keep reading this, and you get all...twitterpated and stuff....then, you've nobody to blame but yourself.


I'm just going to start by saying that when you're married to someone who works nights, and you see your spouse all of 9 minutes a day most days of the week, there isn't a lot of opportunity for...nookie.

So sometimes, when the nookie is few and far between, you have to look to other avenues of pleasure.


Of course, you all know what I'm thinking about, don't you....
yes, that one thing that makes makes my skin tingle
my pulse race
my breathing accelerate
and sends shivers down my spine...
chocolate.

Whoa!  What are YOU thinking about??  That is so NOT where I was going.  You have such a dirty mind.


I have some chocolate in classroom (a dangerous thing, I know) that I used with my students the other day to teach them about geometry, in particular squares, rectangles, and quadrilaterals.  What, you don't see how chocolate relates to geometry?  It's simple...  Squares are a special kind of rectangle (did you know that squares are technically rectangles?  Learn something new every day!), and rectangles are special types of quadrilaterals.  Just like chocolate is a special kind of candy, and candy is a special kind of food.  It made sense to me, and made sense to my 2nd graders, so there.

So anyway, I have some chocolate left over, and today I saved enough points to eat some of it.

And while I was eating it, I was also reminded of a challenge my good friend, Heather, gave me awhile ago.

Heather and I started our own writing guild.  It's very exclusive.  So far we're the only 2 members.  Very hoidy-toidy you can no doubt imagine.

We were kidding around about a writing assignment to give ourselves.  We jokingly decided to write a sex scene for a romance novel, using as many euphemisms as we possibly could for male and female genitalia.  Personally, I just wanted to use the phrase "quivering member" in a sentence, and try to read it with a straight face.

Well, suffice it say, neither Heather nor I actually committed to writing the naughty nookie scene.

Until today.

However, I've decided to change the mission from steamy sex scene to titillating chocolate consumption. Because, sometimes, just sometimes, when it's difficult to be intimate with your spouse, being intimate with chocolate is almost as good.  Almost.

So, without further adieu...
Heather, game on!

The girl ever so delicately slipped her fingers inside the silver decorated wrapper.
The arousing aroma of cocoa wafted gently through the air, caressing her skin, causing her mouth to moisten and her lips to tremble.
Desire burned deep within her, bubbling up and over her flimsy inhibitions.
She wanted it.
Craved it.
Needed it inside her.
With reckless abandon she stripped the chocolate bare, tearing the bar free from the constriction of the paper surrounding it.  
It lay helplessly in her hands.  Vulnerable.  Bare.  Naked.
Slowly, carefully, she brought it up to her mouth.  With quivering lips she placed it on her wet tongue and closed her eyes in an explosion of ecstasy.  Creamy, choco-flavored exquisiteness melted inside her mouth.  The luxurious sweetness dripped down her throat as she savored every moment of her illicit consumption.  As the lingering pleasure of the moment began to tenderly wane, the girl's breath began to return to normal...that is, until she reached her hand into the bag for another.


What do you think?
Not too shabby?
Eat your heart out, Danielle Steel.
Alright, I'm going to go take a cold shower now.

Lists

I've been thinking in lists today.

Sometimes my brain works in odd ways.  (Hey, I hear that snarky comment, you!  Yeah, you know who you are, Snarkypants!)

Occassionally my brain works in different ways.
Sometimes everything reminds me of a Monty Python quote.
Sometimes I think in rhyme, for a very long time.
Often, everything needs to be done in song (and I do mean everything...I'll just let you muse on that for a second).

Today I'm thinking in lists.

Here are some important lists that have been running through my mind today:
I'll start with the best...

Top 5 Embarrassing Moments
5. Dancing to Weird Al's "Eat It" in the school-wide talent show when I was in 4th grade.
4. Burping in the middle of a kiss with my boyfriend.  Eww.
3. An unexpected visit from Aunt Flo when I was 19 at a Cardinal's game in St. Louis.  I didn't know she was coming, and I hadn't prepared anything for her arrival.  It wasn't until the 7th inning stretch that I found out she had arrived all over the back of my pants.  Ewww again.
2. Wearing a white bra underneath a black shirt in the middle of a rainstorm....oh, wait....
1. Being caught skinny-dipping by the police in a neighborhood pool after hours with my friends.  (I hope my mom's not reading this.)


Top 3 Ice Cream Flavors
3. Mint Chocolate Chip
2. Coffee & Dulce de Leche
1. French Vanilla (so classic, so creamy, so very very dreamy...uh-oh, I'm rhyming, watch out!)


Top 10 Items on my Bradbury List
10. Get to a healthy weight
9. Have oodles of children.  I'm thinking a baseball team.  Well, maybe a basketball team.  Perhaps doubles tennis.  Tetherball?
8. Dance all night long.
7. Become a published author.
6. Become a filthy rich and famous published author.
5. Become such a great author that I blow Stephanie Meyers out of the water.
4. Participate in a roller derby match.
3. Live in the Mediterranean.  Well, not right in the middle, because I'd likely drown.  You get what I mean.
2. Finish this list.


Top 3 favorite people in the whole world
3.  You.
2.  You.
1.  Oh, and don't forget about You.


9 Random Facts About Me You Probably Could Live Without Knowing
9. I was named after The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.  A horror novel.  Go figure.
8. I have a tattoo that I got when I was 18.  No, you may not see it!  Unless we're in the pool.  Skinny-dipping.
7. I am ambidextrous.  I write and eat left-handed, but use scissors, throw and kick right-handed.
6. I am afraid of math.  And science.  Very, very afraid.  Except that I know that fluorine is considered the Tyrannosaurus Rex of the periodic table.  Thank you very much, Dr. Carter, for that one bit of trivia that I will never, ever forget.  That, and the fact that polar bear liver contains so much Vitamin A that you'l die, so don't eat it.  No matter how hungry you are.
5. I spent much of my childhood naked, running through rows of corn in Iowa.  Much of my young adult life was spent naked in swimming pools.  I then spent much of my adult life naked in hot springs in Japan.  I'm sensing a theme.
4. I've studied 5 different, foreign languages.  The only one that I'm fairly fluent in, I didn't learn in school.
3. I'm a vegetarian.  But only twice a week.
2. I have a hobby addiction.  I like to rollerblade, snow ski, crochet, scrapbook, make cards, calligraphy, play guitar, garden, paint, refurbish old furniture, create websites, write, sing, dance, swim, quilt, and bake.  It's a sickness.
1. I have a dog-like sense of smell.  My favorite scent is yummy guy cologne.  I could stand all day next to a guy who is wearing a good cologne and be perfectly happy.  My least favorite odor is diesel exhaust.  Smellwise, the worst time of day is after I've dropped off my daughter at the babysitter's and I'm stuck behind 50 school busses leaving the middle school campus when I'm on my way to work.  Yuckiness.

C'est moi.

I've been sitting here looking at this blank screen for about 5 minutes.

Okay, make that 10 now.

I've been thinking all day of what to write about.
What asinine circumstance can I find to make fun of?  That's been my mission all day long.
Unfortunately, I've not found much.

I think I'm thinking too hard about this.
Suddenly I'm worried about what people who are reading this are thinking.
What a conundrum.
On one hand, I want to be read.  I love getting feedback, and I like knowing that I bring a chuckle to others by how much I write about the fun gastrointestinal dilemmas that I seem to find myself in.

But on the other hand, I'm second-guessing myself.  I'm wondering who is secretly reading this and *gasp!* judging me on it.  I need to just stop thinking so much, and pretend that I'm the only one here.  Just me, all alone, so I can be honest.

Okay self, now that you're all alone, what is on your mind?  What would you like to confess tonight?

I'd like to say that things are not alright with me.
I'm not who I want to be, and that is bothering me an awful lot.
I'm not who I want to be spiritually,
emotionally,
or physically.

I guess it's good in some way to not be satisfied with my status quo,
to want more,
and to be
better
than I am right now.

And I want to be happy.
Deliriously,
unabashedly,
brazenly,
fearlessly,
joyously
happy with me.

So, I'm going to get right on that.
Just as soon as I figure out how.

Slower than a Salty Slug

Okay, I'll admit it.
I'm a schmuck.

You know it, and I know it.
There's no reason to hide around the bush.  You don't have to politely advert your eyes, or say, "no, no, I wasn't thinking that," because we both know you were.  And so am I.

I'm a schmuck.

Admitting that you have a problem is the first step towards fixing it, right?

Okay, so here's the prob...
I don't want to do this anymore.
I want a Do-Over.
I want to wake up and have a whole new, damn-she's-hot-and-oh-so-sexy body.
I don't want it to be so HARD!

I don't want to be accountable.
I don't want to keep track of every little thing that goes in my mouth.
I don't want to exercise.
I don't want to choose salad instead of ice cream for dinner.
I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to!

Do I sound like I'm 5 or what?

Alright....deep breath.
Innnnnnnnnn...............
Ouuuuuuuut................

Maybe another...........

Okay.
I'm ready to put on my big girl panties and pretend to be a grown up.

No more whining.
Not so much whining.
Only occasional whining.

And I'll try to be honest with you again.
And honest with myself too.

So let's start this honesty by saying I honestly have done crap to lose weight since the beginning of summer.  Our move from old house to new house helped me put on 15 pounds...and I've only taken 5 off.  I've been stuck in this rut of good intentions on Saturday morning being swept out the door by Saturday afternoon at the Chinese buffet.

I haven't exercised consistently -- and you all know how much of a struggle that is.
I haven't been blogging.
Or tracking.
Or caring.

I want to care.
I really do.

So I'm going to take the advice of trying to Fake It Till You Make It, and see if that helps.

And I'm going to ask for a little help.
From you, gentle reader.  If you're out there.
I've been blessed to be told that I've motivated others out there by my little blog.
But now, I need some motivation myself.

So, if you're out there, reading this, and you believe in fairies, clap your hands.
and you think I can do it, even when I don't think I can,
well, let me know.