There are some colours in the spectrum that I simply cannot wear: Navy blue, mustard yellow, anything preceeded by the word "salmon" (red and pink, I'm talking to you!). But there is one colour family that takes my deathly pallor and turns it into white and pink and peaches and cream - green. Any shade of green: lime, apple, forest, Kelly, hospital, puke. You name it. But there is a green that I wear that, even under the best of lighting arrays, simply makes me look oooogly. The green of Jealosy.
The green eyed monster. One of the seven deadly sins, dontcha know. It's deadly, alright - it kills any sense of self-worth, confidence, and belief in oneself.
"How come she got a better job than me? I want that job so much...my job sucks."
"How come he's paying attention to her? He should be paying attention to me...but I guess she's prettier."
"How come she has a better body? I want that body so much...it must be genetic."
Your face changes when you have those thoughts - your eyes narrow on the target of your jealosy, your mouth turns down into a bitter sneer, your body caves in around itself as you shrink into self-loathing. Ever notice the villains in cartoons, comic books and the like? They always seem to be plotting to get the one thing they don't have, hunched over themselves, flinty eyes slithering in their heads, waiting for their big chance to snatch away the girl, the bank, the world...
I was visiting a gym the other week, and while I was imagining what my funeral would look like (the occurence of which seemed closer every step on the elliptical I took), I noticed 2 women: one was a gorgeous gal just pounding away on the treadmill, a super fit body working hard and the other was on the next machine, stealing glances at her with a look that said nothing short of "Bitch". The second woman may have been attractive had she not dipped her face in venom. When the first woman got off her machine, the second one stared after her, looked her up and down, muttered something, shook her head and sneered. They hadn't exchanged any words or appeared to know each other at all - all I saw was pure undistilled jealosy.
Do I ever feel jealous of what someone else has? Oh hell, yeah. Yes I do. I can work my heart-rate into its own episode of House (be nasty to me, Hugh Laurie...what was I saying again? Oh yeah..), and I still won't be the girl in the fitness magazine doing the exact same exercise. Even when I was at my thinnest and fittest, I was never like them. And I will never be like them now. I'm very far behind in a lot of aspects of my life in comparison to a lot of my friends, and it's possible I may never catch up. Do I feel jealousy towards them? At times - at my weekest, not feeling myself-est moments. And that's the crux of the matter...jealosy saps, swindles and steals your self from you.
Jealosy gives you no credit when credit is due. Jealosy never rewards, never acknowledges all the wonderful stuff you do for yourelf or for other people. Ultimately, jealousy fucking outright lies. It shows you only what you lack, never what you actually have. It tells you what you aren't while never saying who you are.
I won't ever be a fashion model but I will be the voluptuous demi-goddess that I am. This is what I have, I have my belief. I'll never win an Oscar, but I'll support my local artists in every way I can. This is what I do because I can. I may never find the mate of my soul, the cream in my coffee, my left shoe for my right, but I have everything I need right now. Today.
I have wonderful people in my life who will help steer me clear of the green eyed monster. After my "dating sites" post of the other day, I had a super broad tell me not to give up, to get back on the horse and not to be daunted. She found her husband on a dating site and told me of the slugs she had to go through in order to find him. She told me not to "wait it out" until I had reached babedom - that it was silly and counter to what I have been writing about all this time. I had forgotten about faith and self-worth and all that good stuff. She thinks I'm pretty much of a babe, anyway.
When all is said and done, I haven't any reason to be jealous of anyone. Look what I got in my corner.
LiliLaLarge
PS-If you're my age or thereabouts, you grew up with Sesame Street. I ripped off today's title from one of my earliest memories of the show. It speaks of another shade of green, one I think we all look pretty good wearing. And if you got some, sit a little munchkin with you as you watch this. Or sing it to 'em later. I think I should hum it to myself a little more...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RIOiwg2iHio
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder...
So it's been a month and A) I haven't been carted away by the police, B) I've retained some water along with a measure of sanity, C) this blogging thing has proven to be a therapeutic outlet for my grey cells and D) I seem to have a lost a wee iota of blobness. Not much, not exactly noticeable to the naked eye, but there's somethin' goin' on. I'm allowing a soupcon of a smile to play on my lips, but I'm still staring up the sides of Mt. Babe-osa and damn, it's high! But I've started and I'm not ready to beat it back to the chalet just yet...
There has been a tangential project while I've been on this trek (I alluded to it a couple o' posts ago) and that is the wonderful world of dating sites. And by "wonderful" I mean "ego-crushing", "self-questioning" and "soul-stomping". Not weep worthy, to be sure, but jeez...
OK, here's what one site does for you in your search for twoo wuv: after an exhaustive questionaire asking one's feelings regarding everything from "perfect date" to "boxers vs briefs", it then matches you up with likely victims...er...candidates. It would appear that my ideal mates are probably in their 60's-70's, fond of walks (notice how it doesn't say "long" walks), and are seeking a companion for their twilight years. Oh, and I'm not to be shocked by the ventilator. The mere fact that me as the perfect partner might also have the same attributes as a poodle kinda makes me edgy. But I am toilet-trained. Take that, Trixie Foo Foo!!
Now don't think I didn't scroll through the boys myself and tried to make contact with 'em. I sent out short messages along the lines of "Nice profile, nice smile, check out my profile and let me know if you're interested and if not, good luck and all the best." Responses varied from the exhaustive "Nope." to "Wow, you're really smart, what a charming profile shot, you're the funnest profile I've read! Good luck!!"
Good luck? You've just taken the time to email me back, essentially saying that I was a terrific gal but NO? What did I miss here? Oh, maybe they were being nice, letting me down easy. In the most abrupt way possible. I had several responses that paraphrased the above, too. "You intrigue me", "I've a thing for mischievious smiles", "You've made my day" and then BLAMMO "Hope you find that special someone." I hope they find anthrax...(shallow? Mean? A drought of this magnitude requires harsh words...)
The best was one guy - kinda looked like Gordon Ramsay. We exchanged a message (pre-written by the site) and then I asked for his detailed list of "Must haves/Can't stands" (this is a formal questionaire). On his, he couldn't stand overweight people and needed someone who was "attractive by today's standards". Seeing as I am overweight and the poster-girl for "Lovelies of the 1890's", I sent him a message saying that, because of his preference, we shouldn't continue. So I closed the match. Fair I thought. Then I got a request from him to re-open the match. Wow, I thought, maybe he's willing to overlook my poundage and non-super model face. So I re-opened and sent him a message that I had done so. He then closed the match. I got virtually dumped. He couldn't stand the thought of some blob possibly denying him and therefore dumped me. And got his penis back, no doubt...(ok, that was mean. Mea culpa. But it felt good to write it.)
Alrighty, undaunted by the douche baggery of it all, I joined another site. For half an hour. No sooner had I posted but boom, boom, boom, messages came flying back at me like an artillery bombardment. "Hey sexy", "Nice mouth" and "Mmm, I want me some of that" dirtied up my monitor. One of them actually sounded like a reasonable person so I checked their profile. OK, when did the header "Interests" suddenly include things like "Oral", "Threesomes" and "Spanking good times"?? Whatever happened to "Hockey" and "Fine Dining"? "Carpentry" fercrissakes?? This wasn't even in the "Intimate (read: Between the sheets) Encounters" section!! I removed my profile, removed my clothes and took a shower. Ewwwwww....
Then I took one more shot on another site. Now this one could be labelled the "I'm gonna be honest with you" site because almost every message back to my request for a "hook-up", came back with that preamble. "I'm gonna be honest (IGBH), you seem nice and all but you look like my ex", "IGBH, I don't like overweight women", "IGBH, I want a woman with high cheekbones" and la creme de la creme "IGBH, I want a woman I can be proud of."
BARTENDER!!
Another service this site offerered was, by virtue of your profile, they could determine the chemistry that would likely result between you and another member. They would grade it on a percentile. And so I looked up who on the site would at least fall into the 85%+ group. I swear to the Omnipotent, one guy's profile shot was him taking his picture in the bathroom at his black eye. Swollen shut a la Rocky Balboa. His one interest: Stuff. Another bring-home-to mom-eriffic chap listed his interests as 1)cars, 2)race-cars and 3)imported cars. His perfect date night: Let's get wasted and see where it goes. If it "goes" in a car after, we can "go" to the police station. Dreamy.
MAKE IT A DOUBLE!!
And constant with all 3 sites: who said one's site name, handle as 'twere, should end in "'r" as in "Lov'r", "Gambl'r" or "Hugg'r"? A moment of silence for the neglected "e". *sniff*
*sigh* Yes, yes, I know, these are people that don't even know me and I shouldn't take their doucheness to heart (such a flexible word: Douche). I would have thought that my profile posts would've enabled them to see past the shell and into the pearl. Alas, no. And to be perfectly honest, there were some pictures of fellas that were less than agreeable to mine eyes, and yes I skimmed over them without even looking at their profile. I'm not standing on some lofty windswept pedestal. Hmmm, maybe I'll go back and re-join once I get me a helping of humble pie.
Which will taste delicious when coupled with a Drambuie.
So I'm going to focus on one thing at a time - I'll take care of the bod and let the heart go by the wayside for a little while longer. But when Valentine's Day hits, lock up your sons! And Grandpa, bring your ventilator, you're gonna need it!!
LiliLaLarge
There has been a tangential project while I've been on this trek (I alluded to it a couple o' posts ago) and that is the wonderful world of dating sites. And by "wonderful" I mean "ego-crushing", "self-questioning" and "soul-stomping". Not weep worthy, to be sure, but jeez...
OK, here's what one site does for you in your search for twoo wuv: after an exhaustive questionaire asking one's feelings regarding everything from "perfect date" to "boxers vs briefs", it then matches you up with likely victims...er...candidates. It would appear that my ideal mates are probably in their 60's-70's, fond of walks (notice how it doesn't say "long" walks), and are seeking a companion for their twilight years. Oh, and I'm not to be shocked by the ventilator. The mere fact that me as the perfect partner might also have the same attributes as a poodle kinda makes me edgy. But I am toilet-trained. Take that, Trixie Foo Foo!!
Now don't think I didn't scroll through the boys myself and tried to make contact with 'em. I sent out short messages along the lines of "Nice profile, nice smile, check out my profile and let me know if you're interested and if not, good luck and all the best." Responses varied from the exhaustive "Nope." to "Wow, you're really smart, what a charming profile shot, you're the funnest profile I've read! Good luck!!"
Good luck? You've just taken the time to email me back, essentially saying that I was a terrific gal but NO? What did I miss here? Oh, maybe they were being nice, letting me down easy. In the most abrupt way possible. I had several responses that paraphrased the above, too. "You intrigue me", "I've a thing for mischievious smiles", "You've made my day" and then BLAMMO "Hope you find that special someone." I hope they find anthrax...(shallow? Mean? A drought of this magnitude requires harsh words...)
The best was one guy - kinda looked like Gordon Ramsay. We exchanged a message (pre-written by the site) and then I asked for his detailed list of "Must haves/Can't stands" (this is a formal questionaire). On his, he couldn't stand overweight people and needed someone who was "attractive by today's standards". Seeing as I am overweight and the poster-girl for "Lovelies of the 1890's", I sent him a message saying that, because of his preference, we shouldn't continue. So I closed the match. Fair I thought. Then I got a request from him to re-open the match. Wow, I thought, maybe he's willing to overlook my poundage and non-super model face. So I re-opened and sent him a message that I had done so. He then closed the match. I got virtually dumped. He couldn't stand the thought of some blob possibly denying him and therefore dumped me. And got his penis back, no doubt...(ok, that was mean. Mea culpa. But it felt good to write it.)
Alrighty, undaunted by the douche baggery of it all, I joined another site. For half an hour. No sooner had I posted but boom, boom, boom, messages came flying back at me like an artillery bombardment. "Hey sexy", "Nice mouth" and "Mmm, I want me some of that" dirtied up my monitor. One of them actually sounded like a reasonable person so I checked their profile. OK, when did the header "Interests" suddenly include things like "Oral", "Threesomes" and "Spanking good times"?? Whatever happened to "Hockey" and "Fine Dining"? "Carpentry" fercrissakes?? This wasn't even in the "Intimate (read: Between the sheets) Encounters" section!! I removed my profile, removed my clothes and took a shower. Ewwwwww....
Then I took one more shot on another site. Now this one could be labelled the "I'm gonna be honest with you" site because almost every message back to my request for a "hook-up"
BARTENDER!!
Another service this site offerered was, by virtue of your profile, they could determine the chemistry that would likely result between you and another member. They would grade it on a percentile. And so I looked up who on the site would at least fall into the 85%+ group. I swear to the Omnipotent, one guy's profile shot was him taking his picture in the bathroom at his black eye. Swollen shut a la Rocky Balboa. His one interest: Stuff. Another bring-home-to mom-eriffic chap listed his interests as 1)cars, 2)race-cars and 3)imported cars. His perfect date night: Let's get wasted and see where it goes. If it "goes" in a car after, we can "go" to the police station. Dreamy.
MAKE IT A DOUBLE!!
And constant with all 3 sites: who said one's site name, handle as 'twere, should end in "'r" as in "Lov'r", "Gambl'r" or "Hugg'r"? A moment of silence for the neglected "e". *sniff*
*sigh* Yes, yes, I know, these are people that don't even know me and I shouldn't take their doucheness to heart (such a flexible word: Douche). I would have thought that my profile posts would've enabled them to see past the shell and into the pearl. Alas, no. And to be perfectly honest, there were some pictures of fellas that were less than agreeable to mine eyes, and yes I skimmed over them without even looking at their profile. I'm not standing on some lofty windswept pedestal. Hmmm, maybe I'll go back and re-join once I get me a helping of humble pie.
Which will taste delicious when coupled with a Drambuie.
So I'm going to focus on one thing at a time - I'll take care of the bod and let the heart go by the wayside for a little while longer. But when Valentine's Day hits, lock up your sons! And Grandpa, bring your ventilator, you're gonna need it!!
LiliLaLarge
Friday, January 29, 2010
Hitler flunked art school
Balance. Perspective.
Those two words have haunted me this week. Though they have been ever present, they remained aloof and ellusive. Psyche-teasers, if you will. Everything this week presented a challenge and, for reasons I can't fully fathom, I lost my balance and sense of perspective. Objects in the mirror were faaaaaar closer than they actually were. To whit:
There was not one criticism, large or small, constructive or not, that didn't cut me off at the knees. I'm a grown-up and can take it as well as I can dish it out, but everything to my ears sounded like I had a contracted a bad case of yernotgoodenufitis. This was mirrored in both my personal and professional life and the stereo effect was deafening. I felt pressure building up in my brain, in my heart...and *snap*
I have a violent temper. It takes a while to get stoked, but once the button has been pushed, the Hulk-effect is in full sail. I recognized this from an early age and have worked very hard to contain it. Most people who know me, and I mean really know me, may not have ever seen it. But it is huge, so keeping it "together" or in reality squashed, results in an even greater fury. And this makes me so upset I can barely speak. So I did the next best thing to exploding - I punched a wall with the heel of my hand and now it really hurts. The wall remains unscathed. Stupid wall...The alternative would've have meant screaming in Sailorese with kicking and more punching. Fairly similar to a 6 year old whose mother won't buy them the latest/greatest.
Did I get it out of my system? Well, if I could remember what "it" was, I could probably tell you. I can say it was 1 of a thousand hits I felt I took this week. That's how I felt. And if video replay was an available app for the human experience, I'd bet dollars to donuts that I wouldn't be able to identify the culprit. Because now that I'm feeling a bit more BALANCED...with a better sense of PERSPECTIVE, I can safely assume that it was something that under different stars would have flowed off me with nary a glance. Water, meet duck back.
My personal life is important, terribly important to speak truly and rather obviously, but I cannot sustain 24 hour surveillance as to how I'm feeling. It's unrealistic. Many self-help books recommend "checking in" with your "heart center" to monitor how you are experiencing your...um...experience. I'd lose my freaking mind. And probably not get very much done.
Hmmm, how am I feeling?
This sucks!
And how am I feeling now?
It's still sucking!
My professional life isn't the most important thing to me. It's up there, no doubt, but most? To the exclusion of all else? No. I really enjoy what I do, but there are some moments of sheer drudgery. Every occupation possesses this trait. The CEO of a major company has worked long and hard to get where she/he is at, but are you gonna tell me they looooooove the shareholder's meeting with Mrs. Pleasedieski who wants to know where each nickel of her investment is being used? Do you honestly think that every rockstar chef has a climactic "event" in their pants every time they dice carrots? I wager that every vet adores animals but they'd sell their children into slavery if they didn't have to stare up the business end of a pekinese ever again.
I need my job to pay my rent, keep me productive and to make me feel like I'm actually making a difference on this planet. I've got to keep my personal life if order to make the whole journey worth it. One cannot outweigh the other...well, maybe personal sneaks in a few extra pounds. I kinda like me and my peeps. But I must keep it in perspective. Just weigh things at their true value. Is this worth losing my marbles, screws and other assorted hardware? That's the question I have to ask myself when these crisis occur.
The road to babeness includes not only checking up on your thighs and underarm jiggle - howze your brain doing? Anything make you sad today? Anything make you happy? When you stand on the scales, weigh the other stuff too. Remember, take a look at the whole picture and see if there is balance and perspective in your portrait. Otherwise, you'll wind up like Hitler.
(WTF??ed.)
Why, I thought you'd never ask!
Before Uncle Adolf took out his massacre machine of a mind out for a spin, he went to art school because he truly believed he had the soul of an artist. The young Hitler drew and painted and pasteled his heart out, envious of the other students whom the muse had singled out for her favours. At the end of it all, he got a failing grade. It seems he had an acute problem with balance and perspective. And he never cracked that nut.
LiliLaLarge
PS-This post is dedicated to DF. Thank you.
PPS-There is a perceptible sag in the ass of my jeans. Not my ass, the jeans' ass. yay!
Those two words have haunted me this week. Though they have been ever present, they remained aloof and ellusive. Psyche-teasers, if you will. Everything this week presented a challenge and, for reasons I can't fully fathom, I lost my balance and sense of perspective. Objects in the mirror were faaaaaar closer than they actually were. To whit:
There was not one criticism, large or small, constructive or not, that didn't cut me off at the knees. I'm a grown-up and can take it as well as I can dish it out, but everything to my ears sounded like I had a contracted a bad case of yernotgoodenufitis. This was mirrored in both my personal and professional life and the stereo effect was deafening. I felt pressure building up in my brain, in my heart...and *snap*
I have a violent temper. It takes a while to get stoked, but once the button has been pushed, the Hulk-effect is in full sail. I recognized this from an early age and have worked very hard to contain it. Most people who know me, and I mean really know me, may not have ever seen it. But it is huge, so keeping it "together" or in reality squashed, results in an even greater fury. And this makes me so upset I can barely speak. So I did the next best thing to exploding - I punched a wall with the heel of my hand and now it really hurts. The wall remains unscathed. Stupid wall...The alternative would've have meant screaming in Sailorese with kicking and more punching. Fairly similar to a 6 year old whose mother won't buy them the latest/greatest.
Did I get it out of my system? Well, if I could remember what "it" was, I could probably tell you. I can say it was 1 of a thousand hits I felt I took this week. That's how I felt. And if video replay was an available app for the human experience, I'd bet dollars to donuts that I wouldn't be able to identify the culprit. Because now that I'm feeling a bit more BALANCED...with a better sense of PERSPECTIVE, I can safely assume that it was something that under different stars would have flowed off me with nary a glance. Water, meet duck back.
My personal life is important, terribly important to speak truly and rather obviously, but I cannot sustain 24 hour surveillance as to how I'm feeling. It's unrealistic. Many self-help books recommend "checking in" with your "heart center" to monitor how you are experiencing your...um...experience. I'd lose my freaking mind. And probably not get very much done.
Hmmm, how am I feeling?
This sucks!
And how am I feeling now?
It's still sucking!
My professional life isn't the most important thing to me. It's up there, no doubt, but most? To the exclusion of all else? No. I really enjoy what I do, but there are some moments of sheer drudgery. Every occupation possesses this trait. The CEO of a major company has worked long and hard to get where she/he is at, but are you gonna tell me they looooooove the shareholder's meeting with Mrs. Pleasedieski who wants to know where each nickel of her investment is being used? Do you honestly think that every rockstar chef has a climactic "event" in their pants every time they dice carrots? I wager that every vet adores animals but they'd sell their children into slavery if they didn't have to stare up the business end of a pekinese ever again.
I need my job to pay my rent, keep me productive and to make me feel like I'm actually making a difference on this planet. I've got to keep my personal life if order to make the whole journey worth it. One cannot outweigh the other...well, maybe personal sneaks in a few extra pounds. I kinda like me and my peeps. But I must keep it in perspective. Just weigh things at their true value. Is this worth losing my marbles, screws and other assorted hardware? That's the question I have to ask myself when these crisis occur.
The road to babeness includes not only checking up on your thighs and underarm jiggle - howze your brain doing? Anything make you sad today? Anything make you happy? When you stand on the scales, weigh the other stuff too. Remember, take a look at the whole picture and see if there is balance and perspective in your portrait. Otherwise, you'll wind up like Hitler.
(WTF??ed.)
Why, I thought you'd never ask!
Before Uncle Adolf took out his massacre machine of a mind out for a spin, he went to art school because he truly believed he had the soul of an artist. The young Hitler drew and painted and pasteled his heart out, envious of the other students whom the muse had singled out for her favours. At the end of it all, he got a failing grade. It seems he had an acute problem with balance and perspective. And he never cracked that nut.
LiliLaLarge
PS-This post is dedicated to DF. Thank you.
PPS-There is a perceptible sag in the ass of my jeans. Not my ass, the jeans' ass. yay!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Puttin' the "dis" in "discipline"
Snacking for Haiti. I'm burning in hell...fire up the hibachi, boys!
We had a bake sale at work and all the proceeds will be going to help our devasted brothers and sisters currently living in hell. I don't know the final figure, but I'm sure we did quite well.
And I helped. Alot.
*sigh* One step forward, a Billy Cyrus "Achy-Breaky" line dance worth of steps back. You know what my Waterloo is? Anything dessert-like that ends in "ies": brownies, pecan sandies, cookies, candies, creme caramelies (That's not a word. ed. It is in my world...)
But I was doing it for a good cause! But, but...yeah, I coulda just forked over the dough and have done with it, but seriously you know how I feel about cup-cakes and if you don't it goes like this: a cake, in a cup, too small for sharing. What's not to love?
Ah, but I was a good blob - I walked home from work and broke a sweat. Got the workout togs on and walked s'more, and now I'm in the process of catching my breath. And I hated every minute of it. Sometimes when I work out, I get to that good spot when the heat is on, I'm pumpin' away and it feels gooooooood. But this was a punishment workout. Not the same vibe-age at all. Every stride up the hill, I had this wee little voice saying,"That'll learn ya." It reminded me of a documentary I watched the other day.
During the Black Plague in the 1300's (just stick with me here), a group of fellas in Germany, poor monks mostly, had decided that this horrible sickness was due to God being angry - something God frequently was during the Middle Ages by all accounts. In order to atone for their sins, and whatever else God may have had issue with, they decided to mimic Christ's punishing walk on the Via Delorosa on his way to Calvary. And soooo....
They carried large wooden crosses and whipped themselves to bloody, pulpy messes. And as Christ died for all of our sins, according to well-known and oft misinterpreted texts, so they would take on all the suffering of western Europe so God would lift the horrible plague. So there they would go, from town to town, whippin' and bleedin' and pleadin' to God. I swear, it was like a tour (big classic rock DJ voice) "Live for 2 weeks only, straight from the pits of Dusseldorf, on a mission to make you..FEEL...BAD and SAVE...YOUR...SOOOOOOOULS!!...The FLAGELLANTS!"
So rather than praying with their brethren, administering to the sick in their final agonizing hours, or any number of acts of comfort they could have done, they instead beat the bejeebus outta themselves. They'd beat themselves into a frenzy, proclaiming their guilt over and over again with there insane eyes raised to heaven. Or merely clouds. And to no avail. The plague literally ate a third of the total population of Europe in the following year and a half.
So where am I going with this? Guilt. Guilt is a powerful feeling and super-sucks as a motivator. It's a cheat. You are not doing the right thing for the right reason, you are doing it for the wrong reason and that, in a way, is a lie. Lying to yourself. "I will dispel all the bad, all my gluttony, in an orgy of workouts and physical punishment." The bad has not been dispelled - the cookies aren't at fault (blameless cookies...good name for a band. Beats the hell outta The Flagellants...no pun intended...). No, the fault lies in me thinking "One won't hurt". And it doesn't. It's the 9 following that will ultimately "hurt". And so, while stuffing my face, I think, "I'll work out later" and that gives me carte blanche to gourge, and then I feel guilty for doing so, and WHEEEE!! You must be this high to ride this ride. Around and around and around...
Yes, I got the workout in, yay me, discipline thy name is Lili.
Blech.
The head space was all wrong and don't kid yourself-this journey requires some clean and open head space. If you miss a workout because you are sick, don't kill yourself over it. You're sick, fercryinoutloud! Be easy on yourself, but be honest. I wasn't honest and so the discipline of today was kinda sham. And it got in the way of actually enjoying the exertion. Crap. No fun. But, like everything else I've encountered, I learn something from it.
Do this because it does, ultimately, feel good. And it does get better. Don't beat yourself up-look at the bigger picture. You. And you're working to one day be the smaller picture. And at least you're working. And this job has the best benefits ever.
LiliLaLarge
We had a bake sale at work and all the proceeds will be going to help our devasted brothers and sisters currently living in hell. I don't know the final figure, but I'm sure we did quite well.
And I helped. Alot.
*sigh* One step forward, a Billy Cyrus "Achy-Breaky" line dance worth of steps back. You know what my Waterloo is? Anything dessert-like that ends in "ies": brownies, pecan sandies, cookies, candies, creme caramelies (That's not a word. ed. It is in my world...)
But I was doing it for a good cause! But, but...yeah, I coulda just forked over the dough and have done with it, but seriously you know how I feel about cup-cakes and if you don't it goes like this: a cake, in a cup, too small for sharing. What's not to love?
Ah, but I was a good blob - I walked home from work and broke a sweat. Got the workout togs on and walked s'more, and now I'm in the process of catching my breath. And I hated every minute of it. Sometimes when I work out, I get to that good spot when the heat is on, I'm pumpin' away and it feels gooooooood. But this was a punishment workout. Not the same vibe-age at all. Every stride up the hill, I had this wee little voice saying,"That'll learn ya." It reminded me of a documentary I watched the other day.
During the Black Plague in the 1300's (just stick with me here), a group of fellas in Germany, poor monks mostly, had decided that this horrible sickness was due to God being angry - something God frequently was during the Middle Ages by all accounts. In order to atone for their sins, and whatever else God may have had issue with, they decided to mimic Christ's punishing walk on the Via Delorosa on his way to Calvary. And soooo....
They carried large wooden crosses and whipped themselves to bloody, pulpy messes. And as Christ died for all of our sins, according to well-known and oft misinterpreted texts, so they would take on all the suffering of western Europe so God would lift the horrible plague. So there they would go, from town to town, whippin' and bleedin' and pleadin' to God. I swear, it was like a tour (big classic rock DJ voice) "Live for 2 weeks only, straight from the pits of Dusseldorf, on a mission to make you..FEEL...BAD and SAVE...YOUR...SOOOOOOOULS!!...The FLAGELLANTS!"
So rather than praying with their brethren, administering to the sick in their final agonizing hours, or any number of acts of comfort they could have done, they instead beat the bejeebus outta themselves. They'd beat themselves into a frenzy, proclaiming their guilt over and over again with there insane eyes raised to heaven. Or merely clouds. And to no avail. The plague literally ate a third of the total population of Europe in the following year and a half.
So where am I going with this? Guilt. Guilt is a powerful feeling and super-sucks as a motivator. It's a cheat. You are not doing the right thing for the right reason, you are doing it for the wrong reason and that, in a way, is a lie. Lying to yourself. "I will dispel all the bad, all my gluttony, in an orgy of workouts and physical punishment." The bad has not been dispelled - the cookies aren't at fault (blameless cookies...good name for a band. Beats the hell outta The Flagellants...no pun intended...). No, the fault lies in me thinking "One won't hurt". And it doesn't. It's the 9 following that will ultimately "hurt". And so, while stuffing my face, I think, "I'll work out later" and that gives me carte blanche to gourge, and then I feel guilty for doing so, and WHEEEE!! You must be this high to ride this ride. Around and around and around...
Yes, I got the workout in, yay me, discipline thy name is Lili.
Blech.
The head space was all wrong and don't kid yourself-this journey requires some clean and open head space. If you miss a workout because you are sick, don't kill yourself over it. You're sick, fercryinoutloud! Be easy on yourself, but be honest. I wasn't honest and so the discipline of today was kinda sham. And it got in the way of actually enjoying the exertion. Crap. No fun. But, like everything else I've encountered, I learn something from it.
Do this because it does, ultimately, feel good. And it does get better. Don't beat yourself up-look at the bigger picture. You. And you're working to one day be the smaller picture. And at least you're working. And this job has the best benefits ever.
LiliLaLarge
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Your cheatin' carb...
My bum hurts. Metaphorically speaking.
I fell off the carb wagon this weekend, but my Sealy-Postupedic of a butt cushioned the fall. Hooray. Let's look at the sirens that lured me with their evil wares:
When: Friday morning
What: raspberry scone
Where: cafe
Why: It's the beginnning of my long weekend!
Was it the right thing to do: I was celebrating the thought of doing as I pleased on a well deserved break.
Was it worth it: Yes.
When: Friday mid-afternoon
What: slice of pizza
Where: cinema
Why: the scone didn't really have anything in it to keep me going so I was famished. Figured a slice had all the major food groups included so it would fill me up.
Was it the right thing to do: Within ten minutes of injesting it, I felt as though I was going to hurl. Too much salt in the processed cheese/meat-like products, too much sugar in the gummy dough. Pizza, why have you forsaken me??
Was it worth it: GAK! No.
When: Saturday morning
What: peameal bacon sandwich
Where: market
Why: after the pizza, I decided not to eat for the rest of the day (with brains like this, who needs looks?), so woke up about to chew my own arm. The pull of the piggy was too much for me, so I succumbed.
Was it the right thing to do: what the hell, has someone dumped a bag of salt on the city of Toronto?? Didn't even bother with the roll it came in. I'd only be heartbroken.
Was it worth it: Terribly disappointed. 'Twas not the bacon of my youth.
When: Sunday morning
What: apple turnover
Where: cafe
Why: Sunday is only every 7 days...
Was it the right thing to do: I felt horrible and defeated by my lapses and tossed in the towel for the weekend. Made me ill enough to be better tomorrow, however.
Was it worth it: as my mood has fluctuated with the spikes of sugar and the accompanying low, I've learned a valuable lesson -
Eating the right stuff makes me, and sustains, a happier individdle.
It's science and chemicals, children. The sugary numminess appeases the craving, only to leave you wanting more shortly thereafter. And when you don't get it, your mood shifts. And swings. The longing for more sugar is akin to Stoker's novel - your blood craves the sugar. And the only way to get back to that wonderful place where all is tickety-boo is to have more. And you do. A vicious cycle with one gear and no brakes.
I've been healthy and balanced all month long, I eat a couple of seemingly innocent bits that everyone else eats, fercrissakes, and I pay for it by crashing quite hard. Ick. Poo. Lesson learned.
So back to the market I went and stocked up on fruit. The fruit that is going into my yogourt tomorrow morning. The bursting bluberries and succulent strawberries will outlast anything a danish can do. My furry kiwi friends will take the afternoon shift.
And we begin again...
LiliLaLarge
PS-My backside also hurts because the walking regime has begun. There is ahill on my street that will be my nemesis for the coming months. Sir Edmund Hillary had a Sherpa. I have an Ipod.
I fell off the carb wagon this weekend, but my Sealy-Postupedic of a butt cushioned the fall. Hooray. Let's look at the sirens that lured me with their evil wares:
When: Friday morning
What: raspberry scone
Where: cafe
Why: It's the beginnning of my long weekend!
Was it the right thing to do: I was celebrating the thought of doing as I pleased on a well deserved break.
Was it worth it: Yes.
When: Friday mid-afternoon
What: slice of pizza
Where: cinema
Why: the scone didn't really have anything in it to keep me going so I was famished. Figured a slice had all the major food groups included so it would fill me up.
Was it the right thing to do: Within ten minutes of injesting it, I felt as though I was going to hurl. Too much salt in the processed cheese/meat-like products, too much sugar in the gummy dough. Pizza, why have you forsaken me??
Was it worth it: GAK! No.
When: Saturday morning
What: peameal bacon sandwich
Where: market
Why: after the pizza, I decided not to eat for the rest of the day (with brains like this, who needs looks?), so woke up about to chew my own arm. The pull of the piggy was too much for me, so I succumbed.
Was it the right thing to do: what the hell, has someone dumped a bag of salt on the city of Toronto?? Didn't even bother with the roll it came in. I'd only be heartbroken.
Was it worth it: Terribly disappointed. 'Twas not the bacon of my youth.
When: Sunday morning
What: apple turnover
Where: cafe
Why: Sunday is only every 7 days...
Was it the right thing to do: I felt horrible and defeated by my lapses and tossed in the towel for the weekend. Made me ill enough to be better tomorrow, however.
Was it worth it: as my mood has fluctuated with the spikes of sugar and the accompanying low, I've learned a valuable lesson -
Eating the right stuff makes me, and sustains, a happier individdle.
It's science and chemicals, children. The sugary numminess appeases the craving, only to leave you wanting more shortly thereafter. And when you don't get it, your mood shifts. And swings. The longing for more sugar is akin to Stoker's novel - your blood craves the sugar. And the only way to get back to that wonderful place where all is tickety-boo is to have more. And you do. A vicious cycle with one gear and no brakes.
I've been healthy and balanced all month long, I eat a couple of seemingly innocent bits that everyone else eats, fercrissakes, and I pay for it by crashing quite hard. Ick. Poo. Lesson learned.
So back to the market I went and stocked up on fruit. The fruit that is going into my yogourt tomorrow morning. The bursting bluberries and succulent strawberries will outlast anything a danish can do. My furry kiwi friends will take the afternoon shift.
And we begin again...
LiliLaLarge
PS-My backside also hurts because the walking regime has begun. There is a
Saturday, January 23, 2010
GOOOOOOOOAL!!!
So if you were paying attention, the last post shoulda hit you right between the eyes - Lili La Large needs some lovin'.
To be brutally honest, my desire for babe-ness is, along with health considerations, a nod to the indisputable fact that my perpetual and almost pathological singleness has become...well...perpetual and pathological.
I've taken responsibility for my body and I'm doing what it takes, in a rational and informed way, to get back to the babe I was. However, I neither have this goal emblazoned on a t-shirt nor tatooed on my forehead, so what men see is just me. Or they don't see me at all.
And it ain't right. T'ain't fair, neither.
I'm not going to bore you with the litany of lovliness that is me. Mostly 'cuz there isn't one. And it's not to a point of desperation (boys can smell desperation. That and grilled meat from 15K away. Don't ask me how...). It's really because I'm having a good time on this planet and gosh darnnit, it would just be the bee's knees to share it with a co-conspirator, as many of you have, no doubt, discovered. I'm not asking for the Holy Grail or the last Zhu Zhu on the shelf. Can it really be this hard?
I work in an industry that is estrogen-heavy. Not that I don't love my sistah's, and there are a few fellas in the office, but we're talking a ratio of 1-10-ish (me and math again...oi veh). I work looooong hours and going to a bar tocruise is, as I've stated in an earlier post, nigh on becoming "that" girl at the bar, waiting to pounce on anything that carries the faintest whiff of testosterone; very popular and very barred. And so, what have I done, actively done to alter this situation? Why, I read some men's magazines, of course, to get the skinny on fat girls and dating.
Fat girls are kryptonite.
And here's a kicker - I'm too fat to be attractive, but not fat ENOUGH to be a fetish. Wow. I'll now buy that condo between a rock and a hard place. What's odd too is that (and I'm not the first person to point this out) on TV, you see fat guys and babes all the time! Grrrrrrr...You never the reverse. Double standard grrrrrrrr......Fine, fine, whatevs...Sheesh.
*sigh* I look at me sometimes and think, really? Am I that repugnant? Then I think, c'mon, I don't look that bad...do I? What's so frigging wrong with me?? I'll walk away from the mirror and come back to it, give it and me a good hard stare and think, no. I don't look that bad. It can be made better. That's all. My hips will still be the same, my butt equally so, just on a smaller scale. No, I am not repulsive. There is nothing wrong with me. Deep breath...
I'm not going to go on the "oh, but I have a great personality" rant here for the simple reason that I'm talking about what people see. It's about the perceptions honed and marketed in the pages of those magazines. Oh, and in those articles (I'm talking Pulitzer prize winners like Maxim here), the general perception is that fat girls have *gasp* issues. They have no confidence, they're lazy, they have baggage, etc. And so, the Hot 100 feature gorgeous gals that are, natually, skinny. But some are scary. No really, Dr. Mengele scary. But they are perceived as disciplined and working hard to maintain their sexiness. The budgetary discipline derived from not buying, hence eating, any food and the work it takes to bend over a toilet every few hours. But thank God they're not fat! Whew! Nope, no issues there. A baggage free zone. Yikes...
I'm not saying all guys read this crap and buy it outright. Hell no! But when you have "Sexy" "Hot" "You Want This" flashed like so many Christmas lights next to those images, what's a person to do? And women's magazines show the same images with the same flashing lights. And we buy. And we're fucked.
So here I am. I'm working my way to babeness (and skwidgy, cuddly babeness, not the clackety-clack of bone hitting bone), but no one seeing me on the street knows that. So I have to suck it up for the nonce and wait for that first completely spontaneous smile aimed in my direction. Or hit the dating sites.
(tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock)
AAAAAARRRRRGGGG, I can't wait for the smile!!! Dating sites it is!
And oh my goodness, and what have I found there...?
LiliLaLarge
To be brutally honest, my desire for babe-ness is, along with health considerations, a nod to the indisputable fact that my perpetual and almost pathological singleness has become...well...perpetual and pathological.
I've taken responsibility for my body and I'm doing what it takes, in a rational and informed way, to get back to the babe I was. However, I neither have this goal emblazoned on a t-shirt nor tatooed on my forehead, so what men see is just me. Or they don't see me at all.
And it ain't right. T'ain't fair, neither.
I'm not going to bore you with the litany of lovliness that is me. Mostly 'cuz there isn't one. And it's not to a point of desperation (boys can smell desperation. That and grilled meat from 15K away. Don't ask me how...). It's really because I'm having a good time on this planet and gosh darnnit, it would just be the bee's knees to share it with a co-conspirator, as many of you have, no doubt, discovered. I'm not asking for the Holy Grail or the last Zhu Zhu on the shelf. Can it really be this hard?
I work in an industry that is estrogen-heavy. Not that I don't love my sistah's, and there are a few fellas in the office, but we're talking a ratio of 1-10-ish (me and math again...oi veh). I work looooong hours and going to a bar to
Fat girls are kryptonite.
And here's a kicker - I'm too fat to be attractive, but not fat ENOUGH to be a fetish. Wow. I'll now buy that condo between a rock and a hard place. What's odd too is that (and I'm not the first person to point this out) on TV, you see fat guys and babes all the time! Grrrrrrr...You never the reverse. Double standard grrrrrrrr......Fine, fine, whatevs...Sheesh.
*sigh* I look at me sometimes and think, really? Am I that repugnant? Then I think, c'mon, I don't look that bad...do I? What's so frigging wrong with me?? I'll walk away from the mirror and come back to it, give it and me a good hard stare and think, no. I don't look that bad. It can be made better. That's all. My hips will still be the same, my butt equally so, just on a smaller scale. No, I am not repulsive. There is nothing wrong with me. Deep breath...
I'm not going to go on the "oh, but I have a great personality" rant here for the simple reason that I'm talking about what people see. It's about the perceptions honed and marketed in the pages of those magazines. Oh, and in those articles (I'm talking Pulitzer prize winners like Maxim here), the general perception is that fat girls have *gasp* issues. They have no confidence, they're lazy, they have baggage, etc. And so, the Hot 100 feature gorgeous gals that are, natually, skinny. But some are scary. No really, Dr. Mengele scary. But they are perceived as disciplined and working hard to maintain their sexiness. The budgetary discipline derived from not buying, hence eating, any food and the work it takes to bend over a toilet every few hours. But thank God they're not fat! Whew! Nope, no issues there. A baggage free zone. Yikes...
I'm not saying all guys read this crap and buy it outright. Hell no! But when you have "Sexy" "Hot" "You Want This" flashed like so many Christmas lights next to those images, what's a person to do? And women's magazines show the same images with the same flashing lights. And we buy. And we're fucked.
So here I am. I'm working my way to babeness (and skwidgy, cuddly babeness, not the clackety-clack of bone hitting bone), but no one seeing me on the street knows that. So I have to suck it up for the nonce and wait for that first completely spontaneous smile aimed in my direction. Or hit the dating sites.
(tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock)
AAAAAARRRRRGGGG, I can't wait for the smile!!! Dating sites it is!
And oh my goodness, and what have I found there...?
LiliLaLarge
Friday, January 22, 2010
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