Taylor Lautner and twilight 9:22 pm
Taylor Lautner.
Also known to 30 something women everywhere as Jail Bait.
Feel free to call me Mrs. Robinson. But seriously, to Kristin and I, there is just about nothing more comical than our old butts joking about some teenage lovin.
Sick really.
But also completely hilarious. At least to us.
Father's Day and family and holidays and weight control and weight loss and weight loss motivation 9:57 am
Mama’s lil baby is all grown up. And by lil baby, I mean myself.
Yesterday I made an excellent choice for myself and my children, that was truly in the best interests of the three of us.
Saturday, during a phone conversation, I told Zoe and Zion’s dad that he could come over for Father’s Day. He does not see them often, and I always try extra hard to make holidays happy for everyone else, even if I am completely miserable.
But guess what happens?
I make everyone else miserable.
At the end of every holiday, the kids and I feel like we’ve been through the ringer. And that’s because of the treatment we receive from a man who does not appreciate what we do to accomodate him. Whether he’s showing up drunk on Christmas morning, or ditching the kids 10 minutes before Thanksgiving dinner, he loves leaving his tsunami-like stamp on a family occasion.
I honestly can’t tell you the last time we had a truly happy holiday.
Wait, yes I can. It was yesterday.
And that’s because we did not see him at all.
I took off the martyr hat and protected my baby chicks. And it was the best holiday I can remember in a long, long time.
He wanted to breeze in and out. I told him we were busy, and to call on Monday and he could see them then. I spent a wonderful day with the people I care about most in the world.
And on Monday, when my ex called….do you think he rushed over here to see his children?
He had things to do. Errands to run. And needed to go to the gym.
Fine with me, dude. Thanks for the confirmation that I made the right choice on Sunday.
This journey of wellness isn’t just about making the right food choices. It’s about loving ourselves. Inside and out. Choosing the early morning run instead of sleeping in. Shaving those legs instead of letting them go grizzly. Choosing water over Coke. Getting enough rest. And knowing our triggers.
What are your triggers?
Triggers are things that cause you pain, anguish, or stress, which in turn cause you to medicate.
My #1 trigger is my ex. When I’ve been around him, that icky feeling stays on me for a long, long time. I start feeling like I used to feel….angry, used, betrayed…..and then I want to eat because that’s the way I used to deal with the pain of being with him.
Instead, yesterday I chose the healthy choice for myself and everything else followed suit.
A day full of great people, family, friends, healthy food choices, a couple great games of tag, some firefly catching, and lingering hugs.
No animosity.
Or bitterness.
Or pain.
Just peace and quiet. And zero drama.
Happy Father’s Day, Mama.
weight control and weight loss and weight loss motivation 12:58 pm
When I was young, we lived out in the country. When it was nice out, my sister and I would ride our bikes into town. The ride into town was challenging, because it was mostly uphill. But the ride home was fabulous, because we could just coast, wind whipping through our hair.
What a simple pleasure.
When I am coasting, I am just happy and comfortable, there is no effort being put forth, and I am just enjoying the fruits of my previous labor.
Sounds a little too familiar.
I am applying the same concept to my diet and exercise.
I’ve been piddling around in the 250’s for the better part of 2 months. Up 2, down 1, up 1.5, down 3, up 2.5, etc. I am not exercising like I was because of my knees. (And yes I realize I am using that as an excuse.) I eat too much processed food, don’t drink enough water, don’t get enough sleep, and then complain because I’m not at my initial goal of 232.
Come on now.
I have figured out what my body needs to stay at this weight, and that’s what I do. But I also know why I’m doing it.
This journey is chock full of dichotomies. I want to be thin, but I’m scared to be. I am just as afraid of being accepted as I am of being rejected. I say I want attention from men, but when I get it, I claw their eyes out.
I mean it’s got to be completely exhausting for the spectators.
One of my male friends has been kind enough to inform me that I am very defensive and guarded. He’s right, I am. As well I believe all women should be, at least intially, with a new love interest. But he says I’m sarcastic and almost mean about it at times. This doesn’t surprise me. I often find myself making comments about men and their peters, and sounding like a militant lesbian. I don’t mean to. That’s just the way it comes off because I have experienced pain and I trust so few people these days, especially men.
Herein lies the problem with My Friend. I trust him completely. He has seen me quite vulnerable, he knows some pretty personal stuff about me, and is still around. But I don’t let him too close. I miss him terribly when we’re apart, but when we’re together, I spend the whole time distancing myself with body language and strange comments.
That comes from fear and insecurity.
And I’ve done this before.
My whole life I’ve hidden in various degrees of fatness to avoid intimacy. For years I was interested in a dear friend of mine. I was about 50 pounds overweight at the time. I stayed in that body because closeness was too much for me, but then I would seeth and cry because he went out with someone else.
I don’t want to let this happen again with My Friend, but I don’t know how to stop it. It’s like the antique lamp at Grandma’s house, falling off the table in slow motion. You see it happening, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
It’s extremely frustrating.
And I am coasting, intentionally, because I am scared.
Sooooooooooooo scared.
Time to take a detour, put on the helmet and knee pads, and hit the hard hills for all they’re worth.
binge eating and bingeing and comfort and dieting and eating disorder and encouragement and exercise and obesity and self confidence and weight control and weight loss and weight loss motivation 4:27 am
I’ve been sort of complacent about my diet lately. I’ve been controlling my intake, but the quality of the food I have been eating is low. Waaaaaaaaaaay too much processed stuff. Because it’s easy.
Mama need produce.
I’ve recommitted myself to being committed to myself. I’ve lost 96 pounds. I have 77 pounds to go. The problem right now is that I am very happy in my skin, and I’m not self-hating everyday, so there’s not the same urgency there anymore.
And then I see it.
The gut.
The arms.
Ugh. How am I ever supposed to be naked again for anyone?
Seriously.
It’s not just gonna magically fall off. I’m going to have to work much harder. So I’ve been searching for motivation.
And motivation, I have found.
At long last.
I made a promise to My Friend that I would clean out and remodel my jewelry studio. If you don’t know, I create jewelry and have a website at www.glassbeadery.com. In Spring 2008, after the devastation of my ex-husbands infidelity, my inspiration to create just died. I haven’t created anything in months, and the studio has all but turned into a storage space.
This morning I started changing that.
While I was rifling through boxes of old bills, tax statements, photos, and the dust of the past several years, I came across a piece of paper. And as I started reading it, my eyes flew open when I realized what it was.
It was the vision I had from 4 years ago, of my highest, most beautiful self. The person I wanted to be.
And as I read through the prose, I realized, this is exactly the person I have become. Tears poured down my face.
Back then I weighed 353 pounds. I was miserable. I was completely broke, living on all government assistance. My husband at the time had been deported. I had just claimed bankruptcy. My son was throwing tantrums and beating the hell out of himself and I had no idea why. I had gotten a terrible hair cut, and my hair was really, really short. I was lazy, withdrawn, selfish, and scared. One day in my gluttonous misery, I sat down to the computer, and I wrote the following:
The Person I want To Be
I am strong.
I am independent.
I have two soulmates, and their names are Zoe and Zion.
I am at or nearing a healthy weight.
I can provide for the needs (and occasional desires) of my children and myself.
I am generous with the abundance that I have.
I am patient and sweet with my children.
I am writing a book.
I am determined.
I am beautiful.
I have fierce courage.
I am confident, and no man owns me.
I own a Lexus RX300, which I bought myself.
I have hair down the middle of my back.
I exercise every day.
I monitor the caloric intakes of myself and my children.
I have a chocolate Lab named Mocha.
I am addicted to chocolate.
I own my own jewelry business.
I am reconciled with my father.
I am taking my family to Hawaii.
I relax everyday in my garden tub.
I am loving my peaceful, drama free life.
I invest part of my time in someone who can never repay me.
I am anger and resentment free.
I am proud of who I am.
And I am married to the most wonderful man.
This is the person I want to be. The person I already am.
I’ve re-read this a dozen times, and I’m still as astounded now as I was the first time I read this just a few minutes ago.
What in the world? With the exception of the Hawaiian vacation and the wonderful husband thing, (I still want the great guy, just not marriage everrrrrrrrrrrr again) every single bit of this is exactly who I am.
This is the life I envisioned, and this is exactly the life I am living.
And have created.
I love it.
ugly plus size clothing 3:23 pm
Plus-sized specialty stores, take heed.
Those of us over the size of 12 are coming together and rebelling against your peg leg pants, flowered tops, and garbage bag looking jackets.
I mean seriously people, who designs this crap? Everyone once in a great while, you can come across something superdy duper hot. But most of the time? Large, flowery pieces of crap that just scream “Hello! Look at me! I’m attending float tryouts for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade!”
I mean come on now. Want examples? As if you need them.
Thank you. I’ve always wanted sunflowers decoupaged onto the material from my grandmother’s davenport, and whipped into a shirt. Hot.
This sweater isn’t even flattering on Gwenyth Paltrow. Add in hips, love handles and arm flab, and this is really just a recipe to make me look like an overstuffed bag of cotton candy.
The only thing that would make this pseudo-maternity, empire-waisted floral nightmare any worse, would be to remove the sleeves. Oh, wait.
Note to self: Attend more garage sales. Purchase old mumus and afghans, and turn them into hideous and very sleeveless clothing. After which time, you can sell them to drag queens for $40.
Now, I think the concept for this shit, er, I mean shirt, started off on the right foot. A black tee with one large flower in the center would have been fine. But instead we took this directly to black/brown/ecru hell. Let’s leave it there to burn for eternity.
Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy????
Dude. The only thing worse than searsucker, is searsucker on fat. In hot pink and coral. Come on now.
Mmmm hmmmmmmmmmm. Poor shirt. Looks like a pool of tortured souls lost in an abyss of horrible color placement. If you look closely, they are screaming to get out. No one blames them, either.
What is this? The earth on crack, immortalized on a scrub top?
Um, really?
I’ve named this one: Bloody Jungle Papaya Lovin’.
This is the previous photo’s bastard cousin, Oceanic Parrot Vomitosis.
After this fantastic display of why all plus sized stores should be forever cast into the abyss, you can plainly see why I am thrilled to be able to buy a simple XL top off the rack at a regular store.
And also why I create my own style. This crap is unreal.
Come to Mama and Criminal Minds and shemar moore 2:12 pm
OMGatitos.
Criminal Minds doesn’t interest me at all. Not the plot, the testosterone, nothing. Except for this lovely creature, who is one of the main characters.
Shemar Moore.
Any man who looks this good in a t-shirt and baseball cap, (and worn backwards, by the way….mmm hmmmmm) should be put in the ‘Come to Mama’ hall of fame.
Hot Chocolate, anyone?
church and fire and generosity and glbt and lesbian and weight control and weight loss and weight loss motivation 1:05 pm
I have fierce opinions about most things. On this blog, I can flap my gaping piehole about anything I want. In person, I’m a bit more reserved with my mouth, but not much.
I am not a fan of fear based devotion. Or oppression. Or Republicans. Or canned spinach. (Ewwwwwwwwww Carrie, ewey!) Or selfishness. Or judgement based completely on ignorance.
Unfortunately 5 of the 6 of these things perfectly describe the typical American church. The complacency. The apathy. The self-righteousness.
Come on now.
Growing up in a church, I saw the judgement at every turn.
“I hear Ed’s teenage daughter is having sex.”
Gasp!
“Ruby told me that she found a joint in her grandson’s dresser.”
Shriek!
“See that lady in the backrow? She’s single, pregnant, and already has 3 kids.”
Say it isn’t so!
So you can imagine the whispers, rumors, and gossip that abounded when the church hired a gay pianist. But of all the people from my youth, he is one of the most significant to me. During the short time he worked for our church, he taught me to laugh. To love music. And to continue my piano lessons, no matter how much I wanted to quit. He accepted my awkward junior high self, and I felt comfortable talking with him. He met me where I was at the time, but always encouraged me to grow and do better.
I stuck up for him every chance I got, until he finally resigned.
He was Jesus to me more than any other person in that church.
Last Saturday night, a good friend of mine lost his home in an enormous house fire.
Furniture.
Clothing.
Heirlooms.
Tangible memories.
Everything.
Burned to the ground.
He sent me a nonchalant text message the next day asking to come over. At the time I knew nothing of the fire. He just said he needed to come through and get his mind right.
I was honored to be the therapist of choice, so I invited him over.
Once he arrived, I griped about some things for a few minutes. Mundane details of life. Silly and petty matters. At one point I turned and looked at him, and I could tell something was just not right. So I asked what was wrong. The calmness of his answer astounded me.
“My house burned down, man.”
I just looked at him. Ummmmm, what?!:
and
He proceeded to explain the details. I just sat there, numb. I couldn’t imagine losing my home to such devastation. Two of their pups died. Thank God no one else was hurt.
I knew immediately what to do. But first here’s some background as to why.
I spent 3 years in poverty for my ex. While he was serving an immigration ban, I stayed in the U.S. with our kids because our youngest child needed medical treatment for his Autism. We lived on every government program just to survive. I handled it a day at a time, because I saw an end in sight.
Unfortunately, life had different plans.
During that time, the kids and I survived for two reasons:
Hope.
And my village.
Village? That’s my parents, my sister, a few randoms from my blood family, and some great friends.
My village.
Those are the people I called on this week to help. I also left a few messages with people who attend churches with community outreach programs. Within 24 hours, we had enough furniture, beds, appliances, electronics, food, and cleaning supplies to furnish my friend’s entire home.
All donated.
And who provided 90% of the booty?
A church?
Sort of.
Through someone very close to me, I have had the pleasure to become acquainted with one of the most fun, kind, and generous communities around.
An entourage of lesbians.
These women are astounding. Aside from their individual personalities, which are downright insanely different and fascinating, they just have the most incredible hearts. Time and time again, they have given of their time and resources to help others, with no strings attached. They spend a great deal of their time together at concerts and cookouts at each other’s homes. When someone experiences loss, they jump.
No tent meetings to go to. No contract or deal to sit through hours of endoctrination. No one gets a free salad shooter for new recruits.
It’s just a community of great people, loving people on the most real level. On several occasions while my ex was deported, these women donated items to a rummage sale to raise money for my kids and I. They have landscaped, built, painted, and demolished things I can’t even recall. They gave, though I had nothing to give in return.
We can sit here and wax poetic about world religion and semantics all day. But what I want from a community is realness. I don’t give two shakes about your lip service. Show me that I’m loved. Somewhere that you don’t have to perform, or look a certain way, or do anything special.
Somewhere you can just be. And be God’s.
After all, loving people and meeting their most basic needs is exactly what the Jesus of the bible did.
I received one call from a “church.” They immediately asked if the man who lost his home was a member of their church. When I said no, and gave some geographical information, suddenly I sensed myself being condescended to by this person on the phone.
You know what buddy, thanks but no thanks. You keep your mildewed curtains and couches, and go back to your plans for the church pitch-in. Where you can sit around and talk about helping the very people you choose to abandon, because it doesn’t serve your personal agenda. Perhaps you should work for the government.
This is why I left the church in the first place.
Do I care if your teenage daughter is doing it, or your grandson is smoking reefer after school, or that your sister is single and has 4 kids?
Of course I do.
But do I need to know that information before I can love you?
Not in my church.
Scuse me while I dump this bottle of Gucci perfume on this man’s feet and dry it off with my hair. Us whores and thieves tend to do those sorts of things.
We sho nuff do.
binge eating and bingeing and dieting and eating disorder and men and weight control and weight loss 8:10 am
So last night after wack dude left, I polished off a bag of chocolate that belonged to my daughter. I ate that chocolate because I was angry, hurt, confused….
but I also ate it because he said the word sessual.
I am not comfortable being seen that way. So I eat.
Ew.
Days without incidence: 0
Damn dude.
friends and men and men who love curves and self confidence 2:10 am
Scared much?
This little chucky-style Dora the Explorer doll is nothing compared to the raging beeyatch I was in my own living room about 2 hours ago.
Lemme tell ya a li’l story.
So a few weeks ago I was building a stone path down the front lawn. You may remember me mentioning some douche-bag who meandered onto my property and suggested I needed “a man” to do that work for me. I promptly ordered him to be banished from my courtyards forevermore.
Well apparently the term forevermore really means about 2 weeks.
Tonight he invited himself into my home. And just like the spineless fool that I can sometimes be, I let him in.
All together now: Yoooooooooooooouuuuuuu idiot!
This fool, while completely handsome and well-voiced, is just not right. He made several comments about my looks and my hair. Which, hello? Tell me something I don’t know, Mister Man. He made several comments about how “men have needs.” Really? And what do women have? Weeds?
Everything he said was offensive to me. Everything about his speech, his demeanor, posture, all of it. Complete sexual aggression. At one point he even said to me, “You’re very sessual.”
Confuse me?
Oooooooooh, well most of us say sexual, but whatevs.
I totally went off. I told him that no woman needs a man. That want and need are different things. I told him that I didn’t need a man. Not now, not ever. I told him that I don’t trust men, any of them. I told him that men are just a bunch of peters. I told him that men are incapable of pulling themselves away from visual stimulation and looking deeply into someone’s heart. I kept going. And going. And I mean I went off. With a vengeance.
I told him that I was already interested in someone else. It was like putting a red flag in front of a bull. Just made him more determined.
Thinking back on it now, it really was awful.
At that point I made it clear that he needed to leave, and he did.
But not before he asked me if he could come over on Monday to make burgers for us on my grill.
Apparently some men like bitchy.
Crap.
