Sunday, May 27, 2007

Memorial Day Ramblings

It is a gray day out there. Down in the normal part of the country, you may be basically guaranteed a gorgeous long weekend, but in Anchorage, it is a crapshoot. Instead of spending the day outside with a barbecue and suntan lotion, I am blogging nonsensical things and backspacing every three words to erase the periods Violet keeps entering into my writing. She just discovered she can reach the keyboard. Oh, for the lack of mobility she had a mere 6 months ago...

Actually, I prefer her up and about. She cracks me up constantly. And once you laugh, it is her mission to make you keep laughing. She will put things on her head, she will make funny noises, she will sing along to commercial jingles. I would love if she would attempt to walk on her own; but she knows she can get there faster if she crawls. She gets impatient, drops to her knees, and takes off.
I am now seriously dieting. I am always just starting a serious diet, it seems like. But...if I want to wear a smaller wedding dress than what I looking at right now, then it is time to put down the twinkie. I don't know why some people are easily and naturally thin, I have no idea how people can NOT think about food multiple times during the day...And the more obsessed I am with not eating, the more I eat, because I am thinking about is circuitous...None of this is new or revolutionary...I know that the majority of people who are overweight have thought this. I know that food is an addiction, and I am trying to treat it as such...the hard part is, when an alcoholic is going through detox, they don't have to have three drinks a day in order to live. Ok, they may feel like it, but it is not necessary.
Anyways, today is dreary and has no focus, and now my blog is starting to sound the same way. I'll sign off now, before I drive myself to boredom...

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

My Battle of the Bulge

I am not stupid. I know that eating + little exercise = I am fatter than I want to be. I know that resisting that extra piece of pizza means I won't feel guilty for the rest of the day. I know that going for a jog means I will feel great and be quite proud of myself, thank you very much.

So why is it so hard to talk myself out of that pizza?

There are a few theories. Boredom is one. Fear of not having any food, stemming from my college days when all that was in my fridge was the honey-based wax my roommate used on her legs (and I thought of spreading on a cracker more than once.) Comfort.

The truth is, I like good food. Creamy sauces, tender meats, rich desserts. I love it. Jason does too. And we are fine cooks. Jason can make a rib roast that will make you want to cry, all succulent meat and sweet roasted veggies, covered in a wine gravy from the concentrated broth...

But I like clothes as well. And let's face it, I don't get to wear all the clothes I want to because I can't fit into them the right way. As progressive as our society has become, they still haven't fully gotten that professional women in the size 16-20 area do not want to dress like the church lady. So if I want to be as cute as I know I am , I am going to have to drop this poundage.

Why did I have to move in across the street from the bakery?!?!

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

I am one in a million. Literally. There is a multitude of women out there like me. I am assuming.

I work. I work very hard. I do not have a glamorous job, I am not VIP or CEO or any other abbreviation. I am an Administrative Assistant. I answer phones, I fax things, I order office supplies and put together furniture for the real money makers in my office. I do love my job, and they would be lost without me.

I am not married. Jason and I have been together for a little over two years and violet is 13 the math and you will realize that we were not exactly TTC...We are planning a wedding, but we wanted to do it on our own terms, not because we "had" to.

I am on anti-depressants. I had PPD, and I got help. Now I feel great. It was a journey, but now I feel fabulous again.

And I am Fabulous. I may not be the thinnest mom, or the funnest mom, or prettiest, but gosh darn it, people like me. I like me. You don't have to like me. But if you do...well, then you just must be fabulous, too.