If I had to choose an eating disorder, I would choose anorexia. While the physical act of chewing brings me joy and I have an unnatural love for food, I absolutely hate to throw up. So I'd rather do without than to binge and purge.
Unfortunately I've had my share of stomach bugs and once had severe food poisoning, but I've always managed to find an appropriate place to vomit. Growing up, our family had the "puke pan," a porcelain bowl my mom kept under the sink for bouts of sickness that she'd drag out when one of us was sick. We'd throw up, then she'd sterilize it and store it for the next family flu.
For three decades, I've managed to restrict my purging to private places. I'm not the girl who puked at a frat party in college or in a club during a date.
This afternoon, however, while driving down an innocuous Rogers street, my streak ended. I felt a bit nauseous, which I attributed to cramping, and then it happened. Projectile vomiting. While driving.
Have you ever had a puddle of puke on your brand new pants and on your steering wheel? Have you ever driven with your left hand because your right hand was streaked with vomit from trying to catch it before it was too late?
Much too little and much too late.
Thankfully I was only a few miles from my office, and luckily I'd done yoga at lunch and still had my workout gear in a bag in the backseat.
But I still had to pull up in front of our very glass building and walk into my office, which is next door to a vendor's glass-walled office, with puke from my neck to my shins. I had to visit the cleaning closet to secure Lysol and a trash bag to stash my (thankfully washable) clothes after stripping down in the bathroom.
Sadly, I had to cancel my Ruth's Chris dinner with Lori B, which I was really looking forward to. But that was less traumatic than sitting in vomit for my 45 commute.
Once home, I threw my clothes in the washing machine, liberally sprayed my car with carpet cleaner, scrubbed out the puke stains, and walked in the house to throw up again.
In case you're wondering, I had leftover cheese dip for lunch. No dairy for this gal for a few days, because I eventually got hungry again tonight and seem to be over whatever died in my stomach.
Granted, it could have been worse. Someone else could have puked on me.
Showing posts with label yoga. Show all posts
Showing posts with label yoga. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Class clown
Remember that one kid in school... the one who always commanded the teacher's attention by doing stupid things or being totally behind everyone else?
That's me in yoga class.
Being born with giraffe-length limbs certainly doesn't help, but my biggest problem is just my general lack of grace and flexibility. While the rest of the class is firmly planted in perfect warrior position, I'm trying to get my knee placed over my gargantuan-sized feet. When everyone else is doing beautiful downward-facing dogs, I'm getting yelled at to pull my feet forward and thrust out my large rear.
The most uttered phrase of the night: "Lori, relax your face!" You try to relax while hoisting your large thighs toward the sun. It ain't easy.
I can't even breathe right. Evidently the proper way involves sounding like Darth Vader and pushing out your ribcage.
Me in yoga class = elephant in the ballet. Unnatural and not pretty. Namaste.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Coming clean
I've got a serious case of apathy these days. I don't know why, but I'm not motivated to finish any project. And while that's bad at home, it's horrible at work.
Since my treadmill bit the dust, I got up early to do yoga and run outside. In the freezing drizzle. I think I have frostbite on my cheeks. Thankfully I had a massage this morning, so not only did I get warm, I got really relaxed. I did manage to stay awake through multiple meetings, but I feel like I accomplished nothing today.
Tonight I started cleaning out my home office. I got about halfway finished before I gave up and quit.
Some much to do. So little motivation.
Three more days of work before nine days of vacation. Hooray!
Oh, and I registered for the big Siloam Turkey Trot 5K at 8 am this Saturday. Yeah, I'm not ready, but I figure there won't be many people around to witness my humiliation. I have no idea what possessed me to do that. But I've got four of the seven pounds off I wanted to lose before next week.
Since my treadmill bit the dust, I got up early to do yoga and run outside. In the freezing drizzle. I think I have frostbite on my cheeks. Thankfully I had a massage this morning, so not only did I get warm, I got really relaxed. I did manage to stay awake through multiple meetings, but I feel like I accomplished nothing today.
Tonight I started cleaning out my home office. I got about halfway finished before I gave up and quit.
Some much to do. So little motivation.
Three more days of work before nine days of vacation. Hooray!
Oh, and I registered for the big Siloam Turkey Trot 5K at 8 am this Saturday. Yeah, I'm not ready, but I figure there won't be many people around to witness my humiliation. I have no idea what possessed me to do that. But I've got four of the seven pounds off I wanted to lose before next week.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Here I go, girl
I've never been called dainty. I was the tallest person in my class--male or female--until junior high. While the rest of my classmates were still shopping in the kids' section, I was buying bras and old lady shoes. And yes, I did pageants for six years, which means that there was a time in my life when I willingly paraded around wearing a swimsuit in public, but it's not ever been something I'm comfortable with. I've always been the big girl.
As I've gotten older, my aversion to swimsuits hasn't changed. If anything, it's just gotten more pronounced. Thankfully there are few occasions that call for bikinis these days and I managed to avoid wearing a swimsuit at all for several years.
Something one can't avoid? Blue jeans. After all, they're America's casual wear. And when you're overweight, they're one of the hardest articles of clothing to buy. At my largest, I remember standing in front of the mirror at Gap, trying to find a pair that looked the least horrible on my fat thighs and covered my muffin top completely. It was painful, excruciating even, to try on that unforgiving denim. Bring on the yoga pants!
So it's not a coincidence that, 14 months ago, when I started this diet journey, I promised myself that getting to my goal size would be rewarded with a really great pair of blue jeans.
Yesterday was that day. After giving up on the Hogs' Oxford debacle, I traveled to Tulsa and entered the premium denim section of Saks. And while I'm still not ready for skinny jeans, I did purchase a really expensive pair of jeans that make me feel fabulous and help me celebrate the achievement of my goal. They're FOUR SIZES smaller than the jeans I bought just over a year ago. And yeah, they were an extravagant purchase, but every time I wear them, I'll think about all the hours and hours of sweat on the treadmill. The hundreds of yoga poses and thousands of gallons of water. All of the times I really wanted a cheeseburger but ate the salad instead.
I'll be showing off my fabulous butt in my new jeans this Friday evening on my date with Jen. :) Until then, it's lettuce and water.
As I've gotten older, my aversion to swimsuits hasn't changed. If anything, it's just gotten more pronounced. Thankfully there are few occasions that call for bikinis these days and I managed to avoid wearing a swimsuit at all for several years.
Something one can't avoid? Blue jeans. After all, they're America's casual wear. And when you're overweight, they're one of the hardest articles of clothing to buy. At my largest, I remember standing in front of the mirror at Gap, trying to find a pair that looked the least horrible on my fat thighs and covered my muffin top completely. It was painful, excruciating even, to try on that unforgiving denim. Bring on the yoga pants!
So it's not a coincidence that, 14 months ago, when I started this diet journey, I promised myself that getting to my goal size would be rewarded with a really great pair of blue jeans.
Yesterday was that day. After giving up on the Hogs' Oxford debacle, I traveled to Tulsa and entered the premium denim section of Saks. And while I'm still not ready for skinny jeans, I did purchase a really expensive pair of jeans that make me feel fabulous and help me celebrate the achievement of my goal. They're FOUR SIZES smaller than the jeans I bought just over a year ago. And yeah, they were an extravagant purchase, but every time I wear them, I'll think about all the hours and hours of sweat on the treadmill. The hundreds of yoga poses and thousands of gallons of water. All of the times I really wanted a cheeseburger but ate the salad instead.
I'll be showing off my fabulous butt in my new jeans this Friday evening on my date with Jen. :) Until then, it's lettuce and water.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Splat
It's just been one of those days. But due to the grace of God and a little yoga, I managed not to throttle anyone. Yet.
I just arrived home from my marathon day of meetings and annoyances. I spent four hours composing and editing an e-mail dissertation opining many subjects, not the least of which is that I am always right. The sooner everyone realizes and acknowledges that, the happier we'll all be, k?
After six or seven hours on the edge, work Jennifer (whom we'll heretofore call Pam to separate her from cousin-in-law Jennifer, and because she looks like Pam from "The Office") and I escaped to our self-proclaimed office yoga studio (a classroom with a huge projection TV where we spread out our mats and sweat through downward facing dog for 45 minutes) to relax and stretch. I like that Pam has decided to join me in my quest for zen and flexibility. It motivates me not to cheat in my poses or throw anything at Bethany, the perky girl from the yoga video. Bethany is less than 10% body fat and wears a do-rag over her uneven pigtails. How can I not hate her?
Luckily I logged three miles on the treadmill this morning before I went to work since I didn't make it home early enough for a third workout. I really wanted to since today I've eaten the equivalent of a small vending machine: granola bar, Reese's cup, and potato chips. All washed down with gallons of diet coke. But when you eat all three meals at your desk, what do you expect? Maybe Pam will bring in a George Foreman grill and make me a sandwich, unless Michael Scott has burned his foot in there.
I welcomed a new group at work tonight (which I LOVE) and that put me in a much better mood, until I left the office and face planted on the asphalt. After looking around to ensure that no one witnessed my lack of grace and checking to see if my laptop sustained any damage, I realized that my right knee was bleeding, and that I ruined my favorite pants from Express. Curses! I'm guessing patches on dress pants aren't a good look, right? My skinned palms, knees and egos will heal, but my $80 pants will not survive.
You know you're getting old when you trip over your own two feet stepping off a six-inch curb and anticipate the body aches that will surely come in the morning. I also may have purchased a fanny pack tonight. But I totally need it to store my keys and camera during races because my running gear doesn't have pockets. I may also need it for the Ben Gay and false teeth in my near future. I'm a bedazzled sweatshirt and a pair of gold easy spirits away from becoming my grandmother.
Luckily tomorrow is an awesome work-from-home day, so I just have to wake up and pick up my laptop. No shower required! It's been a very productive day, wipeouts and arguments notwithstanding.
Let's all get some sleep now, shall we? I'm slumber party giddy and punch drunk.
I just arrived home from my marathon day of meetings and annoyances. I spent four hours composing and editing an e-mail dissertation opining many subjects, not the least of which is that I am always right. The sooner everyone realizes and acknowledges that, the happier we'll all be, k?
After six or seven hours on the edge, work Jennifer (whom we'll heretofore call Pam to separate her from cousin-in-law Jennifer, and because she looks like Pam from "The Office") and I escaped to our self-proclaimed office yoga studio (a classroom with a huge projection TV where we spread out our mats and sweat through downward facing dog for 45 minutes) to relax and stretch. I like that Pam has decided to join me in my quest for zen and flexibility. It motivates me not to cheat in my poses or throw anything at Bethany, the perky girl from the yoga video. Bethany is less than 10% body fat and wears a do-rag over her uneven pigtails. How can I not hate her?
Luckily I logged three miles on the treadmill this morning before I went to work since I didn't make it home early enough for a third workout. I really wanted to since today I've eaten the equivalent of a small vending machine: granola bar, Reese's cup, and potato chips. All washed down with gallons of diet coke. But when you eat all three meals at your desk, what do you expect? Maybe Pam will bring in a George Foreman grill and make me a sandwich, unless Michael Scott has burned his foot in there.
I welcomed a new group at work tonight (which I LOVE) and that put me in a much better mood, until I left the office and face planted on the asphalt. After looking around to ensure that no one witnessed my lack of grace and checking to see if my laptop sustained any damage, I realized that my right knee was bleeding, and that I ruined my favorite pants from Express. Curses! I'm guessing patches on dress pants aren't a good look, right? My skinned palms, knees and egos will heal, but my $80 pants will not survive.
You know you're getting old when you trip over your own two feet stepping off a six-inch curb and anticipate the body aches that will surely come in the morning. I also may have purchased a fanny pack tonight. But I totally need it to store my keys and camera during races because my running gear doesn't have pockets. I may also need it for the Ben Gay and false teeth in my near future. I'm a bedazzled sweatshirt and a pair of gold easy spirits away from becoming my grandmother.
Luckily tomorrow is an awesome work-from-home day, so I just have to wake up and pick up my laptop. No shower required! It's been a very productive day, wipeouts and arguments notwithstanding.
Let's all get some sleep now, shall we? I'm slumber party giddy and punch drunk.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Citations by the fashion police
I blame Madonna. From the first moment she wore that white lace corset to sing "Like a Virgin," women everywhere have found it acceptable to show their undergarments in public. Listen up... they call them "undergarments" for a reason. They go UNDER garments. Not beside, not outside, not near, but UNDER. It's not rocket science.
So stop showing me your bra straps, ladies. They make t-back and strapless bras for a reason. Even if your bra is super cute, I do not want to see it. Yes, I wear my sexy pink and zebra bra to work all the time, but I don't show it off to others. I know it's there. No one else needs to.
And another thing, if you're wearing super low rise jeans, do not bend over. Crack kills.
Attention lady in front of me in yoga class tonight, low waisted yoga pants and granny panties don't mix. Wear higher pants or lower underwear. I saw your pink and green striped cotton panties so many times I nearly pulled a hamstring trying to look away. Namaste.
I don't know if I've been watching way too much "What Not to Wear" or I'm just reverting back to my fashionista ways, but I don't think most of America owns a mirror. Granted, I've been known to go to Walmart without makeup. I wore my yoga clothes to Target tonight. I don't always look runway worthy.
But stop with the "it's comfortable" excuses and dress like you care. Some of us have to look at you in the grocery store.
No more sweatpants. EVER. It's not okay. I subscribe to the Jerry Seinfeld philosophy: people who wear sweatpants have just given up on life.
There should be an audition process for the following: short shorts, spaghetti straps, thongs (not to be confused with flip flops, which you wear on your feet), bikinis, and tight shirts. If I can count your fat rolls from five feet, change your clothes. It's too tight.
Women of the world, raise your right hands and repeat after me: I vow to look in the mirror before I leave my house. I will not wear socks with sandals, hose with open-toed shoes (or hose at all, really), and any footwear that make my feet look like mushrooms. Pointed-toe shoes are uncomfortable, but they make my legs look long and fabulous. I will not wear things that are too tight, too short, or reveal any undergarment. My shoes do not have to match my handbag. My accessories should pop, not match. I will iron wrinkles. I will not use a safety pin to keep my blouse closed. I will not use my purse as a grocery sack, but will consider it part of my outfit. And, in the name of all that is good and holy, I will never, ever wear white shoes.
So stop showing me your bra straps, ladies. They make t-back and strapless bras for a reason. Even if your bra is super cute, I do not want to see it. Yes, I wear my sexy pink and zebra bra to work all the time, but I don't show it off to others. I know it's there. No one else needs to.
And another thing, if you're wearing super low rise jeans, do not bend over. Crack kills.
Attention lady in front of me in yoga class tonight, low waisted yoga pants and granny panties don't mix. Wear higher pants or lower underwear. I saw your pink and green striped cotton panties so many times I nearly pulled a hamstring trying to look away. Namaste.
I don't know if I've been watching way too much "What Not to Wear" or I'm just reverting back to my fashionista ways, but I don't think most of America owns a mirror. Granted, I've been known to go to Walmart without makeup. I wore my yoga clothes to Target tonight. I don't always look runway worthy.
But stop with the "it's comfortable" excuses and dress like you care. Some of us have to look at you in the grocery store.
No more sweatpants. EVER. It's not okay. I subscribe to the Jerry Seinfeld philosophy: people who wear sweatpants have just given up on life.
There should be an audition process for the following: short shorts, spaghetti straps, thongs (not to be confused with flip flops, which you wear on your feet), bikinis, and tight shirts. If I can count your fat rolls from five feet, change your clothes. It's too tight.
Women of the world, raise your right hands and repeat after me: I vow to look in the mirror before I leave my house. I will not wear socks with sandals, hose with open-toed shoes (or hose at all, really), and any footwear that make my feet look like mushrooms. Pointed-toe shoes are uncomfortable, but they make my legs look long and fabulous. I will not wear things that are too tight, too short, or reveal any undergarment. My shoes do not have to match my handbag. My accessories should pop, not match. I will iron wrinkles. I will not use a safety pin to keep my blouse closed. I will not use my purse as a grocery sack, but will consider it part of my outfit. And, in the name of all that is good and holy, I will never, ever wear white shoes.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Lookin' good
I'm happy to report that Hope survived her first day of Kindergarten and, more importantly, so did Mrs. Howard. I didn't learn much about her academic endeavors, but she happily described recess, her new friends, and what she wore. She is so much like her sister (and a little bit like her aunt).
It's been a great week of work. Tonight I joined Kelly for yoga at the gym (my goal is to look like her, but I don't think it's happening), and now we're hanging out at her place. I can't wait to move to Rogers and be her neighbor. I can see my office from my bedroom window here.
Tomorrow after work I'm headed to Tulsa to hang out with Joe and the Tullgrens all weekend. We've got major plans of lounging by the pool and taking naps.
It's a beautiful night... the weather is crisp, and football's on TV. All is well in my world. (And yeah, I met LB one year ago today, but who's counting? Enough!)
It's been a great week of work. Tonight I joined Kelly for yoga at the gym (my goal is to look like her, but I don't think it's happening), and now we're hanging out at her place. I can't wait to move to Rogers and be her neighbor. I can see my office from my bedroom window here.
Tomorrow after work I'm headed to Tulsa to hang out with Joe and the Tullgrens all weekend. We've got major plans of lounging by the pool and taking naps.
It's a beautiful night... the weather is crisp, and football's on TV. All is well in my world. (And yeah, I met LB one year ago today, but who's counting? Enough!)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Flattery will get you everywhere
Thanks for all of the sweet comments on here and on Facebook yesterday and today. You guys are too nice, and you totally motivated me to get off my lazy butt and drag out the yoga mat tonight. Granted, I ate chips right afterward, but still...
I think I'm still recovering from my wild weekend, because I was totally dragging this morning. I was up late baking cookies last night and I showed the house to someone at 9:30 p.m. (they loved it but are not ready to buy). I had a ton of excess energy that seemed to dissipate by this morning, when I was awakened by the 4 a.m. storm and not able to go back to sleep until nearly 6.
I worked from home most of today which is great in theory, but always means I spend more than 8 hours at my laptop. I finally stopped writing around 7, when I unrolled the yoga mat and took out my frustrations on downward facing dog. Thankfully tomorrow's a (relatively) short day, and with a late meeting on campus, I'll be at home early enough to work out and catch up on my DVR a bit. This commute is going to kill me when fall TV starts.
Obviously my creative juices are dry after writing web content all day, so you'll have to excuse my lame attempt at blogging. However, if you'd like me to espouse the merits of college enrollment, I can write about that all day.
All for now. I'm crashing for the night.
I think I'm still recovering from my wild weekend, because I was totally dragging this morning. I was up late baking cookies last night and I showed the house to someone at 9:30 p.m. (they loved it but are not ready to buy). I had a ton of excess energy that seemed to dissipate by this morning, when I was awakened by the 4 a.m. storm and not able to go back to sleep until nearly 6.
I worked from home most of today which is great in theory, but always means I spend more than 8 hours at my laptop. I finally stopped writing around 7, when I unrolled the yoga mat and took out my frustrations on downward facing dog. Thankfully tomorrow's a (relatively) short day, and with a late meeting on campus, I'll be at home early enough to work out and catch up on my DVR a bit. This commute is going to kill me when fall TV starts.
Obviously my creative juices are dry after writing web content all day, so you'll have to excuse my lame attempt at blogging. However, if you'd like me to espouse the merits of college enrollment, I can write about that all day.
All for now. I'm crashing for the night.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
I hate myself for loving you
It's official. I'm sick of mooning over LB.
Since the big dinner making, he hasn't called. He hasn't texted. He hasn't e-mailed. And yeah, I'm sure he feels weird and doesn't know what to say. And I'm guessing he's still dating my friend. And really, isn't it better that he's leaving me alone and giving me time to get over this weird obsession?
Seriously, he's not that special. What the heck is wrong with me?
Why did I give in? I was making progress. But seeing him again and him still being such a great guy was not good for me.
I'm tired of thinking about him. I'm sick of being nice to his family not just because they're very nice to me, but because I want one of them to say to him, "Are you crazy? She's so great." I hate that my motivation to get up at 5 a.m. every morning and get on the treadmill or yoga mat is not so that I'll look good in my skinny jeans, but because I want to run into him randomly and him to think I look fabulous. To consider he made a big mistake. Ugh. I hate that I'm that girl. I make fun of those girls.
I am smart. I am confident. I am comfortable in social situations. I can discuss the economy, the upcoming NFL season, and argue the merits of domestic versus imported beer. I am a great cook. Men should be lining up for my pot roast and sports stats. I am a catch.
But I'm also realistic. Guys in my past I haven't been attracted to have gotten better jobs, lost weight, learned how to dress, and gained more confidence, but it doesn't make me more attracted. I don't regret not dating them. Ever. So why would I think this situation would be any different?
Because, at the end of the day, I can't get younger or shorter. I can't stop being who I am. And if who I am isn't good enough, that's his loss, right?
So in the spirit of moving on, I was talking to a friend of mine tonight at a work thing. We're casual friends and don't see each other often nor share deep secrets, but I was telling her that I would really like to meet someone. She suddenly has a thought. "Oh my gosh, I totally know someone. I mean, he's younger than you, but knowing both of you, I can totally see you together. He's such a nice guy. Laid-back. Down to earth. Smart. Funny."
I know what you're thinking... sounds perfect right? Just what I need to get over loser LB.
I ask how she knows him. He's her lawyer. Yep, you guessed it... the perfect guy for me, according to her, is LB. (I don't just mean a guy like him, I literally mean him. She knows HIM and wants to set us up.)
Ugh. Seriously. Attention universe... stop screwing with me!
Since the big dinner making, he hasn't called. He hasn't texted. He hasn't e-mailed. And yeah, I'm sure he feels weird and doesn't know what to say. And I'm guessing he's still dating my friend. And really, isn't it better that he's leaving me alone and giving me time to get over this weird obsession?
Seriously, he's not that special. What the heck is wrong with me?
Why did I give in? I was making progress. But seeing him again and him still being such a great guy was not good for me.
I'm tired of thinking about him. I'm sick of being nice to his family not just because they're very nice to me, but because I want one of them to say to him, "Are you crazy? She's so great." I hate that my motivation to get up at 5 a.m. every morning and get on the treadmill or yoga mat is not so that I'll look good in my skinny jeans, but because I want to run into him randomly and him to think I look fabulous. To consider he made a big mistake. Ugh. I hate that I'm that girl. I make fun of those girls.
I am smart. I am confident. I am comfortable in social situations. I can discuss the economy, the upcoming NFL season, and argue the merits of domestic versus imported beer. I am a great cook. Men should be lining up for my pot roast and sports stats. I am a catch.
But I'm also realistic. Guys in my past I haven't been attracted to have gotten better jobs, lost weight, learned how to dress, and gained more confidence, but it doesn't make me more attracted. I don't regret not dating them. Ever. So why would I think this situation would be any different?
Because, at the end of the day, I can't get younger or shorter. I can't stop being who I am. And if who I am isn't good enough, that's his loss, right?
So in the spirit of moving on, I was talking to a friend of mine tonight at a work thing. We're casual friends and don't see each other often nor share deep secrets, but I was telling her that I would really like to meet someone. She suddenly has a thought. "Oh my gosh, I totally know someone. I mean, he's younger than you, but knowing both of you, I can totally see you together. He's such a nice guy. Laid-back. Down to earth. Smart. Funny."
I know what you're thinking... sounds perfect right? Just what I need to get over loser LB.
I ask how she knows him. He's her lawyer. Yep, you guessed it... the perfect guy for me, according to her, is LB. (I don't just mean a guy like him, I literally mean him. She knows HIM and wants to set us up.)
Ugh. Seriously. Attention universe... stop screwing with me!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
What inquiring minds want to know
Man, it's going to be hard to go back to work tomorrow. I slept 'til nearly 9 a.m. this morning. This afternoon, at the grocery store, LB asked me a question and I said, "Don't make me make a decision. I haven't had to make one in days." Yeah, I'm turning into one of those girls. Guess it's good I am going back to work. I do have all of those admissions emergencies to attend to.
I dusted off the yoga DVD this morning and it about killed me. I remember now that it's a lot harder than it looks. I don't lose weight as fast with yoga as I do with walking on the treadmill, but it does make me leaner and more toned. Or it would if I did it more than once a month. Upward facing dog and I were not friends this morning.
But my jeans were tight this afternoon, so that's going to take some work. Oreos are going in the trash. No more sloth for this chick. Starting tomorrow.
As for today? LB didn't take me out to dinner, he cooked me dinner. We went grocery shopping, and I sat on his kitchen counter like a pretty princess while I watched him do all the work. Then we sat in the living room and watched HGTV. All of this after listening to me drone on and on for an hour about my pathetic life and not offering one single solution to my problems (which, by the way, I love).
It's just so weird. We never discussed what happened, and it was like I just saw him yesterday. It was that comfortable.
I don't know who or if he's dating (I promised him I wouldn't act like a crazy bit#$ if he wouldn't talk about his GF). I have no idea what he's thinking or if he missed me. But he's trying to be a good friend. And yes, I still think he was a jerk to me about the girl. I have no illusions that this means anything. But at least I don't have to worry about running into him at Walmart anymore. Even if he is buying groceries to cook some other girl dinner.
I dusted off the yoga DVD this morning and it about killed me. I remember now that it's a lot harder than it looks. I don't lose weight as fast with yoga as I do with walking on the treadmill, but it does make me leaner and more toned. Or it would if I did it more than once a month. Upward facing dog and I were not friends this morning.
But my jeans were tight this afternoon, so that's going to take some work. Oreos are going in the trash. No more sloth for this chick. Starting tomorrow.
As for today? LB didn't take me out to dinner, he cooked me dinner. We went grocery shopping, and I sat on his kitchen counter like a pretty princess while I watched him do all the work. Then we sat in the living room and watched HGTV. All of this after listening to me drone on and on for an hour about my pathetic life and not offering one single solution to my problems (which, by the way, I love).
It's just so weird. We never discussed what happened, and it was like I just saw him yesterday. It was that comfortable.
I don't know who or if he's dating (I promised him I wouldn't act like a crazy bit#$ if he wouldn't talk about his GF). I have no idea what he's thinking or if he missed me. But he's trying to be a good friend. And yes, I still think he was a jerk to me about the girl. I have no illusions that this means anything. But at least I don't have to worry about running into him at Walmart anymore. Even if he is buying groceries to cook some other girl dinner.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
T-4 and counting
In exactly four days, I'm attending a charity cocktail event. Know what you wear to a cocktail party? That's right... a cocktail dress. Know what a cocktail dress seldom has? Sleeves.
Thankfully I found a dress with an empire waist and my need for spanx diminished. But I'll still be showing my upper arms which haven't seen the light of day in half a decade.
Is it too hot for a coat?
I did push ups before breakfast, walked two miles at lunch, and did yoga before dinner. I've drank gallons of water and laid in the tanning bed. Tanned fat looks better than white fat, right?
Oh, and guess who I'm going with....
Thankfully I found a dress with an empire waist and my need for spanx diminished. But I'll still be showing my upper arms which haven't seen the light of day in half a decade.
Is it too hot for a coat?
I did push ups before breakfast, walked two miles at lunch, and did yoga before dinner. I've drank gallons of water and laid in the tanning bed. Tanned fat looks better than white fat, right?
Oh, and guess who I'm going with....
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Tuesday update
Ooh, bad, bad day at work. But I've since walked four miles AND done yoga. So now I'm zen and sweaty and ready for bed (after a shower).
Two days 'til Texas!
Two days 'til Texas!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Longer, leaner, stronger
Warning: infomercial ahead.
My quest for weight loss has been discussed on this blog almost as much as my quest for love. And we all know what a roaring success that has been.
I've never had kids, but I struggle with a tummy. Always have. And, like most women, I would like to have smaller thighs, a firmer butt, and better arm definition.
Enter yoga. I was skeptical, but it totally works. Seriously.
Two weeks ago I found a DVD on sale and bought it, and it's amazing. The mirror is no longer my enemy.
Yeah, I won't be posing in a bikini anytime soon, but it's really working. It sucks for 40 minutes, but if my jeans fit better, it will totally be worth it.
Besides, it keeps my mind off LB out on a date. Sorta.
My quest for weight loss has been discussed on this blog almost as much as my quest for love. And we all know what a roaring success that has been.
I've never had kids, but I struggle with a tummy. Always have. And, like most women, I would like to have smaller thighs, a firmer butt, and better arm definition.
Enter yoga. I was skeptical, but it totally works. Seriously.
Two weeks ago I found a DVD on sale and bought it, and it's amazing. The mirror is no longer my enemy.
Yeah, I won't be posing in a bikini anytime soon, but it's really working. It sucks for 40 minutes, but if my jeans fit better, it will totally be worth it.
Besides, it keeps my mind off LB out on a date. Sorta.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Tuesday vows
And no, I don't mean marriage vows. Hell hath not frozen over yet.
I vow to continue to go to yoga, even though it makes me feel like an uncoordinated elephant and makes me sweat profusely which does weird things to my hair.
I vow to stop eating fast food for lunch every day while wondering how my butt got so big.
I vow to stop feeling guilty for canceling my Weight Watchers online membership. No more counting points. (To be fair, I haven't counted 'em in months.)
I vow to clean out my closet and get rid of anything I haven't worn in six months, giving it to those who have less clothes (i.e., 99.9% of the world's population).
I vow to stop talking about LB like he's my imaginary boyfriend. He is my friend. Just like he's told me in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Sorry, no more LB posts.
I vow to start making my morning quiet time a priority instead of forgetting about it until halfway through the day.
I vow to stop getting my feelings hurt when friends tell me someone sent me candy last Friday because he felt sorry for me because I was alone on Valentine's Day.
I vow to continue to go to yoga, even though it makes me feel like an uncoordinated elephant and makes me sweat profusely which does weird things to my hair.
I vow to stop eating fast food for lunch every day while wondering how my butt got so big.
I vow to stop feeling guilty for canceling my Weight Watchers online membership. No more counting points. (To be fair, I haven't counted 'em in months.)
I vow to clean out my closet and get rid of anything I haven't worn in six months, giving it to those who have less clothes (i.e., 99.9% of the world's population).
I vow to stop talking about LB like he's my imaginary boyfriend. He is my friend. Just like he's told me in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Sorry, no more LB posts.
I vow to start making my morning quiet time a priority instead of forgetting about it until halfway through the day.
I vow to stop getting my feelings hurt when friends tell me someone sent me candy last Friday because he felt sorry for me because I was alone on Valentine's Day.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Ouch
Every muscle in my body hurts. Aches. Especially the ones in my stomach that I didn't know existed. But perhaps if I keep up this yoga thing, I might not look three months pregnant anymore.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Downward facing dog
As a diva in training, I decided to do what the stars do and experiment with a little yoga. Let's face it: Faith Hill is 40 and has three kids and she credits her perfect body to the practice. I'm sure it has nothing to do with genetics, right? And how hard can it be? Isn't it just stretching and breathing?
Turns out it's pretty hard. I worked muscles I didn't know I had. But I made it through the class without quitting and, even more surprising, without totally making a fool of myself. My teacher (who, granted, took my five dollars), told me I was very coordinated. Hmm....
I'm still in a great mood after my good weekend. God's still working on me, friends, but hopefully I'm interfering a little less these days. Chalk it up to my mind, body and soul being in sync.
Turns out it's pretty hard. I worked muscles I didn't know I had. But I made it through the class without quitting and, even more surprising, without totally making a fool of myself. My teacher (who, granted, took my five dollars), told me I was very coordinated. Hmm....
I'm still in a great mood after my good weekend. God's still working on me, friends, but hopefully I'm interfering a little less these days. Chalk it up to my mind, body and soul being in sync.
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