Tidbits

This is the crap I think about as I fall asleep.

1. So, if the gray goo thing really happened (You know, where nanobots recreate themselves uncontrollably,  and consume the whole world), couldn't we just use a giant, powerful magnet to stop it? It would erase their hard drives, and they'd forget what they were doing! Did I just save the world? You're welcome.

2. Continuing with the save-the-world theme, Buffy saved the world like, 7 times. Shouldn't she have been given a Nobel Prize...or a Starbucks gift card? SOMETHING? We are a nation of ingrates.

3. I'm going to Nova Scotia in 26 days. I managed to pack 10 days worth of stuff in a 24" suitcase. This is unprecedented, people. Someday, I'll be able to pack a month's worth of stuff in a carry on. I aspire to be Maggie Mason. We all should.

Breakouts are a Good Thing. Apparently.

I started "jogging," if you can call my short spurts and relatively slow speed trundling jogging, last week. It seems to have boosted my weight loss somewhat, or at least broken my plateau. The thing is, I hate it. I hate it the entire time I'm out there (or in here, if the weather is bad and I'm running in place). I hate sweating. I hate workout clothes. And I hate the ache in my knees while I do it. BUT I love how I feel afterwards. I like the pleasant ache in my muscles. And, after the sweat has been washed off, I like the endorphin rush. I do not, however, like what my weight loss and exercise has done to my skin.

Estrogen is stored in fat. When fat is burned, the estrogen gets released into your (my) body. Which wreaks havoc on my skin. (And my period, which was all but non-existent after I got Implanon, but is now back in full force. For weeks at a time.) Even when I was a teenager, I had good skin. Clear and pale, with just a sprinkle of freckles, it was peaches and cream all the way. Even when other things about me have been considered "unattractive" (my weight, my attitude, my teeth) my skin has always been a good feature. Now, I'm a girl with bad skin. It sucks. But I'm down (almost) 20 pounds, 3.5 inches on my waist and 4 inches on my hips. Which is awesome.

Review: Crazy, Stupid, Love

It's been a few weeks since I saw Crazy, Stupid, Love, but I'm still thinking about it, which never happens, so I thought a review might be in order.

I didn't think I was particularly interested in this movie. There was something else out that I wanted to see, but my friend, who was going with me, doesn't see anything that's rated higher than PG-13, and this was the compromise.

Steve Carell was, as I've come to expect, funny and endearing. He continued the streak that began with The 40 Year Old Virgin, making his character likable, and more than just funny, a skill which so many comedians seem to be lacking. The real stand out in this film, however, was Ryan Gosling. He brought a depth to his performance that was completely refreshing. It would have been easy for him to play the character as just a playboy; An ass with no real motivation. But he didn't. Long before the end of the movie, the viewer really starts to like the guy, and root for him. It was startling.

I'll also say again, that I fully believe that the new crop of "starlets" (although, I think they'll amount to much more than that) including Emma Stone, Amanda Seyfried, and Mila Kunis are here to save the romantic comedy from empty headed performances by the likes of Katherine Heigl.

So Much Cooler than Creationism

 I read this today on Augusten Burroughs' home page.  I love, love it. So much better than believing we were created by a nameless, faceless god or gods. Beautiful.

 "The calcium in your bones came from a star. We are all made from recycled bits and pieces of the universe.  This matters because origins matter.

For example, if you were born to a reigning monarch but kidnapped by the black market baby underground shortly after birth and sent to America where you were raised by common, unremarkable people from Ohio, and when you were in your thirties working as a humble UPS driver, dignitaries landed their helicopter on the roof of your crummy apartment building and informed you of their thirty-plus year search for you, His Royal Highness, the course of your life might change.

You know?

Our familial genetic origins -medical histories- inform us of medical conditions which exist in our families and when we know about these specific conditions, we can sometimes take certain actions to prevent them.

Which is why I think it's important to consider that billions of years before we were students and mothers and dog trainers and priests, we were particles that would form into star after star after star until forever passed, and instead of a star what formed was life; simplistic, crude, miraculous.

And after another infinity, there we were.

And this is why for you, anything is possible.

Because you are made out of everything."

90s Movie or Prophecy?

Lately, I feel very much like I'm playing in scenes from Reality Bites. Except nobody smokes anymore.

Somehow, I always knew it would end up this way.

Unrelated?

For once, actually my feet.

I haven't lost any weight this week. I haven't gained either, but I'm still not happy. However, that's not what this post is about, so moving on.

I've dropped half a shoe size. How does that happen? Were my feet fat on the heels and the ends of my toes? Have my arches suddenly reappeared? (Nope, still flat footed.) Did I just suddenly start buying the wrong size shoes several years ago and not notice? (This, unfortunately is the most likely explanation.) Anyway, now I'm in an 8.5...which is good, because, you know, small feet, but bad because it's the most common shoe size in America, which makes it super hard to find shoes that fit. Which is probably why I started buying 9s to begin with...hmm. Anyway, the 9s aren't working any more, and I'm a little baffled.

Justin's pretty certain it's just an excuse to shoe shop. It's not, but had I thought of it, that would have been brilliant.

A Prickly Issue

I do not believe in body hair on women. It is a evolutionary throwback that we simply don't need anymore. Potential mates no longer smell each other to determine how fertile they might be. (Note: if your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/significant other starts sniffing you, you have a problem.) Most of us don't romp naked through the fields, so we no longer need hair to protect our delicate areas. Razors are cheap. There are coupons for waxing all over the internet. (Don't try to do it yourself. Learn from my mistake.)  Nair is like $4. Get rid of the hair ladies. (Obviously eyebrows, and a reasonable amount of arm hair are fine. ARM not UNDER ARM, note the difference!)

Whenever I see a hair on the seat of the toilet in a women's restroom (which is what started this little rant), all that says to me is that someone wasn't taught proper grooming. And then I throw up a little. Shave your legs. Shave your pits. Get rid of the rest. You can have hair on your arms, if you insist, but onlyif it's blond. (ARM not UNDER ARM, note the difference!)

 Keep your eyebrows (obviously). And get rid of everything else. Being lovely and smooth is what separates us from icky boys. It's what makes us fragrant and delicate and clean. No more of this natural crap.  There's a reason that we don't live in the woods anymore.

Happy 4th

And for those of you who seem to have forgotten, here's our motto:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"


Stop trying to kick and/or keep people out.

A is only better than D if it's a grade.

Since May 25 I've lost 13 pounds. Yay.

Since May 25 I've gone from a DD bra to a C. Not so yay.

Since the beginning of time (ok, since the beginning of my adolescence), I've determined whether I look presentable based on whether my boobs were bigger than my belly.

I've now lost all of my boobs....and like 1.5 inches of belly.

Unacceptable.

Pet Psychic

Cats are generally a mystery, they function on their own terms and do their own thing, and occasionally deem you worthy enough to pet them. But today, I'm about 98% sure that this is the conversation that went on between Astrid and George.

Astrid: Hey! You've got something in your tail! I'm just gonna get that....

George: Back off bitch!

Astrid: No really, it's just right there...

George: I said hands off you crazy cow! (hisses and runs away)

Astrid: Waaiiit!! (hot on her tail)

By the by and not for nothin', I'm down 13 pounds. The program stole a hundred of my calories. I'd call it a bitch, but it seems to be working.

Small Changes...

I haven't weighed tonight yet, but based on my progress so far, I'm assuming I'm down about 10 pounds since I started with My Fitness Pal. As far as I can tell, my clothes fit pretty much the same. Except for my bras. Why do boobs always go first? That's the one fat place I'd like to stay fat, but whatever. It also appears that I've lost most, if not all of my double chin. Here are some pics for comparison:

May 20                                 June 19

8 Pounds

I'm 8 pounds down. That sounds better than 3, certainly, but it gets even better when you realize that 8 pounds is the same amount as this baby:



Please note: Not my baby.

So far, it's been pretty easy. Almost too easy, and I'm beginning to get a little suspicious. Of what, I'm not sure. Obviously the weight is coming off. Obviously I'm eating better and exercising a few times a week...but it doesn't feel like dieting has in the past. I had a cheat day last week, which seems to have bumped me past a small plateau, and the combination of tacos for lunch and Popeye's for dinner made me super, horribly sick. A few weeks ago, that would have been a pretty normal day, so if nothing else, it appears I've broken the junk food addiction. Occasionally I crave a brownie (who doesn't?), so I let myself have a brownie. I count the calories, and that's that. I no longer feel compelled to eat ALL the brownies. So yeah, it's going.

Justin starts work on Thursday night (as opposed to all the orientation he's been doing the past week). A week after that, we'll get his first paycheck! Three cheers for disposable income!! Hip, hip, hooray!

Slow Going


 Since being denied for weight loss surgery for 14 more months, I sort of gave up on losing any weight until then. It seemed pointless. And promptly gained 7ish pounds. But then my friend, Juliana, started with a program on her iphone and had really positive results (although, healthy, non-extreme results) in just a week. I decided that, besides the fact that it will make the surgery easier when I do get it, it would be a good idea to go ahead and start eating healthier. Just to get myself into that mode for post surgery.



Note: Not my feet. Not my scale. Not my Hello Kitty tattoo.

On Wednesday, I signed up for My Fitness Pal on my phone. It takes your base metabolic rate, based on your weight, age, and activity level, and it tells you how many calories to eat to lose weight at a rate of around 2 pounds per week. It also lets you enter your food for the day into it, and keeps t

rack of the calories for you. Sounds easy. Sounds like something I (and everyone) should have been doing all along, right? Duh. Except that the idea of keeping a food diary always seemed so oppressive before. It's much easier to type the information in, and magically have the calorie count done for you, than to hand write it, and try to figure out your servings and calories etc all by yourself. Especially for something like fruit, which isn't conveniently labled for you. And, there's the added bonus of not having to carry a stupid journal around with you. And losing it. And then throwing the damn thing away after you spill a margarita and queso on it for the 15th time....ahem. I digress.

Moving on. The program seems to have most restaurants' menus, and if it's not in there, you can usually find something pretty close, or just ask the management and enter it yourself. It also lets you enter exercise, and "gives back" the calories you burnt off, if you want to have an extra slice of cake, or whatever.

All this to say: I've lost 3 pounds in the last 5 days.

Which is pretty much a snail's pace, but 3 pounds is 3 pounds, and it's certainly better than not losing, or, gods forbid gaining 3 (more) pounds, right?

Right.

The Burning House

If your house were burning, what would you take out with you? (Objects only; assume your people and pets have escaped of their own accord.) Similar to Found and PostSecret, The Burning House allows people to post pictures of what they most need or value. What would you take?  It has inspired me to make my list (and take my picture), but it's also reminded me to make sure that these things are reasonably close together. And to purchase a small external hard drive for my computer to keep in my purse, along with my passport, which is currently residing somewhere at the bottom of my closest.  Here's my stuff:

Clockwise from top:

1.Handbag containing wallet, camera, glasses, passport, etc.
2. Photo of me, age 2 with my dad.
3. Favorite outfit: Orange sundress that gives me perfect boobs. White shrug if it's chilly. Comfy Bra: not shown.
4. Crazy Pills
5. Kindle
6. Cell Phone
7. Box of special memories
8. Laptop.

I made this list under the assumption that I would be wearing something (probably pajamas) and underwear (and wedding ring, duh). Otherwise, those things would obviously be on the list. I'm also assuming that I'd slide on flip flops on my way out the door.

Make your list, take a pic, and send me the link!

5 Years

I can't believe we made it. It's time for our real lives to begin...shooting for 5 more. The easy ones this time. I love you Beest.

(PS: I couldn't add music for free,so start the mp3 at the bottom if you want to hear the song that goes with!)

Anniversary - flash slideshow maker

But Where?

I'd really like to have this tattooed somewhere...sans the orange box, of course.

Bursting With Pride

Justin graduated from Nursing School last night. It marks the end of three super stressful years and the beginning of our super real lives.He also won the award for mental health nursing. (Probably because he's used to living and dealing with The Crazy.) I have never been more proud of anyone in my life!!

It Happened

I turned 30 on Friday, and, as it turned out, I didn't have a breakdown. Which isn't to say that I wasn't having lots of them during the lead up, but I didn't have one yesterday, and I haven't had one since.

Actually, I'm feeling pretty good. Interesting.

Happy Ishtar!

Please note that this is not intended to be offensive in any way. It is a joke. Tongue in cheek. A play on words. Stop taking yourselves so seriously. Nobody needs to freak out. Thank you.

Bad Day. Shitty Insurance.

I found out today that my insurance won't cover the bariatric surgery that I want/need to have for 15 more months. And even at that point, they won't cover it with the doctor that I'd prefer. They insist on using the whack-a-doo who refuses to do anything laparascopically. The guy who hangs out at bars with 19 year old girls. I feel like I can't do anything else with my life until after this happens. I want more schooling, but I'm not going back as the old, fat girl. I can handle one, I can't handle both. I'll be 30 in 18 days. I wanted my 30's to be fabulous, and, as it turns out, they're just going to be crappy.

It would also be nice if every time I was emotional about something, my husband didn't ask me if I was taking my medication properly. I'm allowed to be pissed about this, okay? I'm allowed to be pissed that the hospital I work for would be happy to finance (the other option, when insurance won't cover something) a boob job, or a face lift or an appendectomy, but not a lap band.