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Archive for November, 2011

I did not eat any of this food. Because I am amazing.

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…is kind of a bad idea. I know because I just had one. And while it tasted way too grainy to ever be confused with a regular cookie, it still tasted sweet as hell to me. And so chewy – almost mushy. I’m getting a lot less used to baked goods that are not Ezekiel bread or brown rice tortillas.

Anyway, I ate that thing. In part because the opportunity presented itself, but also I think as the result of some stress eating because my dog has been sick. It wasn’t worth it. Not that I think it was a particularly huge indulgence. But it really didn’t do much for me.

It tasted pretty good, but not any better than an apple really. (Who AM I?! Me of six months ago would roll her eyes right out of her head at that.) But it’s true! It turns out that in-season apples are fucking delicious. Especially when your taste buds aren’t all jacked up on candy and fast food and other dietary crack. And they actually do something for me, you know… nutrient-wise. My body is nourished by them.

Now my body feels heavier, more sedated, like some cross between blah and please-don’t-more-the-swing-so-fast. So there it is. I can only imagine what a real cookie would do to me.

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The boots fit. Oh. They fit.

They actually also fit when I bought them, last January. The whole reason I bought them was because they fit. It is verrrry hard to wear knee-high boots when you have fat calves. I never thought of my calves as particularly fat, actually, but that still didn’t stop them from being too much sausage for a casing of leather boot and zipper.

So when my best friend showed up in LA with cute black boots that had an extra zipper, that when unzipped opened up to about an inch’s worth of extra boot material (cough: pleather), I was excited. I tried them on, and with the extra zipper portion unzipped, I could zip up the real zipper of the boot. Huzzah! I bought a pair.

And they were… pretty tight? As it turns out. I could zip them, but that extra zipper had to be ALL the way down, and even then, I felt like I had a little muffin top of extra fat at the top of the boots. The tightness at the top kind of caused the pleather to buckle weirdly at my ankle too. But whatever. I wore them. They weren’t the most comfortable (heels) so I didn’t wear them all the time, but still… some boots are better than no boots.

Fast forward to me wearing them this week and fiddling with the second zipper when I was bored. To me fiddling with that zipper and ZIPPING IT ALL THE WAY UP. Yes. Yes it turns out I could. AND… the boots still fit. Arguably better than when I first got them. So that’s an extra inch on my calves I no longer have. So that means I WIN.

I win the boots. I can wear them extra-zipper zipped, or I can wear them extra-zipper unzipped and then they are loose and I can stick my hand in them. Which… is not something I’ve been able to do with boots for a long time.

And it’s awesome sauce. The best tasting feeling sauce in the world.

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Pregnancy Scare

This has happened to me before.

I’m going about my day, minding my own business, usually wearing an outfit I quite like and find rather fetching, when – WHAMO! Someone asks me when my baby is due.

This time – which was yesterday – I was at a friend’s birthday tea. It was a ladies’ tea, and the host’s husband walked through the kitchen early on in the proceedings to get something before he disappeared to his room. We had been introduced when I arrived, but all I had ever said to him was hello. Nevertheless, as he zipped by where I stood, talking to my friend Jenny, he pointed at me and said, “You’re pregnant!” And then he walked out of the room.

My only response was: Really?! STILL?! Still with this pregnancy thing?!!

That was probably the eight or ninth time in my life someone has commented on my pregnancy, and I have never been pregnant.

Except with a food baby!

But now! Now… I am killing that food baby. Oh yes.

And I have already lost more than three newborn’s worth of weight. I was wearing a sweater that I couldn’t button when I bought it, and I was wearing it buttoned (which, upon consideration, may have been what made me look more preggo).

But it does not matter what I looked like, one should never, ever, EVER comment on a woman’s pregnancy. Unless you personally know the woman and have already had a pregnancy-establishing conversation begun by her, don’t bring it up. Because you don’t know! You. don’t. know.

No you don’t. Not even when she looks pregnant. Not even when you’re SURE. Just don’t do it. Do you see a baby crowning? Then don’t bring it up. She can bring it up if she wants to talk about it. If she doesn’t bring it up, it may be because she has a donut baby and a predilection for empire waists. And I promise you, if you ask a woman about her pregnancy, and she’s doesn’t have one, you are automatically a douche-bag to her forever.

This question has made me cry before. And scream. And be really snarky. Not this time though. I wasn’t really phased by it. Because I know what I’m doing now. And I know how much better I look and feel. I feel strong and good, and I’m more interested in my old jeans that fit again than in some idiot’s thoughtless words.

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For years, I’ve heard friends talk about being bloated after a big meal. How their stomachs get bigger, their pants get tighter. And I never really understood it. My stomach was just big. And pants – they either fit or they didn’t. And if they were borderline, I didn’t fuck with that shit. (Dresses! They’re the best.)

But then Wednesday night, I went out to a fancy dinner for a friend’s birthday.

I should backtrack to mention that this week featured the exciting occurrence of me looking noticeably thinner. Of course, I’ve already looked thinner. I’ve lost 22 pounds – that’s enough to be visible. But all of a sudden, on Monday, it was like, Hey! Looky here! Your body looks… different. My body profile was more straight and less “one lump, two lump” after my boobs, my clothes were landing flatter. I could feel more of a waist. All of this, of course, is very exciting.

My trainer noticed. The owner of my trainer’s gym noticed (which apparently is a big-damn deal). And I COULD SEE IT TOO! Win. Just a nice big win for the months and months of gym-ass-kicking and no eating of delicious treats.

But back to dinner. It was at a nice restaurant that makes rich food. Obviously, I don’t get to eat rich food these days. So… no drinks for me. No red meat, no sides that have starches in them, no fried entrees, no pizzas or sandwich-themed option. I got a whitefish. And sides of Brussels sprouts and kobocha squash. So healthy, right? Pretty healthy.

But aaallll that shit had butter, y’all. All of it. I wasn’t that worried. I’m still not. But this is why it was interesting…

The next day, when I looked in the mirror, my body profile was not as flat – the bump-bumps were more pronounced. My towel at the gym didn’t wrap around as much as I’m used to. It took me a minute to realize what was going on and then I was like, Shit! So this is what bloating from too much food looks like.

And it made me want to not eat so much food. Because that’s kind of gross.

It also went away today, which is appreciated.

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