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.

Apples: are they still healthy if you load 'em up with chunky peanut butter?

And can you make up for eating that peanut butter delivered via sliced apple and followed by a chocolate cookie, if you do a few lunges in between bites?

I bought Galas (because they're named after a party) and they are surprisingly filling if you put enough peanut butter on them.

Inventing the brie and bacon diet.

How could I GAIN a frickin' pound yesterday. I swear, I weighed less than 117.8 when I went to bed last night. (And why does my weight always end in .8? I'm starting to get suspicious of the New Digital. Have we no .3s?) Dam you delicious tots! Maybe I'm sleep eating? Oh wait, maybe it's muscle? Mwa-ha-ha! I crack myself up. Hold on, while the chuckling subsides and I wipe my eyes so I can type.

I'm having a little bit of trouble dieting, because healthy food tastes like crap. I'm not buying the Kashi Go Lean sales pitch -- they're so full of their own granola, their eyes are crunchy beige. "Mmmm, did you try the razor-sharp little rock-nuggets? They're the best!" "Make sure you try 'em with the powder-dry throat-clogging grains."

And while I really do appreciate the spinach recipes and whatnot, I don't care how you cook it or dress it up -- it ain't bacon, girlfriend, it just ain't bacon. I love bacon. And cheese. And bread with cheese. And waterchestnuts with bacon (now THAT's some healthfood). And, well, pretty much anything with cheese and/or bacon. Frickin' yum, Kashi. Put some cheese and bacon into that granola, and THEN we'll talk. Kashi Go Bite Me.

So far my diet includes cookies and tater tots. And I just horked down a few healthy Terra chips (I think as long as you're eating carrots and weird vegetables like kabosh (WTF?), it doesn't matter whether they're deep fried or not, you should still get the points.) But looking back on what I ate the week before my diet (two Blue Boxes of cheesey deliciousness and a whole package of bacon, which I'm SURE went with something else I was eating), I think I've made some improvements. Baby steps.

Today I have the opportunity to change everything. Well, at least my diet for the next week or two. I'm out of dog food, so it's officially time to visit Safeway. And, as we all know, the cupboards are bare. So I will be restocking the shelves with healthy crap. Not Kashi Go Lean crap, but something not-bacon and something not-packed-in-an-adorable-little-blue-cardboard-box. I'm not convinced I need to give up cheese (it's dairy, and that's fair game, right?), but I will try to do better. More veggies, more fruit, more beans, whatever -- I feel like starving to death just thinking about it.

Oh, hold the phone -- maybe it's time to break out the Skinny Bitch cookbook (Thank You Nell). They have all kinds of bad, bad foods in there and claim that you can stay skinny eating this stuff. I'll just go pull it down.

Okay, I've got "French Women Don't Get Fat: the secret of eating for pleasure." Newsflash -- not such a big secret, and I think I've got that one down. Strike one book.

Then we have "Skinny Bitch in the Kitch." This one is described as "Kick-ass recipes for hungry girls who want to stop cooking crap (and start looking HOT)." Uh-oh. It says "girls" AND "hot" in the description -- I'm guessing it won't help a girlfriend who's almost 50. Sigh. EVERYTHING SUCKS. Well, I'm gonna stop blogging and read through these books and find at least ONE recipe to try, and I'll let you know how my bean, spinach, soy cheese whatever comes out.

Update:

That's IT, GAME ON. Here's what happened. I didn't even make it to the grocery story yet and I've already had a fat-fight related trauma. As you know, I was UP one pound this morning, despite a 20-minute walk AND a 50 minute cardio workout with the sis yesterday. We won't go into how that could possibly happen to such a nice person, but I decided I would get right back on that horse and go for a walk, again, this morning. So I pop in a DVD-R so that I don't miss Tommy Lee Jones hunting down a lovable, but slightly wacky Benecio del Toro (I like to think of him as a Latin Brad Pitt -- yes?) in the woods of Oregon, and I head out. I'm jammin to a J-streak of M. Jackson, T. Jones and B. Joel punctuated by the Love of my Teen Life, David Cassidy (Looking through the Eyes of Love, yeah, she's lookin' through the eyes of love...), and I'm trying to stay in the shade. Because, while it's apparently snowing in Minn. (ha, ha, you guys), it is still like 150 here in Phoenix. So I'm bopping along singing out loud under a mesquite tree when something heavy lands in my hair. EEEEEEEWWWWW. I shit you not, a bird SHAT on my head! Evil, F-ing bird!

It is a measure of how TOTALLY PISSED OFF I AM AT MY BELLY FAT, that I shook out the large CHUNK of bird poop and soldiered on and finished my walk. I admit that there was a little bit of an OMG-I-can't-believe-there's-birdshit-in-my-hair-get-it-out-now dance on the sidewalk, but I did eventually finish my walk. I sit here now with wet hair that will have to be repaired before I can go get groceries, because when I came back, there was indeed, a nice white streak where the evil bird poop slid down the left side of my head through my hair. And when I tried to get it out, the bird poop mixed with the hair spray and became a sticky, bird-poopy mess. Sigh, again. I've gotta go fix my hair and get dog food. F'n diet.

ALWAYS time for the tots.

Well, I ran out of spinach. A thorough glance at the fridge revealed nothing that looked healthy. Same deal in the freezer. But I did have a few tater tots left. Hmmm. Now you KNOW I'm not passin' those up.

So I dump the rest of the bag into a frying pan (no time for oven baking) and throw away the bag. And then I look at the tots covering the bottom of the pan and I wonder, "How much is too much in tater-tot-for-lunch-land?" Realizing the answer is in my trash can, I retrieve the bag. Twelve tots have 170 calories. So now I'm counting tots. Twelve. Twenty-four. Oops -- like 32 tots. So+ 32 tots is like 510 calories. Plus the BBQ sauce I NEED to make them even tastier, so that's almost 600 calories. I was going for more like 250-300 for lunch. Dang. The tots look GOOD.

But I am strong. I am invincible. I am WO---MA---A---A---N.

So I ate like 20. With BBQ sauce. So sue me. My diet has tots. And you know I'm eating the remaining 12 this afternoon. Probably without reheating. But with sauce.

Note to self: buy more spinach.

The calm after the storm.

So maybe I overreacted a bit. The New Digital said 116.8 this morning, and I can live with a 2 lb variation. Plus even the old scale was still shooting up to 120 during the middle of the day. So maybe it's not that big a deal. Trivia --did you know that one serving of Quaker Oats maple and brown sugar instant oatmeal weighs one pound in my tummy? Oh yeah, I'm full of fascinating information AND oatmeal.

The good news? My body is 24 % fat (or 22.5, depending on which reading I want to use) and 61% water. Apparently those are good numbers. Lots of people would say I don't need a diet. But they haven't seen my belly fat, or the nice muffin top it makes in my favorite jeans. That's just unacceptable. I need to cruise out of middle age in a skinny state of nature. Otherwise, I'll wind up looking like every other chubmeister in America by the time I'm 50. Anyway, I'm not going quietly, so I'll continue choking down spinach and bitching about it (my gift to the world, you're welcome) as long as it takes.

P.S. I stepped away from a cart full of adorable foldover yoga pants with pockets (VS, check 'em out) and went for a quick WALK. I must be ill. AND, bonus, I figured out my holiday poem for this year on the way -- look for Sayonara Cellulite around Christmas. This walking thing could be good.

SON OF BEACH!!!!

Aaaarrrrrgggghhhh!!!!!

I got my new fancy-schmancy modern digital scale this afternoon. And I was all excited to try it out. So I stepped on expecting to see my 115ish weight. When SHI!T: the reading came up 118.8! One eighteen point eight (really 119)? Almost 120? I thought I was PAST all that. It's like starting over, for Christ's sake! And I had freakin' spinach again for lunch. Dang -- a whole week of dieting and workouts shot to Hell.

I guess I should be looking for a positive here -- I probably really weighed like 123 when I started this gig, so I've still lost a few pounds. But I was obviously even fatter than I thought. This is shocking and depressing, folks. Clearly this dieting gig is not easy or fun.

So, do I send back the new scale and pretend like it never happened? Or do I forge ahead, stronger and more determined than ever: "Yeah, yeah, (or is it Hey, hey?) I will survive." Am considering a Rocky-style training regimine where I actually get out of bed early in the morning and trot around the neighborhood in gray sweats and a hoodie. Ouch, that's desperate. And unlikely. Although I might try it if I could punch out some dead cows or something. Sigh. I suck at dieting. Or maybe dieting just sucks. Or getting old sucks. Sucks rocks. Big. Dirty. Rocks.

Okay, I'm over it. Back to the dieting. Schitt.

Is that a muscle?

So now I have a blister on my left heel, sore ankles, achy hip joints, and a sore back. This weight loss thing is TONS of fun. The whole process is killing me, but I guess I should save the serious whining for week three. So I take it back, it's all good. And, on the upside, I think I felt some muscles in my legs this morning. Hello muscles, I've missed you! But will they stick around? Or will I just go back to my couch-crashing, wine-swilling ways?

I had some ups and downs yesterday with 3 large "health" cookies, two small bags of popcorn, and twice as much ravioli as I meant to eat. (You can't eat just one. Or four. Okay, eight. Not when they're so tasty.) But I skipped the two glasses of wine with Intervention, I did a new Firm workout last night with the sis (after Intervention and Hoarders), and the scale's holding steady at 115. Plus, I had oatmeal for breakfast, so the torture (I mean "fun," of course) continues. I am determined to see the little needle wobble its way to the OTHER SIDE of 115. By the end of this week, for sure. Stay tuned, I might have spinach for lunch again.

Diet Hell, the week in review.

Well, I've been on a diet for one WHOLE week now. The scale said 115 this morning, which puts me down 5 lbs in one week. Excellent result. BUT, part of that was clothing (cuz I was wearing PJs, instead of heavy jeans this morning) and colon contents (thank you Pleasant Peppermint CC), so I feel like I cheated a little bit. AND I still have a layer of belly fat. I know, because I played with it this morning. Plus if I slump in my chair, I can crease my torso. So that's not good and I'm clearly not finished. But I'm feelin' righteous about my progress so far.

Today's question -- what more will I have to do to lose ten pounds and get down to my old fighting weight of 105? First, I will definitely have to limit my cookie consumption (although they are really health cookies, since they have oats, coconut and cocoa, which, I'm pretty sure, cancel out the butter and sugar -- it's a scientific fact, look it up). Just in CASE they might be bad for me, I'm gonna attempt to eat only 2-3 cookies per day. Like taking a large health-cookie pill with each meal. And I PROMISE not to eat the remaining Blue Box of cheesey deliciousness in my pantry. But if I DO, I'll make TWO meals out of it, instead of just one AND work out extra hard that day. Or maybe the day after, because you know how heavy that stuff is in your tummy. (Hmm, maybe I can use the Pleasant Peppermint that day?) Second, I will definitely have to continue with the work outs, no matter how much I'd rather lay on the couch with a glass of wine watching anything on cable. Tonight, for example, is Intervention and Hoarders night on A&E. Intervention is a two-glass-of-wine show as I laugh and point (what losers) and feel better about myself, because I'm not living in my parents' basement or selling myself (no comments about how ineffective that would be, please) so I can shoot up meth or whatever. I'm functional. Third, I will attempt to consume more dreaded greens/salads/veggies. Sigh, I LOVE my carbs/white foods. Potatoes are the base of my food pyramid. In fact, they're MOST of my food pyramid, and the rest is just pasta and cheesey toast. So that will be tough. Maybe things will change when I harvest all those bell peppers and fennel and garbanzo beans from my garden. (Really, what can I possibly make with all that stuff?) Anyway, I'm gonna give it a shot.

For today, I'm crackin' down to make up for last night's potluck/wine festival. (Ouch -- I just found wine stains on my left arm from last night. How does that even happen?) Maybe only two giant health cookies today. As always, wish me luck.

And don't it feel good?

I'm walkin' on sunshine, Woah-oh, I'm walkin' on sunshine, Woah-oh, and don't it feel good? Yes it don't! Wow, there must be some serious endorphins involved in walking in sunshine, because I FEEL GOOD. Oh yeah, another 50 minute walk. Followed by a cherry-banana cranberry yogurt smoothie with coconut oil and ground flax seed. And THAT'S LUNCH folks. That and, um, maybe a cookie. Or two. Cuz I'm pretty sure I walked off thecookie I had for breakfast already. I'vemoved the cookie container closer in anticipation.

Don't know whether it's the gorgeous weather, the exercise, the diet, or maybe the effective Pleasant Peppermint CC, but I feel so light and fluffy, I could dance. And I almost did a couple of times. But I mostly kept it down to bad singing along with my old music (a lot less Hootie-heavy today, and I missed my Patsy Cline). Found out you can do a brisk healthy walk in Keen flops (I assessed the Teva's as unable to withstand more than a short gentle stroll, correctly, I think). When the blister heals I'll go back to a tennie, but the flops were kind of liberating and fun -- very west coast.

But I promised fall in the midwest versus Phoenix, didn't I? Here's my assessment. On the plus-side for the MidWest, there is nothing like that clean, clear, crisp smell on a Sunday morning after a rain with the red and gold leaves covering the ground -- I call it football weather. I hate football, but I love the weather. Or at least the way the weather smells while you're walking around in your coat and gloves. On the plus side for Phoenix, can you say FABULOUS all day and night long? It might get down to the 50s at night and then peaks at a lovely, dry, 80-something mid-day -- perfect for sitting in the shade with a cocktail. That's why we live here. The trade off? Instead of the lovely football-weather smell of freshly fallen leaves and crisp air, we have the smell of steer manure on all the winter lawns going in -- that stuff doesn't quite live up to all the claims of being "sterilized" and odor free. But, hey, I can live with that.

And Sunday morning in Willo is just too cute. We have a pack of bicycle cruisers, several packs of serious bicycle riders, family strollers, dog walkers, and even a cute biker couple with matching red motorcycles, red-striped pants, and an orange leather jacket (I'll let you guess who was wearing what). So for now, life is good. And, since I don't feel like blogging in the bath, I'm gonna go now. And you should too -- go exercise or scrapbook or something! Have a cocktail for me.

Holy pocket full of sweet, sweet sunshine, Batman!

It is NICE outside. Screw scrapping. I'm digging up some shoes that don't rub and going for a walk.

When I get back, maybe we'll compare fall in the MidWest with fall in Phoenix.

Busted.

How to follow up Saintly Saturday afternoon? COOKIE BINGE! Duh. Well, we knew the lettuce wouldn't last. So I whipped up a batch of fabulous no-bake chocolate macaroons (childhood favorites/comfort food) last night. My ex-friend Katie had the gall to point out that maybe I shouldn't be making cookies when I'm on a diet. Bee-otch. But she didn't realize that I'd had a SALAD for lunch, and I only ate like 4 of them, and it's not like they're staying in the system long with my delicious and effective Pleasant Peppermint tea (yes, I'm still secretly cleansing). So I'monna cut her some slack on this one and let it slide. Because that's the kind of gal I am.

Got a late start this morning, because I was up until 2 am scrapbooking. I don't want to give anyone the wrong idea -- I HATE scrapbooking. Well, maybe not "HATE," but I don't live for it or anything goofy, and I'm not trying to make masterpieces with all kinds of "live, laugh, love" crap with special frames and button embellishments all over every page. But I had like 4000 photos of my recent vacation on the dining room table and they weren't going to put themselves into albums. Neither are the rest of the photos from the last 5 years (I haven't scrapped since the 2004 election -- it broke my heart and I just couldn't scrap after that. But now that the Dark Years are over, I might be able to take up my double-sided tape and scrap again.) So anyway, I was up late and wouldn't even be up now if it weren't for my annoying dog who sleeps all frickin' day anyway and has no respect for my morning sleep ins. So off to the scale.

What up, scale? My adorable, reliable, dependable, lovable old scale says 115 this morning. I might cancel that Amazon order. Nah. It's still fun to get new stuff I don't need. I just noticed that my scale says "Thinner" on it. Huh. Is that the name, or a pep talk?

I don't know if more exercise will happen today, because I've got to do a little more scrapbooking (I barely made it to the Forum in Rome last night), and I've got to visit my mom and give her a haircut (What? You didn't know I could cut hair? She looks pretty darn good for my first client. I gave her a Susan Powter doo -- pretty awesome for a 74 year old. Hey, isn't Susan about 74 now?), plus I need to clean the house for Sunday night potluck (I'm a messy scrapper -- shocker), and I need to get some food to make something edible for tonight's dinner. And I really should brush the dried marinara out of the dog's fur -- we had a little incident last night at dinner, which involved an entire container of Fresh & Easy's finest marinara sauce going all over the kitchen cabinets and rug. Fortunately the dog helped clean it up, but since his fur is a giant fluffy magnet, he looked like he'd killed a deer in the kitchen -- I so should have photographed it, but wasn't in the mood and was a bit busy trying to clean up chunks of tomato and onion and get the sauce off the rug before it stained. I wiped most of it off his head, but I obviously missed some spots, since he's still sticky. So I've got a big day. There may not be time for walking or strength training or yoga. OR, I could do something now (not walking, since I have a blister the size of an egg on my left heel). Maybe I WILL do something now. (Probably just eat, but don't tell anyone.)

Is my glow visible from outerspace?

Am basking in the self-righteous glow of a brisk 45-minute walk through my neighborhood. Hah! Take THAT fat! As much as I love the ease of the colon cleanse, I realize that I need to eat and exercise, etc. if I'm going to beat the mid-life spread. Fortunately, I'm fairly competetive ;-) and cannot let the fat win. Especially now that I've told the whole world that I'm trying to kill it.

The walk revealed two new issues for me: (1) my pricey MBTs that are supposed to magically reshape my legs will not work if they're going to give me blisters - BAD shoes, BAD; (2) I might need to update my musical taste -- it's hard to feel really youthful and modern with Neil Diamond, Hootey (or is it Hootie?), and Aerosmith piped into my brain. I love my music -- that's why it's mine, but I might need an injection of something more recent. Suggestions welcome.

I feel SO good! The only immediate problem is that's translating into a desire for food and a cocktail. Guess I'll make some more tea.

Diet Hell Day 6: Scaling the depths.

I almost screamed this morning when I stepped on the scale and it said 1-freaking-20. Again. I've "cleansed" the colon for 1.5 days now (trust me, I'm not packing anything in that colon), I've eaten like a bird (maybe a vulture, but still in the bird range), and exercised a little bit (three times is pretty good for lots of people) and WTF? 120? Before breakfast? REALLY?!! You rat ba$tard.

So I cussed the scale, and "gently" moved it to another location on the tile floor, and stepped on again. Whew. 116. And I got that about 5 more times, since I wasn't convinced after the 120 episode. So I've lost 4 pounds of something. Most likely food and clothing, but I'm not going to quibble about WHAT I've lost, as long as I fit into the jeans better. (Will do Squeeze-fat-ass-into-jeans test later.) But will the colon cleanse keep the food from sticking around long enough to turn into fat, or is it too late by the time the colon gets ahold of it? And when does my body start burning fat? And when I lose weight, does the fat pack its bags and leave? Or do the fat cells just shrink? I guess I AM quibbling about what I've lost. Inquiring minds want to know. Too bad they won't find out here. (Update: According to http://www.annecollins.com/weight-loss-support/fat-cells.htm fat cells only shrink when you lose weight. Apparently I can make NEW ones by gaining weight, but cannot get rid of the old ones when I lose weight. The game is RIGGED.)

So the scale error highlights my current dilemma -- to go high tech with a new scale, or stick with the basic spring scale that occassionally gives me a heart attack and begs to be kicked? I searched the web the other day and discovered that scales these days can not only give you your weight, but they can also measure your body fat, your water retention, and some of them will even talk to you. (I'd LOVE to get ahold of one of those babies in the programming stage: "Hey fat ass, how's it hanging today?" "Ouch!!! Get off -- you're killing me!" It's a good thing I crack myself up. Sadly, I think the current manufacturers lack vision and humor and they only give you the pertinent data, not commentary.) I was wondering how these modern marvels measure your body fat and was picturing little metal hands reaching out to pinch me, but apparently, they shoot electrical current through your body to figure that out (Fat and muscle transmit at different rates. But what if my fat is faster than the average fat? Is it all the same? Does anyone else care? Probably not.).

So do I want a new-fangled scale that will shoot electrical pulses through me and tell me more depressing sh!t? I've got one in my cart at Amazon. (And is now a good time to express my LOVE for Amazon, the internet and Brown? Oh-ho the Wells Fargo Wagon is a comin' down the street....) My friend Ena tells me she loves hers (her fancy scale, I mean). Well, I guess what she really said, is that she's OBSESSED with hers. Hmmm. Obsession -- is it a good thing, or only an expensive unisex fragrance? Do I really need to have a new scale to tell me when I hit 105? The obvious answer is no, of course. But it's NEVER about need when there's a new thingie in my cart. Until my scale pissed me off this morning, I was very happy with it -- it's attractive modern glass and metal and did not complain during the many years that I ignored it and let it get dusty under a bathroom cabinet. But piss me off once.... I guess the lesson here, is that if you're an old appliance at my house, you'd better be reliable, because you CAN be replaced.

Well, I'm off to my cart at Amazon to order a new scale and whatever else I've piled in there this week. Oh-ho the Wells Fargo wagon is a....

No, the fat wasn't hiding in my colon.

Wow. This dieting thing is really tough. Had my first serious cravings last night. Oh, I almost forgot -- there was NO explosion. Nada. Zip. Bubkes. Nothing. My innards were tightly clenched. Colon Cleanse tea did not have any immediate effect and I went to bed puffy. Probably because I had SUCH cravings last night. I had to make popcorn, drag out the frozen edamame (oh, yeah, I'm serious about the diet thing), and drink two glasses of champagne on top of the cleansing tea to satisfy my hunger pangs. Tough day yesterday. Thank GOD I had the crazy b!tches of Atlanta AND P Runway to keep me busy last night. In fact, how did I have the time to eat all that stuff?

Innards unclenched and started moving around funky about 3 am. Hmmm. Cleansing tea IS effective, but it's like on a timer delay. So the stuff worked, BUT, it turns out my mid-life fat was NOT hiding in my colon. The fat I'm trying to lose is STILL there. Stupid fat. Lesson learned.

Well, I had to try it -- some guy on TV says that we've all got POUNDS of toxins hiding in our colon, and it was worth a shot.

But the scale still says about 120 this morning, depending on what I'm wearing and which way I lean. Right now I'm leaning toward liposuction. Did you know the results can be permanent? It's just a thought. I haven't even pulled the trigger on a digital scale yet, so what are the odds I'm rushing out for liposuction?

And will I explode...

if I combine the Colon Cleanse tea with about 10 oat bran tabs?

I haven't even made it into the kitchen to brew the tea yet and I'm already thinking of attempting to blow myself up from the inside with bran tabs and colon-cleansing teas just so I can amuse myself by blogging about it.

Is cleansing cheating?

Well, after I emailed the whole family to tell them I'm a blogger now, and I danced around the house to Super Freak (still my favorite song of all time, thank you Rick James), I found myself in front of the scale. Again. And the stinkin' thing still says 120. What UP with that after four WHOLE days of dieting? (Okay, maybe 3.5, but still.)

So I was looking around the kitchen for some inspiration, and lo and behold (no, it's NOT "low" and behold, people), I have a box labled "Colon Cleanse." Hmmm. Now this is promising. It's even got a drawing of a colon on the box. Pretty unappealing, but they obviously know what they're talking about, right?

Turns out it is a tea ("pleasant peppermint" flavored) that I have ordered at some point -- probably while trying to get my atopic dermatitis (that's an allergic and very itchy eczema) under control (whole other blog). Brand new box. Untouched. I have dozens of bags. And I'm going to use them.

So what's the hold up? Well, the box says I have to brew and drink this stuff after dinner and then in the morning. I'm still at least 2 hours from dinner. But the urge is almost irresistible. What happens if I drink it now, Alice? Am chuckling just thinking about it.

Keep you posted.

Still giddy...

Wow, can you believe how easy this blogging gig is? No WONDER everyone's doing it!

Gotta go work now. I've only been a blogger for about half an hour so far, and I haven't figured out a way to make it pay the bills yet. Will work on that tonight. Hmmm. Wonder if anyone else has thought of that?

Diet hell, Day 4.

Oops. That last one was supposed to be Day 4, even though I typed it last night. (Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.) Evil scale lies. Or else my fall PJs are just heavier. Starting my day at about 118 -- hard to tell, because my eyes are so far away from the scale at my toes. Last night's popcorn delicious for breakfast. Am wasting away to nothing in my mind. Unfortunately Mrs. Claus has taken over my body. Or is it Oprah? If it's you Oprah, take me now! I give up! But only for Oprah. On the off-chance that it's Mrs. Claus, or Kirstie Alley, will continue diet and exercise right into Day 4. Am fearless. Wish me luck and lots of bran

Diet hell, Day 3.

Quiche almost gone. Fat, not so much.

But this fat doesn't know who it's dealing with -- I mean I created it, I can kill it. I am this fat's GOD.

Tummy was particularly alarming all day yesterday, but did strength training and a brisk walk (thanks Mary B), so I'm sure that the glass of wine and the popcorn I had later didn't even have a chance to stick. Right? I’m not even going to count those in my calories.

Hmmm. Why isn't scale responding properly? Must be time for a new DIGITAL scale. On the other hand, I kind of like the, uh, "flexibility" of this one -- is that 118 or 116? Who's to know, really? Certainly not you guys!! And if I shift my weight, I can change the numbers -- I love that part: "Oh, is that 114?" Lookin' good -- as far as you guys know.

tag

p.s. F'n Snuggie ad is on AGAIN.

Diet hell, Day 3.

Hmmm. Diet not quite over. Fat hanging in tough, despite two WHOLE painful days of eating light and working out. Apparently it wants a fight. Well, BRING IT, fat. Scale says 116 again this morning, but I will confess that it went right back up to 120 yesterday after breakfast and pretty much stayed there all day. Something magical happens during sleep, so I guess the secret is to sleep round the clock. Maybe I'll try that this weekend.

So, quiche, cereal, or oatmeal? Really need to finish that darn quiche....

Diet hell, Day 2

Whew, I'm glad that's over!!

Just kidding. But I do feel much better about myself. I outsmarted my evil scale this morning by jumping on it BEFORE breakfast and wearing light cotton pants. (See how I'm thinkin' here? If things don't work out well tomorrow, I'll just hit the head, strip, exfoliate, whatever it takes. Except I might not induce vomiting -- I might draw the line there.) My scale said 116 this morning, so I should be done with my diet by Friday. Thanks for hanging in there with me during this VERY difficult time.

Tomorrow: how to get the dimples out of my thighs and ass. Tim's suggestions, not welcome.

Gotta go snarf down some more quiche.

Diet hell, Day 1

Well, I guess I'd better weigh myself to kick this baby off. Probably should have done that BEFORE I ate the potato-turkey-spinach quiche. (Okay, but I had a pretty small piece and it has veggies and green stuff. AND I’m having some detox tea to get things moving, if you know what I mean.)

Scale says 120. I KNEW I should have weighed myself before breakfast and tea. Was going to subtract 2 lbs for clothes and jewelry (the new jeans weigh at LEAST 1.5 lbs), but decided that 120 is a nice ROUND (appropriate) number and I'll lose more weight if I start heavier, right?

So here I am at 120. Goal is 110, which I haven't seen for like 2-3 years, I think -- hard to say, since I haven't actually weighed myself my entire life, because I didn't NEED to before.

What do you think in terms of time frame? I want to be aggressive, but I think one week ain't gonna happen. So I'm looking at 30 days.

Suggestions about what to eat to sustain my energy and not feel hungry welcome. Smart-ass comments, not so much.

I'll keep you posted, and if not, check in with me about November.

Dang, I'm hungry already

Introduction: the dangers of free time and the internet

I'm dizzy with excitement. I'm feeling light headed with the power of blogging to the WHOLE world. MMmmmmwwwhhhhaaaaa...hhh.

OR, maybe I'm dizzy because I'm trying to diet. Emphasis on TRYING. This is new to me. I'm not huge. I'm not even what most people would call fat. But I've managed to put on an extra ten pounds that muffin-tops over my favorite jeans and buldges through my form-fitting Target T-shirts.

Aging SUCKS, but then I'm not telling most of you anything new. I'm in my late 40s and GONE are the days of snarfing down pizza with impunity, fries with freedom, and goulash with gusto. (I never actually ate goulash, but I needed a "G" food -- y'all can give me better ideas in the comments.) I think the last straw was finding out I couldn't squeeze into my cute Seven for All Mankind jeans and having to buy new jeans to cover my fat, dimply, ass, thighs and stomach. I am sad and mad and I refuse to give in to middle-age fatness and old lady jeans without a fight. So, here it is. I'm going to kick my own fat ass in 30 days. My goal is to get to 105 (I'm only 5'2" and 120 lbs), but I'll settle for losing 10 pounds.

Rather than reinvent the wheel, or my own ramblings (I actually started this diet crap on Monday and it's now Thursday, October 8, 2009), I'm going to post the status reports I previously sent to those lucky few friends who've been with me from the beginning of my annoying little experiment.

Oh, and thank my sister, Kathy, who suggested I should blog about this!!!!