Jitterbug's Beat

All Things Weighty.

I've started writing this blog post just about every day for the last two years or so - me and the weight battle.  Kelly versus the bulge.  I should honestly start by posting a terrifying picture of me when I was deeply, deeply depressed and carried around almost 200 pounds on my bitty 5'3" frame.  I should.  Didn't say I was gonna - didn't say I'm ready to do that.  Most of the people in my life right now never saw me that way, and the girl in that photo is the monster hiding in my closet, and kiddies, believe me when I tell you, she is a HUNGRY MONSTER.  

So I took that monster down in a big way when I joined Jenny Craig, after telling my mom that it didn't matter how much it cost me, I had to fix myself.  200-lb girl, meet 157-lb girl.  Nothing to sneeze at. Then, a little later, 157-lb girl, meet 146-lb girl, meet Jenny Craig in conjunction with Weight Watchers, meet personal trainer that rocks... that 146-lb girl became a 127-lb girl totally in love with her new shape and her skinny jeans.  The sucky part, as all of you who've been through this know, is that sometimes when it takes everything you've got to get somewhere, you've got nothing left to stay put.  Say you used all of your oxygen to reach the top of the mountain... yeah, you might be at the top, but you'll still die.  Well my death came in the sneaky, pastel-colored, sweetly scented aisles of Walgreens when I had to wander in there after work, after a particularly difficult workout, hungry and tired... and there in all its chocolate-bunny-beauty, was the Easter candy.  That naive girl scout within me tried to shout: "NO!  Think of all the work you've done!  Look at yourself!  Do NOT pick up TWO white chocolate bunnies!  Damn you!"  She tried.  Then the big fat monster in my closet stomped on girl scout's face and, in a voice shockingly similar to Chris Farley's, screamed, "LAY OFF OF ME!  I'M STARVING!"  Okay so after a three month backwards bender, my head stopped spinning around and I got myself back together again, fortunately not TOO far away from where I'd left off.  Still that "little" distance seemed a long ways away, and finding the motivation to, well, work hard, again.  

So weight goes off, weight goes on, weight goes off... lather, rinse, repeat.  Makes for one sad, very frustrated girl.  Now I'll tell you right off the bat - I exercise like a crazy person.  But in the last two years I became even slightly more crazy (shut up, there was still room) and my exercise is now really a part of me.  I do everything I do because it makes me feel like a rock star - not because I'm not at my goal yet, or to punish myself for downing that whole jar of Creamy Jiff.  

Gonna say, the closer I get to my goal, which is now only six pounds away, the harder and harder it gets.  Suppose that's the whole thing about reaching the end of a long journey - of course, only to begin the next part - but still... if it were easy, no one would be obese.  The treadmills at my gym would always be occupied and I'd take at least four more elbows to the face during zumba class.  Us small, fit folks would just look like everyone else, just because - not because we poured our hearts and souls into a hard-fought battle with change.  I still use and love Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers.  I use one of these most awesome Bodymedia gadgets now, and am a subscriber to and huge fan of Shape, Fitness and Self magazines.  I've now dealt with that closet monster and defeated her many times - and bought a bigger padlock for that closet.  What it boils down to is change.  I have changed.

So.  Not all days are great, but all-in-all, I feel freaking fantastic.  The biggest bummer I've found so far is how little our bodies actually need to function - food-wise, that is.  Smaller we are, the less we need.  How is that fair!?  OH yeah and that I'll likely never again be warm.  Ever.  Me and my skinny jeans?  We're okay with it.

Things That I Found Noteworthy Today.

In public restrooms, I find it beyond disturbing when people are overly vocal.  There are certain situations where emphasis is simply unnecessary.

When you fall asleep on the bus and start to lean sideways every two seconds, Mr. Stranger Danger, do NOT ... I repeat, do NOT come to rest on me.  

Yes, sort-of-homeless-looking-teenage-boy at the bus stop with really nice shoes, I CAN spare a quarter.  But I will not.

When I ask you, boss, do you want Option A or Option B, and you reply, simply, "yes" please understand that this does not actually answer my query.

Martha, I cannot decide if this is brilliant, or just downright psychotic.  And I think I want to make one.

Barista who screwed up my coffee order, I secretly want to thank you for giving me 2% milk when I asked for skim.  It was the best latte I've had in what seems like forever.  

The very definition of too much information. Funny, though.

So you may or may not know, I eat a ton of fruits and vegges.  Lots and lots.  Well lately, the spinach salad I have at lunchtime has been really disagreeing with me in a gastro-intestinal way.  Today I made the mistake of also having romaine with it and the internal result was VERY unpleasant.  Now, I’m equipped with Beano and Gas-X at the office, but you know how painful it is to hold that in sometimes?  Well I find that the older I get, the less willing I am to hold those things in.  I’ve started just hoping they don’t make any noise.

 

Lord help me – I’m just not... something enough to be one of those people who just lets it go at random and doesn’t care a fig.  Besides, that's what boyfriends are for.  Me, I still care.  It's just that sometimes I push my butt down into my chair as much as I possibly can and hope nobody walks by.

I shared this with my two dear friends, and here's their most valuable commiseration:

Thing 1:  I educated Thing 2 as to the definition of "crop-dusting" - walking through the office, farting away, leaving a trail of despair behind you, which isn't necessarily traceable back to you as long as you walk fast enough.  These of course need to be silent otherwise you might as well just sit at your desk at let loose.

Thing 2: I usually walk into attorney offices that are momentarily unoccupied.  

All's Fair in Friends and Book Opinions

Awhile back I received a book in the mail from my fellow-good-booker Alaskan friend - In The Woods, by Tana French.  This book came with a warning, however, in the form of a post-it-note on the cover, that read: "Don't say I didn't warn you."  So it's been sitting on my shelf for at least a year now, biding its time... finally, I had to read it. 

My reaction and subsequent email to my fellow-good-booker-Alaskans: 
I LOVED In The Woods.  Loved it.  Loved it loved it loved it.  Will you guys still be my friends?  J  In fact, I now have no qualms about picking up her second book, The Likeness, that I am always drawn to in Borders.  I’m sending it on to mom.  So inspirational for a first book!  Boy, I loved the writing and the characters, even if it was such a sad ending.  I’m actually surprised I liked it so much – I’m not one for dark endings.  The best thing: The tiniest mention of that coin (or something of that nature) that that one of the highway workers had found on the site that had a picture of the pan-like-creature that was rumored to have taken the children away…  wow.  GGRRRREEEAT!

Response from M:
To be honest, I can’t remember exactly what I hated about the book because I wiped its memory clean from my mind, all except for my loathing. If you skim through the reviews at amazon, people either loved it or absolutely hated it. I thought the premise she came up with was really intriguing but what she did with it was dreadful. It’s been nice knowing you Kelly but I don’t think we can be friends anymore if you liked that horrid book.

Response from A: 
Sigh.... I can't believe that you liked it.  I even like mystical/magical crap usually, it just had so many plot holes with the magical stuff then she seems to just drop the whole thing.  I"m afraid that we'll have to issue a banishment. 

Me:

Girls, I admire your tastes in books SO MUCH – I find myself wondering if we actually, all three, read the same book.  BUT!  I understand.  How ‘bout y’all just keep me on probation until I buy and read her second book!?!  

Response from M:

Next thing I know, you’ll be sending me your copy of Going Rogue. 

The Good, The Bad and The Hungry.

Yo-yo-yo dieter.  That's me - it's a yo-yo dieter, only cooler.  I got to a point in my life where I weighed... let's say a LOT of pounds and I am a vertically challenged 5'3".  Although this began about three years ago, recently I re-steeled myself to see the end of this loooooong process of losing all the depression weight, and it's coming!  It's really coming!  But.  I always hated gym rats - now I think I might classify myself as one.  My personal trainer had to admonish me to stop measuring my bananas.  I don't see food, I see figures: calories, fat and fiber, which translates into points, and here I am, math-hater than I am (actually it's math that hates me, but that's a whole other story) and I CAN'T.  STOP.  THE.  MADNESS.  

I think it's been done in movies time and time again, where the voluptuous frat girl pokes her fork at a dressing-less salad and glares daggers across the table at her jock boyfriend who's lustily enjoying his burger with fries and a shake.  I've become that girl!  Only minus the frat.  

I've also become one of those intolerable people who's always looking at everything else everyone else in the world eats - OH go grocery shopping with me and let's look at that conveyor belt!  What do your groceries say about you?  And I judge!  Granted, I judge silently, and it's usually a VERY witty commentary, but still.   My poor boyfriend bears the brunt of my not-so-much-inner-dialogue if he (GASP) buys candy corn or (NOOOO!) eats a maple bar when I'm anywhere in a five-mile radius then its WOE TO HIM!  And I have to stop.  I don't go out with friends sometimes because I'm too intimated by what I might be feeling like and questioning my own willpower.  It IS getting easier, but boy, what a battle.  And it's a battlefield of one.   So, long story short, I've got lots to work on. It does make it easier to work on while wearing my skinny jeans though.  

That Reminds Me.

Recently my friend shared a funny story about she and her brother as kids - how they used to play parachute off the garage roof with bed sheets for capes.  He was always complaining about how she got to go first for everything, so she said FINE, you go first.  He did, and of course got hurt, and all she could call down to him was "Get out of the way!  It's my turn!"  

When I was a kid, I was also sure my siblings were out to kill me.  Thanks to too much television (yay A-Team) I was pretty sure that cars would randomly blow up - and I deduced that it happened when you left them running too long.  My sister once took me along on a drive for an errand she had to run.  It was Alaska, winter, freezing-ass-cold outside, and I was supposed to wait in the car while she went to do her thing.  Oooookay.  Not sure how the passing of time seems to most children, but I felt like I shivered away in the car for a REALLY long time in the car, which she'd left running of course, to prevent me from becoming a kid-sister-sicle - which would have TOTALLY pissed off mom.  But it was the perfect crime!  "Accidentally" leave the car running too long!  I was sitting out there getting more and more agitated - I'm TEN!  How do I turn this thing off?!  Does she NOT know that cars explode when you leave them running too long?  In what I can only describe as the most tense moment in the most exciting episode of MacGyver, I studied the control panel and in a state of utmost ten-year-old panic, TURNED THE KEY and I was saved from what was a certain fiery death by the luck of turning the key in the right direction.  The engine died and I breathed a sigh of relief you could have heard in China.  Just then (good timing?) my sister opened the car door.  She looked a little puzzled, then realization dawned on her face.  "OH," she said, "You don't like country music?"  

My football fantasy.

Recently my dear friends and I came together to pick out our fantasy football lineup from the live draft.  Did I say dear friends?  You might not know it when things get underway with the pointed absurdity of me actually having the audacity to put Adrian Peterson in my queue when he is the best of the best of the best and my pick is the last of the last of the last.  I'm just gonna say it.  Sometimes.  I.  Lose.  My.  Temper.  I know you are shocked.  Please take a moment to put your socks back on.  Well I still had a few of my queued players when it came to be my turn, and I believe (FIRMLY) that I ended up with quite a good fantasy team.  Then my quarterback AND my backup quarterback ended up at the top of the list of BIG NO NO's for fantasy players.  I don't care what they say.  I stand by my fantasy men.  Like Tom Selleck.

At our fantasy draft gathering, we have also adopted the tradition of plunking everyone down in front of a video camera to record our predictions for the upcoming season.  What this year has taught me is that without alcohol, I am neither witty, nor charming, in front of that camera - in fact, I'm downright boring.  And probably less attractive.  Perhaps it's good that I occupy my time with friends who drink rather heavily.  My predictions were predictable.  But here's my theory.  If I keep saying the Seahawks and the Patriots will play each other in the Superbowl, eventually, if enough time passes... well it will still be my theory.  

 

 

Not again. And so soon...

Another big moment for me this week.  Being so proud of myself for getting back on track with food and exercise, I was rushing out the door of the office ready to go to a class at the gym.  I didn't have much time, nor space, as I was tossing clothes willy-nilly in a tiny bathroom stall.  But I made it - got to the gym, into class, got my step all set up and ready to roll.  The instructor turned on the music and I was about to make one last adjustment - tying the drawstrings of my pants.  Only when I reached for them, there weren't any.  Odd?  Not quite.  They were there, in the front of my pants, which were facing to the rear.  Yup, I put my pants on backwards.  To my credit - they weren't button fly.  

Ahem ... your blonde is showing.

Doggone it, Kelly.  So about three years ago or so, I was watching Bones, which I love, and they had the most wonderful song on the episode - I had to find it.  So after a lot of waiting, finally it was up on the show's website.  The song was "Bring on the Wonder" by ... who I thought was a woman by the name of Susan Enan Feat.  Until yesterday I still was desperately trying to find this song, searching google, searching Itunes, searching Pandora... finally yesterday I found the Bones soundtrack in Itunes and LOW AND BEHOLD, there it was.  The song "Bring on the Wonder" IS by Susan Enan... however the "Feat" was short for "featuring... Sarah McLaughlan.  The damn website cut it off, all those years ago... and all this time I've been looking for a lady named Feat.  Well.

License to Bike

It's terrible, I know - but it's true... and as a disclaimer, I have friends who are bike messengers, cyclists, Iron Man competitors - and I realize it's a select few who are ruining it for the rest of them, but I am SICK and TIRED of cyclists in downtown Portland.  I think they should be licensed just like cars, and held responsible for breaking the rules of the road.  My experience - they weave in and out of traffic, choose which traffic rules they want to obey and when they want to, and we're supposed to yield to them when they're racing up behind us while we're executing a legal right hand turn!?!  I'm sorry - if you're in a car behind someone turning right, can you pass them on the right and expect NOT to get creamed?  Or on a motorcycle?  Hell no!  I'm sick of being run into on the sidewalk.  I'm sick of being blocked by an entire family of bike tourists.  I'm sick of the guy who takes up the sidewalk at the bus stop, balancing on his bike, who doesn't notice that he's about to roll his front tire right over some woman's foot!  I want to go over there and just shove him over.  I don't.  But if I did, I betcha people would clap for me.  But if you've been paying attention to the news lately, then I'm lead to believe would subsequently be attacked and beaten by cyclists who come out of nowhere and mis-assess the situation.  Lousy drunks!  Also, don't get me wrong - drivers are assholes.  Pedestrians are assholes.  I'm an asshole.  It's just that cyclists are a very particular blend of both worlds, and all this going-green aside, they piss me the hell off.  How much?  Kind of like this: