Posts

Listen Whackos, Fat-Bottomed Girls Make the Rocking World Go 'Round

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For the second time in less than a year, someone clearly suffering from a mental illness has made a snide comment about my weight. And I. Am. Done.

On a work trip to Chicago last spring, a panhandler approached me for money. I said no, he said, "Maybe you should think about losing some weight." Assface. I got super upset and anxious, didn't enjoy the rest of my trip to the Windy City, came home and lost 30 pounds.

Last night, I started a volunteer gig at a store that specializes in fair trade items. Some dude came in who thought he was Kenyan. (He was not Kenyan.) He had been thrown out of the store Saturday for being a problem and was angry with the woman training me, who had been the thrower-outer. He started out seeming harmless, but grew increasingly belligerent. Eventually, we had to close 30 minutes early to get him out of the store. We also had to call the police. But at one point, he looked at me and said, "You're twice her size and you're going to …

It's Lent Again (and Random Thoughts)

During past Lents, I've tried to blog almost daily. That's not my goal this year, although I have laid off the ol' Facebook once more. I can't believe how visceral a reaction withdrawal is from that social media platform. It's worse than the sugar cravings gnawing at me, since I'm also giving up junk food. Everyone is probably talking about me and having fun without me.

Ah well. Moving on.

While I'm a "writer" at work, I don't always write. I manage a few stories a semester, when I'm not editing others peoples' stuff and making sure our web site works. So when I do have the chance to write, I get nervous. Like crazy nervous. What if I've lost my knack for storytelling? What if I can't find the words. WHAT IF I'LL NEVER WRITE AGAIN?

So you plod along and put words together into sentences, and organize those sentences into interesting paragraphs. You can't take Facebook or snack breaks, because you've given up both. Y…

A Real Review of Whole30

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about my first week or so trying the Whole30 program. The TL;DR version of Whole30 is that it's a "reset" that promises to regulate your gut and digestive hormones, reduce inflammation, send "Tiger Blood" (their term, not mine) coursing through your veins by the last week, and basically change your entire life. Imagine Cinderella before and after her meeting with her fairy godmother, where Whole30 is the godmother. All you have to do is cut out grains, gluten, legumes, sugar and dairy and you'll be a princess heading for the ball. Even foods with minute amounts of this stuff are out. No sausage unless it's sugar free. No salad dressings unless you make them yourself. No non-dairy creamer. No sugar substitutes. No booze. No weighing yourself during the 30 days and no tracking your food. And if you screw up? It's back to day one.

I read the book from the program's creator at a delicate time. I'd just been at a f…

This Whole 30 Is a Whole Bunch of Crap

A few months ago, my sister and I were chatting about weight loss. She was having some success on a program that she had to pay for, but I wanted something that I could do with regular food and nothing mail-ordered. I'd heard about the Whole30 from a friend, and I picked up the book "It Starts With Food." While parts of it seemed like pseudoscience, other parts spoke to me and were incredibly compelling. And I felt like crap at the time -- my joints ache, I'm way way way overweight, I'm tired and slightly fuzzy almost all day. What did I have to lose? Even with all that, though, I might have put off Whole30 longer if I hadn't seen some relatives at an event, and it was like looking at My Darkest Timeline. Two big guys, neither of whom could get out of chairs without help. Both in support stockings with sores on their legs, both diabetic (or close to it). And neither one old enough to look as old as they looked.

So I mostly blame these last 11 days on the fear…

This Flower Pot Is Gone

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During last year's Lenten blogging project, I wrote about a flower pot in my kitchen — the lone remnant of my days with Email Dumper. (Got some time? Read the post!) The TL;DR version is that I hated that damn flower pot. It reminded me of his spoiled man-child ways every time I washed dishes. I sometimes didn't water the plant because of the stupid pot. It clearly had to go.

After a year of searching for a replacement, I'm happy to report that the flower pot that had to go is gone. More accurately, it's in my basement. Should I break it? Should I mail it back to him? Should I throw it away? Should I give it to Goodwill? I've yet to decide. But for now, it's tucked into a dark corner of the basement I rarely frequent and out of sight is out of mind.

Plus, the new one is adorable and much more in line with my personality. Like all good things, it was worth the wait.

You Will Be Found

Tonight I whipped my spatula out of my icing bowl and ran into my living room just in time to join the Dear Evan Hansen cast in a spectacular singalong of "You Will Be Found." Yeah, I closed my eyes and danced and everything. Icing might have flown around the room.

I never felt more alive.

My officemate has been telling me lately that I need to find a thing to do. Something I love. And when I find the thing and do the thing, all the other things in life will fall into place. My officemate tends to be way more "glass is half full" than I am, but it did make me think: what's my "thing"? Sure. I like writing. But you do that alone. I also like reading, which one also does solo (unless one has a small child). I enjoy naps. Cooking. Going to the movies. None of these are big contenders for getting out of the house and meeting people.

I used to be a crazy social person. I did STUFF. I went to meetups. I belonged to groups. I made new friends and learned new…

Bonus Post: Last Fish Fry

It's no coincidence that I picked today as my alternate work-from-home day. (I had a class on Wednesday so I had to actually go to the office.) Anyway, it's Last Fish Fry Friday. Few things motivate me like fish and potatoes. So if you're reading this and you haven't yet indulged in that perennial Pittsburgh practice of gorging yourself on fish each Friday, make plans to hit your local parish TONIGHT.

The end.