Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Put that thing away.........

For those of you eating breakfast….maybe you should stop before you read this. This could be vomit-inducing. Like serious, hold my hands over my mouth, run to the bathroom, shove my head in the toilet never giving a thought to what’s gone on in that toilet kind of vomit. This isn’t your average “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”


This is the first time ever I have wondered if my blogging has gone too far….meaning it’s the first time I actually thought of withholding something from this blog out of sheer humiliation. Then in a little email to Mrs. Fatass she proclaimed what I’m about to say is no worse than her hemorrhoids…..and here we are.

For those of you who are emotionally scarred forever when I’m done…email me…I’ll give you MF’s phone number so you can sue her skinny ass. This is so totally her fault.

Okay – let’s begin.

One normal, mundane night this week I noticed my cha-cha was just not comfy. I had that whole “something is wrong with my underwear” or “I’m getting a yeast infection” or “it’s time to shave again” feeling…you know the general feeling that something is “off” in the nether regions. Now if I was a guy, I’d shove my hands in my pants, readjust, and make sure everyone saw me do it and all would be well with the world again but I’m not and so – Houston – we have a problem.

We have a mystery on our hands. It’s time to go all Scooby Doo on my ass…errr…. I mean chacha. Soooo I quietly go to the bathroom (because let’s face it – if anyone knew I was in there I’d be followed. This mom hasn’t peed alone in 9 years)…and I grab the handheld mirror. This is where it gets dicey.

I do the spread eagle thing on the toilet. (Damn sitting on the lid is cold.) I get all close and personal with the chacha. My first thought is “JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH – that is fugly.” Seriously – what about how that looks turns anyone on? Okay – moving on. I do some digging. I mean not literal digging….oh geez. I fumble around and eureka! – I find a bump. Now to some of you who don’t know how to exaggerate properly this would be a tiny bump. For people like me well versed in being overly dramatic….it’s effing Mount Everest on my pooty. It’s big enough to ride a dirt bike over.

I very calmly put the mirror down. I contemplate googling “GINORMOUS MOUNTAIN ON VAGINA” to see what comes up. But I’m too scared. I then assume I have a tumor, it’s cancer and I’ll die tomorrow. Rambo will have to tell everyone I died because of something I found on my cooter. My obituary will have the word whootananny in it. Serves me right.

I tell Rambo I’m dying and that I need him to check out this ahem…problem. Don’t worry. I warned him properly. I said, “This is gonna be gross. You may never want to touch me again. I’m going to make you touch it.”

I think I forgot for a moment that this man has watched prisoners smear poop on the wall and pick corn out of it and eat it. A little mountain on a vagina can’t scare this guy.

Soooooo yah – we go look. He sees. That is not enough for me. I say, “No, no – you can’t just look. You have to feel how big it is. You have to be as disgusted as me. You have to freak out like me. Hurry.”

Aannnnddd he does. I see a little concern in his eyes. He says, “Have the doc check it at your annual Friday. You’re not freaking dying of cancer”.

Now mind you this whole time my head has been in my crotch. For the last five minutes I’ve been seeing nothing but giner and my neck is seriously cramping up at this point. So I decide it’s finally time to put the tumor-infested cooter away and get back to life. I look up. My eye is nearly poked out.

What? How did that happen? Poked out by what???

RAMBO and his um….you know…...PECKER.

There it is all happy and ahem…up.

What the holy hell just happened here? I’m spread eagle nearly in tears over teenage boys jumping dirt bikes over the hill on my vagina and planning my funeral and he’s turned on???????? Good thing I was already sitting down or I would have fallen down.

I asked, “Are you serious? What is THAT? This whole thing that just transpired turned you on?”

He just says – and not sheepishly I might add – he’s all puffed up and proud-like – “Yah, I saw AND touched your vagina. Can’t help it.”

For the love of Pete - PUT THAT THING AWAY would ya?

This is my nightmare. I’m humiliated beyond belief and he’s turned on.

Oh, oh – and just so you all are aware that I’m not a leper and not dying and that everything is okay in twat land…..it was a pimple. Yes, stop laughing. I have heard of women having a pimple there but never experienced it. It’s gone today. The cooter will live another day.

Thank God – apparently Rambo likes it.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Life is so much more than fat.

For a really, reallllly long time I made my life about fat…..or getting rid of fat…or being envious of someone else not being fat. I was either actively getting fat or actively getting unfat. I was either fat and self-loathing and desperate and full of self-pity or I was getting fit and hopeful and self-supportive. Every outing, event, and day centered around what I was going to eat or what I wasn’t going to eat depending on which fat or fit stage of life I was in.

This weekend I spent 3 days with about 50 women who have lap bands (and one who doesn’t…Hi Julie!). For 3 days of my life I didn’t think about exercise or fat or food. It wasn’t all-consuming. Besides being a monumental weekend….what I didn’t realize I would learn is that food is about sustaining me…it’s about eating when I’m hungry. Beyond that, it’s not necessary and I survived without making the weekend about food. I made it about moments and people. I made it about facing my fears and embracing my successes. I made it about being a woman with her best friend on a weekend getaway. I made it about me driving for the first time and singing at the top of my lungs in the car the whole way.

Life is about so much more than fat.

In a room of women at all different stages of losing weight…goal, near goal, a ways from goal….no one noticed. I swear to God no one saw bodies or fat or how far some of us still have to go. The desperation of once being trapped in our own bodies wasn’t evident. The hope that one day we’ll reach goal wasn’t all we talked about. All any of us knew that night and in blogland is – we are not alone. Someone has felt what we felt. Someone has been where we were. Someone will be there when we fall. Someone else will be there to pick us up.

We are each other’s mirrors. I looked into everyone’s eyes and saw myself….and those moments changed who I am.

Believe it or not, I never even took any meds to get me through the weekend. Not one.

And today I know that life is so much more than fat.

When people met this weekend and when people said goodbye…tears flowed. It was indeed hard to say goodbye and hard to let go. I’m not a crier….mostly because the meds I’m on make it difficult. It isn’t that I don’t want to or don’t feel it with the same depth – the tears just don’t physically come. So yes, I was sad to leave the BOOBS in Chicago but I never shed a tear. I even surprised myself by that.

However, when I pulled into my driveway, Watermelon and Banana were standing in the driveway holding a Welcome Back sign like I’d been gone to a war zone for years. They were jumping up and down and waving and threw the sign down to run to me. They said, “Look Mommy – there’s a picture of you with a big head and a tiny body.” And in that moment I realized my own child saw me as tiny. Words she’d never spoken before. She wrote words to describe me and read me every one….creative, hard working, pretty, loving….etc. Words written on my soul. I was holding her tight. Then I switched to the other one to squeeze her even tighter hoping the tears wouldn’t come so I wouldn’t have to explain.

And the thing is I held them both with one hand. My other hand was in Rambo’s. He let me go to them. They needed me first. But from the moment I stepped out of that car he never stopped touching me and holding my hand. When it was his turn…it was then that I lost it. And I heard him say, “Oh baby…don’t cry…it’s okay.” And I couldn’t stop.

I am not the woman he said goodbye to when I left. I am different. I am more me. I am the me I was always afraid to be. I am more than the fat I was or am or may be again or may never be again. I am a woman who struggles but does the best she can every day. I am a woman who loves others deeply and who loves the people I call family even more.

Life is so much more than fat. Life is about saying goodbye and coming home. It’s about letting fat…or losing fat….be the reason you start a blog and take steps and meet women you didn’t know before. It’s about not letting fat be the reason you never take steps or meet women you didn’t know before.

Life is so much more than fat.

It’s about coming home after a weekend of amazing women and looking in my girl’s eyes and knowing they are a part of me and my heart is empty without them. It’s about coming home and looking in Rambo’s eyes and for the first time in a long time….seeing the beauty in me that he has always seen.

I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting to hold on to feeling and seeing that beauty – that he sees so easily – every day. That is who I am. And thank God I finally caught a glimpse of it….because now it’s what I want every second.

Every one of you gave me the ability to come home and see it……and I am forever grateful…..because I used to think and live and breathe fat. 24/7 fat. Being fat or being un-fat. And now…….I know better. 

Life is so much more than fat.

Monday, September 27, 2010

I walked into a life-changing room..........

Soooooooo…..clearly this last weekend was the BOOBs gathering in Chicago, IL. I think if I had to describe it in one word….it would be….life-changing. If you think I was the only nervous one about to take on things I’d never done before…you’d be mistaken. Women did things this weekend we don’t normally do. We made ourselves a priority and put ourselves first. We left behind mates, jobs, fears, kids, and lives….to celebrate our journey and camaraderie. We hugged, laughed and cried and refilled our love cups. We drove alone, we flew alone, we shopped, ate, drank….lived and created memories.


At times, I would stand back and just listen and look. Surreal is the word that comes to mind. I saw women in dresses and heels for the first time in years. Women walking block after block when months ago they could not have. Women dancing and laughing when maybe a year ago the laughter was gone and they never knew if they’d dance again. Women exchanging and letting go of clothes and clothing memories….because they could put that piece of clothing into another woman’s hand for her to create memories in. Wine bottle momentos…cherished forever. Unexpected gifts packed lovingly in suitcases meant to surprise someone who changed their life. Over 3500 pounds lost announced in a room….and still goosebumps each time I think of that moment. Spanx united. And I swear every time I turned around there’d be a group of 6 women with their shirts up feeling each other’s lap band ports. Monumental I tell you. (and a little creepy…ha!)

A few people asked me….has your life changed since you started blogging?

I never hesitated once…and answered yes. One year ago, I would not have driven alone to Jenny’s. Nor would I have gone to Chicago to meet women I don’t know for a weekend. I wouldn’t have left Rambo and the girls. I wouldn’t have thought I was important enough to celebrate the journey I have taken.

I never would have loved and needed the women in blogland like I do. And no – I’m not just talking about those who attended. We never once forgot about all of you who couldn’t make it. Each night – we all made toasts to you and talked of those of you who we missed and talked of next year and of our hopes that you all could make it then. I know it’s not the same – but I want you to know you were never far from our hearts.

What I want you to know is simply this…if you blog and if you comment…for me and I think many others….after a weekend such as this – I think I can safely say please never ever just think what we do is the typing of words. I have proof it is not. What we write and say is real. It is emotional, supportive, and loving and it is, again….life-changing.

I walked into a room of over 50 women and didn’t have to explain myself. I didn’t have to introduce who I was or who I was married to and how far I’ve come or how scared I was. Every one of them knew.

I walked into a room of over 50 women…….and instantly I belonged.

I walked into a room of over 50 women….and I never wanted to walk back out.

Friday, September 24, 2010

BYOC - Let's get our crazy on!!!!

1. Are you late, early or on time?


I’m either early or on time. I’m a major list maker and planner and sooo part of being as anally organized as I am – is being on time. And I hate showing up late cuz then everyone looks at you – and I’d rather die than have that happen. And I hope this doesn’t tork anyone off but I think being late is kinda rude. Some people I know are constantly late and it seems so arrogant and egotistical that they think it’s okay to make everyone wait for them or that they value others so little that they can’t be on time for them. And I’m a worrier – if you’re late – I start to worry and the next thing you know my brain says you’re dead in a ditch….

2. Name 3 things you dislike and 3 things you like:

Dislike:
Alarm Clocks
Bills
Bad hair days

Like:
Rainy days
Football on Sundays
Lists and crossing things off them

3. Are you a morning or night person?

I am such a night person. I don’t sleep well and it always seems like by the time I am finally sleeping – it’s morning. I could easily sleep until noon most days. I used to work out at 9pm at night and tons of people said they could never do that. For me it was the only thing that exhausted me enough to make me sleep. And I love late night crappy TV or reruns or reading books – and that’s a night time activity for me.

4. What is your favorite clothes store?

OMG – you’re all going to kill me for this one. It is thee most Podunk thing to say but it’s Walmart. Like this weekend – I scoured the internet trying to find snakeskin bracelets and earrings….no one had them and no stores in the mall had them. Finally I found them on Ebay in India. Bought them. They haven’t come yet. Last night – went to Walmart. They have both snakeskin earrings and bracelets – five bucks. Can you say f*ck a duck?

I can buy Levis there and t-shirts and flip flops for $2. I bought a pair of leggings at the mall - $25. Saw the same pair at Walmart - $5. Ridick I tell you. Target is a close second for unique stuff. I’m just too irritated with malls after years of having huge boobs or fat rolls….and nothing would fit….and it still seems that way. Everything is geared toward size 0 girls who want their thongs to show above their jean lines without even bending over. Jesus – I think I’m getting old.

5. Repeat question: Summarize your week in life and in blogland.

My week this week was about coming back to reality from my weekend in Chicago.  I was super productive and things are settling back into routine.  I entered the 21st century this week and got texting...which should be my new fave thing since I hate talking on the phone right?  Blogland was full of Chicago pics and I'm sure everyone who couldn't make it wishes we would all just shut up!  LOL
Later my little Skittles!

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Noodles on my ass and hot dog oatmeal in my car....

Hey Skittles.


You guys should see my fingernail polish…it is bright neon 80s pink…I’m hoping it goes with the BOOBS t-shirts. But dayum – it is bright. If anyone tries to mug me in Chicago, they won’t get away with it. You’ll see my pink nails flailing and flipping the bird and pointing like a spotlight on the dude who tries it.

I haven’t packed a single item yet. For an over-planner over-packer – this little bit of information is making me sick to my stomach. This spontaneous go with the flow crap is a bunch of horseshit.

Fashion show at my mom’s with my sister is tonight. I think I’d rather wrap a bag around my head and have someone beat me with a stick. The thought of it makes me break into hives…but yet I want to do it. I need a woman’s input on my outfits….and *sigh* - Jenny is too far away.

I’m glad I am not flying to Chicago. Seriously – if I had to pack everything for this weekend in one small bag – I wouldn’t go. You think I’m kidding – but I’m not. It’s just not acceptable. Or do-able in my opinion. Apparently airline companies are owned by men or there wouldn’t be such a rule.

My kitty has taken to peeing in clothes baskets all of a sudden. Either he’s pissed off at the world or has a bladder infection. Great – just when I’m leaving town. Cuz yah, I have time for a vet appointment. Sure.

My mom is making lasagna tonight. Great – pasta. I haven’t had pasta in months since I started Atkins. If I tell her that….she’ll do the whole, “So I cooked all day and you’re not going to eat?” guilt trip like any good mom would. I should say – why eat when I could just stick the noodles right on my ass and save myself the chewing work?

Jenny told me I cannot pack 14 curling irons. I’m only bringing 5 – so there. I can’t fit any more in with the 6 boxes of wine in my car. Can you imagine if I get in an accident? 6 cases of wine with the word BOOBS splashed across them…..I feel like I’m bootlegging in the Prohibition or something. I feel all illegal….naughty….or maybe I’m just drunk. Hmmm…is that what it feels like?

My car smells like someone pooped in it. We have a mystery on our hands. Last time it smelled like this I found a package of cheese hot dogs under the seat that had fallen out of the grocery bags. They um….didn’t look like hot dogs anymore…more like hot dog oatmeal and they didn’t smell so pretty either. What, I wonder, is the culprit this time?

Rambo left for SWAT training which means I have to do some things I never do. I have to clean the litter box and take out the garbage and if I’m desperate maybe figure out how to use the washing machine. It is not fair. It is downright poopy.

I think it would be smart if I just didn’t go to bed tonight because I have so much to do. Watermelon and Banana need their overnight bags packed. I must search the house for cat pee in baskets. I must clean. Fashion show. Eat a noodle. Finish up some Board work. Pack. Freak out. Stress. Itch my hives….

....you know…all that really important stuff.

Oh, oh…I got my “Operation Dry Draz Out” pills. Seriously – I’m gonna be like the Sahara Desert….no moisture on this chick anywhere where it’s not wanted. You all really should be thankful…if I had sweaty pits…I’d be afraid to hug any of you. Now I can give you all great big bear hugs until you start farting gumdrops!

It just comes to me.....

Sorry if I freaked anyone out yesterday….when a “poem” comes to me, I have to write it. I’m either in the mood or not and they come at me strong for about 10 minutes and then it’s over. No idea where yesterday came from – I swear to you I’m fine. I wrote it from a place in the past. Truth be told – this week – with all it’s coming out of the social anxiety closet firsts – is making me reflective and scaring the hell out of me….but damn – it sure does paint a pretty picture of how far I’ve come….and the poetry comes out. I don’t share my poetry easily, if ever, to anyone in my real life….so to put it here is another thing I can now be proud of. With that said….on the way to work….more came to me……I have no idea from where...but here it is....



Finally Free

Since the day you left I can admit there are days, even weeks, where I don’t think of you.
A tear doesn’t fall and the anger has subsided. I have gone on living….I did what I had to do.

Sure I crumbled to the ground…but you sure as hell weren’t going to pick me up off my knees.
I brushed off the dust and I cursed God…for a while I wasn’t sure who I was or what I should be.

I’ve been where you were. I have seen the darkness of emptiness and the depths of hell.
Don’t try to convince me a gun was the only way out because that’s gonna be a tough sell.

While it’s true you shot yourself, it’s also true you shot a part of me that terrible day.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever heal and yet today I stand here telling you I am indeed okay.

Suicide was your answer that became my problem and you didn’t solve a damn thing.
Yet today, I am stronger. I laugh, I smile, I live and on good days sometimes I even sing.

I find delight in rainbows and I believe in unicorns and I see beauty in two little girl’s faces.
Things you’ll never see again because you and I are in completely different places.

You think you only took your life but man, you took that and so much more.
And yet part of me knows you also gave me the courage to fight like never before.

For me, leaving is not an option. In fact, today I believe you took the coward’s way out.
Today as I miss you I realize I’m angrier than ever before – absolutely without a doubt.

I’m becoming the woman you knew I could be…and I’m pissed you’ll never see.
I can’t tell you about my new adventures or about how I am finally at peace.

Don’t you see? When you took your life, you took my vision of who you were to me?
Love is now anger. Respect is now disgust. Time wasted missing you is now me – finally free.
*********************************************

Congratulations Buddy

It’s definitely true that time can heal…but the fact remains that time cannot erase.
How I wish it could…then I’d never again have to see what I thought was your happy face.

That face, the emotions, the laughter – was all a pretense….pretty much a bold-faced lie.
You seemed like a perfect Uncle to me but you were slowly dying on the inside.

You told no one until the day you told everyone with one bullet and a shotgun.
What you did that day changed me at the core and even time can’t make it undone.

So I sit with memories. Visions of driving by your car…knowing inside you sat dead.
Tell me, how is a 15 year old supposed to make any sense of that in my adolescent head?

I have missed you, I have hated you and hated God and yet today….part of me only pities you.
You could have taken my hand at any time…there were other options besides what you chose to do.

I suppose these words are proof that I haven’t forgiven you…and maybe I never will….maybe I should start.
You got to walk away and leave this world while part of your bullet stays with me – lodged forever in my heart.

It’s like shrapnel stuck in an open wound and I’m not sure the bitterness will ever really heal.
Like I said, you left while I remain here and I’m still confused about how I’m supposed to feel.

To say I’m pissed that I still waste my pain on you is quite an understatement.
Even when I want to hate you it becomes quite clear that my love for you is permanent.

You can’t kill my love or end my feelings for you…you don’t have that right.
Now instead of an Uncle you’re nothing but a memory…out of mind and out of sight.

If you wanted to be more than that to me….you should have never picked up that gun.
You just wanted to give up and end your pain. Congratulations buddy…I guess you won.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Oblivion and torture.

There are days when it’s raining in my head….though it’s not storming outside.

There have been times when I told you I was okay…and really, the truth is I lied.

I can’t explain the clutches of depression to you….I can’t put you in the black hole.
I can’t tell you what it’s like to want to die…to want to rip out your very own soul.

You can’t make me want to get out of this bed….you can’t give me back the will to live.
I’m barely breathing and I want it over…I’ve already given all I know how to give.

I know it’s not right. I know I’m tearing your heart out and I can’t look you in the eye.
When you ask me for the 100th time…how can you just let yourself wither away and die?

I don’t know – I have never known. I just know everything’s broken & my heart has been shattered.
And yes, though it kills you, I can even admit to you that I no longer love everything that once mattered.

I don’t have the energy to love or to hate, to eat or drink, to live or die.
I can’t stop the voices in my head that are constantly screaming and questioning why.

This disease isn’t about me and it sure as hell isn’t about you…so stop with the disbelief.
When I need to take meds to keep me alive…can you not judge how I finally find my relief?

Can you not look at me and see only weakness? Can you look at me and not feel shame?
Can you admit that I nearly died by my own hand & that we can never go back and be the same.

The day you looked into my eyes and saw nothing but emptiness shook you to your core.
The me you loved was gone, it was real…death was standing and waiting at my front door.

I saw you inhale your breath that day. I saw you turn away. It was then you realized you were losing me.
This wasn’t a game or a sick joke anymore – depression of this magnitude was beyond you and beyond me.

I didn’t need the questions in your eyes or the anger inside that you kept.
I needed you to hold my hand & I needed you to hold me while my body wept.

I needed you to stop sticking rainbows in my face and realize I could only see a cloud.
I needed you to pretend that I’d be okay even if that meant masking your deep seated doubt.

You couldn’t pull me out of the hell that is depression because there are no ropes and there is no ladder.
I had to crawl around in the dirt until I found my own light and I had to relearn that who I am does matter.

If you could have just believed that I had the strength to beat this but then again, that’s just not who you are…
If instead of being brought to my knees, maybe I’d have only stumbled…maybe it never would have gone this far.

As it is, today I sit with a medical history that says “depression” stamped across the file in bright red.
It might as well say, “She lived to tell about it – but a small part of her will always be dead.”

You can’t get back what you lost when you spend days in oblivion and torture….but you can remember.
You can separate yourself from the old and the new you & though it’s the same person…you can never tell her.

I am not the girl who didn’t eat or move for days. No, no. That’s not something I’d ever do.
And you are not the one who didn’t believe me. No, no. That never could have been you.




(P.S. I'm fine folks....just writing....no worries.)

Who I am.

Who I am…..

I am not a full time employee, a CCD teacher, a city billing clerk or a Board Treasurer – though these things both fulfill me and stress me….they are not me.

I am not the role of mother of two precious girls – though they are my greatest accomplishment

I am not the role of wife – though this role means everything to me

I am not the role of sister, daughter, niece, daughter-in-law, or granddaughter.

I am not the c-section scar from one pregnancy, the stretch marks from another or the heartache from another one lost.

I am not my clothing.

I am not the house I own and love.

I am not the possessions inside that same house.

I am not the car I drive.

I am not the jewelry I wear though the symbolism behind these objects is very real.

I am not the anger that sometimes takes over when I think of what was lost in the flood my parents suffered.

I am not even the hope that arose from that same flood.

I am not the 15 year old teenager who cursed my Uncle for taking his life at 22.

I am not the woman who sat in a room with my mother and listened to her tell her own mother she could let go….that it was time.

I am not the woman who hated the woman my other Grandma became when Alzheimer’s squeezed the very life out of her.

I am not the woman who let her Grandfather die without ever really making an effort to know him.

I am not the woman who wishes some things in my childhood could have been different.

I am not the woman who wants to be someone else on days when I can’t like myself.

I am not the impossible standards that I set for myself.

I am not the dream that I should be more and do more.

I am not the extra 10 pounds I am carrying around.

I am not the 70 pounds I have already lost.

I am not the fear that I will gain those pounds back.

I am not clothes I can’t fit in because they are too big.

I am not the clothes I fit in now – in sizes I haven’t seen since high school.

I am not the sibling who finally fits in with the others now.

I am not the sibling who felt like the ugly duckling of the bunch for so long.

I am not my debt….no matter how much I hate it.

I am not my assets…no matter how much I think they define me.

I am not the mood I am in – be it happy or sad, grateful or self-pitiful.

I am not the woman who never missed church ever growing up and now can’t bring myself to go regularly.

I am not the deep faith I carry with me every day.

I am not fear.

I am not pain – be it physical or mental.

I am not the migraines that make me want to crawl in a hole and die.

I am not the woman who is grateful I am healthy each day.

I am not the self-hating mantras that I replay in my mind over and over again.

I am not jealousy or envy or worry.

I am not the stress I feel every day.

I am not the books I read or the poetry I write or the cards I send or the gifts I give.

I am not my thoughts.

I am not these words I type.

I am not my memories – good or bad.

I am not the friendships I maintain….or the ones I let go.

I am not my regrets.

I am not the songs I sing off key to in the car or the movies I cry to in the dark.

I am not the fear of what Rambo working at a Supermax prison really means.

I am not the exhaustion I feel from never sleeping peacefully.

I am not the fear that stops me from following my dreams.

I am not the woman who is afraid of being judged.

I am not the fear of losing the people that I love that will cripple me if I let it.

I am not the dirty dishes I let go one more day.

I am not the dust bunnies in the corner.

I am not the bills I pay or the money people owe me.

I am not success, I am not failure.

I am none of these things – I am me. At the core of my being, I am just me. There has never been, nor will there ever be another one of me. If I dare to strip away everything people think that is me – then I can see me. If you can see that me….if you can get past all this “stuff” that the world deems so important that really isn’t…..well, underneath all that is me. Spectacular, Fantastic Draz.

Skittle loving, gumdrop farting, living in Care Bear Land - ME.

Who are you?

Monday, September 20, 2010

1 Day Clean....

I should have named myself Chatty Chatty Won’t Shut Up instead of Drazil when I picked my blog name huh? You’re going to have to bear with me. I’ve mentioned this is a monumental week for me and when I’m nervous, I talk (or write in this case.)


Now to the heart of my Monday post….motivation.

My motivation and goal this week is to just do what I know is the right thing for my body. Last night I had 3 pieces of pizza, a handful of candy corn (which by the way Satan invented) and M&Ms. YAY Draz. Pat yourself on your fat back. Nah, I’m actually not beating myself up over it. I’m not telling myself it was a slip up and it’s okay either. It happened. It’s over. I have to learn from it.

Side note: Halloween candy is like Easter candy by the way. At Easter if they put a Milky Way in a pretty pastel package it tastes better. On Halloween when they make Kit Kats with orange chocolate and M&Ms in fall colors – they taste better. You can try to deny it – but you’re wasting your time.

Anyway, since I’m doing low carb – clearly last night was a binge. And later of course I physically didn’t feel good. When I do well and eat low carb, I feel great. I had gestational diabetes…I don’t handle sugar and carbs well. I need to remember that. I need to remember I’m basically a food addict. A meth user can’t have one hit and be fine. A cigarette smoker can’t have one cigarette and not want another one. An alcoholic can’t have one sip and claim to still be sober. An addict is an addict is an addict. It’s not a pretty word nor are the connotations behind it…..and I’m not sure I’ve ever called myself one but my tendencies sure are pointing in that direction.

It’s my life – my health – my addiction and I can’t have binges and say I’m getting healthy. I can’t binge and say “I’m on a low carb diet”. I can’t binge and say I gave up abusing my body with food years ago…when my actions deny that. Weekend or not, special occasion or not, at goal weight or not, on a certain diet or not….I need to be “sober” every day and make the commitment. I need to plan – and not have an excuse to order pizza. I need to not buy a bag of candy corn. Having those things didn’t make my life better – didn’t create some life changing memory – didn’t help my health….they only took me off plan in mind and body….and at the core of who I am it’s not what I want for who I am today.

I don’t want to tell myself it’s okay, it was one meal, you’ll be fine. I’d never tell a meth user who’d been sober for a year that it’s fine if they took just one hit. It’s not really okay. One meal matters to my health, my mind set, my cholesterol and blood pressure. It matters. I told myself it was okay for years – now I’m telling myself it’s not. I’m making it serious….because for too many years I made it a joke.

If you think I’m being too hard on myself and I should ease up and realize it was one mistake…I get that. But get this. I was supposed to go in for annual lab work today. For my cholesterol and blood pressure that are borderline needing meds. I didn’t go. After the crap I ate yesterday – it wouldn’t have been good and could have put me on meds. Had I eaten well like I normally do – I would have gone. The results would have been accurate and reflective of who I am. Had I gone today, it would have been like a drug addict taking a urine test – it would have came back positive…..even if for a full year before he had been drug-free.

One day does make a difference. One day + one day + one day eventually equals a week which equals a month which equals years of my life that I already spent unhealthy and not caring. I’m not mad at myself or berating myself in my head. I’ve done that for way too many years too. I’m so over that. I am simply admitting I made a mistake. I am contemplating in my mind why I let it happen. I am learning from it. I am not giving up. I am starting over today – day 1 sober – clean - healthy.

Because it’s that important to me. I talk like an alcoholic or drug addict who has gotten clean – often saying – “I’ve been healthy for 4 years now…lost 70 pounds and kept it off.” If I wanna continue to talk the talk – I better learn to walk the walk.

Addicts are prone to relapses. Relapses can either define us or ruin us. We can either stay fallen or get up.

I wanna be in the group that gets back up. The group that knows exactly how many days they’ve been sober or healthy or clean…..

And to be clear, I’m not downplaying drug or alcohol addiction or its severity or difficulty…nor am I downplaying health and obesity. Obesity kills just like drugs and alcohol and other addictions. It ruins lives, creates depression, carries stereotypes, causes us to lose relationships and jobs and self-worth. It’s becoming a world-wide epidemic and I feel like it’s about time we took it as seriously as other addictions.

For me, it’s real. And it’s a hard fight…just like any addiction. But I’m strong…and I’m going to knock it on it’s ass. 

You with me?

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Stepping out of Podunk, USA...if only for a weekend....

This week is going to be eventful for many reasons.  Many, many firsts for Draz.  If I make it through without touching the Valium...well, let's just say I'm gonna change my name to SuperWoman if that happens.

For my first ever road trip for longer than 20 minutes, I'm taking a GPS, written directions and Yahoo directions and a CD of my favorite songs...and 6 cases of wine.  Yah, I'm not kidding.  Joey sent me the wine for the BOOBs weekend....beyond my safety - there are many reasons you all should pray I make it to Chicago.  I have the wine.

I have board meetings and over-packing to do.  For me and Watermelon and Banana.  I have to get my prescription for Operation No More Sweaty Pits.  And Rambo leaves for SWAT team training Wednesday so getting into the car for the road trip Thursday will be up to me.  He won't be here to push me in and make me go.  It's all up to me.

I already know I'm going to have to call Jenny to make sure I indeed get in the car.

Oh and one more thing I decided to do....was put on a fashion show for my sister and mother.  To say I'm regretting that decision is an understatement.  While they mean well....they never like what I wear.  The other day I had a size 9 dress - which by the way is my usual size - apparently my mother isn't aware of that.  The dress fit me EXCEPT in my boobs.  I wasn't upset - my boobs were too big.  It wasn't my waist or upper abs or butt - nope - just the boobs.  That's not a bad problem - I'll take it.  I took it to my moms hoping my sister could wear it.  She took one look at the dress and said, "Oh yes, this is definitely a dress for your sister, not for you or I."  Um, okay.  She then gave me one of her dresses to wear in case I needed it for Chicago.  It's a 14.  It's too big.  She didn't notice...said it looked great...told me to take it home.  I am not her size.  Her size is gorgeous but it's not me anymore...why can't she see that?  When I go there Wednesday I'll be showing her my real Chicago dress...which again, is a 9.  She'll see the tag but she won't believe it. 

So I'll go there and they'll tell me what I've meticulously picked out for Chicago and wrapped my hopes and visions around is not good enough.  And on the inside I'll cry because I'll believe them. 

I've picked out some "hip" things...because we're going to a big city.  Here in Podunk, USA we're about 1 year behind every style so being "hip" just gets you stared at.  I'm not kidding.  I wore a pencil skirt to work the other day and three women looked at me like I had 3 heads.  I wore snakeskin shoes with it.  They were hot. 

Not one woman said I looked nice.  Not one.  To them I just looked different and like I was trying too hard because they had on flip flops and sweatshirts again.  (To be clear - I'm all about flip flops and sweatshirts 95% of the time but sometimes a girl has got to her sexy on.) 

Even the men could only say, "Why are you so dressed up?"  I actually said to the one guy...."You know - you're supposed to say, "You look nice today" or nothing at all - NOT "why are you so dressed up?"  If you say that a woman has no idea if you're giving her a compliment or insulting her."  He said, "Well, you look great but I don't want you to think I'm hitting on you."  *sigh* 

I'm wearing the mother-effing skirt again tomorrow - I have to break in those snakeskins for Chicago and I don't give a damn if anyone doesn't like it.  They can kiss my non-sweatpant-flip-flop-wearing-ass.

I'll go to Jenny's Thursday night - and I'll re-do the fashion show and she'll make a big deal and tell me I look like a model....and I'll cry on the inside again.....in a whole different way....simply because I'll believe her.

And I'm pretty sure I can never explain how much I want to scream to my mother and sister why I'm going to Chicago.  They think I'm going with Jenny to meet a group of women with lap bands...a group Jenny belongs to and I'm tagging along.  I can't tell them I feel like I'm one of you.  I want to tell them I'm finally fulfilling a lifelong dream of writing and that sometimes people actually read what I write and even like it.  I want to tell them I've met people I love and people who love me back.  People who've changed my life.  People I worry about at night.  People I run to when I want to get something out and need support.  Those people are you by the way.

I want to tell them this weekend is possibly the hugest step I've taken in 35 years of living toward becoming who I really know I am.  But I cannot.  I cannot risk them knowing I blog.  I cannot risk hurting them knowing sometimes I blog about them....like right now. 

So Wednesday night I'll try on my clothes....and it won't go very well....but it'll definitely be different than all the other times.  Because I'm a different daughter and sister than before......I am so much more.

I am...

Me, Drazil and Sheniqua.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

I called Mrs. Fatass and got God's Mom instead.

I'm not normally a weekend blogger but I just couldn't wait for this..

Alright - I hope you have a cup of coffee and your warm fuzzy lion slippers on and you're all comfy, cozy - cuz I got a doozy of a story for you.  It involves a fellow blogger you all know and love and it is funny if you ask me.

The other day I got an email.......from Mrs. Fatass.  I see her name in my inbox....I smile...this is not unusual.  I look forward to her emails.  This one though?  Um....this one induced hives, nauseau and instant diarhea.  Okay maybe I exaggerated on that last one but still.  I was at work and the only thing worse than diarhea is having diarhea in public trying to be quiet about it.  Anyway - I put on my big girl panties, sucked it up, took a deep breath and kept reading.

In summary - the email said:

Hey ______ - and in that blank space she used my REAL name.  It's bad when that happens.  It's like when your mom finds out you melted crayons on the stove burners and screams your entire first, middle and last name.  It's your cue to RUN!  MF and I routinely use our code names...not real names.  I knew this was serious.  I was already hyperventilating.

Then she said, "Could you call me?"  Yes, MF I could - but that would require the earth to move and pigs to fly.  I call three people in my life.  Rambo, Jenny and my mom.  MF is not on that list.  Until now.

She continued, "I know this sucks.  I don't want to call you anymore than you want to call me.  We'll make it short.  I just don't feel like typing.  Let's set a timer for 5 minutes.  We can do this."

Just a minute...I have to get the calomine lotion for the hives that have creeped all the way down my ass by now.  How does she expect me to pick up the phone when I need both hands to itch said ass hives?  I need a bucket for the vomit rising in my throat.  I'm sweating like the Devil.  Is it hot in here?  My face is red.  What's my blood pressure right now?

You all think I'm kidding.  A little - but really - not a lot.  This is the range of my social anxiety - and this is the range of how much I will fight it until these feelings don't happen when a dear friend asks me to call - this is the range of how far I have come in fighting my fears.

Sooooo...I trust MF.  If her life will be complete by hearing my voice....I shall fulfill her dream.  I dial the phone number cuz if I wait much longer I will never do it. 

Ring.  Ring.  Ring.  Someone picks up.  She's going to answer.  Holy shit - I'm really doing this.  Would it be rude if I hung up now?

I hear "Helllooo" in the oldest, crabbiest, I have smoked 6 packs a day for 30 years voice I have ever heard in my life and I say, "Sue????????" 

She says, "NO!" 

Oops - wrong number.  F*ck a duck!

Can you imagine if I would have said, "Mrs. Fatass - is that you?"  I think that old lady would have pooped her pants.  In her defense....it was pertty early in the morning....so um, yah, at that precise moment - I lost my nerve. 

First MF wants me to call her and then she gives me the wrong number?  Is she trying to kill me?

I then email MF and tell her, "Okay - you're gonna have to call me cuz I just called an 80 year old woman and nearly called her a Fatass." 

See how I did that?  Now I'm making her call me - it was all part of my evil plan.

So the phone rings a bit later and I see her number and I know it's MF.  Yes kids - I answered.  Hard to believe but I did.

So it begins.  Having code names makes things hard....how do we address each other?  It seems cah-razy to call another woman Fatass to her face.  I stuck with Sue.

So we chat.  I ask if she has hives.  She does.  I love her more.  We laugh - a lot.  We get straight to the point.  We're not here to mess around - we both know how difficult this is....but we both understand it's still fun and it's also a big step in our lives.  Our time is up.  If we talk any longer our hearts will explode from the sky high blood pressure we've self-induced.  It's time to hang up.

Before we go - we both whole-heartedly agree that the little pissed off old lady will be great blog material.  That little old lady provided us with laughter and an opening to our phone conversation and you all can think it was coincidence if you want....I know it was God intervening.  Hell, it was probably God's mom.

She probably told God "If I don't intervene - both those girls are gonna die of a nervous heart attack or pee their pants or both."

10:23.  That's how long I talked to MF.  I'm pretty sure next time I can do 15:23.  How about you MF?

Just a little note....

...I've gotten quite a few new Facebook friend requests lately and have decided in order to keep up with the anonymity of my blog that I treasure so much I'm going to make a Facebook page just for my blogger buddies under Drazil.  Sooooo if I recently unfriended you - please don't freak out or send me hate mail.  I will re-friend you soon under the Drazil page....which no, I have not made yet.

For any of my new followers...I have no major reason to stay anonymous other than I always sometimes whine and vent about family members, job, and life in general and I would never want to hurt any of them so I keep this blog anonymous.  For the first time in my life I am not censoring myself and if I was public - I know I'd censor myself and that's not why I started this blog. 

And Rambo's dangerous prison job is another reason to stay private.  Too many of the prisoners already know too much about us and that can be scary.

Anywhoozle....I don't know when the Drazil page will be up so bear with me.......we will be friends again soon!

I trust you all understand.....thanks my Skittles!

Friday, September 17, 2010

♥BYOC♥ - come get your crazy on!

Quick thing before BYOC. Yesterday I posted about my lovely sweat like I’m Satan burning in the fires of hell dilemma and a few of you commented in your post about what solutions I was going to try. Botox isn’t an option for me – just because I’m not willing to pay for it though I have heard it’s good for migraines too. I should see if insurance covers it. I think I’m done with paste pit endeavors too – it’s just not fun.

Sooo….I talked to Kim from Fatty McButterpants and we discussed a script she takes for the same thing. I called my doc and begged and pleaded and I GOT IT! Kim and I are going to be two of the driest chics at the BOOBS convention I swear to God. I can’t wait to see if it works! I’m so grateful to Kim….just another incidence proving blogging is more than words on the internet. It touches people’s hearts and lives – in the physical and mental sense.


Now let’s have some fun with BYOC!!!!!


1. Last week we asked your favorite thing about being an adult. This week the question is: what is one thing you miss about being a child?


• You know what? I miss coloring. Hours of coloring in coloring books, signing my name, ripping them out, and handing them to my mom like they were covered in gold. Yes, I can color now – I know that – but as kids it’s almost expected. It’d be perfectly alright to color all day. That’d probably even be called productive. And Saturday morning cartoons in pajamas…with my siblings. It was one moment in time when we got along.

2. When you make a serious life decision – do you use your head or your heart?

This is a tough question. I – no lie – end up doing the literal pros and cons list. I love lists and listing pros and cons literally puts it in black and white and usually makes the decision obvious…so my heart can follow my head better. I have strong gut feelings though – and I usually listen to them too. Really – I’m guessing everyone uses a combination of both….

3. In relation to blogs….are you a never commenter, a sometimes commenter, an almost always commenter or a direct emailer kinda person?

I’m an almost always commenter I think. I used to be good at commenting on everyone’s until I started following over 300 blogs. I’m trying to be better. I comment if the blog touches me. I comment if I share a special bond with the blogger. And I love to comment if no one else has because that person knows someone read it then. I hate to see posts without comments because I love it when I get them so much….but I understand everyone’s busy lives. It honestly depends on how much time I have!  I'm a regular direct emailer too.
4. If life was a flavor – would it be savory, sweet or sour?

Ah – I think sweet. Even sour lemons turn into something sweet right?

5. Repeat question. Summarize your week in life or in blogland.

In blogland, excitement is brewing for the upcoming BOOBS weekend. I’m in a shoe-buying frenzy and a fix my sweat problem panic. I was the feature one day on the BOOBS blog and that whole thing made me cry. So fun! Diet and exercise wise – remember the Go-Chica-Go challenge ends soon! Everyone seems to be losing this week and finding themselves in new sizes and there’s bling everywhere thanks to Amy’s TWT! Keep it up everyone!

Life in general has been good – busy – stressful…but happy. I left the house for organized events twice this week – huge deal for me. I am becoming the person I always knew I was….it’s like I found the key to my own self-imprisonment.

Football games, wine deliveries, more shoe shopping, painting pumpkins and just vegging out await me this weekend. I swear sometimes I live in Paradise.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Thousand Word Thursday....

For me - no way can I pick just one thing so I just took a pic of my hands.  Wedding rings, mother rings, grandmother rings, pinky rings - even rings halfway up my fingers.  And my bracelets too...Pandora, pearl, rope, bangle and my Italian charm bracelet.  I even have a Watermelon, Banana and Drazil charm on there.  I love me some bling!!!!  Thanks for the topic Amy!

Oh and yes - my socks are mismatched on purpose.  They are called Little Miss-Matched Socks.  Today one foot was stars and the other foot was striped.  Aren't they cutesy?

Pitties and Titties.

I know, I know – second post – someone should set limits for people like me who can’t keep quiet. Might as well tell you now – I’ll have another one today for Thousand Word Thursday.


I have a story – and because I’m just not able to keep anything private anymore – you all get to hear it.

Okay, I’ve mentioned I’m a sweater. No, no – not the pretty blue sweater you bought from Gap kind of sweater….like sweat-er. And I don’t mean a little. I mean I can sit at my desk and feel sweat drip down my back. It is gross. I’ve always been hot – wearing shorts even when it’s 40 below out because I am hot. So yah, my armpits sweat too – enough to give me those stupid sweat rings. It is embarrassing. Add in my social anxiety and general nervousness about people and viola – it’s all like Niagara Falls up in my armpits. Sheniqua laughs and points at me….until I kick her in the shin. Draz tells everyone he knows – until I duct tape his mouth shut.

Sooo I finally get balls enough to call a doctor for a prescription. They don’t understand and only focus on my anxiety and prescribe me anti-anxiety pills. Great…not what I need. I’ll sell those on the street thank you. (kidding) Whatever. I take matters into my own hands. I google – excessive underarm sweat. I have a plan of action now. A home remedy if you will.

First I buy Certain-dri which is like water in a can but apparently helps. Good.

Then I buy apple vinegar to rub into my pits. I’m scared to death it’ll hurt like hell – it is vinegar - and I’m also nervous to smell like vinegar all day. I’m pretty sure this is a smell reserved for 80 year old women who wear housecoats all day and rollers in their hair in public. I’ll let you know how this goes.

Then I buy baking soda. Here’s where it gets good. You’re supposed to make a paste with it and sit with it in your armpits for 25 minutes. Mmkkaayy.



I make the paste. Rambo says, “Um, honey…what are you doing?” I think he was afraid I was going to make him eat it for supper.

I said, “Well, I have to put this on my pits for 25 minutes so I can have dry pitties.”

He said, “You have never been more sexy than you are right now – well until you put the paste on your pits. Then I won’t be able to control myself.” And then he cackles like a boy witch and walks away. I hate him.

Now I go in the bath with my bowl of paste. It takes all of 3.5 seconds for me to realize this sucks green donkey dicks. Seriously – first of all – you can’t see your whole armpit without breaking your neck. What do I put it in there with? I used a spoon. I am literally spooning and smoothing paste into my pits. It falls off – in clumps. Plop! Plop!

F*ck it. I try my hands – less paste – smather it around. Pretty soon half my back and half my boobs are getting the paste solution. Great – dry pitties and dry titties. Bonus. So I sit. I would like to read because I have to sit in this paste hell for 25 minutes remember? How the hell do you grab a towel or a book when you have to keep your arms stuck to your sides? Seriously? Can you do it – oh – and remember you’re in a bath of water. Jesus. I look like a robot with no arm joints. Arms straight – trying to grab things, over the side of the tub, without losing my precious pit paste. It was an event pretty close to whootenanny shaving I’d say.

And this morning – Watermelon says….”Hey Mom, how’d that stuff with your pits turn out?”

WHAAATTTT? You saw that? Great – one thinks I shave my cooter with Barbie doll feet and the other knows I put white creamy crap under my pits and don’t move for eternity.

They’re both gonna need some major therapy don’t you think?

I swear to God – if I sweat one bead today – I’m going to cut my own armpits out.

Yes or no. Stay or go. Do or don’t.

Hello Skittles. Just one week from today and I’ll be doing something I’ve never done before. Driving to my BFF, Jenny’s house, by myself. Lola, the GPS will be with me but seriously – this is a HUGE step for me. The most I’ve ever driven alone is about 20 minutes away. It’s a big, big deal and I’ll probably pee my pants before I get there AND then do the happy peepee dance when I get there. I’ve warned Jenny she may have to talk to me the entire time (she thinks I’m kidding – wait til she finds out I’m not)….but the thought of pulling up to her house, Jenny running out, hugging my BFF – and knowing I did it….is enough to make me know I can do it. Sounds like a long lost love story huh? Yup – that’s our shelationsip as Jenny calls it.


Oh oh and guess what? Remember the pedometer/walking challenge we had at work 8 weeks ago? My team won 2nd place so I got a $50 card to a sports store. Looks like I’ll be getting a new Nike outfit to wear home from Chicago!

I was thinking of you all yesterday – thinking of how hard this whole weight loss game is. Thinking about how really it’s an individual choice and not one that’s easy. Yesterday I felt like I was at a high school kegger – and the only one without a cup of beer in my hand. Let me explain. I had a meeting with about 15 people. We raise money for 3 months to adopt families at Christmas time. We give them presents and a full holiday meal and it’s a ton of hard work – so we had to have a planning meeting. We ordered in dinner. Chinese and another restaurant with anything you’d like on the menu. AND the company paid for it. So add that up – carb-laden, calorie-ridden, unhealthy food for FREE – and you get Drazil all over that like shit on a stick.

Well, not the new Draz. Early on I didn’t reply to the email asking what we wanted to order. I had chicken breast and lettuce in my fridge in my office – I had a plan. I made a choice. The plan was good. Why stray? Why regret? I even had someone walk back to me and say, “are you sure you aren’t ordering?” Nope.

I get to the meeting. Chinese and scrumptious pita pizzas, philly steak and cheese and fried potato chips hit my nostrils. Every single person in there was eating. Except me. I was the non-drinker at the keg party. A guy next to me said, “Aren’t you eating?” I sheepishly said, “No – I brought my own healthy meal today.” He said, “Wow, that’s great. I’m proud of you.”…..as he dug into his ooey-gooey pita pizza. I nearly stabbed him with his fork and stole it and ran.

Actually it wasn’t even that hard because hours ago I had made up my mind. The truth was I wasn’t hungry yet. I focused on the agenda – not the food. And I realized it can be done. I made a choice. I owed it to myself to stick to that choice. I actually never ate until 2 hours later – when I was hungry. When my body told me I should. I survived the kegger. A few times this week I’ve turned down free ice cream. I walked past powdered donuts. I’m committed to me. Sometimes life is simple. Yes or no. Stay or go. Do or don’t. Believe in yourself. Trust the process. Change forever. I am worth this. It is my individual choice and I intend to keep making it.

In less than a few weeks I have my annual appt and lest some of you think this is all vanity-inspired….rest assured – it is not. I have a thin mother and father – active and young. Both have cholesterol and blood pressure off the charts – even on meds. It is hereditary and my weight loss is about preventing this in me if possible. For me, weight loss has always been about this at the core. Bikini confidence is just a bonus.

Lastly, I went to another meeting last night. Rambo and I joined another school group. We host events for elementary students. We are going to do a Trunk and Treat for October. People pull their cars up, decorate their trunks and kids go to each trunk and get candy. How fun! So yes, if you are counting – that makes two nights this week I left the house after work….and lived to tell about it. I am never telling any of you this to brag….I’m documenting how far I’ve come so on nights when I feel disappointed in my progress I can go back and read about my successes. I will fight this social anxiety…I am convinced it is not who I am. I can’t give to anyone if I never leave the house. And giving makes me happy.

And let’s not forget I have a daughter who is showing my social tendencies and she watches everything I do and everywhere I go. At the age of 9, I’ve forced her out of her box more times than I can count….because she is scared. I don’t want that for her. I refuse to hand this down to her.

I will continue to step out of my self-imprisoned proverbial box. The box just doesn’t suit me – it’s brown and drab…and that ain’t my style.

What choices have you made lately – to improve your health, to give more, to step out of the box?

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

*I Wish Wednesday*

Hello my popsicles. The shoe debacle is over…so I’m back in CareBear Land, farting gumdrops, pooping strawberry taffy and taking baths in rainbow Skittles. Shitaki – now I’m hungry. God, I miss sugar. Time for “I Wish Wednesday”….are you going to join me today?


• I wish (and desperately hope) – that my little shoe solution works. It seems I am not able to give up my “vision” of my shoes with my dress soooooo I have shoved cottonballs in the toes and put gel liners in the back and today I’m wearing them to work. I also purchased 4 other pairs of heels online yesterday in my panic so if the whole cottonball thing doesn’t work….let’s all pray to the shoe Gods that one of the pairs I ordered does. Seriously – is there a man on this Earth that has had to devote this much time to shoes…..unless he’s a cross dresser – I think not! I’m about ready to stick a penis to my leg because it seems once you have one of those – life is simpler. It’s like magic.

• OMG – I wish I could invent a magic penis. It’d have a little suction cup on it and women by the thousands would want them. Having a bad hair day? Get the magic penis and your hair problems will be over. Don’t know what to wear? Want to eat 5 pizzas and not gain weight? Want to not try to lose weight and watch it magically come off? Want to never have Aunt Flo visit? Get the magic penis. It attaches anywhere. Stick it to your leg, your arm, your foot. (Yah, yah, clearly I’ve lost it.  We established that about 50 posts ago.)

• I wish everyone had a Rambo like mine. When my shoe catastrophe happened, I called him. He never once told me I was being irrational – though he should have. He said, “Baby, order other pairs and if they don’t fit I’ll take you shopping until we find you some shoes. It’s going to be okay. You and your black hair are gonna look hot….even if you have to wear socks with your heels to make them fit.” I didn’t find that last part funny until much later in the day but I loved him for trying.

• This next wish is pure evil and selfish – and I can admit that. I wish that Rambo doesn’t get promoted. It means I sleep alone again and we see less of him and I’ve been there and done that and I’m over it. I don’t care about the money it would mean – and I even shock myself when I say that. He deserves this and wants this though he doesn’t want to be apart from us either….so in theory I am whipping up his documents and supporting and good lucking….but my heart isn’t in it.

• I wish you guys knew what I did Monday night. You might fall off your chairs. Wanna know? Do you?

Okay fine – here it is. Lest you think I can’t make a big deal out of everything on Earth – I’m gonna prove I can. I played volleyball!!!! Okay – first let me say I never played in high school – so I don’t know the rules and such. All other 5 members did. I left the house on a week night. I had fun. I was just as good as the others. I survived. I got home and Rambo said they needed me to sub….I said “nope – not going – don’t want to” and felt the familiar stomach churning. He said, “Go. I want you to go. You need to go. It’s good for you. Go.” After he said that 50 more times I went. I was so close to not going – I had good excuses lined up. My stomach was in knots. But I got in the van. I laughed, I played….I lived to make another memory. I’ve come a long way girls. Another first for me – in the record books.

• I wish my 4 year old Banana knew how cute she was. She has the personality of a fairy tale unicorn….always happy, never worries….she got that from Rambo. The other day I looked back at her singing in the car and I almost lost my breath at her perfect-ness. Once upon a time I was her – 4 – singing – with no other worries….and I looked just like her. It was like stepping back in time watching myself. And then she said, “Mama, when can we go see the neighbor’s bow-chica-wow-wow?” For a moment I was stumped – thinking what the hell is a bow-chica-wow-wow (besides the intro to a porno video?) Then it came to me….she meant the neighbor’s chihauhau. Nice. That’s my girl. Only my kid would mix up a dog’s name with porn music. Ima so proud.

What do you wish for today?

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Suck it up buttercup....

Alright – today I’m just gonna outright ask for a free pass….to cry like a baby. I rarely pull the PMS card here…but today I’ve got a handful of said cards and they all say whine, bitch, cry, and get out of CareBear land free. Lest you think something really catastrophic has happened….let me explain.

My snakeskin shoes I bought for Chicago don’t fit. Ima gonna cry

This sounds like a simple little problem to many of you. Go to the mall – find another pair. Done and done. Yes?

NO! People – do you remember I’m a social-phobic-get hives-sweat-like-a-banchee-over-obsessive girl? When I go somewhere I go overboard in what to wear. You think about it for days. I think about it for months. I envision how I want to look. I take forever to get ready. I worry about how I’ll look…in comparison to others. How people will look at me. How I’ll be sick to my stomach. The very least I can do is try to look good so that part can at least go well and I only have to focus on the nausea.

Soooooo I’ve had my shoes for a while. Just thought I’d wear them to work today. Nope. I nearly sat down and wept. Now of course I had another pair at the ready. I am nothing if not prepared. Tried them on too. Didn’t fit either. What the fuh?

I wanted to wear them with my cute jean capris today. Think those fit? Nope. Just bought them a few weeks ago. Wasted.

See a pattern? I mean this in the nicest way possible….I’m losing weight without even trying hard. Losing weight for me has never been easy – mentally. Physically I can do it. I know how – I’ve been doing it most of my life. Work out, eat right, do the math. It isn’t easy peasy but I can do it when I put my mind to it. I can workout like a fiend and stay on track and get there. This time I’m not even working out like Jillian Michaels and it’s still coming off. The physical stuff has become second nature finally.

Mentally – it’s a whole other story. I have sold totes by the dozens on Ebay of clothes that I couldn’t wear anymore. You’d think that’d be fun….not for me – when I’m a person who ties emotional strings to everything I own. Those clothes represent moments and memories of when and where I wore them. I held on to them as long as I could before letting go. It was letting go of the person who wore those clothes – because I’m not her anymore. It’s letting go of the denial that back then I was happy with the physical me, pretending I was healthy and fooling myself that I looked damn good. I looked alright – but I wasn’t healthy….but you couldn’t have told me that back then.

So as I lost 70 lbs over the last few years every month I had to let go of something. True – I gained something each month too but that’s easy to grasp. Letting go takes effort. I lost clothes. I lost identity as the fat sister. I lost having to be the person camoflauging fat every time I got dressed. Treasured rings I cherished had to be taken off or sized. Shoes stopped fitting. Bras wouldn’t work anymore. Even underwear had to be replaced. I even had a tummy tuck – I physically let a surgeon cut parts of my body off. Body parts I’d had my whole life….but parts I knew I couldn’t go on living with.

Every day for years I would grab my stomach skin to gauge if it was getting smaller….knowing it wasn’t. It was a ritual. I prayed it would go away – that it was fat and not skin. It didn’t and it wasn’t fat. For years that was what I did each morning and each night – then one day – gone. No more. I’d look in the mirror and wonder who the hell that was with the flat stomach? I didn’t know her. Surely it couldn’t be me….could it?

And what do I do with my hands if there is no skin to grab and swear at?

It’s like shedding an entire persona….skin and all.

I’ve maintained for about a year now so my “losses” physical and mental haven’t been as obvious as they were when I started. Until this year when I decided I need to meet the goal I set out to meet in the beginning….and I lost more weight.

Today my capris didn’t fit. My rings are nearly unwearable again. And now my shoes…shoes for Chicago…shoes I already placed a lot of meaning into… shoes I envisioned with my dress. A dress I wouldn’t have worn even months ago. I had a vision – and the vision is gone. Over-obsessive brains like mine don’t let go of visions easily….

Roll your eyes. Tell me suck it up. You can. I should.

And I will.

I mean when it’s all said and done – what I’ve gained completely outdoes what I’ve lost. What I’m really saying is that if you don’t deal with the mental losses, if you just keep losing without letting go, even grieving who you were….well you’ll miss what you’ve gained and wake up one morning and wonder who the hell you really are at the core. It isn’t just physical. I don’t believe it can be. Inside the fat I lost – were wrapped up memories, outfits and personas.

On days like this I am reminded of how hard it is to let go. Years out in the journey – I still buy things too big and still wonder at the girl in the mirror. I wouldn’t take back the girl I was because she made me girl I am today.

The girl who can blog about crying over snakeskin shoes that don’t fit….and turn it into another life lesson.

I am skinnier on the outside but I swear to you – my heart is bigger on the inside.

I must run. I have a date with the mall.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Motivation & Mondays!


I can’t fight the cute caption above – it is indeed Monday. I do indeed need motivation…so I’m gonna give it my best shot. Whose brilliant idea was this crap anyway? Oh shizzle…that’d be me.


My motivation today has to come from deep inside. This whole thing is gonna sound pretty silly to some of you who don’t struggle with self-confidence, self-doubt and self esteem (is there such a human?)….but sigh….it is what it is.

I am feeling great. I am still watching carbs and sugars very closely and still maintaining between an 8-10 lb. loss depending on the day. I am 6 lbs away from a good goal and 11 lbs away from a “slap my ass and call me a model” goal. Okay – I’m not that hot…but you know what I mean. I think we all have a goal and then we have a “only in fairy tales goal” we all dream about. I am back to working out and sweating and remembering how much I love both. So all is well in diet and exercise world. I have recently bought about 6 pairs of shoes with 4 inch or higher heels. I have bought a pencil skirt and a few shirts I wouldn’t have dared wear even 10 lbs ago. I am feeling gooooood.

So then I decide that’s just too easy. I colored my hair…back to its original color….which is dark. I had major blonde highlights on brown hair before….and today my hair is near black. For those of you women who change your hair color as much as you change your underwear – I applaud you. It takes a kind of bravery I clearly do not possess.

Rambo LOVES black hair. He’s a happy camper. I, however, am freaking out. Blonde to black – is wowser – especially when you have the self-confidence of say….um, well you have none.

So I come to work and the first person I see who I consider a friend says:

You changed your hair again. It’s dark. Wow. I mean I like it but it’s like wow – when you first see it – but I like it.

Yah – wow – was that a compliment? Um – it’s pretty clear by your face – you don’t really like it and you forced yourself to say that after you realized you just said you didn’t basically.

I now want to drown my head in a bucket of bleach.

But today – it’s motivation Monday – and I’m a new woman. Did I mention Rambo is in love with my new do? It is shiny, healthy and vibrant. It is MY hair color. I am still me – I am still walking around in 4 inch heels today and dammit – I will not regret. My motivation is me. Normally – I would have let that one comment stop me in my tracks – obsess about it all day…as it is I’ve already emailed Jenny about it and here I am blogging about it. But that’s it. I am more than hair color. I am finally a woman who can take someone not liking something about me. I can let go of my ego enough to realize that yes – not everyone loves me….*gasp*. Coming from a girl who works every day to make sure that happens – well – this is a monumental moment.

Yah – so I told you this was going to sound dumb….an entire post on hair color and what one comment would have done to me usually. Hey – just be glad I didn’t write an entire post on M&Ms since there are pictures of those above. Nope – not here folks – today I’m still drowning in those wonderful sugar pellets called rainbow Skittles.

Oh and one more motivation – Chicago. 11 days away – which is good for at least a couple pound loss I think. Speaking of – how are you all doing in the Go-Chica-Go challenge? Hmmm??

I must go….Rambo just emailed me. We are thinking of going to a game Friday night on the motorcycle….wearing my leathers to match my dark hair. His response to my invitation?

“Sexy momma – we’re going to have to take a detour on the way home.”

God – that man knows just what to say, doesn’t he? See? Sometimes he’s not all about porking and boning. LOL

Goals for the week:
Drink more water!
Work out every other day at least!
Continue to watch sugars and carbs!
Celebrate me!

Sunday, September 12, 2010

BOB = not marriage material

Watermelon, my 9 year old, had a friend over last night.  Her name is Jayden.  Just so we're clear - I wasn't eavesdropping - but I heard this conversation and about peed my pants.  Thought I'd share.  I walked in during the middle of it.

Watermelon:  You mean you like him, like him?
Jayden: Yup.  I love him.
W:  Are you going to marry him?
J:  Yup. 
W:  What are you going to do about his name? (this is when I figured out the boy's name is also Jayden!)
J: Well, he said he'd change his name just to marry me.
W:  OMG - that's so sweet.  What will he change it to?
J:  I don't know.
W:  OMG - what if he changes his name and changes his whole personality and becomes a silly Bob or something?
J:  I will not marry him if his name is Bob.


Now I ask you - when did the name Bob become the equivalent of Satan?

I mean there's:

The movie - What About BOB?  - which I freaking love.
SpongeBOB Squarepants
BOB n weave - in boxing
BOB - the cute 80s haircut
Billy BOB Thorton - oh ack - wait - that's not a good example
BOBbing for apples - fun Halloween game
whatchamacallits and thingamaBOBs - fun words when you don't know what you're trying to describe

I tell you - I almost marched in there and told them BOB was a fine name and they should rethink this whole issue.  But then I heard this:

W: I think his name should be Jake. 
J:  Oh yah - I love that.  I'd totally marry a Jake.

Yah - cuz Jake is soooooo far off from Jayden.

Man, I wanna be 9 again.

Friday, September 10, 2010

BYOC Friday!!!!! **Bring Your Own Craziness**


1. If a major newspaper wrote an article about you today, what would the headline be?


• Mama Pimp drowns in Rainbow Skittle filled bathtub

• Draz may get life in prison for cutting off Rambo’s pecker

• Explosive Man and Martha Stewart found mysteriously tied to chairs and tortured…Drazil remains a suspect

I could go on….but I'll stop.

2. Name one thing you like about being an adult.

• This is easy. Choices. So dang many glorious choices. I can use as many paper towels as I want (we were poor – using a paper towel for anything unnecessary was immoral), I can even use Kleenexes (same story there), I can take huge hot baths (again, poor – lots of hot water = you have to pay for that), I can call in sick if I want, I can even walk around my house naked and I can buy as many shoes as I want. Ah, choices are good.

3. What was your favorite Saturday morning cartoon when you were a kid?

Oh hands down – the Smurfs. Those little blue bodies full of sugar and love looked good enough to eat. (apparently even as a child I had food issues – I mean who thinks of Smurfs and wants to eat them?) Oh and to be Smurfette. One girl – blonde and gorgeous – and soooo many, many man at her doorstep who all thought she walked on water. Wowser.

Smurfs are back by the way – Rambo and I saw some stuffed ones in the mall last weekend. That means nothing except evidently I’m getting old.

4. When is the last time you told someone HONESTLY how you felt about them?

Yesterday. Rambo was on his computer and I went over to him – straddled his lap, took his face in my hands and said, “Do you know how much I love you?” He said, “How much?” I said “More than anything in this entire world.” And he got the message. I saw it in his eyes. It was one of those perfect, spontaneous moments. We had just finished walking 4.5 miles and I had talked the whole time about Jenny and Chicago and my day and blogs and life and money and he had listened AND talked back and I really appreciated that….and after I told him how much I love him I said thank you --- for listening and talking with me. Did I mention it was a perfect moment?

5. Repeat question: Summarize your week in life and in blogland.

It was a good week. I have a daily plan for blogging and I was a guest poster for Mrs. Fatass which was super fun. Everyone in blogland is getting super stoked about the upcoming BOOBS event in Chicago…I’m bringing the wine! Jenny, my BFF, fancied my blog page up with headers and fonts and Skittles!!! I’m back to working out doing 3-5 miles a night and have decided on a date for my ½ marathon. I’m back to a regular routine in real life after vacation and lately I’m back to living in Care Bear Land….which is a good place to be……..fo sho! Oh and Rambo lost his pecker. Oopsie!

A day in the life of Draz.

This is why I am crazy folks. These are little tidbits taken from one day in my life.

I dropped my 4 yr old Banana off at the mother-in-law’s house. In order to ensure she wouldn’t hang on to my leg for dear life – the night before I made her pinky swear she wouldn’t cry when we got there. (which by the way – have any of you ever pinky swore with a 4 yr old’s pinky – it is seriously precious)

Anyway, yup, I’ve been reduced to pinky swears so I can start my morning off without tears. She didn’t cry. She sat in the back instead with her most pitiful voice saying, “Mama, I don’t want to go to Grandmas.”

Well shit on a stick…neither do I. I’d rather stick toothpicks in a lion’s eye. *sigh*

At work, Explosive Man rode his bike to work. A pretty, fancy Harley. Wanna know what he wore for a coat to match the pretty Harley? Yup, the blaze orange deer-hunting jacket (with his professional suit and tie underneath). Apparently he thinks he’s riding around in the woods or something. Apparently his wife wasn’t home when he left the house. I’m surprised his deer rifle isn’t strapped to his back like a real redneck.

He promptly arrived at work and exploded in the bathroom – so loud I nearly pissed my pants when I heard it. I thought for sure this time he blew his leg off. I just don’t understand how a person can sound like that and come out alive.

Oh and Martha Stewart, my friendly neighborhood co-worker across the hall, has a cold. Great green donkey dicks….her and Explosive Man should get together and start a band. I don’t understand how someone who puts out matching linens each night at supper can blow her nose and sound like a whale – numerous times. I mean once and I’d chalk it up to a mistake blow. But over and over – well, I’m about to put a sign on her door that says “whaling not allowed in building”. Again, I just don’t understand.

So I get home from a hard day’s work and Rambo is waiting. Damn him and his good moods. Who works with the worst criminals on Earth and comes home smiling and dancing like a fairy? (and I mean that in the most manly way possible) Rambo does. Me? Not so much. He follows me to my closet and hugs me tight, shoos the kids away and says, “Cheer up or I’ll ravage you right here on top of all these shoes you own.” Oh yah, that’d be comfortable. This guy needs to read a trashy romance novel like I said – not once does one ever mention doing it on top of shoes. Romance oozes out of Rambo….for realz. It’s okay to envy me…I understand.

We visit friends later. And you all know my love of anything to do with poo and gas. Well, we’re sitting having an adult conversation – it is fun, we are using big words, we are not being parents. Hence - it is fun. All of a sudden we hear a fart that could rival the Pearl Harbor bomb. I mean it was enough to stop all 4 of us adults in mid-sentence.

What do we do?

First – we know we have to acknowledge someone just blew up cuz we all heard it. Second – we have to make sure they all have their limbs. Third – we have to decide which of us will be changing and cleaning up our kid and vomiting the whole time. Fourth – the boys start the chest-puffing ritual and take turns saying, “Oh, I’m sure that was my girl. She can rip them off like a man. That’s my princess. I taught her well.”

And that’s when we look over and all 4 girls are laughing uncontrollably. Turns out my 9 year gave the 2 year one of those fake raspberry farts on her stomach.

Good God that IS funny. Crisis averted. It’s time to go home.

I climb into bed thinking if I have to hear one more bodily function in this day – I will cut off my own ears.

……and Rambo starts snoring.

And he is now peckerless. The end.

Today I get to be the hotass behind the fatass...

Alright - today just might be one of my proudest moments.  Over at Did I Just Eat That Out Loud where the famous Mrs. Fatass lives....I live too - for just one day.  It's her birthday suckfest....and I'm warning you - if you go there - you'll be sucked in too.  She's having people guest blog for her in celebration of her birthday month.  THIS is why I love her - because like me - she gets a birthMONTH - not just one dang day.

Anywhoozle....I'll be doing Thousand Word Thursday (a day late) and BYOC Friday later on but for now - if you would - check out my very first guest post over at the Fatass's place.

Man, it's weird to call someone you love a fatass....it seems immoral...but so fun at the same time.

Off to take a bath in rainbow Skittles....I love you my little chicken wings.  Be back later!

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

My weekly plan for blogging.........

As most of you know - we have I Wish Wednesdays and Thousand Word Thursdays and BYOC Fridays around here for anyone who wants to participate....but so far nothing for Monday and Tuesday.

I'm an every day but the weekends blogger - mostly cuz I can't shut up and cuz I love to write so some days thinking of a topic is hard. These daily assigned topics can be a lifesaver...so for me I've come up with something for Monday and Tuesday.

Now of course, I won't always do this and I'll deviate from these assignments when something else is on my mind but for the most part they are important to me and something I want to blog about anyway. Feel free to play along if you want...the script is here for the taking if you need a topic to write about. I made up a blurb for each day so that when I post I'll put that up first for any new followers to my blog so they know what the heck I'm doing.

Anywhoozle...just something new I'm gonna try for the days when my head is blog-idea-less.

Whaddya think?

I Wish Wednesday...

It’s time for I Wish Wednesday….


First and foremost I wish you all knew how talented my BFF is. Not only has she made headers for half of blog land, but look at my sassy title fonts and check out my Skittles at the end of every post! OMG – they are to die for cute, yes? She rocks…she has a knack and an eye for this stuff and one day she’s going to be rich and famous for all her fun, blog creations and you guys can all say….”I knew Jennifer back when…..” Thanks BFF!

I wish you all also knew that my wonderful BFF has put restrictions on how many things I can pack to take to Chicago. I am only allowed 14 curling irons and have a 5lb weight limit on makeup. Um, I’m an overpacker in a big way. Um, clearly Jenny knows this. I fear being unprepared….and I need shoes for every outfit. I told her if she continued to put restrictions on my packing, that I’d rent a large cargo van and make her drive that to Chicago. LOL!

I wish with everything in me that the bastard who made the shoes I wore yesterday would die a slow, painful, torturous death and that I could pull out his eyelashes one by one. Oh I know it was a man. My feet still hurt an entire day later. Black, sassy pumps….cute as ever…..should have known they suck cuz they were only $12.99. Seriously in all of my 25 years of life I have never worn a pair that hurt so bad – I didn’t even walk to the kitchen to refill my water cuz walking would hurt too much. They hurt even when I was sitting down without my weight on them!!! What the fuh? And if all of you blessed souls completely just missed the fact that I said I am only 25 – well then – remind me to kiss you extra in Chicago. I have redeemed myself – today I’m sporting zebra heels. Take that jackhole - who has clearly never worn a heel in your life. Go back to the drawing board!

I wish I didn’t dream – at all – period. I don’t have good dreams. I’m a worry wart and when I sleep my subconscious goes nuts. Last night I dreamed I was living with my parents again somehow but I was still with Rambo and I got in an argument with my dad and finally – he said the words I knew he felt all his life. He looked at me point blank and said, “I never loved you….ever.” Now yes, I know it’s a dream and isn’t true but I can’t tell you how many times in my life I felt it was true. And it stung – even in dream land. And it hurt even more – in awake land. *sigh*

I wish I didn’t love to read trashy, smutty, romance novels because my God in heaven no man on Earth talks like that or acts like that or “devours a woman’s heart and soul with one plunge of his manhood”….but I’d like him to. I want Rambo to be the guy on the cover of the trashy novel and then “claim dominance over his woman with a fire in his eyes while his loincloth sways in the breeze barely covering his enormous shaft.” Yup, I should probably go back to reading self-help books – Rambo hates loincloths and he uses words of complete romance like “porking” and “railing”. And like I told Jenny, when we went dress shopping every time he zipped up my dresses he completely felt it was necessary to grab my ass before smacking it on my way to the dressing room. Now I admit it wasn’t very nice to not wear underwear and taunt him with that but still…..romance buddy – romance!

I wish I was a better mom….one that loved noise and the word “Mommy” being repeated 25x before I even get my shoes off and one that didn’t drown myself and the day’s stresses in my blogs and PT jobs. I wish I was what they needed me to be. I wish I wasn’t so self-centered so I could give it to them. Instead the word Mommy 25x before I even enter the kitchen after a long day of work is like nails on a chalkboard and I find myself wondering if I’m cut out to be a parent. I am closed off – not available – I’m protective of giving all of myself for fear there’ll be nothing left for me. I am knowingly not giving 110% and claiming exhaustion and fear. And while I may be truly exhausted and scared – it is wrong, they deserve better and I’ll regret this one day if I don’t fix it. I’ve got to find a way to let go of corporate me who feels important and worthy and sought out in a different way – and embrace the parent in me who is wanted and needed in a whole other way….because dammit I knowingly signed up for this….and my girls had no choice. To continue this pattern – is shameful really….and I mention it so maybe none of you will be tempted to do the same. Corporate me isn’t really worth a shit if the non-corporate me continues to be an asshole you know?

Lastly – I wish it was September 23rd – I’d be on my way to Jenny’s with a car full of Joey’s wine, soon to see the BOOBS t-shirts, and my 16 bags and 14 curling irons and Doritoes. Soon my little Skittles – soon!


What do YOU wish today?

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Nothing much of nothing....

Hello my sweet pickles…


How was your long holiday weekend? Mine was pretty good – lots of spontaneous outings and I dealt with them well. Rambo still hasn’t gone back to work yet and it’s so nice having him home all day and night.

Rambo took me dress shopping this weekend for something to wear to Chicago….which just proves that he sees me way smaller than I am. He was picking out dresses that were 2s and 4s and was sure they’d fit me. Um, yah….when I was an infant. Try a 9 buddy. I found a pretty teal dress and snakeskin heels to go with it and a snakeskin purse too! I first had 5 inch leopard heels but after just 5 minutes of walking around the kitchen in them it became pretty obvious these were not walking shoes so I took them back. Damn they were hot though!

Other than that – I’m working on getting back to working out. I’ve put in 7.6 miles in the past 3 days so I’m doing well. Back to severely restricting carbs and sugar too. How are you guys doing on the Go-Chica-Go challenge? How many workouts do you have in? How many miles?

Nothing else new to report – I’m saving up for “I Wish Wednesday”.

Love you all! And hey – it’s not Monday – woot woot!!

Friday, September 3, 2010

I haven't paid it forward in a while....so for Ninja....

......I'm gonna try tonight.

 I found a new blog and her name is Ninja and I love that...it speaks to me and she's a real sweetheart who wants and needs more support and followers.  Please visit and follow if you so choose and tell her Draz sent you.

Thank you!