How To Lose 200lbs Of Ugly Fat

It is called Divorce. You may have heard of it. You may have already used it, successfully. You may even recommend it to friends who are wanting to lose their own mass of ugly fat. It is a painful, yet oddly freeing, diet. I am currently on this particular diet, needing to lose those last stubborn 200lbs because they are annoying, irritating, frustrating, discombobulating, infuriating, and, worst of all, tenacious. The only good thing about this mass of fat is how easily I can irritate it, having known it for 12+ years now, I know what buttons to push to make it just as frustrated as me.

We finally decided that it was time to do this. Actually, he was pushing for it because the woman he was seeing, who turned out to be a real peach but more about that later, kept asking him how his divorce was coming along. Silly man, thinking with his twigs and berries instead of his brain, tried to work out a plan for he and I to get together and see an attorney to hammer out a deal and get this whole thing rolling. He has been so gung ho to get me there and pin me down (sadly, both ways that can be taken are accurate) that it made me suspicious. So this woman went and done got herself her own attorney. Said mound of ugly fat was soooo happy about that, he yelled, hooted, hollered and boo hoo-ed to me about it for a good half hour, telling me how much he hated me and amusing me very much. We hung up, I went back to my book, and 20 minutes later he called me back, considerably calmer, to talk about it. Because neither he nor I give a hoot about the other's way of seeing it, we just stop as soon as we catch ourselves starting to try to explain how we see it. It's pointless. At this point, we cannot sympathize with the other.

I was surprised that he called me back so quickly. I figured he would be digging up his jar of pennies and moving them to a new spot. But he wanted to call me to sing, "I just called to saaaaaaay I haaaaaaaaate youuuuuuu!" at which point we both laughed and started changing love songs into hate songs. Don't get me wrong, we are both brimming with hate for the other, especially as it could have been so different if we had just made some different choices along the way. He is so irate with having to divide up the marital assets/money, that I can't resist messing with him. Case in point, I offered to go halves on a cabin with him once this is over. I think he popped a few blood vessels over that one, but it helps me deal with the stress of this all if we can at least joke about it a little. Like him telling me that if we can work out a deal and not have to fight this out in court, he might be willing to not delete my number and still be my friend. Gee, how can I not be thrilled with that offer.

Lastly, this wonderful woman he was dating turned out to be seeing an ex of hers on the side. She has turned out to be the gift that just keeps on giving because it seems the whole town, except my ex, knew about it. So not only was she cheating on him, she pushed him into getting a divorce when I would have been content to just stay separated forever. Instead, he decided that he really wants to have to give me some of our marital pennies. The moral of this story, if it ain't broke, don't fix it!

Mountainous Expanse Of White Flesh

Princess came in, saw the title of this post and said, "You're writing about mom?" Sharp as a tack, that one. We just got through another fabulous blow out fight in our house. The best analogy I have that sums up Sugarbowl's and my relationship is to compare it to a pressure cooker, especially the old ones that exploded so easily. My mom said that growing up they had one and my grandmother forgot to let off the steam one time and green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The pressure builds up and we have to vent at the right time or risk a big explosion. We didn't vent soon enough this time and our relationship green beans got blown all over the ceiling. The reason for the fight is not particularly interesting, in fact I'm not sure what started it all, but once Sugarbowl gets mad/hurt/upset etc. her Borderline Personality Disorder comes out to play. I don't like that playmate. It really sucks, but someone has to stand up to its hideous bullying ways, and that someone is always me because I am the one person who can tell her to shut the hot hell up and knock her crap off and still be friends with her again. This time she disabled all her electronic stuff so no one could use it. She took all the cords to her TV, DVD player, computer, phone, the wii and so on. We all made up yesterday and she started to bring down the cords from her room and slowly put them all back. I didn't want her to know how much I was missing some of those electronic things, so I read my brains out the last 2 days, which is great but sometimes you just want to kick back with a movie. I took back my robe that she stole from me awhile ago and kept meaning to take back, but she is always naked when she wears it and until I can boil it I have no use for it. Last night I woke up to her naked in my room trying to set the computer back up because she wanted the wireless stuff back on. It would not have been so horrible if all the needed cords were in one area, but she had to go around my bed, plug this in, go back around and put this one here, apologizing the whole time for her nudity because she couldn't find the robe. I didn't bother to tell her it was stuffed in my closet. Some things are better left unsaid and I didn't want to extend the conversation any. I just wanted my room back so I could go back to sleep without the risk of waking up to that sight again. Things should be better soon because the neighbors in the other unit are moving out and she will be moving over there. So when we fight we can go back to our own side and beat on the walls to annoy each other instead of having to argue in person. The neighbors are moving out because they can never seem to remember to pay rent and are being evicted, which has made them very pissy. Not sure what they told their friends across the street, but I can feel the daggers being stared into my flesh whenever we see each other. We have given them so many chances and warnings to pay rent on time, even letting them get really far behind because they were having some financial problems, but it was getting ridiculous. Plus they have a very mean pit bull that scares me and they play their music really loud. All these things add up to me not caring how much the neighbors across the street may think we are in the wrong and hate us, and instead accepting it all as a good exchange to be rid of them. I really hate that dog and am hoping that when it does hurt someone, as it is bound to do, it is one of the owners and not an innocent person. I could be out working in my yard without my dogs, and it will try to charge me. You don't even have to be doing anything, just sitting on your porch, and it will try to get at you. I hope something happens to it before it can do anything to any other animal or person. Keeping my fingers crossed here. Other than that, my MS is as much of a hoot as always. Lately my legs have been feeling so weak and shaky, especially as the day goes on, that I feel like a newborn colt trying to get some errands done. It scares me to have these kinds of problems with my legs because I DO NOT want to lose my ability to walk safely. In fact, I am more likely to take injuring myself over needing better support than a shopping cart or an arm can give. That will show you, MS, when I fall and get hurt instead of doing the smart thing! I hope it burns, because I can be a hardheaded ass all day long. I may need to stock up on Ace bandages while running errands today. It's worth it.

Found

Sadly, I did not find Braincheese's memory (http://brain-cheese.blogspot.com/2009/03/lost-and-found.html). I found something I had forgotten I had: bones. My first year after being diagnosed, I did the steroids 4 times in about 10 months and gained about 55 lbs. 55 lbs! That's even more insane than me! Luckily (??) I was "underweight" to begin with, so the weight gain did not cause any concern amongst the learned, even though I was concerned. I've always been thin; I have a smaller frame so weight does not stack up on me in an attractive way. Being almost 5' 10" barefoot, I can hide some weight better than my shorter comrades, but I can't hide an extra 55 lbs any better than anyone else. My face became a perfect circle and I lost my cheekbones for so long, I forgot what having cheekbones even looked like. I was not used to having such a big hind end, and tried not to look at my butt as much as possible -- it only stressed me out to think that people could walk behind me and see that jiggling around like I was smuggling cottage cheese in my pants. If I am going to smuggle anything in my pants, I would choose something better than cottage cheese, like peanut butter, or Reese's Pieces -- mmmmm! Before I get lost in contemplation of all things peanut-buttery and race into the kitchen to pillage our supply of peanut butter, I better get back to the subject at hand. (Peanut Butter, you and I have a hot date later today.)

I had actually given up on the idea of losing any weight and had accepted myself heavier. After being "too thin" for most of my adult life, I was enjoying having some curves -- not all of them, mind you. But because my butt was behind me (no pun intended), I was able to forget about it and enjoy the rest of having some meat on my bones, especially after I dropped about 15 lbs. I am now about 10 lbs heavier than I was before I did the steroids and, to be totally honest, I liked my body better about 15 lbs ago -- something my mom cannot wrap her head around. I don't want to say she has an eating disorder, but she is really weird about her weight. She grew up in an extremely dysfunctional home and if they gained any weight at all it was an occasion to make fun of them, so she has issues about 3 fat cells grouped up together on any part of her body -- a problem her daughters do not have.

I started dropping the weight after my antidepressants were switched to non-appetite stimulating drugs. Then my anti-fatigue meds jumped in to help suppress my urge to grab the funnel and empty the contents of the kitchen down my throat. Lastly, the MS Hug makes it painful to have too full of a stomach, so I have to nibble throughout the day instead of eating large quantities of anything, so the weight just keeps dropping off. Yeah, it's nice to have my cheekbones back, but there is a definite down side to having bones again. I fell up the stairs the other day and got bruises in places I didn't know could bruise. When I was fatter, my fat cells cushioned my falls and I didn't get as many bruises. Now I am more bruise than woman. It's hard to get comfortable when you have to shift around to find a place that isn't too sore for you to lay on. It's starting to get warmer and I may have to show off my bruised bird legs in shorts because I can't take the heat and shorts keep me cooler. And, to top it all off, none of my clothes fit well anymore and I'm too poor to afford any new ones, so I walk around with saggy bottomed jeans that make me look like I need a diaper change.

I never had much of a sweet tooth and getting back to my old self, thanks to med changes, has killed any desire for sweets, so I can't eat a bunch of candy to make my clothes fit better and get my body back to where I liked it best. And I can't eat more because the diabolical MS Hug won't let me fill up my guts without causing me an illegal amount of pain. Guess I'll just have to get used to saggy butted jeans and stay away from the Depends aisle in stores lest someone think I need help changing myself.

Return Of Jabber

*Update: Ha ha! I win! My mommy decided that it is worse to be a pill popping addict than to be overweight. And as my mother's word is the final word on any subject (and you would be wise to follow her advice) Sugarbowl had to raise the white flag on this debate.


Mr. Jabber Smith is with us this weekend to celebrate his 8th birthday -- we like to tease him that it is his 5th just to see him get his hackles up. Last night, instead of mining in his nose, it was his butt that had his attention. Or, to be more specific, his crack. I was trying to read and not pay attention to his nonstop chatter, but whenever my little sister asked him if he didn't wipe the last time he had a bowel movement (to put it politely) it would crack me up and take my focus off of my book. I gave up on the book because she was amusing me too much. He was playing Mario baseball on the Wii, which I know is not the real name of it, but I don't care enough about it to use it's formal title. Sugarbowl was chanting, "we want a pitcher, not a butt crack itcher," to my undying amusement. She got tired of watching him dig in his crack so she looked up sources of anal itching to see if she could get to the bottom of it -- he claimed that he did wipe well and that wasn't the problem. She regretted that decision quickly when she stumbled across pin worms and saw a close up picture of them -- YUCK! I couldn't look because the thought alone kicked off my gag reflex, and I have a strong stomach. We don't really think he has pin worms because we've seen the thick mud skid marks in his undies and know the real culprit in this situation, but that didn't stop Sugarbowl's creativity on the subject. Like, "they ain't heavy, their my pin worms!" And so on. If I haven't lost you due to the revolting nature of this story, let me say the worst is over and move on to the next part of all this.

Princess was shaking the chair her mother was sitting in, just messing around to see if she could dump Sugarbowl out of it and Jabber said, "you're not going to be able to move her, she weighs 300 pounds." Sugarbowl nearly had a heart attack right there -- she is not 300 lbs, not even close. She told him that he weighed 10 lbs and he said that he weighed 45 lbs, to which Sugarbowl retorted, "45 lbs of booger weight!" We all yukked it up to that, so much that Jabber was angry and kept trying to insist that he isn't all booger weight, but no one was listening. Then the little sh*t said, after I said that I wasn't very hungry at dinner time, that I wasn't hungry because I "ate so many pills all day." Talk about sputtering and having a heart attack! It made me feel like a pill popping addict that should hide when I take my meds because I am such a pill popping addict. I don't want him going around telling people that I eat pills all day, or to think taking a lot of pills is acceptable (when they are not prescribed for a good reason). I don't get high off my meds and they do serve a purpose besides taking me to my happy place (a beach, surrounded by the Brazilian soccer team, who are scantily clad of course). In fact, they do not take me to my happy place and only allow me to get a handle on my pain.

Now Sugarbowl and I are arguing over which comment was worse: being seen as more than 130 lbs over your actual weight or being a pill hungry addict who needs her own intervention. They both suck and we are both deeply offended. The little turd may not live to see his 5th birthday after all.

If You Want My Body

And you think I'm sexy,

C'mon, Baby, help me outta these pants.

I walk funny. I don't know what other word to use for it. I tend to lean to the left side, the stronger side, and throw out my hips to keep upright. The way I walk has sent me to physical therapy 3 times too many and I've only gone 3 times. But I hated it each time. Well, that's not entirely true. The last time when I went for the bursitis from the way I walk, which messed up my hips, they did this massage thing to my saddlebags that felt good and made me almost forget that they were massaging the worst part of my body. Nothing like having someone hitch up your shorts to expose the fattest part of your body, then proceed to rub and massage it to make one feel that maybe they need to go to the gym. To combat this problem, I have found that if I wear tight pants it keeps my hips in line and makes me walk right. My little sister says I look like the picture above in my pants. Or like a jumbo soft serve ice cream in a kiddie cone. Or a muffin who is about to burst out of it's muffin paper. She can really wax creative when seeing me in my pants. I usually try to wear a long shirt or a sweatshirt to cover my overhang, but the other day when we were bowling on the Wii, my shirt kept coming up and showing off the tightness of my pants and the distress of my soft serve ice cream about to burst out of it's cone. I think they were jealous because I bowled a 182 and they were barely over a 100; they even laughed at the way I did my bowling form and kicked out my leg -- years of bowling league are really paying off for me right now. I have some loose pants that I will wear sometimes, but by the end of the day my hips are killing me and the ghost of physical therapy past haunts my dreams all night, making me return to my too tight pants the next day. I know it looks ridiculous and like someone who won't admit they need a bigger size, but I am okay with all that. The relief from hip pain makes my venturing out in plier pants worth it. Who cares that I need a small army to get back out of them? Not me! For something that isn't a major problem (except to those who have it) bursitis is very painful and a major fun killer. As much as I love to have my saddlebags be the focus of attention, I'd rather keep that bulge to myself. And if I look like a jumbo soft serve in a kiddie cone, I'm comfortable with that. If my muffin papers are straining to hold in my bulk, I don't care. As long as I keep bursitis at bay I will look like Patrick in Spongebob's pants and happily whistle Rod Stewart the whole day. The insults don't bother me, but the pain from my gimpy walk does.

Goodbye Pigs In A Blanket!

HA! I knew I should have bet my little sister but she would not put up any money. She said that I would not use my membership to the Y for anything other than swimming with Princess, and she was dead wrong! I dropped P off at school and went straight to the Y and worked out for almost an hour. It was great; no kids hanging off me, listening to music and feeling the burn. I tried on this dress I was thinking of wearing for Halloween (I was going to be a fortune teller but ended up not dressing up) and it was so tight and hideous my husband said my butt looked like pigs in a blanket--this coming from a man who has now reached his top weight ever and looks like a muffin rising out of its muffin paper. I have had enough of being out of shape, I miss my old jeans and being long and lean. I am not trying to get back to my old weight, because I feel so much better now than I did then, but I want to get in shape. Plus I don't want my muscles to lose what they have, I don't want to be so stiff and I love the feeling from working out. I always feel better when I have some kind of exercise in my life--love those endorphins. I am going to make this weight gain a footnote in the (boring) history of my life. Anyone want to bet me??