Because it would have been a slap in Baby Jesus' new-born face not to celebrate with some good eats. Maybe Easter?

Well, Christmas has come and gone and I'm not quite 105, or even 110. But I did get pretty close at 112, thanks to a severe cold or flu-type thingie. Thank the Baby Jesus that I've already given myself an extension to the 12th of Never to meet my real goal. I haven't weighed myself in a couple of days, but I'm pretty sure that I've regained the four pounds I lost being sick -- got the appetite back and am still chowing on those little cherry cordial-flavored Kisses (Kurse you Hersheys), plus Christmas Eve, and Day, and Weekend were all quite tasty.

So what now? You don't think I'ma quit now do you? Not when I can continue to vent my every emotion on this blog, I'm not. So the battle of Squidge Ridge continues with some successes and failures along the way. On the whole, I feel and look better than I did when I started this in October -- my muffin top is considerably less muffiny than it was. I'm more of a mini-muffin now.

This week's weight loss plan? Well, so far, I walked 40 minutes on Sunday thanks to Mary B (because I would've stayed in front of the new outdoor fireplace with that glass of wine if she hadn't called), and I've walked to Mary J's house twice today, because I'm obssessed with her fire pit and want to get someone to make me one like it -- I'd walk ten miles for a new somethin-somethin that I want, but won't budge to save my own fat ass. Beyond that? Hmmm. Gonna see some friends tonight and eat/drink and watch a movie. Not so good. Maybe I can do some sit ups or something? I'll work on it. Meanwhile, I may take another Avesil. I couldn't discover their secret ingredient(s), but it does seem to decrease my appetite without bouncing me off the walls. Should have taken some last night before the potluck-fest that included bacon and cheese and all my favorite stuff. Oh, you evil friends, I love you.

Okay, Just took an Avesil with two cordial-Kisses. In case I lose my appetite for them later.

Am I alone here?

Or shouldn't drivers have to NOT be assholes on holidays and holiday-eves? I had to secretly flip off two drivers on my way to get firewood today.

And is it just me, or do other people find it hard to pick gifts for others? Because I don't know what YOU like, but I definitely know what I like, and I'll take two, please. And then when I get a good gift for someone else, I don't want to give it up. I go all Gollum in my head -- "Tracy WANTS the gift. HE/SHE won't like the gift. Tracy NEEEEEEDS it. Tracy should KEEEEEEEP it." Jeri, I know you don't read my blog, so I'm safe in saying, you didn't really want the glass storage containers with cute green lids, and you won't miss them. Now where will I put them?

Gotta run again, 'cuz I have to hit the bank, come up with gifts for some people I forgot I was seeing tonight, and shower and stuff in about 3 hours. I'll be late as usual. MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE YOU PEOPLE!!!

Baby steps and baby candy bars....

First of all --Woo Hoo -- 112!!!! Can I get an AMEN? Oh, yeah, laying in bed, eating chocolates, then working round the clock and eating an all leftover-roasted-sweet-potato diet did the trick. (Who, besides Ena, knew that you could lose 4 pounds of just snot?) So all the workin' out stuff? Crap. Speaking of stinking, I've got to go -- the 10th Circuit needs their 60-something page frickin' brief, and I've got to lose 785 words. On the up side, I was more than 4000 words over the limit yesterday. Which is tougher -- losing weight, or losing words? Hard to say. At least I can get rid of the words faster.

Ho, Ho, Ho!

You know that saying about being sick and tired of being sick and tired?

I'm kinda' there. But not too bad -- am getting over the cold/flu/whatever badness that was, except that the snot and clogged ears linger and I'm stressing over a potential right ear infection. Health-wise things are generally improved and I'm sure I'll regain that 3 pounds within a couple of days, especially since I'm REALLY busy with work right now (duh, I'm behind like a week and have a major deadline before Christmas). Haven't even had a long walk since Thanksgiving. Ouch, the Fat is just hanging on the couch eating chips and candy bars. Oh wait, that's me. Dang. Will someone let me know if I start to look like Jaba the Hut from Star Wars? Or Pizza the Hut from Space Balls? Can anyone say New Year's resolution? I'm so beyond my second deadline already. It's totally sad, but not the least bit surprising. Blog you before Christmas.

Zip-a-dee-Doo-Dah...!

113. Seriously. Just get the flu. Wow, I lost 3 whole pounds just by getting sick and turning all my extra fluids into mucus that could be blown out or choked up! Easy-peasy.

So that went well. I got out of bed, and actually made the bed (to prevent any return) and put on sweats today. I did this because I need to work -- I'm like a week and a half behind. So, even though I still feel 70-80% crappy, I'm not dead, and I headed to work. Off I go to my office 30 feet away from my bedroom, and the office computer is dead. Well, fortunately, it was just the monitor, and I've seen this before, so I had a separate monitor in stock. But the whole dead-computer thing required moving all my office files. I wish I could explain to myself, let alone to the rest of the world, how it took me ALL day and half the night to transfer those files. And get the software working on the other computer. Of course I did have to call some IT help to figure out how to get the monitor to work with the dead/blank computer. And then I had to go get new software so that the files would actually work on my other computer. You know, it's not one thing, it's ten or twenty.

But the other computer is up and running and I have no excuse not to be working tomorrow. Plus I've updated/upgraded some stuff -- all good. You've got to check out the latest version of iTunes -- it's got a Home Sharing thing that would have saved my butt years earlier. And lots of cool new features. If my computers didn't go bad every couple of years I'm sure I'd never get stuff updated. But I'm just rambling about nothing now, more than usual even, so I'ma go.

P.S. I plan on feeling well enough for a walk tomorrow.

Notch THIS, Theraflu!

Are the Theraflu people tryin' to piss me off? Cuz I am NOT in the mood. Their "delicious" mucus tea (THEY call it Flu & Chest Congestion, and it tastes nothing like any natural citrus I've ever had, BTW), comes in little foil pouches that you can supposedly open by folding down one corner and then ripping across from some non-existent notch. Supposedly. Okay, I can fold down the corner. I can see the little indentation that is their idea of a notch. But it kind of falls apart from there. I folded and ripped and pulled and tugged with my fingers, and then went right to the traditional act of desperation -- the final step before breaking down and admitting you have to cross the room for some scissors -- ripping at it with my teeth. Nada. I've only tried to open 2 pouches so far, but I'm 0 for 2 on the corner notch thing and I've put a pair of scissors by the microwave. Theraflu: it is NOT nice to mess with sick people. Just put a decent notch in the side of the pouches and let's move on.

So obviously being ill has put a crimp into my little diet/exercise experiment and Christmas is not looking good for invisibility. Being sick's a great excuse to not workout and to eat chocolate and potato chips. But let's be honest, I haven't been doing much since Boot Camp before Thanksgiving. So I think I'm pretty much screwed until 2010. The good news, however, is that I've found a boot camp workout group in my own neighborhood, that works out in the evening (not some ridiculous time in the middle of the night or the middle of the work day), and it doesn't cost a penny.
Yes. So as soon as I'm feeling better and I have some time, I'ma exercise with strangers close to home. Just as soon as I feel better.

Man Down! Man Down!

Okay, I cannot believe the VOLUME of mucus that my one little head, my lungs, and my sinus system can produce and spew. I'm sure if I wasn't blowing and hacking and rinsing every minute day and night, my whole head would have exploded by now. And this isn't even the flu. It's just some stupid cold or bug or whatever. But I got some antibiotics on board this morning, and I'm predicting a slight recovery by tomorrow.

I soldiered through most of the weekend, because it's Christmas, damn it, and shit has to happen. But when I woke up dead this morning and looked at the reality of actually WORKING, I caved and took the antibiotic and some Progresso chicken soup (thank God I bought a case at Costco the other day) and went to bed. And, although I've had brief bouts with the computer/office today, I just was not functional.

And this whole being sick deal might have been a good weight loss technique, were it not for the DIABOLICAL chocolate/candy manufacturers. Hershey's has gone NUTS with the little Kiss. It's not just about holiday-colored foil any more -- they've got candy cane kisses, caramel, almond, dark chocolate, and, my personal fave/new addication, the cherry cordial. OMG, they're just like those cherry cordials I used to sneak at the holidays, but I can eat them in one bite without oozing the center goo all over myself. And then the candy bar people -- who is that Mars? -- they've got these little baby one-bite holiday candy bars that I had to get. And since no one's trick or treatin' for Christmas, guess who's eating most of these things? Yes, when you're really sick, chocolate seems like a good idea.

Next weekend though, I'm right back at it. Mostly. Probably.

Well, they can't all be winners. (Bad Santa.)

So I'm driving home from the annual holiday double feature (The Ref and Badder Santa) and two jackoffs are driving tandem on 7th Avenue at like 35 mph -- the guy on the right is going annoyingly slow and the guy on the left is weaving back and forth all over his lane -- and I'm thinkin', "Shit, we can't ALL be drunk." And I pull into my driveway (finally) and I immediately hear barking from my bay window. Shit. Shit. I know it's not Connor, since he hasn't heard my car pull up for at least two years. And I was hoping it wouldn't be New Dog, because I drew the curtains to keep her out and preserve the Christmas trees and ornaments. Okay, so she understands that she can get in between the drapes even though there are two layers that overlap in the middle. Dang, girl. (She IS pretty smart.) And seriously, did she lie there for 4.5 hours waiting for me to come home? Get a life.

But I think the worst part was the wet spot on the living room rug. When is that F-ing crate arriving? I think she gets so stressed that she drinks a ton of water and then loses bladder control in the excitement of my absence or return or something. Thank God I don't really have to go anywhere for a few days.

And I have a headache from coughing. I cannot wait to go to bed. Yes, I have a cold or virus or something -- I'm temporarily Phlegmish. The queen of Phlegm, in fact, which is why I haven't been blogging. I feel like dirt. Worse than dirt. Walking dirt. But Christmas is coming and I've got shit to do. Today was all about office gifts -- got them pretty much done. Tomorrow is all about getting the cards out, which for me is a huge deal -- we're talking photo holiday cards with me and the critters (I like photos and think they're mandatory for holiday cards), plus last year's Thank You cards that I forgot to send out because I had the flu, plus the Christmas letter, plus the Christmas song/poem, and some extra photos, and then that all gets stuffed into an envelope and mailed to 100 people. Tomorrow, I hope. In between cleaning the kitchen, cutting mom's hair and making jambalaya for 8. Gotta LOVE the holidays. The upside? I'm sick, baby, I don't have t' work out.

Separation anxiety rears its sore pink paws.

Well hell. Crate training advice appreciated. I had to leave again for 3 hours this evening. This dog has apparently never been left alone. After the near-death experience with the Christmas tree full of glass ornaments this morning, I thought I could leave her in the bedroom tonight, just like last night. Oops. I came home to a shredded canvas tote bag (hanging on the back of the door) and millions of little paint flakes all over the floor, because she clawed through 70-80 years of lead paint and some of the wood on the door to try to get out. Will have to repaint the door. And I'm sure if I'd been gone like 6 hours, she would have gone all the way through the door. Her little paws are swollen and red and must be very sore. Tomorrow we go to a pet store for a new collar, a toy or ten to keep her busy, and a little poodle-sized crate. Chew your way out of THAT, girlfriend.

Took my first little diet pill. Am Alice on speed. Okay, Avesil. I only took one, instead of the recommended two, because I'm not used to caffeine, even, and I'm small. I could feel a bit of a hyperactive thing going on and am glad I started slow. Plus, I haven't really read about this as much as I'd like to. It's a bunch of herbs that speed up your metabolism and decrease your appetite. So I can sit in a chair from here to eternity and lose weight. And that's my plan. Okay, not really. I found an EVENING boot camp that is near my home and does not even cost any money. GET OUT! It's a little TGTBT. So I'll definitely have to check it out. Tomorrow. For now, exhausted New Dog with separatation anxiety and I have to get some rest. (I think I might be getting a cold. Uh-oh for the ski trip.)

Dog Day Morning

Okay, New-Dog Day 2.0 is much improved. She's warmed up to me (it's love fo' sho' -- you should have seen the raptures when I came home last night after 2-3 hours at Book Club); Connor's warming up to her; and poor Bella is learning to hide in case New Dog snaps at her again. But ND is really smart. She's already learned not to poop in the house (and I've learned to get her out to poop before 9 am so I don't step in the poop by the front door like yesterday), and to tell me when she needs to go out. This morning went so smoothly, that I left ND and Connor Home Alone without separating them. Yikes. I'm at a Board meeting and am hoping NOT to find blood and guts when I get home. So far, they both seem to be terrified of each other, so I'm optimistic.

Hey I used the New Digital this morning. The ND (the dog, not the scale) weighs 9.2 pounds. And I weigh 115.8 or 117, depending on where I put the scale on the bathroom floor. I'm going with the 115.8, because it was the last number I got and I got it twice. But I should have skipped the bagel with cream cheese schmeared all over it at the meeting -- I haven't exactly been working out. I'm kind of hoping to walk for 30 minutes at some point today, but the odds are not good, given my track record. Sigh. I've got to get back into working out and I don't see how I'm gonna have the time. Oh wait! I'm hiking Saturday morning with Patrick and Ena. So that's good.

And I've got a new weight-loss experiement. I didn't mention it before, but I ordered a 30-day supply of some appetite suppression (I think) pill. All I know is that it will make me skinny without any effort on my part, and according to something I read on the web, it REALLY works and is the BEST thing out there!!! It's called Ave-something. I'll try it starting this afternoon and report back. I'm sure you'll all want some.

Meanwhile, let's name ND something fun. I'm giving her some time to get comfortable so I can figure out what she's really like. She's definitely already more comfy than the first night, since she's sleeping all over my bed and coming over for tummy rubs and stuff. And rubbing herself all over the rugs and furniture -- presumably marking the stuff. (Like it doesn't already reek from two prior cats and the first dog.) I haven't quite figured her out yet, but since poodles are stereotypically French (I think they're actually German water retrieval dogs), I thought an obnoxious French name might be fun. Monica suggested Fifi. Not bad. Also in the running: Babette, Claire, and Zoe. I like Zoe. If I go German, there's Heidi (of course), or Gretel (yech), or __? I'm blankin'. Suggestions welcome.

Gotta go pay some attention to this Board meeting.

UPDATE: New Dog suspiciously enraptured on my return. She REALLY missed me. But little miss Smarty Pants had no trouble finding the bay window up front and moving an entire 4' Christmas tree and smashing one of my favorite ornaments. New possible names = Beelzebub, Demon Seed, Satan's Spawn.

I coulda had a handbag.

Seriously, WHAT was I thinking? I'm sitting here at 2 am watching this little grey poodle sleep at the foot of my bed and wondering (a) WTH was I thinking getting another dog on the spur of the moment, after 1.5 glasses of wine, and right before I leave town for one week? and (b) is that gassy smell coming from her or me? Because if this dog has gas, that's it -- she's goin' back. Of course, it could be me -- I had a lot of bean soup the last two days and there was a little slip up at Safeway yesterday. (Oh, like you've never. I can't believe I post this stuff for the whole world.)

Well, gas issues aside, she's a very sweet dog. And seems to be a lot smarter than either Connor or I. Only negative so far, besides the possible gas, is that she snapped at Bella. But we can work on that -- I mean dogs and cats aren't always best buddies right away, right? Okay, so how did I wind up with another dog I don't need? Well, I blame Jane. See, Jane asked me to donate a purse for the Az Animal Welfare League/SPCA Handbags and Tailwags fundraiser. And then she got me a free ticket. So I go tonight (last night, really), thinking, you know, I'll buy a handbag, some raffle tickets, whatever. Shit. One ten-year-old toy poodle later.... Her name is Baby. And she knows her name and responds to it. She even stays when you tell her "stay." Freaky. It's almost more freaky just that she can hear me, since I'm so used to my old deaf dog. Speaking of whom, I feel really guilty bringing home another dog -- Connor's looking at me like, "Oh, I see, you've got my replacement all lined up. I'll just curl up in a little ball in the far corner until I die." I feel SO guilty, but I'm thinking if I suck up to Connor, maybe he won't be too jealous. Plus he really used to like a dog that looked just like this down the street. So maybe they'll be great companions. We'll see.

Speaking of seeing -- I'm typing this by the light of my new Biobrite sunrise alarm clock. Ooooooooh. I gotta admit, it's pretty cool. I like it a lot so far. But it will definitely be a challenge for it to wake me up in 4.5 hours. I'll let you know how that works. Meanwhile, I'd better put something over my nose and try to get some sleep so I can make peace in the animal kingdom tomorrow.

Son of a Mother of a Storm!

Holy Mother of All Storms!! One umbrella and table went down early in the first quarter. At 11:30 p.m. the power went out and I was awakened from peaceful slumber by the collective final death beep from all my electronics, followed by the dreaded total silence of no power and the sound of HEAVY things flying around the backyard. When I went to investigate I could see the early carnage and am 100% certain of having to spend at least an hour retrieving and pitching damaged market umbrellas and other items from the backyard. Turns out I lost 2 out of 3 of last spring's new blue market umbrellas. Which is precisely why I always buy cheap -- the expensive ones break JUST as easily when blown across the yard. The second one was broken off mid-pole and managing to float (they usually sink rapidly, but I've gotten good at sunken umbrella retrieval) upside down in the deep end of the pool at 11:30 pm and had migrated to the shallow end by the time I got up this morning. (See photo of Connor viewing carnage.) This was a big one -- more wind even than most of the summer monsoons -- up to 74 mph winds. I've never seen one like this in December before. Was a little concerned that the awning would peel off the back patio.

Anyway, the power is still out this morning-- apparently I’m not alone as about 24,0000 to 61,000 (depending on what news report I read) homes remain without power this morning and as many as 250,000 homes were out at some point during the night. Fortunately, my local Starbucks (a happenin' place -- the mayor was just in and a former AZ AG is here now) was untouched and I'm gonna sit here and use their wifi and drink lattes as long as it takes. The radio said that "hopefully," they'd have power back to most homes by noon. Okay, great, but here's what I love -- a little pet peeve. I've lived in this house for almost 20 years now, and I've been through lots of outages. The power almost always goes out when we get any serious wind. BUT, the OTHER side of our street, never looses power. WTF?!! That is SO not fair. I can sit in my dark, cold, gonna-have-to-reset-every-frickin'-piece-of-electronic-equipment house and look across the street to the warm, well-lit homes where my neighbors are sipping hot coffee while watching the news (or Law & Order SVU if it were my house) after a nice warm shower. NOT fair. But I'm over it.

I have to confess -- the one piece of equipment that WAS working in my house this morning didn't get used. Yes, the New Digital (not to mention the Old Spring) scale was workin' just fine, but I chose not to use either one. It's been a tough morning already -- I really don't need to know. And although I didn't formally exercise this morning (which I could have done notwithstanding the big outage), I DID walk to Starbucks, so I should get points for that. TTFN.

Journey to the planet of the bears: "Hey, hey, Boo Boo, this bed feels great!"

Okay, unless apes are hibernators and nobody mentioned it, I must have evolved from bears. I thought it was dark out at 6 am, but let me tell you it is pitch black at 5, and not nearly as bright as it ought to be by 7. I didn't even start to wake up until 7:36 this morning. (After a 5 am bathroom stumble, which is how I know it's REALLY dark then.) My new sunrise alarm clocks better arrive soon, so I can get all my Christmas stuff done. I think I need a really big one -- one that will light up my whole house like Hiroshima.

At least it's not minus 5000 this morning (also known as 44). It was 54 degrees when I got up, so there's a better chance that I'll get dressed and get out and walk or something this morning. Of course it hasn't happened yet and won't while I'm laying in bed blogging about laying in bed, but it could. Guess I'll get up for the big weigh in. I pigged out last night, so maybe I'll be super skinny. Or super fat. RRRRRRRRRRR. 117 point frickin eight. Almost 118. Getting skinny is really hard. I may go back to colon cleansing just to feel better about my numbers for a couple of days. Or maybe I'll look into one of those diet drink products that decrease your appetite. But I think my problem is more that I need to work out and burn calories and get my muscle and metabolism back. Maybe some Red Bull (wings, you know) would do the trick? Bouncing off walls must burn calories. I'm not supposed to have caffeine (fibrocystic), but I'm not sure how else I'ma get my butt moving again. Wow this bed feels good. And I love my soft brown binkie. Wish I was a bear. Plus bears don't have to work, unless you're Smokey, or Yogi, or Boo Boo (hey, they don't just picknick at Jellystone, they're actors). Sadly, I do, so I'd better go. Plus the dog is pawing at the bed, which means he's about to move into a more annoying mode. Okay, now he's barking AND pawing. Better go.

Update: The gods must know I'm in hibernation mode -- it's raining. So of COURSE I can't walk NOW. I'd get wet. Duh.

Christmas makes you feel emotional...

Mah mah mah mah, mah boogie sho-oes. Gonna boogie wit' you. And who DOESN'T like KC and the Sunshine Band? Had a nice drive home from Southern New Mexico (aka North Scottsdale) last night with the Electric Slide (full-on sideways head bobbing required -- apologies to drivers behind me on the 51), Love Machine (serious vocal work going on there) and then the Boogie Shoes, rounded off by More Than a Woman from my BG boys. A fine night of vintage radio work from KOOL FM. Had a great dinner (except for the mostly-alive veal) with Dave Barry, who does NOT look 62, but is just as funny in person as in the paper. Pretty much a stand up gig with food and wine. And I got to hear Scott Turrow speak in the morning. Almost worth driving to another planet for this stuff. Thanks to Mark, who scored us free tickets to these events at the Princess. So when am I going to get my holiday stuff done? Still have to do the letters and write the poem/song (I promised "sayonara cellulite" and I meant it) and get photo cards done, put up trees and decorations, etc. Wow, I'd better get started. I'm just a Love Machine, but I don't work for nobody but you....ooh-ooh Babay.

Hey I'm only 115.6 this morning!! As usual, I do better when I go out and have a good time. Am I burning calories talking and laughing with my friends? What is UP with that? I must just be designed that way. Lucky me. Best not to question. And not to write right now. As Scott Turrow said only yesterday, "I have to write from a place of inspiration." And I'm just not feelin' it right now. A little down with all the stuff I need to get done swimming around in my head. So I'm going to the grocery store to buy green smoothie supplies (I can't even make breakfast with the random crap left in my cupboards -- I think I have a tiny can of mild green chiles, a can of corn, and a giant pan of old stuffing), then I'm gonna blend, and make soup ('cuz it's a chilly 44 this morning), then I must compose the X-mas stuff and work on gifts.... Well you get the idea. Right after I walk the dog -- he's looking very sad and won't let me forget that he didn't get a walk last night. And if there's time, there will be tree decoratin' by the fire. (Hmmmm. Where's the workout in there?) Oh the weather outside is frightful....

Update: Well crap. Not 20 minutes ago I was 115.6. Now I'm 117.8! There MUST be something wrong with my scale -- I didn't gain 2.2 pounds from the little cream of wheat and green tea I had. RRRRRRRRRR. This is NOT fair.

The white flag is creeping up the pole.

So has anyone noticed that I seem to have given up on my goal of losing 10 pounds, or getting down to 105? Just me? Well, I'm kind of prematurely resigned to the thing not happening. I've been trying to be good for like two months now and it isn't working. Not so you'd notice it anyway. So I'm kinda pissed and depressed. And already thinking of a new blog where I can bitch about EVERYTHING, not just trying to lose weight. Oh. I guess I do that now. But I feel like such a loser for not making my goal, or anticipating that I won't make my goal. Hmmm. Do I have the fortitude to do something really drastic to lose more weight before Christmas?

Nah, probably not. Especially since this is the craziest time of the year with ZERO free time. But maybe I'll develop some good habits that will last me a lifetime and result in gradual healthy weight loss.

Mmmmmmmwwwwaaahaaahaaaahaaaaaaa! God, I crack myself up.

Hey, I forgot what I was gonna say!

Okay, this morning I caught an ad for a belt thingie that works your abs electronically while you sit on your ass eating junk food and watching TV. NEED ONE!

And I had some other little tidbit to share, but I forgot what it was. OH! It was my new scheme for waking my ass up earlier. Because if I can wake up earlier and faster, then I have more time to work out, right? Here's the deal. Half of my problem is that it takes me like an hour to wake up. I cannot get up in the dark, so it's usually 7 before I roll over, turn on a light, or stumble to the back door and throw the dog out. Then I have to lie in bed checking email or stretching like a cartoon character for another half hour or more until my eyes and brain can focus enough to get up. What's with that? So I thought I'd institute a new stricter get-my-ass-up policy by purchasing some sort of acceptable alarm clock. (I used to have them, but they somehow disappeared over the years.) So I have settled on something that will do rain and tweeting birds and other stuff that ISN'T a buzzer that makes me want to smack the thing across the room, and will gradually wake me up with LIGHT in the morning. Genius, right? So that's my new plan. (That and that ab workout belt thing.) So I've ordered a cheap version and a more expensive version on Amazon (or I will once the Super Saver free shipping starts to work again), and I'll give you a report later.

Update: Thursday morning. Okay, the Super Saver shipping problem was just my failure to understand that I didn't have qualifiying mdse in my cart. (Oh, like that's never happened to YOU before.) So that got "fixed." And my Biobrite light is already ON ITS WAY to my bedroom.

Tiny blended company for my misery.

A. Mobia. One woman lost 23 pounds in 6 weeks. Obviously I NEED one, but don't have the space. Would a larger house make me skinny? Almost certainly.

B. Blender update. My first/only Amazon disappointment. They were unwilling to open a box and send me a (hopefully unbroken) lid, and offered instead to send A THIRD blender in the same packaging -- packaging that resulted in a broken lid each of the two previous times they mailed one. Oh, what to do. Needless to say, I returned the two busted-lidded blenders and passed up a shot at a third. And, since I wound up standing in the blender aisle at the WalMart in Maryville, MO, I picked up a new Oster with a lid that isn't cheap Chinese plastic. (I'm pretty sure it's cheap Chinese rubber and plastic.) So now I'm blending like MAD with the new blender. BZZZZZZZZZ. It's pretty good. I've got a jar of chunky Kermit in the fridge right now.

C. Gotta go watch National Body Challenge on Fit TV for simultaneous inspiration and feelings of superiority. Hah! Someone else is out of shape and eating wrong. Uh huh!

I gotta admit -- it was the road trip, not the holiday....

Monday morning post-Turkey Day: 119.2 OUCH. I'm back to ground frickin' zero. All that work -- diet, exercise, bitching -- and one stinkin' holiday and a week of not working out and I'm back to about where I was when I started. Damn you turkey and potatoes and delicious stuffing. And Pringles. And pumpkin pie. I like pumpkin pie. Gonna Google an appetite suppressant. And bulimia. Is it too late after 4 days?

Gotta give y'all a mental picture of my trip through the Bible Belt of western Kansas. Why didn't I get the camera out? Then you could have seen for yourself the many wonders of giant billboards warning: "Find Jesus now. Or regret it FOREVER!" in 6-foot tall letters and I'm not kidding with the italics. Someone there feels very sorry for me, because I will CERTAINLY spend my afterlife burning in Hell. I feel sorry for me, because I'm spending my duringlife drinking spinach and edamame and trying to work out unsuccessfully and feeling guilty about it. So basically, I'm already IN Hell. Plus, don't tell Kansas, but I always kind of felt like Hell couldn't be much worse. Maybe that's why they're promoting it -- makes Kansas seem lots more pleasant? Ah, now I've offended my many Kansas friends (like two of you). Believe me, it's not the state itself, which is quite lovely (amber waves of grain and flint hills and all that). No, it's the whole "How dare they teach our kids that Eee-voh-Looo-shun stuff. Everyone knows that GOD created the universe in 6 days." (I think it was 6 days -- I'm obviously not really good with the Bible info, but I seem to remember he rested on the 7th, conveniently Sunday, so we can all go to church). Anyway, I'm sorry Kansas, but I'm glad to be back in Arizona where they are still a bit crazier and more conservative than I'd like (look up the NutJob preacher from Tempe that prays for Obama to die of brain cancer), but at least we get the difference between science and religion for purposes of public schooling.

This morning I was in the 117 range, after a night of turkey casserole and lots of wine (thanks Ena) to go with a post-holiday girls' movie night. But today, as Ena has pointed out, is a good time to start over. (It's like Scarlet O'hara said: "Tomorrow IS another day.") So I've got a clump of dirt in my clenched fist, the sun at my back and I'm renewing my diet/exercise vows: "As Dog is my witness, I WILL be good until Christmas," when I expect to be at least transparent, having given up on total invisibility.

P.S. What happened to my fish? Did no one feed them while I was gone?

Does this road trip make my butt look big?

Two-hour-late 9:20 am departure not a big surprise. And it's a REALLY good thing I Boot Camped my butt last week, because I unBoot Camped it all in one day. Let's see, sat in car for 12 hours moving almost no muscle (except when I tried to change the audio, find my phone headset, and/or work the controls on the seat massager, most of which resulted in dangerous swerves onto the shoulder at 80 mph), ate almost a WHOLE bag of Terra chips, half a large can of Pringles (again, YUMMY taters), 1/4 pound of Raisinettes, an apple (yeah, a fruit, but kind of a joke with the rest of this list), a McD's cheeseburger and fries (hey, the DOG wanted the fries), a green smoothie (that was early, before I started the big road binge), 1/2 cup raw almonds (KIND of good for me), and, because my LaQuinta hotel room is right by Arby's (again, NOT my fault), two regular roast beef sands. SHIT. That's a lot of food even for the old me. The new me is appalled and wants to work out, but I'm REALLY tired and have to drive 11.5 hours again tomorrow. The fun and the food never ends. Maybe I'll be good tomorrow. Tee hee.

Over lots of rivers and through many woods.

Isn't getting out of town a bitch? I was going to leave this morning, but there was just no way to get everything done. I'm operating in full panic mode and still could not get to half the stuff I wanted to do. I mean, I'm running to Target for stuff, visiting mom to drop off stuff, cleaning out the car, doing laundry, installing a new screen and re-hanging the front screen door -- I'm frickin' Wonder Woman without the clear plane, but I STILL can't get everything done. So I didn't get the hair washed and styled, but the DOG got washed. And although I didn't make popcorn for my two-day cross-country journey, I DID get a large can of Pringles to go with the Raisinettes. (What can I say? You know I'm a health nut. It's vegetables -- hello, potatoes, and fruit -- duh, raisins.) The good news is that it's just the dog and I in the car with my audio Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde books for two days. And Connor likes me AND period romances just as much as he likes, say, cat poop (yum) and rolling in freshly-fertilized neighbor yards. Well, he might like some of that stuff better than me, but he's gonna be okay with two days of lounging in the back seat. At least he doesn't have to drive -- I'd trade places with him in a heart beat.

Am debating about making some delicious green smoothness to take in the car tomorrow. Since I can't work out, I'd better consume some spinach and kale, right? Have a feeling that the 7 am start time won't happen either. Will be lucky if I get out of BED by 7 am.

Vacay starts in the A.M. -- am I 92% excited and 8% scared? Or 92% scared and 8% excited?

If I see ONE more frickin' Snuggie ad...

Really, it's like a bunch of pink, blue and leopard monks doin' the wave at a little league game. I can't stand it. And they must be making a fortune off this hideous blanket wear. I know I watch too much late night TV -- I admit it, but do they HAVE to run the Snuggie ad every 15 minutes?

Anyway, I'm done with Boot Camp. And I must admit that I feel and look better, stronger, faster, and even a bit skinnier. I weighed in at 114.8 this morning -- my lowest weight. If I kept this up, I'd be HOT in no time. (For a middle-aged lady.) But I can't keep going, not just because it was a lot of work, but because I also missed a lot of work. This was right in the middle of the morning -- a class designed for soccer moms, with the only alternative the class for psychos who go to bed at 8 p.m. and get up at 4:30 a.m. (aka the middle of my night). So I'm going to have to figure out something that will give me that same kind of work out (it really was a great work out), like 3 days a week, at a reasonable time, near my house. I'm sure I'll work something out. Suggestions welcome. Anyone want to work out with me? We could jog to the park in my hood and do squats and lunges? Yes? Maybe after Thanksgiving.

All right, I'm gonna go Google some more boot camps. There must be one.

'night.

Sucking wind.

Overachieving Anne was back today, throwing off my plans for a coup. It's hard to assume command when you're doubled over trying to breathe and OA Anne is sprinting and kicking her muscular legs like a little pony. A minor set back. And I wound up next to OAA and her 8 pounders again this morning. Spent the hour obssessing about how old Anne and the other boot campers might be. I've convinced myself that Anne is at least 10 years younger than I am, in order to feel better about my inability to (1) jog, (2) jump rope (a skill I didn't think I needed any more), and (3) wear shorts at 9:30 a.m. when it's "chilly" out. I totally suck at all the high-impact stuff. Who knew I couldn't run, or jog, or jump up and down for any length of time? Well, now we all know. But I'm really good at lunges and stuff.

Anyway, boot camp is still sucking, but not as much as I had expected. I think the 5:30 am session REALLY would have sucked ass, and I'm kind of disappointed that I didn't give it a shot. Maybe I'll try that before Christmas.

The incredible shrinking dictator.

I woke up 2 inches shorter this morning. My hamstrings had cramped up until my toes curled like little elf slippers. Am wondering, if I get shorter from all this exercise, will I wind up looking fatter than ever?

And I still feel fat. Why is that? Perhaps it's just this week with Mother Nature, you know? Because I've been eating pretty good. (The sausage in this week's soup is lean turkey sausage, so that's like eating spinach, right? Plus I'm pretty sure that the kale in the soup has negative calories that cancel out the sausage. I should get bonus points for even thinking about eating kale. And I haven't seen a frickin' cookie in like a month.) And I've been working my ass off at the ol' CPBC for two mornings now. I expect to be so cramped up by tomorrow morning that I can't get out of bed. And I don't know what will happen by Friday.

Perky overachieving Anne wasn't at boot camp this morning. So I planned a coup and should be in charge by tomorrow morning. Under my regime, there will be no more high impact crap. All that running? Gone. Jumping? I don't think so. Plyometrics? History. There will be some weights, some really fast walking, and lots of yoga. Ahhh. Heil Tracy!

They'll thank me later.

Boot camp didn't suck nearly as much as I'd hoped.

All right you enquiring minds -- I've finished Boot Camp Day 1 and am sitting here drinking my smooth green apple/banana/kale/spinach/basil/yogurt lunch. Mmmmm. Jealous much?

First, let me just say that I am SO glad I didn't attempt the 5:30 a.m. frickin' middle of the night deal here in Phoenix. Cuz it is dark and cold in the middle of the night (or cold and lonely in the deep dark night, if you're Meatloaf), and I would've bitched up a storm that would have blanketed the whole midwest. If I'd even made it up that early. The trade off was a 27-minute drive to North Phoenix after my green tea. And guess what little park has no bathroom? Yep. So I was borderline bad-attitude right from the get-go, but I thought, Okay, I'll work through it -- maybe I'll forget about it. And I did later, but let's just say that jumping jacks are not what you want to be doing when you're already puffy and pissy and have got to pee on top of it.

I had to wait to assess the class, as my bathroom inquiry put me behind the rest of the class, which had jogged off just as I walked up. The overachievers were easy to spot, running way faster than other people for no good reason. Show offs. (I'm pretty sure I may have to kill "Anne" before the week is over.) Most of the class was in pretty good shape, but there was one large lady and another mid-life lady struggling with her own squidge. I wanted to stand next to the big lady, but she was way over on the other side, so I wound up next to perky overachieving Anne. Anne, with 8 lb weights instead of the puny 5 pounders the rest of us had. Anne, who runs way faster than everyone else and starts over because she's already finished the little course before everyone else. Anne, makin' me feel inadequate on a Monday morning. Something I DON'T need. So we jogged, we jacked, we jogged more, we did lunges and alternated between weights and cardio for an hour and I tried to ignore perky Anne and her 8 pounders with some success. I mean this clearly was NOT Anne's first day.

In the end, it really wasn't that bad. I hate running around until I suck wind (I'm definitely more of a power walker), but otherwise, I kind of liked it. Hey Mikey! So, for those of you waiting for me to piss and moan about Boot Camp, today's not your day! But there's always tomorrow. Or Wednesday. Or Thursday. Or Friday. I've got ALL week.

Timing is everything.

So my ass hurts from hiking South Mountain yesterday morning, my back is sore from painting my screen door yesterday afternoon, my head hurts from drinking last night, I'm crabby and bloated because Mother Nature arrived today, and I start my own personal Boot Camp Hell tomorrow morning. Great.

Let me tell you about the weekend. Oh wait, I already did. So we're done, and I'ma get me some green tea. And then pick up a screen door repair kit, exterior black gloss and food for the family, and return to complete painting and other front door improvements. It's another big day! Hopefully I'll get through it okay and make it to boot camp in the a.m. without anything more serious than a big, fat, bad attitude. Wish me luck.

p.s. No news on the blender yet -- although I am optimistic this time -- they didn't automatically ship another busted-ass lidded blender -- they are "looking into" whether or not they can open a box and find a non-busted lid. So Amazon does have people there and they appear to be sentient.

Is Amazon trying to sabotage my skinny?

Because they CERTAINLY don't want me to have my new turbo jet engine blender to make smoother brown and/or green smoothies. I was very excited when my blender arrived (promptly) yesterday morning. I open the box to pull out 600 watts of shiny new smooshing power and, hey, wait a minute -- the cheap plastic lid that goes on the top of the swell glass blending jar is already smooshed. To little bits.

So I go online and go through the internet return/replacement process (which does not allow me to communicate either orally or in ewriting) to let them know what happened. And they very nicely etell me that they're sending a replacement, like instantaneously, and does this solve my problem? I etell them, no, not really, because now we are mailing two identical blenders through the universe unnecessarily, when all I really need is a lid. They erespond with a version of "sorry, we don't have the ability to open the box and just send a lid." So okay, whatever, I can give my mail lady the blender box with the return label. I'll manage. That was yesterday.

This morning, I am pleasantly surprised to find that Amazon has managed to get my replacement blender to my doorstep already. They're good when they want to be. Yippee! I'll be drinking the smoothest greenest smoothies ever by lunch. I open the box. Yep. You guessed it. The lid is almost identically smooshed to bits. Sigh. Someone does not want me to blend.

So I just went through the return/replacement process again. What do you think the chances are that they will (a) find a way to send me just a lid, or (b) send a blender that doesn't have a broke-ass lid? Will I have to return 1, 2, or 3 blenders? Please vote in the comments, as I don't have time to install a poll gadget this morning.

The littlest loser.

Was just thinking, yet again, about how LONG it's going to take me to get rid of this fat. The subQ is EVERYWHERE. So, even though the Squidge is kind of shrinking at the edges (or at least I imagine that to be the case in my more optimistic moments), I've still got plenty of bubble wrap to pop all over my body.

But I have to say I drew fresh inspiration last night from one of my new favorite shows, The Biggest Loser. The lady Loser that got kicked off last night started at almost 500 pounds. FIVE, HUNDRED pounds. And she lost 100 pounds in just 9 weeks!!! Wow -- if I lost that much, I really would be invisible. And in only NINE WEEKS. That's like 11 pounds a week. (Okay, I'm trying to do the math on this -- if she lost 20% of her weight in 9 weeks, that would be like me losing 24 pounds or something. But, of course, I can't really do that, because then I'd be like anorexic or something.) And SHE got kicked off! Granted, these Losers have a lot more fat to spare than I do, and can probably cut back on a few cheeseburgers a day or something, but still.... I saw how hard these guys are working. And this former Loser lady was on Leno later and said she works out...get ready...I couldn't believe it -- FOUR HOURS A DAY six days a week even now that she's off the show, and she's lost like 150 pounds now. Get OUT. That's just crazy.

I was bitching tonight about how all the exercise and blogging has really cut into my free time. I'm such a wuss. I will just have to SUCK IT UP, feel glad I don't have several hundred pounds to lose, and think LONG term. I mean, how many years did it take me to get this way? At least 3 years, I think. So it's kind of silly (but way fun) to expect it all to come off in a few weeks. I think this boot camp deal next week ought to give me a big kick in the stretchie pants. Right?

Green-eyed monster.

Hey, success! I made a green one! My green smoothie was actually minty green tonight. :-) I'm not cookin' with no gas now.

I guess the cherries must have moved me into the brown range last night. Tonight I emphasized banana, kept some apple, added yogurt, spinach (naturally), and then added a kick with some basil from the yard (I'm SO freakin' green). And it occurs to me that I have a buttload of mint out back. So BRING IT nasty salad diet -- I have found a way to avoid hours of chopping and choking on dry spinach leaves. I wonder if some feta would be good in my liquid salads? Mmmmmmmaybe not. Guess I'll have to have my feta on the side.

And will my friends freak out if I serve them liquid salad next Sunday? "Here you go! Bottoms up! Enjoy!" I gotta think it would be worth it just to see their faces. :::::-----))))) (Starting new trend with multi-smilies.)

I brie-slid a bit. Hey, do they make a diet brie?

Oops. Didn't read the calorie count on the package of brie before I ate about 3-4 inches worth. Yikes -- like 100 calories per square inch. In my own defense, however, I bought the brie at some point early in my diet experiment, back when I thought the pounds would be melting away and I'd be back on my bacon and brie diet in no time. And it's not like I can just throw it away, because that would be WASTEFUL. Plus, it was lookin' at me funny. And softly calling to me every time I opened the cheese drawer to pull out the nearby soy "cheese:" "Tracy, don't you LIKE me? Don't you WANT me? I'm so rich, so creamy, so French!" Sigh. Frickin' French cheese. Rut-roh -- just remembered I forgot to check the calories in the Garlic Roasted Triscuits I used as a vehicle for brie consumption. Sh!T.

Well, I'm gonna go work out now. And see when my new jet turbo blender will arrive to squish more nasty green stuff into a chunky brown health drink. Mmmmmmmm. Maybe I'll do some crunches too. Rrrrrrrrrrr.

Wow, I coulda' had a BS! And I did.

Are the numbers really important? You may notice that I have been quiet about the stinkin' scale lately. That's because it hasn't really been moving much from the 116 area. I'd like to think that all this workin' out is giving me loads of steely muscle. You just can't see it yet, because it's still under the subcutaneous fat. Abs and buns of fat-covered steel.

Anyway, I had another pleasant weekend. Not the Pleasant Peppermint kind -- that gave me an upset tummy last time I used it, so I'm avoiding it -- my colon's clean enough for now. Just a nice relaxing weekend with time for working out and eating and drinking with friends. But I forgot to mention that, before tasting my feet at happy hour on Friday, I learned of the "green smoothie." Hmmm. Supposedly some concoction with spinach and bananas. Now I like spinach. And I like bananas. But I'm really not sure that I'll like them whirled together into something I have to drink.

Well, slap me silly. Did the old BloGoogle, and apparently I have been left out of the green smoothie revolution: there is a greensmoothiegirl (who has like 230 recipes, books, videos, and a blog, and promises not only better skin and hair, but also better sex, not that I'll be able to compare), a greensmoothiequeen (who has all that stuff plus a green smoothie bottle you can buy), a GS .com, a GS challenge, and even a GS revolution on the web. Wow, where to start? I think I'll start with a recipe or two and then graduate to a youtube video. All right. A GS is basically just salad in the blender (good news -- I can eat this right into my 90s!): 60% any fruit (I have apples and bananas right now -- too bad I ate all the mango) and 40% green stuff (Hello Big Bag of Spinach and home grown bell peppers that I need to use up). So, do I dive right in, or do more research? Okay, am chicken and will be right back. I'm back. God, it all sounds so nasty, I'm afraid to try it. But have decided I can't screw up the basic "recipe" of green stuff and fruit to hide the taste of the green stuff, and since I'm going with what I've got on hand anyway, I'm just gonna get out the Magic Bullet and give it a shot.

[Green smoothie first-attempt break.]

Eureka! I have, appropriately, created BS -- the brown smoothie. My proprietary blend (in case you want this deliciousness in your own home) is most of an apple, a handful of baby spinach, half of one of my very small green bell peppers, one frozen banana, some frozen cherries I forgot I had, some ground flax seed, some coconut oil, and water to fill my Magic Bullet and help it all mix up. Hmmmm. It doesn't taste bad -- mostly just like ground up apple. But I gotta say, it LOOKS like something a very very large cat coughed up. And, let me tell you, putting it in a fancy wine glass makes no difference -- it looks like barf in a fancy wine glass and tastes like ground up apple. I can see why you might need an opaque green bottle to hide this from yourself while you're drinking it.

Well, I may try this again, as it is better for me than a glass of red/white/brown wine, doesn't taste bad, eliminates any need for cooking skills OR salads, is portable, and is easier to clean up than the Jack LaLane juicer I bought a few years ago (don't get me started on all the infommercial stuff I've purchased-- I'm game for anything with a good pitch). So, all-in-all, I give the BS an 8, mostly for ease of sneaky veggie consumption (I'ma try the soy beans I've got in the freezer). I posted a picture -- I didn't think to take one until I'd already thinned it out with cranberry juice, so it's more red and less brown, but you get the idea.

And P.S. couldn't I just have a frickin' V8?

P.P.S I ordered a new blender with a countertop-size, turbo jet engine. So I will be making BS like a mofo. Once it arrives.

The mouth is larger than the squidge. Or, you shouldn't say EVERYTHING you're thinking. Okay, maybe that's just me.

Well, the good news is that my squidge will NEVER be as big as my mouth. So I'm at happy hour at a friend's last night right after my post about how funny and what a relief it would be if the squidge was a big tumor instead of fat, and I'm workin' that schtick, and they aren't finding the big C nearly as funny as I am. And I'm like "but you can cut it out, and I mean a nice, happy kind of cancer," and they're still not agreeing with me, so I'm like "you know, like melanoma, because everyone gets that and they just cut it right off of you and you're fine, right?" Well, not so much. Turns out that Rhonda's husband DIED from melanoma. Oops. Apparently melanoma is not such a nice, friendly, happy kind of cancer and it can metastasize and go to your brain, and yes, you can die. So, okay, I'm an ass (but we knew that, didn't we?), and maybe it would not be so good if the squidge turned out to be cancer or something (although it would still be a relief to know that it wasn't my FAULT that I got the squidge). And to make things worse, I can not stop smiling and giggling a bit, not because cancer is funny (oh no, very sorry to hear about the husband, Rhonda, really), but because I'M SUCH AN ASS!!! Sorry, but how funny is the insertion of both feet into my cavernous mouth? Only I would start yackin' about how cute melanoma is next to someone whose husband died from melanoma. I'm chucklin' at my own ass-ness again now.

But, on a serious and very educational note, and so that you can avoid being an ass at your next cocktail party (see, I'm always thinking of others): "Melanoma brain metastases are the third most common type of brain metastasis after lung and breast cancer. They develop in a high proportion of advanced melanoma cases; they are clinically seen in 10 to 30 percent of patients with systemic melanoma, and in one autopsy series, incidence was as high as 50 to 73 percent. The median time to development of brain metastasis from the time of initial diagnosis is approximately 3.5 years." They generally radiate your brain and other unpleasant things and the survival rate is not high. So get those moles checked. http://www.skincancer.org/management-of-melanoma-brain-metastases-where-do-we-stand.html

The other good news today? Oh, yeah, I'm finally below 116 again -- 115.6. I can only conclude that the best diet plan for me continues to be going out and having a good time. Well, I can live with that. I might have to find new friends who can take my brand of humor, but I can live with it.

F-ing spell check.

Am I the only one who has had to add "squidge," "sh!t," "dammit," "freakin'," "frickin'," "F-ing" (and all their variations) to my email spell checker? Got sick of trying to email-cuss with my spell checker (which clearly does not understand modern techno-slang) holding me back every time. Yes, I was trying to email Desert Rat Ena about the numbers on the New Digital this morning. How is it I was under 115 more than a week ago, and now I can't get under 116 and my squidge is bigger than EVER (Am I pregnant? [There is some precedent for immaculate conception if you believe the baby Jesus story, which I must say is one of my biggest problems with Christianity -- really Mary? You didn't roll in the hay with ANYONE?] Do I have an enormous tummy tumor? I'd almost be happy to have cancer -- "Whew, what a relief -- I thought it was FAT!") And I had YET ANOTHER SALAD today. Frickin' scale. Frickin' salads. (See what I mean?)

Well, it's the weekend again, and I'ma go have me some frickin' wine. And I'd BETTER BE SKINNY TOMORROW DAMMIT!

Let's all bow our heads....

I HATE frickin' salad. But I had it for lunch and I had it for dinner. I didn't even have that glass of wine I like with Project Runway tonight. (I actually looked into whether or not drinking a glass of wine is any worse than consuming some other form of 150 calories when trying to lose weight. I am happy to report that I found ample justification for my behavior: "One study showed that among female twins, body fat actually decreases with increasing alcohol consumption. Other researchers have also found that heavy drinking reduces body fat, but...." So apparently I need to drink heavily to be skinny -- I may need to increase my consumption. And, nope, not giving y'all the rest of that sentence.) PLUS I did a 45-minute Firm workout this morning. So, once again, I'm expecting big results on the scale in the morning. Pray for me, please.

Because you know there'll be some serious bitching if things don't go well on the scale in the am.

Reality pilot: The Biggest Loser at Intervention Boot Camp for Jesus.

LONG day yesterday. Did an hour walk. Twisted whenever I made green tea (kinda likin' the twisty thingie), and Skyped an hour cardio with the sis. Seriously, how can I still have this squidge? I've been working the program. I've been snacking on apples and popcorn. I'm starting to like frickin' oatmeal. I've been pretty darn good for four weeks now. Why won't the squidge monster go away?

Couple things I should mention. 1. I cannot stop having a glass of wine most nights and several glasses Fri-Sun nights. So sue me. Life is short and mostly a pain in the ass, so it should be fun. So that might be slowing me down a bit, but it's only like 150 calories per drink -- it's not THAT bad, is it? The form for the Boot Camp actually had some little electronic pledge B.S. where they make you say that you'll show up on time and stuff. They actually expected me to check a box saying that I wouldn't drink during the whole boot camp period (it's usually a month, which I cannot even imagine, but I signed up only for 5 days). No WAY am I checking that box (cuz I'm a drinker, not a liar), and they also wanted me to agree that I wouldn't swear during class -- that I'd only be upbeat and positive. Are you shitting me people? You think I'ma drag my belly fat to Boot Camp and be perky about it? If that's the way you're gonna be, I want a refund now. So I'm waiting to see if they reject me and my $75 for not agreeing to all their stuff: "Nope, we're sorry Ms. Gromer, but you didn't check the boxes that said you wouldn't drink or swear." I could totally lie, but it's the principle at this point. They're gonna have to take me pissed off and addicted and like it.

And 2. I got so desperate after yet another day of exercising for like 2 hours and still carrying my squidge around like it's my unborn child, that I looked into liposuction, and I was dead serious. I mean, how much time and money would I save by not working out and going to boot camps? It's going to take me like a year to get rid of the squidge the old fashioned way, when lipo could get rid of it in a few hours. Plus all the kids are doin' it. If I did it just this once, and ate right and exercised regularly (but not the death marches I'm doin' now), I could maintain it for years, maybe forever. Right? VERY tempting. I found this web article to be very informative. http://health.howstuffworks.com/liposuction.htm I probably won't make a lipo appointment for this week, but it's in the mix there. It could come up again.

And, oh yeah, it's officially been 30 days. My time is up. I failed to meet my goal of losing 10 pounds in 30 days. But am I defeated? Yeah, kind of. But not totally. I really thought I could do this and I still don't understand why the fat isn't melting away faster. But I understand that losing 1-2 pounds a week is healthy weight loss, my doctor sis keeps saying only one pound a week, and I've actually lost at least 5 pounds (you know I have some scale issues) in those 30 days. (I was a straight up 116 on the New Digital this morning -- I was about 121-2 on the ND when I started this, I think). So I'm making a little progress -- about a pound a week, with some backsliding here and there. So maybe it will take me ten weeks. Okay, new goal: lose the ten pounds in ten weeks, which, beginning Oct. 5, should put me right before Christmas. (Whew, thank the Baby Jesus I don't have to lose weight over the Super Holidays, as I think that would be impossible.) Which makes me think: WWJD if he wanted to lose weight? Would Jesus lay off the wine for biblical-era Boot Camp? Would the big JC get liposuction if the squidge couldn't be cast out? Something to ponder today.

Update: Holy Shit! (And I mean that.) I just Googled "weight loss with Jesus" and struck such a rich vein of material that I may have to start another blog!! At "godweb.org" (seriously) they have an article about the Christian weight loss movement and WWJE -- yes, you guessed, it, What Would Jesus Eat? (Does that mean what would Jesus eat if he were alive today? Or back when he was doing his thing?) You can buy the WWJE book on Amazon and find out. And if you want to grab this train, God has apparently ordained the "Weigh Down Workshop" program, so hop on board! (Except isn't down the Devil's direction?) When you diet for Jesus with the Weigh Down program, you change your desire for a pan of brownies into a hunger for righteousness (a thirst for theism?). I also like the article entitled: "Christian Weight Loss: Why God Might Love You More if You're Thin." Facebook has a page called "Fit for Jesus!" And I'm betting the Holy Rollers could make a fortune if they marketed themselves as a weight-loss-for-the-Lord sect. I haven't visited it, but this article is supposed to be about a weight loss center with a water stain of Jesus on the ceiling: http://purgatorio1.com/?p=766 How fortuitous.

God, I could go all day with this material, and right into next week. But I need to get something done today. Like lose weight. Maybe tomorrow I'll look up weight loss for my own atheist ass. If they don't have anything yet, I can see a bright future for myself in the industry.

Somewhere between Valerie Bertinelli and Madonna.

115.6! Yeah! This is good. Secret is apparently having popcorn for dinner and a glass of champagne after workout. (Hmm. Both things that go "pop" prior to consumption.) Or maybe it was the 50-minute walk in the am and 40 minutes of cardio in the pm. But I like the popcorn/champagne theory better. Much more doable.

Still considering that Boot Camp deal. I had a tough time sleeping last night, what with nightmares of attempting to awaken my sleepy ass at 4 am dancing through my brain. God. 5:30 a.m. Not even 6. Six would be reasonable, wouldn't it? Even 6:30. Who couldn't make it to work after they got done at 7:30 in the am? Pretty much only the Dunkin Donuts guy.

I'ma call the Boot Camp freaks and see what's up with their pre-Turkey day torture sessions and why they can't let me sleep in.

Update: Okay, I signed up for the pre-Turkey Day Boot Camp the week of Nov. 16. But only because when I clicked on the Phoenix location, it said there was a 9 am time available. So that's doable. And I have the option of getting up for that 5:30 am deal (chuckle). So, the question is, will $75 and the desire to lose my squidge be enough to get me to this boot camp for 5 days? Or even the first one? We shall see.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!

Could you hear my scream from there? I just checked out the start time for the Code Pink Boot Camp in Phoenix -- 5:30 a.m.! Really. I don't think the squirrels are even up then. And they're CERTAINLY not hauling their squirrel butts out of their squirrel beds, eating acorns, feeding the squirrel kids, licking their fur into a nice sheen, and driving somewhere BEFORE 5:30 a.m. I'd have to get up at like 4:00 in the middle of the night -- I can't even call that morning. Who does that? It's not like we're really IN the army, Code Pink Boot Camp operators.

I'll have to check out the Scottsdale times and get back with you. I know the Scottsdale ladies aren't draggin'-ass out of bed at 4 a.m.

What was the name for guys who tried to transmute lead into gold? And can I turn squidge into steel? With a plastic twisty board?

Okay, I just read a bit about alchemy and didn't realize that scientists already can turn lead into gold, but it's more expensive than the resulting gold. Curses. Seemed like such a good idea. Which leads me to my quest to transmute belly squidge into steel. I know I've said this before, but this is some really tough belly fat. I think I can feel muscles in my thighs now, but the belly's still pudgy as ever. I'm eating Civil War-era prison rations, I hate everything I choke down (except maybe those Mounds bars), I'm walking at least 3-4 mornings a week for about 50 minutes, I'm Skyping a big hour of cardio and toning with my sis at least 2-3x/week, and I'm cleansing up a colonic storm. And still the fat persists. I can't even get back to 115, where I was a week ago -- not much progress, okay, none, in like two weeks. Am thinking I may have to...gasp...join a gym, or even give up televison, or something INSANE. We'll discuss gyms and other craziness later -- when I'm REALLY desperate. So far I'm just frustrated and pissed off. Give me another week or two -- I may be ready for something drastic by then.

Before I consider a gym membership (which was fine when I worked at an office building with, hello, a gym in it, but not so much now that I work at home and would have to do clothes, hair, and makeup, and drive to a gym for a workout -- hey maybe I could just get ready for a workout and walk to the car and back and then change clothes again? Definitely cheaper.), I've got a new toy. The Everlast twister boards arrived today. At 9 bucks a pop, much cheaper than the $200 Ab Circle Pro. And kind of fun -- I couldn't stop twisting while watching the latest Kathy Griffin special. But I'm sure that'll be the last time I use it. Well, maybe tomorrow for a few minutes. I'm already over it. Wow, that was five minutes of fun. But who knows, maybe I'll use it regularly for years and get slender abs and thighs of steel.... Hee hee, hee hee. Can you believe I still have a sense of humor about this stuff?

Hmmm. Brainstorm -- what do middle-aged ladies look like if they're in fabulous shape? What's my goal, buff-wise? I see a little Google and Blog (BloGoogle? -- dibs on the copy rights and domain name) in our future. Tune in tomorrow for buff middle-aged ladies. Maybe I'll figure out how to swipe a photo or two for the blog.

Quick update -- part of goal easily acquired and no photos necessary -- national buff arm fetish discussed on net and represented by Kelli Rippa and Michelle Obama. And puh-leez -- how could I forget the poster-adult for middle-aged buffness, Madonna? But they've all got personal trainers with sessions set up by their personal secretaries. So maybe not.

But I may have hit on something awesome -- Code Pink Boot Camp!!! They have a pre-turkey day torture session and it's right here in Phoenix or Scottsdale, depending on how far I want to drive for my torture. This could be GOOD -- I can pump myself up super fast for the holidays! Or at least get a hysterical blog out of the deal. Anyone want to join me? Group torture? Who's with me? You KNOW you want to....

Round 3: Down in the dumpy.

Where have I been? Sorry, kids, I've been depressed at the lack of progress and I can't write when I'm depressed -- just not feelin' it. I was stuck at 115.8 (my New Digital likey the point eight) for like 3 days. Then yesterday morning, I was 116.2. And this morning I crept up into the 117s even after I took off all my jewelry. I guess that's to be expected after a weekend of pizza, beer, wine and, well stuff. But I am proud to say that, even though it was Halloween and I was surrounded by bags and bags of candy, I had only two little Mounds bars. Okay three. Possibly, and here's where I start to block out the numbers, possibly four. See I was finishing up my mini-burrito on Sunday and wondering if I could have Mounds number 3-possibly-4 (the last one I saved from the kiddies) even though I already had a pre-burrito apple. Hmm. I think you know I went with "Hell Yeah," because I really needed to remove the temptation, and, like pulling the bandaid off a hairy body part, it's best done quickly. So, I took a blogger's-block break and got myself a cheek full of mini-Mounds-bar healthy deliciousness. (I figure they're health food, what with the coconut and all.) Then I found another Mounds bar on my bed this morning -- did I forget to eat one of the previous bars or what? How did it creep into my bed? Don't worry, I didn't let it get away. Hmm, is that 4 or 5?

And did I work out? Not unless you call 7 hours of tree trimming and party prep a workout. I'm sure I burned some calories, but not really the furious fat-burner of a workout I had in mind, especially after I got Ena and Patrick to do the heavy lifting. (You KNOW I love you guys.) Of course, it was all worth it, because my front trees look FABULOUS and were perfect for hanging the sheet so we could watch scary movies while giving out candy to the kiddies. Kudos, by the way, to this year's Halloween participants -- I like it when the parents dress up with the kids -- more fun for everyone. And were the super sweet clown shoes fabulous? Only almost as fabulous as Killer Klowns from Outer Space -- even the 6-year-olds wanted my shoes. Now THAT's class.

So now what? I've actually completed four weeks of this damn diet thing. And I've only lost a few stinkin' pounds, and I think most of that was just the colon cleanse, which, let's admit it, has been the most successful part of this process. Do I quit? Do I give up and sit on the sofa with a glass of pinot and the clicker? (Oh, that reminds me, I'm watching Intervention sans-alcohol. That's a big faux pas. Hang on while I get me a drink.) So I'm back with a cold left-over grilled potato and a glass of champagne. Is that bad, or just really strange? Probably both. But I love potatoes -- grilled, fried, baked, Frenched, hashed, totted, you name it, it's all good. And if you add butter and onions and cheese and maybe some sour cream....uh oh. That's how I got my squidge. So anyway, I was about to rededicate myself to this frickin' weight loss deal. I think I have to give Round 2 to Fat. Alright Fat, well done, good round. But I ain't done yet -- put some of that stuff on my cut, wipe the blood from my eyes, give me a snort of ammonia or whatever, and send me back in. I mean it. I'ma get me some thin. Right after this glass of champagne. Thank God that was the last tater.

Stop the presses!!!

Mary J. just came up with the latest bull photos from Howard's on Saturday night and I must share, because they are even more hysterical than that first one. You'll thank me later.

Here you go.

Sigh.

Stuck at 116. After the excitement of being skinny (i.e., less than 115) for a few minutes Sunday morning (good times), I entered a major depressive state when I found out I was 117 Tuesday morning. I couldn't even blog. Just wasn't feelin' it. How to recover the golden bliss that was Sunday morning? Well, I walked for a full hour yesterday, and am happy (almost?) to report that I was only 116 this morning, despite a large and delicious lunch at Switch and seconds on dessert at Book Club last night. So maybe if I continue walking an hour everyday....aarrgghh.

Sounds sucky, no? Yes. So I looked into the Ab Circle Pro this morning. It's another expensive toy that won't really do much (although it looks like a ton of fun, if twisting from side to side can be fun). Still need to burn more calories overall to get rid of (what kind of fat, dear readers?) subcutaneous fat and that darn belly fat. And I'm working on muscles too. What I need is a job walking (postal worker? great benes, I bet, and a good tan here in Phoenix, plus I love the doggies), or maybe doing squats and lunges (hmmm, I think personal trainer or gym teacher is all I got for this one). But that just ain't happenin'.

So for now, I'll keep pluggin' away at it. Tonight: an hour of fat burning and toning with my sister and Leslie Sansone courtesy of Skype. (I put on my Bad-Ass big girl jogging tights in anticipation, so I'm all ready for a serious workout, and even if I don't kill that fat, I'll look like I could.)

Update: the bad-ass tights were strangling my fat, so I had to take them off. But I put them back on later for a workout. And did I mention that I ordered a couple of those little twister board thingies? You know, the little circles that you stand on and twist? Oh yeah, best work out ever. At least that's what I'm expecting. Will have to let you know after I actually get them.

Where can I get me one of them fat-jiggling belt machines?

You know, like from the 60s? I know they had 'em, because I saw them in at least two Columbo episodes. (Love Columbo -- this blogging deal could be embarrassing if I keep giving up all my PRIVATE information.) The Exercisee would just stand there with a big canvas belt wrapped around their mid-section or their hiney and it would jiggle their fat, presumably, melting it away magically. And they would always be sweating and looking just exhausted, like they were working really HARD standing there getting their fat jiggled. So I want one. Because I'm pretty sure I could stand in front of the TV and get my fat jiggled. I THINK I could anyway, but hey, now that I think about it, wouldn't that make my wine spill if I tried to use it while watching TV? I guess I could turn it off every time I need to take a sip. And I could let my friends try it out -- what a hoot at parties --"Hey, try my fat jiggler!" So if anyone knows where I can get me a fat jiggler, please let me know.

Meanwhile, even though I was extra-special-good yesterday and walked a total of 6 miles and 1.5 hours ('cuz I walked again in the afternoon to go to the costume shop and get some super sweet clown shoes for Killer Klowns from Outer Space next weekend), my scale says I'm a whopping 116.2 this morning. Must've been the jumbo shrimp. I guess the Day of Being Under 115 is over. But I'm walking again this morning, I don't care. As Dog is my witness, I WILL beat this Fat.

Weight, Weight, Don't Tell Me, Ranch Dressing, and Other Bull stuff.

Where to begin? I took my squidge out for QuAF (quite a few) drinks last night. Not the original goal. I overshot that about 7:30. Went to a benefit for a shelter for senior abuse victims. They had blacksmiths actually smithing and selling their smithery. So I had barbecue and a bunch of "mini-wines," and I wound up with a bracelet, a necklace, a wall hook, a pot rack, and a knife that could do some serious damage -- the guy who made it mentioned "disemboweling" (I'm thinking about keeping it by the bed, if any burglars are reading my blog). And after that, we put my 50 pounds of metal in Ena's trunk and went looking for MFBS (that's Michelle, Frank, Barb and Scott -- my new favorite acronym, because, HELLOOO, it's got MF and BS in it!) at some cowboy bar in Cave Creek. Well, if you've ever been to Cave Creek, you know they have QuAF Cowboy bars. Which is how we wound up at Howard's Corral. Howard's corral is pretty large. Howard had a fine band, plenty of fine beverages, a large white taxidermified bull with his tail duct-taped onto his bull butt (apparently drunk people swat at the poor bull's tail, which seems kind of unsporting to me), and some technically-challenged cowboys operating the bull-photo printer. But I managed to get a photo of my squidge and I on the bull, and will insert it in this blog as soon as I figure out how to scan and upload it. Hope you will love it as much as I do! Please note the effort to dress for the occassion -- TOTALLY Western bag hung casually from Bull's right horn, metro-ranchy duster jacket, and the Miss Sixty boots that Rachel Zoe recommended on PiperLime, because I was feeling them more than my cowboy boots when I got dressed yesterday -- will have to dust them off later. And let me just mention that some guys look HOT in cowboy hats (some unusually tiny guys wearing sunglasses at night, not so much), and I may have to go back to Cave Creek with the ladies some night. Like a road trip. Well, not even LIKE a road trip, because it IS a road trip. Let's all thank Ena for driving. I'm glad I'M not jogging 18 miles today -- I'm about to strap on the tennies for a walk, and I will look for you about lap 6 Ena.

We will get to weight in a minute. The bull stuff at Howard's followed Girl's Night In, which involved Katie and Cathy and their girls (who are too young and impressionable to be reading my middle-aged-adult diet blog, and therefore will not be mentioned by name) and avacado face masks, mani-pedis, pizza, popcorn, the Hannah Montana movie, wine, karaoke, and French toast. Lord, I TRY to be good. But pizza, French toast and wine won't let me. It's NOT my fault.

So I didn't even bother to weigh myself yesterday. This morning I'm looking at -- HOLY Sh!t!!! -- 114.8! Now I KNOW that new scale lies!!! And I weighed myself twice to be sure. Picture me totally rubbing my bloodshot eyes. Must be a delayed reaction from all of last week's diet and exercise. Let's say it again, now: one, fourteen, point eight!!!! Wow, that's excellent!! The 115 barrier has been broken! Apparently the secret is to work really hard and then binge. I don't even have to feel guilty about being bad. Who knew? This is just awesome. Makes me wanna dance with the dog before I even go for a walk. Hall-eh-frickin-loo-ya.

Well, I was all prepared to piss and moan about how weekends are totally wrecking my diet and weight loss thing and keeping me from being the skinniest 47 yo I can be. And now some of my best material is unusable! And I don't care. Maybe next weekend.

Update: Tried to dance with the cat before my walk. She didn't get it. The dog smiles his doggy smile and wags his furry butt and says "Hey, this is cool! What're we doin' again? Oh, who cares, let's dance, baby!" The cat, on the other hand, swiveled her radar ears at me then cranked 'em back in alarm, her eyes got huge and she shifted her weight to flee in case my spasms became any more threatening. Cats. What're you gonna do? I guess scare the heck out of 'em.

I walked 55 minutes today. Kickin' my own fat ass.

O M G

Will have to post in the am. Worth the wait. The night included a taxidermified bull post-alcohol -- not the bull. Mucho thanks to Ena and Mary and Patrick.

tag

Dog dance and shoe-reward system.

I walked again today. I obviously need it, since the pounds are not magically melting away. I was 116.2 this morning. And my tummy is still looking like a certain doughy, high-carb spokesperson. And that was after a day of only 1,100 calories and a 30-minute walk/jog that burned over 300 calories. Really, what's it gonna take?

The dog wonders why I only dance with him when I come back from walks (and after three glasses of wine). It's 'cuz I feel so good after a walk. And I've got the tunes in my ears, so if I come home to Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch, I'm gonna get the dog up and dance. Maybe it' s just me, but yeah, I like a good dance with the dog. Shake that furry tail!

I've been thinking of various things I can try to lose weight. I've already cleansed. And cleansed with fiber. And exercised. And gotten an exercise buddy. And eaten spinach. And cut back on everything tasty and fun. What more can I do? Slimfast and Nutrisystem come to mind. And I've gone through all the exercise equipment known to man/woman in the last 10 years, including the fun glider thingy. I could try more of these things, but I refuse to support someone else's expensive weight loss system when I'm in the middle of masterminding my own. Tracy's Terrific Tricycle and Ab Roller? I think the secret is to promise a six pack and market it with 20 yo models that no one (except other 20 yo models) will ever look like anyway.

Since I'm doin' all the right things and I just need to do more of the right things, maybe I need a reward system? Like, if I get all skinny and rock-hard, I can get myself a Ferrari? Okay, so I couldn't get myself a Ferrari even if I did deserve it. Ooooh, maybe I can get that new minivan I've been wanting? Or maybe a motorcycle or a cool restored vintage scooter with a sidecar for the dog and groceries -- that's hot, right? (Oh, you say that now, but you'll be wanting one when you see mine.) Even that's a lot of cash that I don't have right at the moment. So, for now, I will have to settle for the immediate treat of another fancy pedicure. If I stick to my dieting/exercise routine over this weekend (one girl's night, one charity barbecue, and one birthday party -- no one said it was going to be easy), I'll get myself a fancy-schmancy Halloween pedicure and share it with y'all. Wish me luck.

Uh-oh. Just remembered that I bought myself nine pair of new shoes yesterday. Can you say premature presents? Gonna need a bigger reward than a little ol' pedi.

Who gonna check me, Boo?

And is your wig too tight, Heiffer? Can't believe tonight was the last night for the ladies of Atlanta. I will miss you girls. I'ma be "to' up" without Kim and Kandi and Sheree and NeNe. Girls, you are some GOOD TV.

I cooked tonight. But the blood blended in with the tomato sauce, and the piece I shaved off of my knuckle matched the shaved Parmesan, so I consider it a success. That ceramic blade really slices clean -- it was virtually painless. Too bad the cut wasn't a virtual cut. Anyway, I made a VERY healthy casserole of spaghetti squash and tomatoes, onion, spinach and feta. It don't get more healthy than that. Or tasty. And I made this recipe up. By myself. I'm so proud. I'm betting it has like zero calories. Okay, maybe like a couple hundred for a whole meal. But still, that's pretty good. Maybe I can have a second glass of wine after I eat it.

Oops! Definitely had the second glass. But I skipped the popcorn. I'ma be skinny by tomorrow. Maybe. The whole deal is taking a LOT longer than I thought it would.

Is that a squirrel in your pants or did you just almost jog?

Oatmeal gone. Take that, Fat. I took my squidge for a walk-with-intermittent-jogging. I hope one day to be able to go for a jog-with-intermittent-walking. I made sure I jogged on my own block, so the neighbors will think I'm in great shape. "Wow, Tracy, I didn't know you jogged?!" "Oh, yeah, I just, you know, prefer to go to the track -- better running surface and I can time myself on laps." Hair flip. Movin' on. Oh yeah.

I had to pause in my composition as I was ambushed by another rogue song I didn't know I had on my ipod -- The Mississippi Squirrel Revival by Ray Stevens. Beale, I'ma get you this one for Christmas. Because it is a HOOT. There's a squirrel berserk in the First Self-Righteous Church. And that pretty much says it all.

Well, I'd better go. I'm formulating plans to make millions by convincing people they can lose their fat by taking a pill or something. SOL.

What, they don't have to put nutrition information on wine?

116. That's all I'm going to say. I'm ALMOST back to where I was at the end of last week.

So I went to the fridge to check and see whether the two (well, REALLY only one and a half) glasses of wine did it. And -- no nutrition information. Say what? So the FDA requires detailed information about vitamins, minerals, calories, and fat on milk and juice, but not the nectar of my life? That doesn't seem right. Other food warns you that it will make your ass fat. Why not wine?

[Trusty internet search.]

"In contrast with most foods and beverages, regulations in the U.S. and most other countries do not require wine producers to disclose ingredient or nutritional labeling on wine, and the industry has strongly resisted any legislative efforts to change that." Wonder why? Because each glass has about 100 calories and no redeeming qualities. Other than the fact that it makes you feel so darn good if you consume enough empty calories. I've been meaning to invent a wine that is good for you. (Originally, I just wanted to add bacon. You could put a strip in the bottle like a tequila worm. How cool would that be? "Put some pig in your pinot!") I bet if you added vitamins A & D and maybe threw in E and wrote "contains antioxidants" in big letters, it'd sell like, well, wine. Even if it wasn't that great. At least in California.

So in the end, I guess you CAN'T have that second glass of wine if you worked out. Double darn -- I thought there was maybe a loop hole. Well, I promised myself less sucking today and so far it isn't working out. Gotta go eat a pound of oatmeal and then try to walk it off.

Because you can HAVE that second drink if you worked out.

So I'm sitting here blogging at 10:15 at night with a glass of wine. Is that bad? And I had to search the tiny house for like 5 minutes to locate the open bottle of wine I left in the living room after my workout. Yes, I'm havin' a drink. Or two. BECAUSE I DESERVE IT. Them. I worked out, again, for a whole hour -- cardio and toning, the works. And I always feel saintly after I do that. And hungry. And thirsty. It's 10:15 at night and I want to eat something. Arrgghh.

And why isn't the fat just melting away like it used to? Crap, is this going to require an internet search on aging and metabolism? I refuse to harsh my mellow with sensible BS right now, so I'm not doing a search for depressing stuff I already know. Yes, I'm getting older, I have no muscle to burn fat, I sit my chubby butt on a chair all day long and don't even have a commute to burn calories -- the trip from my bedroom to my office is about 30 feet. I need to burn more fat by moving more and increasing my muscle mass. I. Get. It. It just sucks. And then when you think about doing it for THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, it just sucks harder. Can you feel the breeze from all that sucking? I can.

Tomorrow: more walking and laughing and less sucking.

Oh, and I was steady at 116.4 this morning. This is some seriously determined and defensive fat. Hey, I think it likes me, it really likes me!

DING. And some skinny bitch with fake boobs walks the ring with a giant "2."

I made it under 116.5 this morning. Barely. 116.4. Ouch. That's what one bad Sunday night will do. Guess I'll have to make the downside of 115 NEXT week.

On the up side, sharing my daring diet adventure has brought out stories from others with the same issues. Including Wanda Sykes. Now I'm not sayin' Wanda has been reading my blog, but she had a whole segment of her standup act (I'ma Be Me) devoted to her mid-life midsection. Wanda has named her muffin top -- something with an E. Wanda revealed that E don't like to be hidden inside Spanx and all kinds of other amusing information -- all of which I could totally relate to. Work it Wanda. And thanks for being honest for all of us ladies of a certain age. My squidge no-likey the Spanx either. But I gotta say, the wonder pants are a necessity with certain outfits right now.

I look forward to the day when I no longer need the wonder pants. It's been two weeks already -- I was supposed to be invisible by now. But you can still see me. All 116.4 pounds of me and my squidgy middle. This weight loss thing is really hard, dang it. Is it too late to quit, now that I'm past the halfway point? If I "quit" now, is it really quitting, or just defeat? I've got to admit that for a moment yesterday (well, several moments) I seriously considered just giving up and being pudgy and Spanx-dependent. It would be so easy. All the kids are doin' it. I could just go back to normal and eat whatever I want, whenever I want. Carefree. [Moment of reverie as I visualize unlimited blue-box consumption.] Well, it's not going to be THAT easy Fat. I'm just gettin' warmed up for Round 2. So, watch out you little buggers, I'ma kill me some fat.

Wholly sack of spinach -- is that dinner?

Did you know that an ENTIRE bag of baby spinach has only 50 calories? That's like one bite of peanut butter or something. So, of course, I ate an entire bag (sauteed with onion and garlic and the shaved parmesan didn't hurt) for dinner. And now I'm thinking that I could just do an all spinach diet. Has anyone (other than Popeye) tried that? And how long will it take me to get as impossibly skinny as Olive Oil?

[Two second internet search.]

Okay, I admit I'm not really surprised that there is, in fact, a "spinach diet" -- like it's something special some genius figured out. But what made me lol and almost snort ol (new trend= "sol"), was the following from an article about the "spinach diet:" "However, there is one very important thing that you will need to consider before going on the spinach diet....Do You Like Spinach Enough to Eat it Daily?" Well maybe it was only funny to me. Turns out the "spinach diet" is basically eating 2-3 cups of spinach every day along with other food. The article also had the super-helpful suggestion that you try to take in fewer calories and eat more healthy food and less unhealthy food. REALLY? You don't say? Wow, these guys are good. Do you think exercise would maybe help too, oh wise article authors?

So now my "spinach diet" plan seems laughable. Maybe I can just substitute spinach for one normal, tasty meal every 2-3 days. Hey, maybe they're right -- maybe I DON'T like spinach enough to eat it every day. I didn't have room for that much spinach in my little fridge anyway.

And for those of you playing along at home, the numbers were up a bit this morning and are a vague and distant memory at this point. But tonight's spinach will definitely work the magic for tomorrow morning. No WAY I'm over 116.5 in the am.

Sleep tight.

How do you NOT eat that last cookie?

After you've been drinking. I'm in the kitchen for my nighttime Pleasant Peppermint CC when I notice there is one last, lonely, delicious chocolate, coconut cookie. Alone. Defenseless. Waiting to be consumed. Softly calling my name.

And I've already had a calorie-challenged weekend.

So it's not like it would matter.

Obviously, I ate it.

Duh.

On the up side, now that it's gone, it's all mango slices and spinach for the rest of the week!

Lovin' my 'neighbler's

I like to call my fabulous, fun, funny, neighbors/friends who encourage mynear-alcoholism, my "'neighblers." They've earned the name for their amazing and comforting ability to make me feel like my alcohol consumption is normal. God bless. I love you guys. Tonight was a particularly fun/poignant night with the 'neighblers. See, every Sunday night, we do a little potluck deal, where everyone brings a dish and we drink, we eat, we drink and we watch a movie, and we drink...you get the idea. (Wow, now that I think about it -- when did my ass start to get this big?) So tonight, we were eating and drinking and watching a romantic comedy involving Jack Nicholson's ass (which I love, because how often do you really see Jack ass?). And here's why I love 'em. I notice glasses are empty. I praise group in general for consuming 3 bottles of wine. I suggest that maybe we could open number four. I get a kind of disinterested, "Oh, I'm fine," reaction from the crowd -- very low key and uninterested in the whole fourth-bottle thing. About 2 minutes later: I present open bottle number four. They move as one -- every person in the room (to a man/woman) leans forward enthusiastically and picks up his/her glass and smiles innocently while holding it out for a pour from the new bottle. "What? You didn't think we'd want a glass?" Crack my ass up. I LOVE you guys.

Anyway, I'm gonna go brew a little Pleasant Peppermint (hey, it's been a tough weekend!).

The 7th Circle of scrapbooking Hell.

Okay, I made it through one Italian restaurant and one How-rare-would-your-like-your-side-of-beef? restaurant with minimal consumption (given the context), only to find myself in an entirely different kind of trouble. I have now spent more time SCRAPBOOKING Florence than I spent IN Florence. I'm dying here. And I'm not working out, because there is no time -- I've GOT to get out of Florence and back to Rome and finish the 10 million Vatican photos, before I can even start on the last 2/3rds of this dam vacation. The digital age is fabulous and convenient, but right now I kind of wish I only had one black and white photo from each city that I could center on its own black album page with those little photo corners that always fall off after a few years. Ah, the good ol' days.

I'm weighing myself this weekend, but am telling myself, well, mostly you guys, that the numbers are meaningless -- I'm bloated and had to eat out twice, so it's not really fair to look at the numbers, right? Okay, like 116.2 this morning. Which ain't bad, considering. Tonight: broccoli and spinach. Saintly.

Gotta go scrap.

Is back fat it's own breed?

Hey, I squeezed a 115.8 (again with the .8?) out of the New Digital this morning! This is good -- the lowest number that the New Digital and I have shared. I might actually see the underside of 115 by next Monday, which is my immediate goal. And maybe it's just my imagination, but my belly fat looks better today. Smoother. Younger. "Hello, you attractive fat, you!" Okay, I'm pretty sure I'm imagining things. But that got me thinking: "Is all fat created equal? How many different kinds of fat are there?"

I went right to the trusty internet, where I learned that, there are three kinds of fat -- fat in your blood stream (who cares about that? Oh, maybe my cardiologist), fat under the skin (subcutaneous fat -- this would be my dimply thighs) and the dreaded, pernicious, belly fat, aka the "omentum," LOVE handles, beer gut, spare tire, intra-abdominal adiposity, and/or, my personal favorite, the muffin top. And, although the evil belly fat is the most baddest fat of all, it's also the first thing to go when you start getting in shape. So maybe those fat cells are starting to shrink up, giving me tighter, smoother belly fat? (Remember, we learned earlier that new fat cells come along, but the old fat cells never leave -- you know, make new friends, but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold? Fat cells: they're your friends. Your oldest and dearest friends.) But, even if they are skinnier fat cells, they're still hanging around, and they're still too big. Oh, and I guess the back fat that looks so attractive under my tight shirts is just extra subcutaneous fat that I have lying around. Gross! That needs to go too -- right after my omentum.

So, I have met the enemy and it is diverse and dimply. How best to defeat the evil fat? A search of the web confirmed the ugly truth I already knew-- there is no quick fix for my belly fat, or any other fat. (Although, I hear that it's NOT my fault -- that stress and cortisol make me fat and I can get a pill for that if I want. Plus, if I order NOW, I can get twice as many pills for just an extra $30 in shipping and handling. I wonder what their annual sales are? I bet I'd be jealous.) The only solution is continued aerobic and strength training for the LONG-freakin'-haul. Depressing, isnt' it?

Good thing I'm doing another cardio workout this morning. BURN, Baby, burn that ugly fat. And I am armed with not one, but THREE, bags of baby spinach. (I am Popeye.) I'm gonna need it, since I've got two difficult evenings this weekend -- cocktails and pizza for Thom's birthday tonight, and, uh-oh, Durant's for dinner tomorrow night. Does Durant's even have anything other than Scotch-on-the-rocks (x3), served with half a dead cow, followed by cigars all around?

As always, I'll let you know how it goes.