A Long Time Ago on an Ass Not So Far Away

179.8 lbs. YOU KNOW, THIS IS REALLY FUCKING TIRESOME.

For the record, I resent Beatles and Rolling Stones music being used for advertising. “Pictures of Matchstick Men” by Status Quo, okay. They could probably use the money. “Here Comes the Sun” NEVER! It’s Michael Jackson’s GD fault for having bought and then lost control of the Beatles catalog. Sir Paul? Ringo? Yoko? Olivia? Please, please, please pony up to buy it back and prevent the music from being further desecrated. For the record, if they wanted to sell heavy duty (or doody) diapers with Britney Spears’s “Oops, I Did It Again,” that would be poetic justice and such a statement.

I mean, ferchrissakes, I even shifted things around a bit; I did the weight training and cardio yesterday, Saturday, instead of Friday. I overindulged last night (someone had pigs in a blanket. I love a good hot dog. However, they’re loaded with fat and sodium – even Trader Joe’s chicken sausage sets off the alarms on My Net Diary. I only ate two. Three).  Nothing moved. I had wine. No effect.

Frustration is a daily part of my existence: I am not, nor have I ever been, a patient person (except when socializing cats and getting them over behavioral problems. If you have a great purr, I will forgive a lot). I don’t have a “relationship” (which has become a hijacked term to mean an ongoing intimate sexual arrangement with another individual. There are other kinds of relationships, but you have to cast about for other terms to use because that one has been moved. Sort of like “Christian” no longer just refers to an individual who believes that Jesus of Nazareth was the Son of God. It now means a born-again or Evangelical with right-wing political beliefs and zero tolerance for anyone else’s beliefs or opinions. I have not been able to describe myself a Christian since the late 70s when it took on this extremely limited meaning. Not being an Evangelical asshole, I resent this. A lot), so, yes, I have an intimate relationship with a particular kind of frustration. I’ve undergone job droughts and the dry up of cash flow.

This time, though, I am angry and unfortunately, it’s setting off some old, buried reactions to hitting the wall, so to speak. I’ve been having the “If it’s not going to work, why fucking bother?” thoughts. That ain’t good. I have, for the sake of reaching a goal, omitted some pleasures from my diet, such as the aforementioned hot dogs, alcohol (I am not a heavy drinker, but there are times when it’s nice to sit back with a really good glass of wine or a beer (although that’s more or less out for the gluten content, but there are gluten-free beers. Whole Foods, Man),  cheese and Arnold Palmers (half iced tea, half lemonade). We are trained, from a young age, to believe that if you make sacrifices and work hard to achieve a goal, you will be rewarded by reaching that goal. Couldn’t prove that by me this week.

I looked at the medical websites about tightening skin post-weight loss and they were uniform about “Lose 1-2 lbs. per week and the skin will have time to tighten on its own as you go.” Well, given these plateaus, that seems like the average, so maybe this isn’t an issue.

If this story was “Star Wars” (IV, V and VI, the REAL ones, not those crappy prequels. Seriously, George Lucas, the last great screenplay you wrote was  Episode IV, despite some of the dialogue), the part of the Death Star (Original and Version 2.0) would be played by the Great White Belly.  Of course, we know that the Empire started REBUILDING THE FUCKING THING WHILE WE WERE HANGING OUT WITH YODA.  (Yoda being played by the voice in my head keeping me out of the hot dogs, beer and Cheetohs and telling me to get to the gym).

8 days with the same numbers and I am sorely tempted to go over to the Dark Side. Darth Vader doesn’t have a light saber; it’s a cheeseburger from Red Robin with the bottomless steak fries (they have wicked good sweet potato fries, by the way. Limited time, unfortunately, but I’ve emailed them asking that they consider making them a permanent part of the menu).

Emotional eating is rearing its ugly head.

I haven’t been sleeping well lately, either.  I don’t know if it’s a function of having reached a particular stage in life (unconfirmed because I haven’t had the dough or the health insurance to go to a doctor) or something else. When I started seeing the acupuncturist in January, she treated me for sleep issues (I have had sleep apnea) and I was sleeping through the night for 7.5 to 8 hours without a problem. And I felt FANTASTIC. Now I’m wondering if this is related to the plateau. There are a lot of studies that indicate disrupted sleep is involved in weight issues.

Today was supposed to be Pilates class and I slept VERY badly last night. I couldn’t even make it through “Sunday Morning” on CBS and that’s one of the few network shows I watch faithfully. If we are to “honor our bodies” and proceed accordingly, then I did the right thing by rolling over and going back to sleep for a couple of hours. I’m still undecided about heading in later today for a couple of hours of cardio. We’ll see.

I saw a group of friends last night (warm, dear people whom I love) and got a chorus of “You look fantastic!” which is a pat on the head that I needed. Another boost came from what I wore: my somewhat dressy/nice clothes (it was a casual gathering, but these guys deserve better than a ratty Beatles T shirt and shorts falling off my ass) are too big. Remember that I pulled a quartet of jeans from storage a couple of weeks ago? The Levis and the Calvins? Well, where I was unable to zip up when I pulled them, last night I wore the size 13 Calvins (I haven’t tried the size 12s). Yeah and this morning, I could get into the Levi 917s. There’s still flab overflow and it’s like having an iron band around the middle BUT I CAN WEAR THE DAMNED THINGS!!!!! There have been times when I didn’t think that was going to happen.  

Even certain pieces of jewelry fit better: I have a short strand of silver pearls that are Wilma Flintstone sized. They were given to me 3 years ago and didn’t fit. Now they hang a bit like they’re supposed to do.

Okay, these advances are great, but I’d still like to see the weight go down.  There’s circumstantial evidence to prove something and there’s direct evidence, okay? Circumstantial evidence is: “We found a gun in the guy’s apartment, it’s a match to the murder weapon and the victim had an affair with this guy’s wife.” Direct evidence is: “We found the guy standing over the body with the smoking murder weapon in his hand.” The jeans, the pearls, the body reshaping: that’s all circumstantial evidence. The weight? That’s direct evidence. I need the direct evidence to prove my case (to Darth Vader, if you will. I’m kind of blending “Star Wars” with “Law & Order”, but it works for me) to myself that this is working and worth continuing.

That goddamn Death Star isn’t going to blow itself up, you know.

Too Sexy for My Jeans (Well, Not Quite)

186.6 lbs. You would think burning 1200 calories in one day would get you somewhere. I’m suspecting sugar intake (sweetened non-fat yogurt and sweetened gluten-free granola). Sugar is inflammatory to the pancreas and the liver. I have emailed Trader Joe’s asking them to come up with a gluten free granola with a lower sugar content. They said they’d look into it. I believe them. Trader Joe’s listens to its customers.

New rules for Presidential candidates: You must appear on “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader” and win, emphasis on American History, Civics and Geography. I will not name names, but the leading Charismatic Idiot punted the football on a point of American history so basic, it’s practically encoded in our DNA. You know, Idaho (the CI’s place of birth) and Alaska (the CI’s current safe haven and proclaimed beloved homeland although she now has a home in Arizona. John McCain must be ready to hang himself) are awfully close to Canada. Can SHE produce a birth certificate? That isn’t Canadian? I have my doubts. Okay, to be fair (who am I kidding?): She did say “warn the British” but finished with something like “that they couldn’t take away our liberty (or guns?).” That kind of fumble tongue is what causes international incidents. She then went on to say that Paul Revere had rung the bells in the Old North Church. Ain’t nobody ringing no damned bells that night because that would have, in fact, WARNED THE BRITISH (the HMS Somerset was at anchor not too far away. Part of the team that carried out the warning TO THE COLONISTS (who were technically British, I suppose) had to row past the Somerset to carry out their end of the mission; I’m thinking it was Revere. I’d have to go CHECK THE FACTS. (One thing I keep forgetting to look up is whether the Boston Marathon route is linked to Revere’s ride. It is a Patriot’s Day tradition and Revere (and the Minute Men) kicked that off in 1775).

The sad thing is that there are probably good, capable people in the Republican Party who could ably lead the country, but we’re never going to hear about them because they’re getting shouted down and crowded out by the spotlight-hogging fucktards (you heard me) who have shown themselves to lack character and courage, but by God, they sell a ton of books. People of America, we deserve better and it’s about goddamn time we demanded it. We are not a nation of dumb, easily dazzled and misled sheep.

But I digress.

14^th inning for the Red Sox and Oakland As. This is why Red Sox fans drink.

I had a bit of a cheat with sweet potato fries at Red Robin today (turkey burger, no bun, tomato slices, lettuce and a very little swipe of the chipotle sauce). I may pay for it tomorrow on the scale, but that would make a change from 186.6. I may have to do another Monster Monday workout.

But that’s not the biggest deal of the day. Or maybe I should say “not so big” deal.

Right now, I’m wearing a pair of size 14 Not Your Daughter’s Jeans with Tummy Tuck Technology. The Triple T allows you to wear a size smaller than you would normally. As previously mentioned in earlier posts, they’re made in the USA. Pricey, but you can find them at Nordstrom Rack for a discount (I don’t know about Marshalls, Ross or TJ Maxx, but I imagine it’s worth investigating).  These are high-waisted “mom” jeans (such a dumbass term), but they are excellent quality garments and worth their cost.

Mine are loose. And I just washed them.

If you are a regular reader, you know that among my Holy Grail garments are two pairs of Levi 501 jeans. These are buried in my storage unit, probably next to the crate containing the Ark of the Covenant (which explains the persistent humming sound). They are, without a doubt, the most flattering jeans I’ve ever pulled up.(from the butt downward. Nothing makes the Great White Belly look good).

Emboldened by the loose (ish) waistband of my current size 14 jeans, I undertook a reconnaissance mission at the Levi’s Store today. I encountered a helpful, very friendly (and kind) salesman named Michael who had no problem with my trying but not buying. He brought a pair of 501s and another pair of “boyfriend cut” (I think they were 511s). Drumroll, please.

The 501s (max waist 30, I think. Size 13), I could pull up but not button. Not a downer though: I COULD PULL THEM UP OVER MY HIPS. This is good, this is progress.

Okay, the 511s. Waist 31, inseam 32: PULLED UP, ZIPPED AND I COULD BREATHE!!!!!! These are lower rise jeans than the NYDJs, so the Great White Belly has to go down even more before I’d wear them (Not muffin tops, FLABALANCHE). They’re skinnier cut through the legs than usual (Look, if you’re plus sized, everything is boot cut unless you’re in jeggings) and they flatter my legs AND BUTT.  (Admit it, Ladies, that’s the biggest priority when we’re shopping for jeans. Why don’t men care as much about their asses? Is it because of the fart lighting obsession?). But I could wear them now , if I want to, that’s the biggest point! Even after sweet potato fries! Oh, Motivation, you move in mysterious ways!

I am going to bust this lousy plateau. One of the things I mentally chant to myself to keep going on the Rotating Staircase of Death or push through the cardio burst (greater speed and resistance on the elliptical, jogging on the treadmill) is this: “Eyes on the prize. Keep your eyes on the prize.”

The prize is still off in the distance, but if I don’t need the binoculars to see it anymore. Every step on the RSoD or elliptical is a step closer to it.