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Wednesday, May 28

Grazing

Of course first and foremost I want to thank the selfless veterans who have died in service and therefore why we observe Memorial Day. Then I want to send a big F-U to the guy who decided we need to observe this holiday with food and drink, as we celebrate EVERYTHING. Why…please tell me why??

I’m at a less than a week countdown before a major event and even though I haven’t really stepped it up too hard lately, I have been able to run about two times a week, lots of yard work, and not eating much at all. My fill is doing it’s job when I eat the way I’m supposed to (shocker!) but on celebratory days, things are different, and there is grazing and liquor involved.

Why is grazing so horrible? Well, Imagine you have a drain. If you put a lot in the drain at once it clogs. You can either unclog the drain or you can slowly wait for it to trickle down on it’s own. Voila, the philosophy behind the lap-band. But let’s say you take three times as much food, and just take tiny, tiny pieces and put them in there little by little all day. The drain never gets clogged and the calories move right along.

You know my downfall and addiction is chips, I have been very honest about that. Also, apparently, since I am not used to carbonated beverages, a few sips of pop or a beer bloat me like the Goodyear Blimp. Add to that a hotdog (maybe it was two I’m not tellin’), various salads (but salads are healthy!!) and we can’t forget the rice crispy treats and s’mores (you always want s’more). I did get a run in around the neighborhood, and am now up to being able to run for two songs straight (small victories) and mowed and weeded the lawn so I figured all hope would not be lost.

I woke up on Tuesday somewhere between 5 and 10 lbs heavier. This is not possible. Tell me this is not possible. My husband was so pissed, because I was in tears, that he threatened to rid the scale for good. I looked in the mirror in horror. My clothes fit fine, but that number haunted me all day. The goddamned number. I was pissed at myself. When it’s the day of the holiday, you tell yourself that one day can’t hurt, that we are with family and friends and have to LIVE not DIEt. Then you wake up and wonder what the fuck you were thinking. You feel like shit, a real Holiday hangover. And your mind races. You think everyone is looking at you wondering if you held-up a McDonald’s over the weekend because your ass is so huge. I mean, you think those things if you are me. Being a hot mess doesn’t help either.

So I did as I was taught and “shaked” it all day. Two shakes and a yogurt later chased down by the vitamin drink the old guy at Costco sold me and today I’m back in business. 7 pounds back down overnight. I should have taken a selfie of that shit to prove it because it’s so crazy.  I’m still in disbelief that my body was harboring all of that water weight, since clearly even I’m not dumb enough to think my body processed fat and lost fat over night that fast. But still. WTF???? That was a close one.


God Bless the USA.

Wednesday, May 21

First Time for Everything

Question 1 I get most asked about my surgery is if I ever throw up and I used to say no. Then that changed to a handful of times. Now….maybe you don’t want to ask at all because the answer is a few times…A WEEK. Just to remind you, having to PB (productive burp) is not at all like throwing up. It’s also not at all like having acid reflux which burns the hell out of your throat. Just like it’s called, it’s having to burp up what is stuck in your band and can’t pass through to the lower stomach. There is neither rhyme nor reason to this. You can eat a hotdog on Monday and be fine, and eat a hotdog on Tuesday and get stuck.

Question 2 I get asked all the time is what it feels like to be stuck and to PB. Getting stuck feels like intense pressure behind your ribs, the place where you would take a fist and pound if you had indigestion or…you know…had to burp. It’s also usually accompanied by a sharp pain in the left shoulder, where the nerve is.  Sometimes you get lucky and it goes down after walking around a while. And sometimes it’s going nowhere but up and out. So you keep making the burping, or hawking a loogie motion until the undigested food emerges in it’s slimy digestive mucus. And then you feel completely fine.

I thought my first public PB was bad at Steak-n-Shake a while back. I also thought it was bad to PB my Buffalo Wild Wings lunch during the teacher’s institute in the District Office bathroom yesterday. But I’m getting used to being out somewhere and quietly excusing myself to the bathroom, doing my duty, and coming back with no one the wiser.  Tonight on the other hand was another story.

My husband got back from his business trip and my son had a soccer game so we went to the local Hot Dog joint for dinner. Last time I was there I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and fork and knifed it, but tonight I thought, fuck it, this is basically a welcome home party so I order the gyro.  Of course, it’s delicious and no I don’t pick it up and eat it in the pita (I’m not that stupid) but I dig right in forking and knifing it and dipping each bite into tziki. I also indulge in a whole THREE fresh cut fries dipped in cheese. I’m a few bites in and it hits me. WHAM!! I’m stuck.

I sit there for a while not eating and my husband gives me the “are you okay” look and I give him the “nope” look and then I excuse myself. I walk past the bathroom and try and turn the handle. Occupied. Occupado. But I can’t wait. So I go out the back door and look left and right. I see no one, I’m in a parking lot but it’s hot and quiet out and time is ticking. I look left and right. Fuck!! What am I going to do, PB on the damn sidewalk? But then I see it. A planter. A pot of fucking gold.  So my dinner is now out back of the hot dog stand, in broad daylight, in a goddamned ceramic planter, and now I am feeling good.

Question 3 I get asked most often is….is it worth it?? Yes. Is it any different than medically supervised bulimia? I don’t know.


And I don’t care either.

Monday, May 19

Balancing Act

I have so much to freaking say that I don’t know where to start. So I just will.

Those that know my husband and me closely know we are still boyfriend/girlfriend. We want to talk, text, and steal kisses whenever we can. We finish each other’s sentences, we share a brain,  we baby each other and use special voices and couple’s jargon. So not to anyone’s surprise, when he’s gone I miss him. Really crazy miss him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am a fully sufficient 36 year-old-woman. I know how to mow and take out the garbage. But something inside me just isn’t right when he’s gone. I feel off balance.

A few business trips ago I had posted something about being a “single Mom” for the week and using that term got mixed reviews. Some of my friends completely understood, also having husbands that either travel or aren’t home at night. Some of my friends had no clue because they had never spent a night alone in their beds. And some of my friends were…offended…because as I was told very bluntly, having a husband that will be home eventually is not by any circumstance the same as not having one at all. Touché.

Regardless (or irregardles, I forget which one to use) it sucks when you are used to something and that something isn’t there. I am a spoiled bitch that has a husband that is on full kids detail when he’s around. He takes them shopping, teaches them how to plant grass seed, and plays on the computer with them tirelessly. He has the patience of a parent that isn’t with children round the clock. I on the other hand have child anxiety. Yes I have been a parent for almost 9 years. Yes I am a goddamned public school teacher.

But when I’m alone with my brood I feel overwhelmed and anxious. I feel like it’s two against one. I feel like I won’t know what to do if we are in the line at Target and one has to use the bathroom.  As someone that lives off of order and routine, the unpredictability of being a “single Mom” for even a week is enough to give me eyestrain.

So what did I do this week? I chauffeured to several practices. I managed to obtain edible groceries. I PTA’d a school event. I ran a few miles. I participated in a parent-child soccer match at a Birthday party.  I cut the grass. I mailed a package. I made it to the Education Office. I sent a few marital snapchats. I took out the garbage.

I didn’t do a damn thing that I don’t already do, which is everything, and yet nothing feels right because something is missing. Times like these point to only one logical solution. Eat junkfood. And junkfood I have eaten. And eaten.

I am going to welcome home my man with three pounds worth of a double-chin. But he will love me and be home. And he will wipe the cookie crumbs off my face and lick the pizza grease from my fingers and just like that life will be back to normal.


And then thank fuck I’ll be stable enough to diet again. 

Tuesday, May 13

Doritos 1 Me 0

Nope. I am definatly NOT in Kansas anymore. The honeymoon is over. The first year is said and done, and now the real learning and living begins.

I still find it funny that even though what seems like months and months of preparation and research goes into the decision to get weight loss surgery, Lap-Band patients still generally forget that as this is the least invasive of the three procedures (verusus Verticle Sleeve Gastrectomy and RNY Gastric Bypass) so are the results. As well as the restriction that comes with it. I’m by no means calling anyone out here as not being informed, but what I am saying is that I myself thought shortly after my surgery that I should feel something MORE in terms of not being able to cheat. This just isn’t the case. We are told to our faces that it can take over a year to get to the fabled “green zone”, a place where we are neither too lose or too tight, and that it will take several fills of trial and error in the process. Yet, we want to snap our fingers and have things happen overnight. We want to be seated at the buffet and say with a smile that we have had enough, and truly feel that way.

What we want and what we get is not the same thing. I lost the majority of my weight still eating things like pizza and hamburgers. I’d go into the surgeon’s office and honestly tell them that a Portillo’s hotdog got the best of me. I wanted so badly to get that mysterious signal to tell me to stop, but had I not diligently counted every calorie and started my fitness lifestyle I wouldn’t have done it. Because here is the kicker folks, you have to diet and exercise to lose weight. Yep. That’s all.

14 months later I will be able to eat a turkey sub one day, and then choke and puke up a single grilled shrimp the next. I will get stuck and PB a handful of potato chips in the morning, then stupidly eat those same chips later that day and finish off the bag. I make mistakes. Sometimes the slap on the hand is enough and sometimes it makes no difference at all. No different than a toddler getting a time out for touching the china then going right back for it.

No procedure in the world can cure my addiction to Doritos. I went several months without a single one, starting my fast on Ash Wednesday and then just refused to buy a bag to have in the house. This week, I found a bag, tucked within a Jewel bag in the garage and after walking past it about ten times I opened that sucker thinking I would just eat ONE serving. But really how could a few more hurt since I have been doing so well. And really, just a few more dissolves to dust. And a few more. And a few more.

I finished off the fucking bag. That’s right. I ate a bag of Doritos today and really not much else food at all. Which is not okay. I snapchatted the empty bag with the caption “Bag. Of. Regret.” and sent it to my husband who bought the damn things in the first place. I know was my own hand that fed me, but if he were an alcoholic I wouldn’t keep liquor around the house. So I am choosing to be pissed off at him too.

And now I’m sitting here pissed off at the world. Pissed off at me. Feeling like I know damn well when I wake up with the carb bloated belly that I hate so much I’m going to feel like I failed. And then I will put on my big girl panties and move on. Because that’s all I can do. My job, my kids, my home, my beloved chip purchasing husband will all be there tomorrow.

The band doesn’t cure hunger. It doesn’t cure addictions. It doesn’t even feel the same every day or even every hour. Just thought you should know.

But I don't want to end this post in a negative light. I don't want you to feel bad for me or wish you could give me a hug and make my boo-boo feel better. So....well....I'll end with reminding you I only have 20 days of work left until I get paid to sunbathe in my new two-piece I waited ten years to wear. 

Don't feel so bad for me anymore, do you?

Thursday, May 1

TTT - MAY FIRST!

1.     I love my work friends. Let’s face it, these are the people you spend the majority of your life with. Sure I have my college friends, and my neighborhood friends, my band friends, and even my Facebook/High School friends I talk to every friggin day but never see face-to-face….but it’s my work friends that get me through. The ones I spend two thirds of my waking hours with. I love them. That is all.
2.     I ordered a second two-piece bathing suit from Lands End this week because they had free shipping and 25% off and although I am still debating if I will have the courage to wear it to our neighborhood pool since my belly button is exposed, it will be great on vacation. I’m still ready to rock my red and white polka dot number but I need a standby if it gets wet.
3.     This weather sucks.
4.     I finally joined the 21st century and got Netflix. Mostly because I just read the novel “Orange is the new Black” and really want to watch the series. Also, as my husband will be travelling in a few weeks I can watch/do whatever I want. Within reason of course.
5.     I also threw in the towel with my nails and paid for a no-chip-mani. I can afford it so why do I even second guess this decision?? I know when it comes time to soak the shit off I will be scowling but for now they look fabulous.
6.     Me and my daughter have been belting out “Let it Go” in the car and I finally get it. It’s one of those songs that isn’t really about being an ice princess nor about having magical powers. It’s about not giving a fuck and just being yourself and realizing your full potential. I am one with the wind and sky.
7.     Said daughter gets to be Elsa. I wanted to be Elsa and she would be Anna and after a short argument about her having lighter hair than me I agreed she could be Elsa. Daughter, no worries, I will ALWAYS let you be the Elsa.
8.     Soccer 5 days a week is draining but rewarding as it is proving to keep my son out of trouble and focused on something healthy and rewarding for him. He is loving all the male bonding time with his little Italian coach who I have a suspicion is fantastically ripped under that jersey. It’s getting hot in here.
9.     The Chicago Blackhawks are kicking ass once again and everytime they win a game I am posting this fabulous article on my Facebook page. Yes it’s from a homosexual website but what’s your point? Take a look at Brandon Bollig and see if you can walk strait. Thank you homosexuals for finding that picture.

10.       6.5 more weeks of school….but who’s counting?