What's for dinner?

Sometimes I wish I had the will power to be anorexic.

Scratch that. If it wouldn't cause hemorrhoids, my teeth to fall out, and strokes, I may settle for bullemia. "Excuse me, I'd like to order an eating disorder, medical pitfalls on the side, hold the bleeding ass and scratch marks on the trigger finger."


Yes, yes, I know how deranged and unbalanced that sounds. But for someone who's battled their body's propensity to gain pounds from calories she's even thought about, as well as a mirror image that, at times, seems to rival a funhouse mirror their entire lives, it's simply part of the desperation to wake up one day and not wonder what's for dinner....and what the cost of that dinner will be. Bloating? A 2lb increase on the scale in the morning? "Fat" pants for work tomorrow? I'm talking 28 years of obsessing....that's 10,220 days OR 245,280 hours OR 14,716,800 seconds of analyzing, agonizing over, and dissecting every calorie eaten and every pound gained.


Why yes, that does get tiring. Thank you for asking.


You'd think I would be stick thin with how much time I devote to analyzing, comparing, and salivating over food I don't let myself eat. Ah, no such luck.

This is not to say I think I'm ginormous or whale-like by any means....no, no, nothing that extreme. I happen to have a pretty healthy self image. It simply means I constantly walk the fine line between a single digit size and a double digit size. It means that I start each day determined to follow some semblance of a diet, and end up telling myself tomorrow will be better. It means I wish losing weight was easier, and have to make peace several time a day with being 10-15lbs over my perceived "ideal" weight. And, it means I spend some of my time fantasizing about a body I wasn't born with.

Don't let me give you the wrong idea. Yes, I'm plagued daily by thoughts that make me want to pull my hair out...or at least put on a corset before getting dressed. Really, who isn't? But this body - double digits or not - is strong. It has never suffered a broken bone, and is capable of supporting more than just weight on its back. The girth of my body may span more area than I'd like, but my muscles are firm, lithe, and conditioned. My skin is still smooth - not yet decorated with stretch marks or cellulite. My body keeps up with the softball I love to play and the running I should do more of. I am fortunate enough to be able to hike, jog, run, walk, bike and otherwise entertain or punish my muscles whenever and however I want.

Ideally, my goal is to cherish this body for what it is and not berate it for what its not. I never want to take for granted the simple blessing I have to be able to use my "not-a-size-4, more-cushion-for-the-pushin', donut-loving, pass-the-potatoes, I'll-have-seconds" body however I see fit. I realize that it's something I will strive, and some days struggle, to do....even while I'm wondering, "What's for dinner?"

Office Etiquette

The office environment is one of professionals; business minded folk who, even if just within the confines of 9am-5pm, behave with dilligence, fortitude, and class.

This is not always the case, however, in the Ladie's Room and in the instances of going #2.

Now, I completely understand the need to go #2 at work. Now and again I've been forced to utilize the facilities for that very purpose. However, nothing grosses me out or irritates me more than the "I'm-not-moving-a-muscle-so-noone-knows-what-I'm-doing-in-here" pooper. You know who I mean: The ones who, as soon as you walk in, get deadly quiet (not even breathing quiet) and practically lift their feet off the floor to avoid discovery.

Let me break it to you easy, honey: We ALL know what you're doing in there. And some of you are FAR from being quiet. Just go. You're already your own worst enemy and your idiocy and body are conspiring against you: the dead rodent smell eminating from your stall, the ass-flapping escapee farts and grunts you try to hide under the sound of a flushing toilet, and, oh yeah, the locked freakin' door. Oh right, NO ONE's in here...wink, wink.

I understand the embarassment that accompanies having to go #2 in the possible midst of strangers, especially when you're dottin' cotton and HAVE to get it out. Yes, yes, I can see how that could be disconcerting. You are, however, somewhat well protected by a fairly sturdy stall, and guess what? We don't have x-ray vision, sweetheart. No one will know it was you.

My advice (yes, you were asking): Just let it all go. I'm getting awfully close to calling you out and telling you, "I know what you're doing in there! Just do it already." I've also considered waiting until you've conducted your final flush and left the safety of your stall, and then confronting you. There goes your anonymity. Really, it's completely obnoxious and unnecessary. I'd rather that you were an honest pooper...not some scaredy-cat hiding behind a door, clenching your cheeks together and praying to whatever god you believe in that no one discovers your dirty little secret.

You know, if it really bothers you that much, maybe you should clean those pipes before coming to work.

The Smack Heard 'Round the World...er, Gym...

This is one of my more popular blogs from Facebook, January 17, 2009....

Saturday morning started out as any normal weekend day. I woke up, got some things cleaned up around the house, ate my banana, and headed out to the gym. For your reference, I work out at the Gold's Gym on Park Center. There I was, enjoying a nice run on the treadmill at about 5.7 mph, when it happened. Out of the corner of my eye, not more than 10 feet away from me, a woman probably in her late 30's walks up to another woman (probably around my age) and SMACKS her right across the face. (From the point on, they will be referred to as the smacker and the smackee).

Moving on - It wasn't one of those smacks that you experience when you're dreaming. You know, the one where no matter how hard you try, it comes off as kind of a pussy-ish smack. No, this was one HARD smack that I could hear, even with my ear phones blasting Irene Cara's "What a Feeling". I was so startled by what I'd just seen - I almost fell off my treadmill. I actually had to stop running for a minute to digest the violence I'd just been exposed to. I began glancing around to find out who else had seen what I'd seen. Sure enough, the women occupying the treadmills to the right and left of me are in an equal state of shock as we look at each other wondering, "Did that just happen?" We watch, our jaws on the floor, as the smacker says to the smackee, "You're so evil." The smackee then walks around the smacker, down the stairs, and out the door without ever saying a word but with a huge red mark across her right cheek. The smacker then jumps on a treadmill, makes eye contact with noone, and commences her workout.

Since there appears to be no imminent danger, I resume the last 10 minutes of my run, never taking my eyes off the smacker. After all, I don't want her sneaking up on me. I finish my run, do some stretching and cool down exercises, and then proceed to the front desk so I can, in true good Samaritan form, inform the proper authorities. As I recall the tale to the 18 year old pop tart working the front desk, I am increasingly aware of her lack of concern. I suggest maybe talking to the smacker to determine whether or not this was a random act. The pop tart then laughs and says, "Hopefully she's working out her frustration so she doesn't smack again." Unimpressed with her lack of action, I tell her, "Hopefully this isn't a random act of smacking because who knows who'd be next? And what about her comment of the smackee being "so evil"? Perhaps she is a religious random smacker? I don't go to church - how do I know I'm safe? I will say that if the next random smackee turns out to be ME, there will be a problem." I leave the gym, slightly disappointed that my dilligence in reporting the crime hadn't spurred them into immediate action...and, consequently, a level of gratitude for my bravery in coming forward.

Anyway, with the act of the smacker behind me, I will once again brave the gym tonight. I will, however, be keeping an eye out for the smacker. I tell you this in hopes that you will stay alert to any strange happenings in your gym so that you, too, aren't a victim of random smacks.