The One Where I Bare My Soul to the Internet About Being a Fat-Ass

I had a breakdown recently. Not a omg off to the loony-bin! one, but a very, very emotional low point for me. Why? My weight.

It was one of those things that started out as something completely different, just a fight that Paul and I had over…crap, I couldn’t even tell you what. I think it started as a bad day and I said something or he said something and then a lot of things were said, some that probably shouldn’t have been. You know the kind, every married couple has them.

As the argument escalated and feelings were hurt, I came to the sudden conclusion that every problem I had, with my marriage or myself, was because I had become an absolute fat-ass. And then the tears started, and wouldn’t stop. It was a sobbing, self-loathing, torrential cry where Paul tried to comfort me despite the nasty fight we’d had, and the more I thought about the way I looked, and the insecurity I had because of how I looked, the worse it got. It was not pretty.

My friends and family who love me would tell me not to worry, I’m a pretty girl, I just weigh a little more than I am comfortable with. At 5’3, I had topped out at 165lbs. Overweight by BMI standards, and just shy of being classified as obese. I had about a year ago bought size 14 pants after my size 12’s got too tight. These were my ‘fat pants’, and yet now they were getting tight as well. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin, I hated looking in the mirror, and I was getting to the point that I hated taking my clothes off in front of my husband, which gets a little awkward when you love that sort of activity as much as I do. In short, I was completely miserable with myself, and it was starting to carry over into other areas of my life, including my marriage.

Once I calmed down and my nose stopped running so much(fuck I am ugly when I cry!), I made a decision that I was done being a fat-ass. I would work on getting my weight down, and my self-esteem up. There was no reason for me to be as I was – I know how to lose weight. I’ve done it before. It’s only allowing myself to fall into habits like stress-eating and cheese danishes and endless cans of Coke that causes me to get this way. And my self-image needs some work, for sure. Paul pointed out to me that night that he has about the same amount of weight to lose as I do, but I don’t see him the way I see myself. He looks like he’s gained a tiny bit, but it’s barely noticeable. Yet I can look in the mirror myself and see nothing but the ginormous cow I swore I’d never be. I don’t see other people this way, just me. Because no matter how big they are, even if they are twice my size, they don’t seem as big as I am. Logically it makes no sense, but feelings rarely do.

My resolve to change started the very next day. For me this meant starting back on a low carb lifestyle, and cutting out those beloved cans of Coke cold-turkey. I’ve used low carb to lose weight before and never had an issue, but for some reason this time I developed what we call ‘keto flu’, causing me headaches, shakiness and muscle aches for about 24 hours while I pretty much went through carb withdrawal. It wasn’t fun, but I was so determined, and I pulled through it without giving in. I did things a little differently this time, not worrying about counting carbs or calories like I have previously, but instead just sticking to the foods that are good for me and letting the rest take care of itself. The result was an overall loss of 10lbs in the month of May, and that includes a little water weight picked up over Memorial Day weekend from the wine and the salty meats. It’s a start.

I rewarded my loss with hitting a couple of thrift stores this past weekend and picking up some cute summer tops and a pair of jeans in my current size, and one in the next size down for encouragement. I figure a $4 pair of Michael Kors jeans can’t really be passed up, and it keeps me looking ahead.

I also signed up for the Tech Geek Weight Loss Challenge. Sounds way more complicated than it is, just a bunch of Twitter people tracking their weight on a spread sheet and encouraging each other to keep going at it. Paul has signed up too, so we’ll be doing it together and hopefully seeing some good results. He is as always my greatest champion, believing in me even when I don’t always believe in myself.

As I type this I am officially 11lbs down from where I started this time, and determined to make a 30lb loss. I don’t know how long it will take, but if it takes me till Christmas I’ll make it happen, because I refuse to give in to the fat-ass in the mirror who makes me feel so unlike the gorgeous, confident woman I could be. I’m going to get there, come hell or high water.

Another Blog Facelift, and a Very Slutty Pair of Shoes

As much as I love a new blog theme, I admit to really disliking when the need to change is because the old one decides to out of absolutely nowhere develop a rather stunning case of digital vertigo and start puking blog parts all over the page. Call me crazy, but I prefer my elements stay where I left them, thank you very much.

Finding a theme is one of the most pain-in-the-ass parts of putting together a site, and Paul can be a bit picky about what themes we use, due to how often WordPress makes major changes, and how slow designers can be to update and accommodate those changes.  I understand why he wants them to have been updated since the last major release, but it can lead to me calling him a lot of not so nice things under my breath as I bang my head against the desktop trying to sift through the few that might make the cut.

In other news we’ve started trying to get a little healthier here in Casa O’Flaherty. I am going low-carb, and Paul is grudgingly going along with it to support my efforts. It’s forcing us to really look at what we consider ‘normal’ eating, which tended to include a fair amount of processed stuff with long ingredient lists. We weren’t terrible about it, but who could blame us for having a hard time resisting the call of a loaded-down pizza and a loaf of garlic bread alongside it? As it is we are getting a bit closer to basics these days with the meats and vegetables, and we are getting into the habit of going for a good long walk at night as well. I say walk, but we are working on getting me up to jogging, another one of those things that I know he’s right about, but doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.(Crap, did I just admit in writing that he was right about something? Erase! Erase!) I didn’t realize how out of shape I am until we started trying to run. Ouch!

Here’s my latest addition to the hooker-heel stiletto collection. I needed something lighter for summer, and I figured these would go with just about anything.

slutty shoes

Do They Make Sports Bras For Your Butt?

Did you know you can make New Years Resolutions in July? Ok, maybe you are not actually supposed to, but I decided if they can have Christmas in July sales at stores, than dangit I should be allowed another shot at my New Years Resolutions that same month. It’s either that or I rig my blog to play “Oh Holy Night”, which most of us generally get our fill of between Thanksgiving and December 1st.

So as usual my goal was to lose a few inches off a couple key areas of the female anatomy (ladies, you know what they are). Not only did I fail to achieve this between January and July, somehow those inches I wanted to lose multiplied and had babies all over my butt and thighs. I figured there had to be some mistake when during the last round of PMS, suddenly not even my fat pants fit…Is that even possible??? You know what I mean, the pants you only drag out when AF makes her visit. The ones you normally are not caught dead in, because they make you look, well, fat?! Yeah, those bad boys went on strike and suddenly I could not button them, and was relegated to wearing yoga pants for several days. In September you can pull that off, because all the moms are wearing them, pretending we are all going to the gym after dropping our kids off at school, when in fact we are going straight back home, or if we are really ambitious, taking our toddlers to Target. In July, you can’t even lie about it, its too hot. Everyone knows you just cannot fit into your normal clothes.

So whats a girl to do but dust off the treadmill and start using it again? In a fit of desperation, I get on the treadmill, and off I go. I actually like using it, but for whatever reason I have a hard time motivating myself to actually get on it. Maybe its that I really hate to sweat, and I’m not such a fan of exercise either. People like Denise Austin drive me batty, they act like doing painful crunches is better than sex. Heck, maybe if there were orgasms involved people would love to work out and we wouldn’t have weight problems. If I could get off once after every 10-20 minutes on the treadmill not only would they have to put me in a 12 step program to stop, I’d wind up with a better body than Camen Electra! But I digress…

So I get on, and after a few minutes start to remember why I like using the treadmill. I get into that zone where I can feel the burn, but its a good burn, not a painful burn. I am almost done when I decide to get all Denise Austin-y and try to run for awhile. It took me approximately 10 seconds to realize that the water balloons strapped to the back of my thighs and practically hitting me in the back were not water balloons at all, but my own ass cheeks. My butt was bouncing, and it HURT! OMG! My butt is not supposed to bounce!!!! WTF??? Seriously, no one was around, but the humiliation was still even worse than the yoga pants in July. No wonder people hate going to the gym and would rather sit home and wear yoga pants! Had this happened in public I’d have died. And whats worse is deep down I know the only way to shrink my behind is to endure more of the very thing that causes the bouncing. Argggg!

Don’t they make sports bras for your butt? Something that would squeeze your cheeks together, not only holding them in place, but flattening them and making them look 2 sizes smaller? Seems to me if Victorias Secret could make such a garment they’d sell like hotcakes. A smaller rear that doesn’t bounce? Sign me up, as long as it means no more yoga pants, at least until September.