i want you back.

You see that guy up there? He's my new cricket friend. You can find him at the gym most nights making his tell-tale music. The gym is empty.

USE ALL THE MACHINES!

Just a few days ago, boyfriend and I were reading an article about the trending interest in physical fitness spurred on by the Olympics that causes a spike in gym memberships and we braced ourselves for the subsequent shit storm. I wonder if it's a delayed effect kind of thing because our gym has been unusually empty.

On Friday, we shared the whole gym with two employees and two guys lifting weights. Last night, there were two men using the cardio machines and no one on weights. NBC channels showing on all eight TV screens.

Soooo... where is everyone?

Don't answer that. Wherever my gym compatriots are, I don't want to know. Find them and convince them to stay there. I'm thoroughly enjoying getting to monopolize the treadmills and crossramps and free weights while plugging my headphones into the cardio theatre jacks. Yesterday, we loudly cheered on Missy Franklin as she won her gold and Michael Phelps for finally showing up to competition in DOMINATING the semi-finals for the 200m fly. Fist pumps and "AMURRICA... FUCK YEAH!"s galore, no one even cared that we made a spectacle because at that point no one else was there to complain.

On an unrelated note, scale read 224.0. I didn't believe it, so I switched it to KG and I got a reading for 101.6. Which is a little less than 224.0. SPOT ON. Also, this means I get to send a giant FUCK YOU to both the scales I had to use at my doctors' offices last week.

dream a little dream.

Olympic feverrrrrr. I has it too.

The other day boyfriend asked me which events were my favorites and there was only one answer: women's baby female gymnastics.

[Side note: surely the IOC is embarrassed by their application of the term "women's" when referring to the female half of gymnastics? They're all babies. Seriously. Nastia Liukin is like the tallest gymnast ever at 5'3"; I haven't been 5'3" since 2nd grade (seriously). Don't even get me started on those Chinese athletes... they're tiny!]

I was at the ripe age of five when Kim Zmeskal had her epic fall off the balance beam in Barcelona, and all of nine years old when the Mediocre Magnificent Seven did their thing back in the '96 Atlanta games. I loved the sport from the moment I recognized it.

Unfortunately for me, I was pudgy, my family was poor, and I lacked any and all athletic talent that might have made the sacrifice worth the cost of sending me to gymnastics classes. I was never going to be a gymnast, but it didn't stop me from dreaming of it.

It always seemed like a fantasy watching these girls: they were tiny, skinny, toned, they had the best costumes, and most importantly they were winners. Or actually, as my poor young mind interpreted it, they were winners because they were pretty, skinny, and had the best costumes. Never mind their talent and all the unthinkable things they had to sacrifice to make their Olympic dreams happen. They had sequins.

I stopped watching the Olympics after the 1996 games because by then I was old enough to have been exposed to the harsh realities of professional sports. I kept waiting to hear that Dominique Moceanu would be reppin' the US in Sydney but as history would reveal, that would never happen. Fastly approaching 20 years of age, she was simply too old. How devastating to think of a person THAT YOUNG who had to sacrifice a childhood for a few years of excellence only to be condemned to a life of where-are-they-now spots before even reaching their second decade. If Dominique Moceanu wasn't good enough, how could I ever make something of myself?

I thought it was a curse that my family never had the resources to put me through any sports, dance lessons, beauty pageants, etc. As a young kid being excluded from such activities, I felt I was robbed of the chance to make friends and to mine the wealth of self-confidence that all the ballet girls and soccer girls and karate girls had that mocked me in its unattainable qualities. Little did I know, the ballet girls were being told they were too fat, the soccer girls were not fast enough, and the karate girls could never hit has hard as the boys. I felt betrayed to learn that the messiah of gymnastics, Bela Karolyi, spent hours a day every day telling his students that 98 pounds was too fat and they just weren't special enough. I mean no disrespect to the girls who represented our country in the 1996 Olympics, but women's gymnastics that year wasn't all that spectacular. Sure, Kerri Strug landed the shit out of that vault, but half the girls couldn't compete due to injury and the other half became injured during their events. They were beaten, battered, broken, and sprained, but much in the tradition of the sport these details didn't matter; there's no such thing as a sick day in gymnastics.

As a girl, and a fat one at that, I couldn't reconcile my love for the tumbling and spandex with the culture rampant with harm and neglect (both emotionally and physically). I let my interest in the Olympics subside until Beijing 2008, and the only reason I took interest was because of a wonderful little thing named Shawn Johnson.

O hey guuuuuurl.

Two things about Iowa: first, we get made fun of a lot; second, we're known for corn and Ashton Kutcher. Yeah, fuck.

It's kind of a big deal when we have something exciting to represent us in a positive light, and Shawn Johnson was four feet and nine inches of exactly that. I'm proud to have come from the same city (515 REPRESENT! wuuuuuut!) and even prouder that this fantastic athlete managed to reach the top while still going to school and only spending half the time as the gym as compared to her elite counterparts. This girl has a good head on her shoulders, so you can imagine how it broke my heart when the media pounced on her for gaining twenty pounds (let's be real, she needed that weight).

Still, I'm oddly attracted to the sick world of women's baby female gymnastics. I don't know a single person on this year's team which makes it hard to maintain interest, so I turned to my trusty friend Google to read everything I could on every American girl to make it to the Olympics in the last twenty years. I found my old BFF Kim Zmeskal (ask my mom about this... there's a funny story), I rediscovered the painfully impressive Shannon Miller (I was oh-so-jealous of her), and I found a name I had never seen before: Julissa Gomez.

She never made it to the Olympics, but I'm certain there isn't a gymnast out there who doesn't know her story. I found this piece on accident, it's an excerpt from a book that details the horrific goings-on of the female sports of figure skating and gymnastics. I almost wish I hadn't read it. Not only did it leave me with a tear-stained face at work, but now I'm plagued with this unshakable feeling knowing that two lives were lost in the pursuit of perfection.

I'm doing myself a favor this year by discovering all the other sports the Olympics puts on display, taking special care to avoid gymnastics. My heart aches for Jordyn Wieber and every other girl who will forever resent her body for failing her, myself included. I'm no gymnast, but I know the feeling of disappointment, I know the feeling of shame, I know the feeling of hopelessness. I have been told that I'm too fat, too slow, not good enough; I have hidden my tears and pushed through the pain and gone to bed hungry hoping that by tomorrow it will get better.

Does it ever get better?

little high, little low.

Things I'm loving:

• The fact that I'm done with season six of Desperate Housewives (holy cow that was awful). But seriously though... mad props to Drea de Matteo for bringing a tiny bit of humanity to a character with zero depth.
• Season seven of Desperate Housewives. Let's count all the ways:
  • Susan moved off the lane (however temporary, I'm still loving it).
  • OMG Vanessa Williams.
  • OMG Lainie Kazan
  • Katherine's gone, which is more of a neutral because I loved Dana Delany in the beginning.
  • This Fairview Strangler thing finally being over... I could not say enough awful things about Julie (Andrea Bowen) having anything more than a brief supporting role (seriously, who decided she should carry a storyline?).
• The Olympics. GIANT VOLDEMORT. The fact that Bob Costas totally called out David Beckham for never having been an Olympic athlete. Scratch that, everything that came out of Bob Costas' mouth. Oh, oh oh, my favorite part: everything being announced in English and French (PS I wish someone would translate Bob Costas' coverage of the games, I bet it would be endlessly amusing in another language).

Things I'm not exactly loving:

• Whatever is going on with all the scales I've come in contact with these days. On Thursday, my home scale read 226.0. And then I saw my neurologist a few hours later (no food OR drink) and it read 228.0. No way my clothes weighed two pounds, and there's no way I gained two pounds. This bothers me. And thennn, I went to see a new gynecologist on Friday and they weighed me there too... 232.8. Yeah.. giant WHAT THE FUCK.
• I hate seeing new doctors. No, no, I take that back. I hate seeing doctors at all. Especially ones that have to feel you up on the first visit. It's kinda awkward talking about calcium and exercise with someone you just met and while you're naked.
• Brian Austin Green on Desperate Housewives. Seriously, casting director, Jesse Mefcalfe much? It's like they weren't even trying to be original. Handyman/boytoy/ACTOR WITH THE SAME FACE. Try harder.
• Nothing has happened to make me feel this way yet but I'm certainly anticipating lots of frustration from attendees at our gym spurred by a sudden interest in fitness The Olympics. Look, I get it... you wanna channel your inner Phelps/Jones/whoever. I'm Team Lolo all the way (seriously... we went to high school together... RIDER PRIDE), but please get your unconditioned ass off my treadmill because people with real athletic interest need to use the equipment like they have been BEFORE Olympic fever hit and will continue to be AFTER the games are done. We're not just here to sooth our egos over squandered athletic opportunities, we're actually doing something about it and not just because Ryan Lochte's abs are reminding us of what could have been. So get off my machines.

I'm still angry at what happened with my neurologist, thankfully my momma's on her way to my city for shopping and drinks and we're gonna have the best of times. BEST OF TIMES.

But I promise I'll still tell you about what happened with my neurologist... later.

only worth living.

I cringe when I see heel strikers.

Also, I've noticed more and more people at the gym are on the wrong resistance level when using elliptical machines.

I can't help but wonder how many of these people are going to become injured and subsequently swear off exercise as a bad thing. Pity.

In personal news, I smashed the shit out of my 5k time last night. I ran on an indoor track as my gym buddies played racquetball, and I finished my run at a little under 37 minutes. Oh, it was 95 degrees inside... it makes a difference.

My body aches today. I'm nervous about tomorrow.

stop and stare.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I was too tired to drive home from work.
I was too tired to take off my clothes completely. [Yes, I am openly admitting that I laid slouched on my bed for twenty minutes with my pants around my ankles.]
I was too tired to walk the 100 meters to the pool.
I was too tired to feed myself, too tired to nap, too tired to function above what my brain stem was doing for me.

It was just one of those days.

It's occurred to me that it's kind of unusual what my life has become lately. It's a blur of gym dates and sweaty clothes and the truth is, I've been doing this for so long that it doesn't even seem to take any effort anymore. It just comes naturally, which is not to say that it's always been this way.

There was a time not so long ago that my priorities were elsewhere, a time when it seemed absolutely impossible to squeeze a gym habit into my already overextended schedule. So here I offer a glimpse, a day in the life of a reformed lazy person.

5:30 am

Alarm goes off, up and ready for work. I rarely allow myself to snooze because I don't trust myself to wake up at the second chime of my alarm. Plus, I'm almost always kicking myself for not having woken up earlier as I hustle to work, late as usual. I'm working on my timeliness, it's a work in progress.

6:00 am - 3:00 pm

I work a desk job at a hotel. It's a lot of down time, a lot of freedom, but it requires a tremendous amount of self-discipline to know how to manage my time effectively. My boss and I have an agreement that I get to spend my work hours however I please as long as I conduct myself in a professional manner and I always get my work done by the end of the day. This allows me the freedom to attend to personal tasks during the day, but this requires a fair degree of planning. I have to remember to bring things from home, have them packed and ready the night before, and I use a daily planner to budget my time to decide what gets done and when. For example, I usually pay my bills and do my online banking at work (I have to remember to bring the statements, my checkbook, and my laptop with me). And yesterday, I spent a large chunk of my time calling my healthcare providers to set up appointments for my various annual exams. Doing little things at work helps free up time later in the evening and also gives me the peace of mind knowing that I took care of things so I can move on with the rest of the day.

3:00 pm - 5:00 pm

I refer to this as "personal time," but it isn't really. It's the only time of day that I am completely alone and (usually) without responsibilities, giving it the feel of free hours. Sadly, most of the time I use these hours for other things. My errands get done during this time (post office, recycling center), I take a few minutes to water my garden and tidy up my apartment, and if it's my day to cook I start prepping the meal. A year ago, this block of time would have been referred to as "nap time." I used to be in the habit of coming home from work and sleeping for a few hours until it was time to pick up my boyfriend from work; now that I think of it, my naps were a colossal waste of time and a huge detriment to my daily productivity. I miss napping sometimes, and there are days like yesterday that it tempts me to crawl under the covers and call it a day, but then I remember how horrible it feels to wake up in the middle of the day totally groggy and disoriented. Naps = totally not worth it.

5:00 pm - 9:00 pm

Most days, I pick up boyfriend from work at 5 o'clock and then we make dinner plans. He and I alternate cooking (it's the 21st century, it's only fair) and at least once a week we go out to eat (dinner for two is usually pretty cheap and totally worth not having to do dishes). We try to eat as early as possible so that we have plenty of time to digest before the gym. I used to be an afternoon gym person, but I'm flexible with time and boyfriend is not so we go when he wants to go (which is 9pm). This used to be a pretty big argument between the two of us because I feel better working out earlier in the day, but then I decided it was better for the both of us if we could support each other by going to the gym at the same time, so I caved. The time left after eating is designated free time, which means we each do whatever pleases us. For boyfriend, that means sitting in his recliner watching TV (usually sports), and for me... well, that depends. Sometimes I watch TV with him just for the sake of letting my mind go numb, sometimes I nap (with complete awareness that gym time is 9pm with no exceptions), other times I play on the computer. Like I said, it's free time.

9:00 pm - 11:00 pm

At 9 o'clock we start to get ready for the gym. We don't actually go until closer to 9:30, but there's a purpose to the half hour in between. There's a fair bit of mental preparation that goes into our routine that starts as soon as the clock hits 9-0-0. Sometimes we get ready in silence, sometimes there's music and singing and dancing, other times it's grumpy faces and complaining. Either way, these minutes are sacred. It's the time we spend picking out our exercise clothes, assessing how we look and how our garments are fitting looser; it's the time we spend taking inventory of our body parts, what hurts and what needs to be stretched and what could use the extra push. It's during this time that we decide in advance how our workouts are going to go (i.e. which machines to use, the time we spend on each activity, etc.). Minimally, we commit 40 minutes of actual exercise time. When it comes to cardio, boyfriend is exclusive to the crossramp elliptical and I split my time between that and the treadmill. We have designated weightlifting days, in which case our gym time comes closer to an hour-and-a-half. After our workout, boyfriend drives back home and I run all 1.56 miles back to our apartment. If it were up to me, I'd spend hours on the cardio equipment but boyfriend has a short attention span and he just can't commit to anything more than an hour, so I've learned to cope by tacking on that extra mile+. It gives me an extra 15-20 minutes of exercise, plus I have the benefit of regularly running on pavement so that my body doesn't become too spoiled by the soft cushy goodness of the treadmill. Gotta keep it real. Once I'm home, I pound a tetra pak of coconut water and take a shower.

11:00 pm - ???

If I'm tired, I go to bed. Let's be real... that never happens. Our favorite TV shows DVR while we're out at the gym so we spend the time post-shower watching our shows, but I almost always cut myself off at midnight. Bed time is flexible, but there has to be a time when I unplug myself from the world, turn off all the various screens and lights, and unwind. If I'm being responsible, I'll prep the next day's outfit and food for work, or at least I'll give thought as to what I'd like to wear and what I want to eat so that I'm not sleepily putting something together in the morning.

Conclusions

It sounds so terribly boring having our lives blocked out in a never ending pattern, but I promise it's this regularity that is the key to our successes. Each and every day I know exactly when gym time is and there's no excuse for not going (outside of illness and injury). You will never hear us say, "oh but we can't because ______." That blank could be anything, it could be that "we're tired" or "we haven't cleaned the kitchen" or "we have something that has to be done" but if you've bothered to read what I wrote, you would already know that whatever might be contained in that blank would have already been taken care of at other points in the night. It's all about budgeting your time and sticking to a schedule. Errand time is errand time, dinner time is dinner time, and gym time is gym time. These things are firm, and it's important to treat your responsibilities in that way so that you're not building excuses instead of building a routine.

If you want it bad enough, make it happen.

check your vernacular.

Wanna know what I saw on the scale yesterday? 225.5!!! Small victories :)

I ran out of Lasix yesterday and I ran to my favorite Walgreens for a refill, and the nice pharmacist man asked me if I'd like to be enrolled in automatic refills so that I wouldn't run out at the last minute like this again. You know what I answered? "I'm supposed to meet with my neurologist this week and there's a good chance I won't have to take these anymore." The words slipped out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about what I was saying, but I didn't regret it. Do you wanna know why? Because I honestly believe those words to be true. I have goosebumps just thinking about it! I have a good feeling this visit is going to be spectacular.

SPEC-TAC-U-LARRRR.

Speaking of spectacular, I've been killing it at the gym lately. I have successfully completed one week of lifting weights every other day and I can honestly say I feel stronger! I was doing bench presses with two 15 pound free weights last night and I realized 1) my arms weren't trembling and 2) I didn't spend the entire time praying to baby Jesus for strength.

It was 97 degrees out after we finished at the gym making my run home a complete impossibility. I wasn't happy being screwed out of 20 minutes of cardio (and the corresponding 300 calories burned) but I hopefully made up for most of it with an hour in the pool. I swam laps back and forth, effectively raising my heart rate and working my arms, plus I each trip to the pool makes me feel WAY better about the swimsuit I splurged on last year for our trip to Las Vegas. I love multitasking.

I have four workout days left (assuming I wake up early enough on Thursday) before I'm set to meet with my neurologist and I am n-e-r-v-o-u-s. Of course I want to shed as much weight as possible, but at the same time I have to keep reminding myself that this is for my health. Ugh, balance.

baby baby I got the feeling.

My legs don't look like that. In fact, they probably never will. And I can wish until my face is blue, but I doubt I'll ever have a flat stomach. But despite the realness of the previous statements, here I am writing to you about confidence.

That's right, confidence.

I took the plunge and bought jeggings last week, they arrived in the mail on Thursday. I was scared I bought the wrong size, I was scared they were the right size but my body wasn't meant to be seen in jeggings, I was scared I was never going to be anything but fat, ugly, and frumpy.

And then I tried the pants on.

It felt kinda like this, except with pants on.

I look so gooooooood. In these pants, I forget about cellulite and saddle bags and cankles. I look in the mirror and I see a pretty girl, a skinny girl, a mother fuckin rock star who worked so hard to build each muscle and lose every pound.

And it's wonderful. I needed something good to happen this week.

T minus five days until my neuro appointment, sitting pretty at 226.0 pounds (and dropping!).

material world.

I've been holding out on numbers recently because I haven't had anything to report. June/July have been horrible months for weight loss, despite all the countless hours I've dedicated at the gym.

Here's the way I see it when it comes to stalled progress: you have two choices, keep going or quit. Quitting at this point is not an option, it would be a huge step backwards to throw in the towel now. So I keep going, running the risk that I'll feel like my workouts are without purpose.

Weight loss is not a purpose. Ever. Weight loss is a consequence of dedication to a purpose. I have dedicated myself to leading a healthier lifestyle for my health, for my family, and for my future.

I've been stuck at the same weight for the last month, and as frustrating as that thought can be sometimes, it's important to remember that the scale is not the final word in all things weight loss.

Today's theme is numbers. There are tons of numbers in losing weight, but my interest lies in body measurements.

Undeniable truths:

#	1/25/2011	3/05/2012	7/18/2012
Bust	47.5	45.0	43.75
Chest	44.5	39.0	37.5
Waist	44.0	40.0	38.5
Hips	54.5	51.0	47.5
Thighs, L/R	30.5/30.0	28.5/28.5	27.75/27.75
Calves, L/R	20.0/20.5	20.5/20.0	18.0/18.0
Upper Arms, L/R	17.5/17.5	16.5/16.5	15.0/15.75
Forearms, L/R	12.5/13.0	11.5/12.5	11.75/11.5

At first glance, these numbers aren't exactly impressive considering the timeline (~18 months). But to refer back to high school math, remember that the area of a circle is the square of the radius times Pi.

To refresh your memory.

Hahahaha, psych. I don't know wtf I'm talking about, but it sounded profesh, right?

i'll getcha, i'll getcha.

A lot of things happened yesterday, and because I'm myself I think everything was a really big fucking deal. BFD. Yes.

1.

So I bought this dress from Victoria's Secret last week. It's form-fitted lace and chartreuse colored. CHAR. TREUSE. Everything about this dress is screaming "LOOK AT ME" and somehow I managed to conquer my fears and order it. It fits beautifully, I love the color, but there was something missing from the dress. I poked around in my closet and realized I needed a crisp black blazer to take it from borderline trampy to something fashionable. Unfortunately the only blazer I currently own (thanks to my rapid weight loss) is black velvet with pinstripes... doesn't exactly work with this dress. I have been searching store after store after website after catalog... no luck in finding my perfect blazer. I even expanded my blazer budget way beyond comfort in hopes that I would attract a stellar pricy piece that I could keep around for years. It must not be blazer season or something because the few that I found were not what I needed.

All I want is something like this. It's not that fucking hard, I promise.

I begged friends for ideas where to shop because my usual spots and the obvious mall choices had failed me, but those efforts were fruitless as well. Then, out of the blue I thought, "hey, what about Walmart?" I found a blazer that'll suit my needs (at least temporarily until Banana Republic decides to stop being a bitch) and in the process I also found skinny jeans. BLACK SKINNY JEANS. I've been dreaming of black skinny jeans since March, something about them has this quality that feels like they need to be in my wardrobe. But I have wide hips and large thighs and all my experiences with tights and jeggings and skinny jeans has convinced me that such items above a size 8 are fashion's practical joke on curvy women.

I must have been out of my god damn mind, because I ordered them. Not only that, but I'm seriously looking forward to all the outfits that I've planned in my head. I'm expecting the delivery by next Monday at the latest, so I would greatly appreciate happy thoughts and skinny wishes to be sent in the direction of my ass, thighs, and hips as we prepare for the arrival of the best jeans ever.

2.

When I got off of work yesterday I went straight home and tackled the explosion that used to be known as my closet (I have a really bad habit of leaving clothes on the floor). With my newest purchases in mind, I sorted through my items thinking about what's going on vacation with me in three weeks and what new clothing combinations I can make with the new stuff. So naturally that means I tried on everything in my closet. EV-ER-Y-THING. Sadly, that hasn't been uncommon in the last few months, I've probably tried on my entire wardrobe at least three times since February. What made yesterday's fashion show different was that I didn't think I needed it because I haven't lost any weight.

The scale gods must be giant bitches because the number is staying the same but my body is for shiz changing. Undeniable. I threw out at least five items that used to fit a month ago, and I rediscovered a yellow blazer of mine that's been hanging in the back with tags on because my arms were to fat to fit through the sleeves (for the record, the sleeves are super baggy now). I wasn't expecting to have to do another closet purge so soon but I'm not going to argue with the way things are going so I did it, happily I might add. The biggest change came from my lingerie drawers: I threw out ten panties that I had purchased at my highest weight ever. At the time, they were pretty much the only panties I could wear, and it would have been really fucking depressing had it not been for the cute colors and prints that decorated each pair. It's hard enough having to buy underwear that large, so I'm toasting to Target for designing and selling adorable panties for us big girls that makes the panty buying process a little less horrible.

Cheers.

I'm not going to lie, it was pretty emotional getting rid of those panties. I'm happy to see them go because they represent so much, but throwing them in the trash meant facing reality and forgiving myself for being so careless with my health. I'm in a better place now.

3.

Literally in the middle of my closet purge, I received a phone call from boyfriend who wanted a ride home. It was already pretty late and both of us were beat so we agreed to go out for dinner to a local restaurant for which we had a Groupon. I ordered the daily special, ratatouille pizza, and OMG what a concept.

I like to think that Remy was my chef.

Dinner for the two of us came out to $7.00 after the Groupon, including tip, and our food was phenomenal. Just when I thought my day couldn't get better, boyfriend said he wanted to go swimming. So we went swimming. I was still pretty sore from Saturday's ass kicking at the gym but swimming allowed me to gently loosen up my muscles and I left the pool feeling limber and ready for another round of weightlifting. Some friends of ours were going to the gym at 8:30 and we joined them; I did 15 minutes on the treadmill, 20 minutes on the elliptical, I did all my lifting exercises plus a few new ones, and I ran home. My total exercise time came to 1:26:14 during which time I burned a whopping 1126 calories. On my run home I felt unstoppable, I would have kept running but it was late and I still had to shower. Even though I cut things off sooner than I would have liked, I STILL feel great the morning after. YAY AWESOME DINNER, YAY SWIMMING, YAY EXERCISE.

4.

At the end of the night when it came time to dress for bed, I had an idea: there was a Penguins Winter Classic t-shirt (tags on) in size M tucked away in my closet that was given to me by a friend that never fit before that I thought might fit now. I did the bold thing of removing the tags before trying the shirt because I just had a feeling that it would go my way. Sure enough, it did.

5.

I may have been a tad overzealous with my exercising last night because I cried when my alarm went off this morning. My body was/is exhausted. I pulled myself out of bed, threw on a dress, packed my foods and drove to work. And then I took a nap. Like any normal person would do, of course.

It was a lot like this, except I'm not that well dressed.

I don't think my boss would approve, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Plus, I boosted my mood and productivity 100%, so really if you think about it this nap was for work related purposes.

on the floor.

I have been waiting all mother f^&#!*& year for Breaking Bad. ALL DAMN YEAR. Mother f^&#!*& Dish. Seriously.

Our contract is up with Dish Network in a few weeks (3, maybe 4 weeks?) so our plan was to pander to the other side to see what DirecTv would offer us. It was a really good idea until they engaged in a poo flinging contest with Viacom. So basically, our choices are 1) lose AMC, or 2) lose 25 Viacom channels. Fuuuuuuuu. I hate America sometimes.

It wasn't until we pulled up to the parking lot at our gym at 9:30 last night that I realized something brilliant. BRILLIANT, I TELL YOU. The University = wired by Mediacom. As in, mother f^&#!*& cable. You know who never loses TV channels? CABLE. Sadly, my grand epiphany came half an hour too late; Breaking Bad starts at 9pm. BUTTTT - next week, and presumably here on out, you'll find me at the gym on Sundays from 9-10pm, taking complete advantage of the many, many televisions and the cable service that comes with our gym memberships.

I'm feeling pretty good about myself for outsmarting the greedy satellite bastards, their squabbles over a few pennies here and there have left us (and all their customers) on the receiving end of a situation we didn't ask for. I would gladly pay more money if I could watch my shows at home, it's that simple. Capitalism serves no one if it's motivated by greed, and Dish is about to find out the hard way what happens when you fuck over your paying customers.

What I feel like.

I have a problem. It's been a problem pretty much as long as I can remember, but now that I've lost a considerable amount of weight this problem has been attracting more and more of my attention. It's distracting, almost unbearable. Slowly eroding away at my confidence. Kinda ruining my summer wardrobe. Sometimes I conquer my vanity and I say to myself, "Fuck it, you're a god damn rock star." And other times...

I have flabby arms. There, I said it.

I have been stalking the shit out of the before/after weight loss stories on the Huff Post for the last year. Part of it was for motivation, it really gets my heart pumping to see all these rock stars who lost the weight and transformed their lives all while being regular people [#Icanrelate]. But really, I've been constantly flipping through the before and after photos looking for hope. Hope for what, you ask? Hope that I will find evidence that proves its possible to lose weight without crossing the finish line looking like a pile of loose and saggy skin. This thought specifically has been driving my anxiety for years, and I know it's stupid and I know I should know better, but I can't help myself. I can't stop the what-ifs.

What if I lose the weight and I look misshapen? What if I lose the weight and I need plastic surgery? The truth is, I didn't have confidence issues when I was at my heaviest. I knew even then that I was someone fabulous. But I seriously wonder if that will still be the case if I'm skinny-but-droopy. I'm 60+ pounds lighter than I was this time last year but I'm constantly fixated on what my arm flab is doing.

I don't usually play the victim and I'm not one to let anxiety get the best of me, and this issue won't be the exception. I decided a few weeks ago that I was going to do something about my little flabby problem. The gods must have been smiling on me because something so perfectly serendipitous happened that I could not have intentionally planned it better. Boyfriend has been lifting weights for the better part of the last two years, he and a few of his buddies go 2-3 times a week and it shows. It was an unspoken rule that lifting time equals boy time, so the chicks were relegated to cardio bunny status while the men did the heavy lifting (oh how 1980s). Boyfriend's primary lifting partner will be leaving the state at the end of the month, leaving him without a partner and giving me an opportunity.

I contemplated hiring a personal trainer for a few sessions because I don't know the first thing about lifting weights. I'm not worried about "bulking up" (ps girls, stop fretting about that, it makes you sound stupid), I'm more concerned with hurting myself (let's be honest, I would hurt myself). So when I heard boyfriend was minus a partner, I reminded him that I was looking for a trainer. Our first session was about 2 weeks ago, it wasn't anything challenging and we both let go of our zeal and stopped lifting after that first time. Though the workout itself wasn't anything exciting, I liked the idea of lifting so I kept nagging to go again. Finally, we made the time and hit the weights again yesterday, except this time boyfriend made me take it up a notch with the free weights.

He tried doing his regular exercises with me, but my piss poor girly upper body strength couldn't even bench 65 pounds (seriously, I couldn't even clear four repetitions) and it became obvious to him that we would need to modify my exercises to account for gender differences (yes, I really did just type that). I'm not trying to perpetuate gender stereotypes, but it was severely obvious to us both that I'm not capable of exercising the same way he does (FYI, boyfriend gave me some serious props... he said I can lift laundry baskets and grocery bags better than anyone he knows, it just doesn't translate to weightlifting).

Closer to reality.

Here's a rundown of my new weightlifting routine:
Modified bench press - two 15 pound free weights, 3 sets of 10.
Bicep curls - 10 pounds, 2-3 sets of 10.
Hammers - 12 pounds, 2-3 sets of 10.
Tricep rope pulldown - 35 pounds, 2-3 sets of 10.

Boyfriend and I take turns each exercise to watch the other person to ensure proper form and prevent injuries, but there are a few exercises he does on the machines that I'm not interested in so I spend that time doing various forms of crunches. I did 30 reps of hanging leg raises and 30 reps on the crunch bench on Sunday in addition to my arm exercises and OH HOLY JESUS let me tell you... this shit is serious.

I haven't been sore like this in ages. I must be in the minority because being sore excites me, it's a surefire way to know that you're challenging your body and it brings me and equal amount of pleasure as it does pain. I remember when I first started exercising on the elliptical and my lower body hurt every minute of every day, the same happened when I picked up Pilates again and when I started running. I've missed the soreness and I tingle with excitement when I think about all the good things that followed each time I've felt this way.

My body is beat. I whimper when I have to move, it hurts to be still, it hurts to sleep, but there's a huge grin on my face every time my aching muscles cause me discomfort knowing that I've found something to challenge and excite me.

this is crazy, but here's my number.

I just emailed my address to a complete stranger. WTF.

Also, not the first time I've done that (one of the pitfalls of online dating).

But... it's all kosher, I swear.

Thank you for your inquiry.

We apologize for your recent experience with our product. On occasion, random spoilage can occur. It's often the result of shipping or at-retail conditions that damage Tetra Pak and cause minute leaks that lead to oxidation, fermentation and spoilage. Additionally, as we produce a natural beverage which is more susceptible to spoilage than beverages that are canned or bottled.

We're happy to replace the unit in question, please send us your address.

We appreciate your patronage.

Arthur @ Vita Coco

I don't know who Arthur is, but he responded to my original email in less than 24 hours, which is more credit that I can give to myself regarding my response. I absolutely accept his/Vita Coco's apology and explanation, and while we're on the topic of honesty...

I lied, I do know an Arthur. And I bet this is what it looked like when he sat down to reply to my email.

I feel kinda bad that I had to email them at all. I mean, God only knows what happens to food products as they get sent through the mail. I don't love the idea of having to buy coconut water online, but there are two critical factors that always sway my decision: firstly, price (Amazon has a monopoly on that); and secondly, I live in kinda rural Iowa. Finding stores that carry coconut water are few and far between and I have to go out of my way to find the good stuff, whereas the mailman delivers right to my door.

I feel much better now, knowing that someone heard my complaints and took my words seriously. And even better, now I have yet another package to look forward to (in case you haven't already noticed, I LOVE GETTING PACKAGES... and I have an online shopping problem). Speaking of packages, 2/3rds of my first Victoria's Secret package arrived today. Sadly but not unexpectedly, it was the two items that I wasn't looking forward to that arrived. I ordered a black and white color blocked shirt that I've been drooling over for weeks and it FINALLY went on sale, except it was $5 below the free shipping minimum, and you should already know my rule about paying shipping costs (hint: I NEVER do it). The shirt was on back order and I knew that going in, but I HAD TO have it so I clicked "ADD TO CART" along with a pair of panties and some clearance eyeshadow to get myself to the free shipping minimum. Shipping for Victoria's Secret is notoriously expensive, so if you're ever faced with the choice of spending $5 on panties and make-up or $8 for shipping when every other company on the planet ships for free, I think the choice is pretty obvious.

[Note: today's post is going to be kind of scattered in terms of topics because I slept for 14 hours last night and it scrambled my brains.]

I didn't go to the gym last night because I was sleeping, and today I stayed home in favor of watching Desperate Housewives on the couch and eating food. Yes, I know that my choices are counterproductive, but weight loss really is the last thing on my mind these days. The many months I've spent starving and running and running and starving left me with a battered soul. I don't really care what you think of me for choosing the couch over the gym because I'm wearing new silk panties today and I feel like a knockout. So there.

How I feel today. Defintely NOT how I look.

Plus, I should probably note that I had a surprisingly healthy lunch today. Our 4th of July trip to Wal-Mart yielded some nice scores in the meat department, namely several packages of turkey burgers. They're some organic brand I've never heard of, and apparently no one has either because they were on super sale. Each package came with four 4 oz. patties for $2.39 total, which is cheaper than buying a pound of turkey and smashing it into patty shapes myself. I cooked a patty on a cast iron skillet and served it atop a wheat burger bun smeared with blue cheese spread with spinach and radicchio and a slice of pepperjack cheese. Total calories: 390.

Feeling pretty bad ass right now.

why, oh why can't my dream come true.

I hate that just about every celebrity ever promotes this stuff. Especially Madonna, she scares me (okay okay... I'll admit, I fuckin' love her music circa 1998). Product endorsements = kinda uncool.

Honestly, my favorite is O.N.E.

Best. Shit. EVARRRRR.

But... (and this is a really tragic thing) I'm a poor student. Price matters. A lot. Vita Coco has been winning my hard earned dollars on cost competitiveness alone (you really can't blame me, 10 cents and ounce is kind of out of this world). I was pretty excited coming home from work knowing that my 12-pack package of Vita Coco coconut water was being delivered today. I checked the tracking before I left work... "out for delivery." I drove the 2.5 miles home and ran up the seven steps to my doorway expecting a package... no package. I figured our UPS guy was having one of those super late days and I resigned myself to having to wait until 5pm. I stepped out on the balcony, watered my plants, and walked back to the door hoping that the UPS guy was hiding around the corner with a smile on his face and an Amazon.com box between his hands. No dice.

But I did stub my fuckin toe... on an Amazon.com box.

It's mother fuckin' Christmas when one of these land on your doorstep.

Unless I'm on my deathbed, it's never acceptable to drink warm coconut water. In fact, if I was dying and the only thing that could save me was warm coconut water, I might just be like, "Thanks, but that shit's gross. I'll take the eternal nap instead." I cut open the box as fast as I could to find another box nested inside. I cut that bitch open, too. I was expecting a glorious grid of coconut water cartons lit up by warm, inviting halos of happiness. Instead, my box contained 11/12ths of that image.

Umm... WTF is this shit?

Let me reiterate... 11/12ths. I don't know math, but... that's like, practically failing. One of my cartons was puffy and bloated and didn't sit flat in the box like its eleven perfect siblings. I had a bad feeling about this little guy so I immediately popped open the Tetra Pak and took a zip.

I would much rather scrub dead skin off my boyfriend's foot and cook it in a soup to make foot flavored broth than to have to take another sip from that bastard carton. ABOMINATION. I thought maybe it was because of the temperature (unlikely... we reached a high of 88 today) so I popped it in the fridge hoping the taste would revert to deliciousness. It didn't.

I stewed over this for a few hours, not sure if it was worth it to go through the trouble of contacting the company over 11.1 ounces of what was probably a bad batch, and then I remembered that the only reason I bought this brand instead of my favorite was because of the price. Removing one carton would tank the price per ounce thus removing all incentive I had for purchasing this brand to begin with. The way I see it, if I have to pay full price then I better get exactly what I want. And this shipment... just not doing it for me. Boyfriend convinced me to send an email to the company, which I did. I kept it short and tasteful, because in all honesty this probably won't be the last time I'll ever buy Vita Coco, but I also need to know that I'm not going to be consistently throwing away 1/12th of my money on shitty product.

I did a quick Google search and found that another Amazon customer had an issue very similar to mine, and Vita Coco swiftly responded by mailing that person a free 12 pack of a variety of their flavors. Really, I'd be happy with a voucher for a free 33 ounce carton for my troubles, but if they decide to follow up with a free 12 pack with a variety of flavors I will certainly reconsider my coconut water brand loyalty.

I'll keep you posted.

off we go to the middle of the floor.

I found this image on some random family-oriented website with the following text: I love having company almost as much as I love being company.

I guess you could say I feel exactly the same way.

Though, I should probably mention that I hate being company.

I'm what my mother likes to call anti-social. No, not in the psychology sense; I know perfectly well the difference between right and wrong and I recognize and often obey the rules of society. I'm no sociopath. No, instead, I'm what the experts politely refer to as "introverted."

I don't like company.

I don't have many friends because I don't need many friends. In fact, I find having friends to be expensive, annoying, and an all around pain in the ass. I know, it makes me a really bad friend, but I'm well aware of that and I don't expect much from my friends in return. It works out quite well for me, actually.

I'm anal retentive and I was pretty much raised as an only child so the idea of having friends/visitors/pests (however you choose to title them) in my home drives me batshit crazy. I don't like to share and I don't like things being out of order, so you can imagine my blood pressure going through the roof this weekend as boyfriend and I hosted a party for our friends. Oh, and we've had an overnight guest all weekend.

I don't think it should come as a surprise to anyone how absolutely out of control I feel these days. Our routine went out the window, I've been eating like shit and getting precisely 0.0 minutes of exercise daily, I haven't napped on my favorite couch since Thursday, and even worse... when I went out to the balcony to water my plants and grab a few minutes of solitude, there were BOYS using my bistro set. BOYS!

I feel as if I have been robbed. I've lost my sense of calm and normalcy, control and order, I've been stripped of my ability to appreciate the stillness that fills the moments that I get to share with nothing but my thoughts.

In times like these, I tend to overcompensate. Usually with food. Someone smeared something black all over one of my chair covers and I turned to a cookies-n-cream mini cupcake to keep myself from lashing out. I immediately regretted my decision and proceeded to compensate for my loss of control by Febreezing all the fabrics in sight. I've spent the whole weekend chasing behind people with scented Lysol and a garbage bag trying to maintain control of my surroundings, because that has always appealed to me more than being part of the festivities.

No one's ever accused me of being the life of the party.

The reason I mention control isn't to give you the impression that I'm a tidy maniac. It's because my control issues have been at the center of my food issues my whole life. These days I'm much better about rationalizing and I'm usually able to talk myself out of a binge before it happens, but every once in a while I lose my shit and the only thing that can keep me from turning into a puddle of hyperventilating flesh on the floor is food. Food, stupid food. Sugar, nine times out of ten, but in a pinch just about anything will do.

I worry about my future weight loss not because I'm incapable of losing weight, but because I'm literally incapable of being in control 100% of the time. Life just won't allow it, that bitch must have a wicked sense of humor. I know I'm smarter, and stronger, than my impulses, but the kind of life I want live involves throwing lots of parties (full disclosure: I love planning parties, I just can't enjoy them, that's why my party-loving boyfriend is my better half). On a good day, I find a motivational song and a comfy pair of Vibrams to run my frustrations out of my system, but I aspire to be a functioning adult who can handle social situations without literally running in the opposite direction. Running away can't be my only solution to situational stress.

This weekend was a test in coping skills, and this week on the scale will be a test in motivation. I honestly have no idea where my weight is as after this weekend, but if my coping mechanism is any indication, it can't be pretty.

i know you heard that bass bumpin' in my trunk.

I grew up in a desert in Texas, so I know summer. I can do summer. Summer... kind of my shit. Except Iowa is a different brand of hell. It was all of 102 degrees Fahrenheit today and I wanted to die.

Thankfully it's Friday and I'm living my life irresponsibly. No work today. Lunch with boyfriend, then I convinced him to skip out on his responsibilities in favor of the pool. Even the effing pool was warm... the pool guy at our complex said it was 92 degrees. After the pool, boyfriend started barking about having to go to the gym since we'll be binge drinking all day tomorrow and I actually agreed with him.

In 102 degree heat. Yeah, wtf was I thinking.

The gym was all kinds of horrible. I won't even go into details. But when we stepped out of the building I realized that this nasty summer heat wasn't typical Iowa heat... no, it was dry heat. 34% humidity. I did a happy dance then ran my little ass home.

Normally, Iowa summers are covered in fogs of nasty, with the humidity at a LOW of 75%. Everything under 50% is considered a miracle. I grew up in Texas where humidity of 30% meant it was raining (FYI it never rains where I come from). I should have kept those numbers in mind before I decided to run the 1.4 miles back to the apartment. I got home over an hour ago and I'm STILL sweating.

Despite my poor decision to run home in this weather apocalypse, I'm alive. Even worse, I bet boyfriend that I would finish my to-do list before he gets home from the bars tonight. Sooo... fuck me.

Happy weekend, folks! And happy binge drinking weekend to me and my friends.

and now you're taking her to every restaurant.

I seriously contemplated posting a picture of Jesus draped in the American flag and holding a rifle, but I was raised Catholic and I'm certain my dad would drive 120 miles to smack me across the back of my head for being a heretic.

Boyfriend and I are throwing a huge party this weekend, so we did what every other American does on the Fourth of July by going to WalMart.

I'm starting to have anxiety about social gatherings because I've gotten too lax with my food and exercise regimen. It started slowly: at first, I was spending fewer days at the gym thinking I could use a day off ("one day" turned into ten... oops); before I knew it, that mentality crept into my food choices ("SUUUUUURE I'll have 32 ounces of steak for dinner!"). I haven't gained any weight, but I also haven't lost any which is bad news because I am exactly 22 days away from my neuro appointment and I was hoping to have made more progress than this.

Shopping at Walmart is a dangerous thing and I prefer to avoid it if at all possible, but we stupidly put off our shopping for today not taking into consideration the fact that all our other grocery store options would be closed for the holiday. It was my own fault, and it really hurts my soul to have to admit that. The idea was that we would make burgers and brats and buffalo chicken dip, and have beer and vodka for drinks. Well, this sent me into a panic attack thinking of how absolutely horrible it would be for my health to spend an entire day eating nothing but that shit. I tried to convince boyfriend to consider turkey burgers, or to consider offering salad as a side instead of meat and cheese and fat buffalo chicken dip, but he's a man and men only want to grill and drink beer (it's in their DNA). My pleading won me small concessions: we split our burger/hot dog buns (half regular, half wheat), and he tossed out the burgers in favor of lean chicken breast, and NO SLICED CHEESE! He still insisted on the beer, but I picked up a 35 pack of bottled water with the idea that some of our friends would also want to hydrate with something other than alcohol. So yay for healthy cookouts!

I'm not feeling particularly patriotic today (probably due largely in part to the fact that I have to work today, and also from the brutal workout I suffered earlier at the gym), so here are some statistics to make you wonder why nobody gives a fuck about Canada.

Seriously, why doesn't anyone want to move to Canada?

dans mon jardin secret.

I didn't jump on the Celine Dion train until the late 90s (shame... I know, but I was like 8 so you can't really hold that against me) which has left me in the very shitty position of only having had new Celine music sporadically. The first Celine album that I actively waited for was All The Way which was released on November 1999. NINETEEN NINETY-NINE.

WHOOOOA mother effer I'm old.

I can count on my hand how many Celine releases I've gotten to experience thanks largely in part to her very selfish decision to be a normal person and have a family and all that bullshit. Blah blah blah, your kids are cute, I saw them on Oprah, BUT PUT OUT SOME NEW MUSIC ALREADY.

The last Celine release I got to celebrate: Taking Chances in November 2007. I am so seriously bitter over this. [PS - I don't count live albums as new releases because it's just recycled material anyhow. Lazy.] Let's count the ways my life has sucked since then.

But really though...

I'M SO MOTHER EFFING EXCITED!!!!!!!!

I should probably go to the bathroom because I'm pretty sure I just shat my pants.

During April and May, Celine began recording songs for her next English and French CDs which will be released later this year. The French CD will feature all new material and the English CD will feature studio versions of previously unreleased songs from her Las Vegas show, as well as several brand new songs. "We do a lot of songs in the show that I've never recorded before, and people are always asking for these when they visit our Boutique, so it's great that we'll finally have these recorded.” Celine added, "I've also received some amazing new songs that I'm very excited about", and eventually we hope to put one or two of these into the show." We can’t wait! Until then, you can see Celine perform in Las Vegas this summer.

Also, also!!!! New song was released today. You can bet your sweet ass that "Parler à mon père" will be on repeat for my 6km run later tonight.

I'm so happy I'm almost crying. Almost. Not really though, 'cause that's lame.

cheers to the freakin' weekend, i'll drink to that.

I'm suffering from a life hangover.

Not a real hangover, I hardly drank this weekend. No, instead, a life hangover. What's the difference, you ask? Well...

A life hangover is usually marked by total body aches that are most commonly caused by too much laughter. Body aches are further compounded by a lack of sleep (usually from staying up late to have a great conversation), contortionist positions (from sharing a bed with two Napoleon-minded doggies), and over-satiation (because all the bestest foods in life deserve to be eaten in massive quantities). A life hangover is directly related to the quality of life lived (the better the life, the harder the hangover), and can only be cured with more great living. Laughing, hugs, tickles, smiles, cuddles, and good food are all recommended to ease the side effects of withdrawal.

We celebrated a wedding this weekend. The happy couple were strangers to us just a few months ago, and now they're practically family. I dropped my awesomeness on Des Moines early Thursday morning to join the festivities preparations and it was go-go-go from the moment my alarm went off in the morning.

Thursday was a blur of shopping lists, driving around town running errands, balloons and streamers, lists of liquor and little drink umbrellas; brisket for breakfast, cake frosting for lunch, rum for dinner, male stripper for dessert. It was people we hardly knew doing things one shouldn't speak of in public. Strangers driving in from across the country to a place they've never been, settling in like tack-on additions to our mod podge family.

Let me tell you, I knew I was in trouble the moment I saw the FIVE GALLON BUCKET of buttercream frosting. That's when the life binge (and subsequent hangover) got its start.

Fuck you Walmart/Sam's Club. Damn buckets of processed "frosting" taste SO DELICIOUS and there's SO MUCH. Fuckers.

Friday there was barely time to sleep in. The morning brought a giant to-do list that we tackled while making new friends. My mom's office building serves as an extension of our home and it's the site where we host our large groups and parties and for that reason I know that a day at the office means time well spent. Never a dull moment there, never. We worked our fingers off until the end of the business day, at which point everyone went home with the intention of continuing the pattern of hard work at home. Instead, the weekend got the best of us and we spent the night on the couch eating pizza and watching Netflix.

[Speaking of Netflix... boyfriend and I keep our Netflix account ONLY because we have a serious addiction to watching series from start-to-finish and we learned the hard way from watching LOST that renting the DVDs from Blockbuster is a seriously stupid and expensive idea. I'm not the biggest fan of the Netflix streaming service, in fact I think it's a colossal waste of money if your interests lie solely in watching mainstream movies, but it has its benefits. For example, last Christmas when I spent a week at my parents' house we encountered the serious problem of wanting to watch a movie on Christmas Eve when the video store had already closed. Dad was willing to drive anywhere in town to find an open rental place but I said, "Hey dude, if you give me ten minutes to set up the Wii in the living room we can just use my Netflix account." He was apprehensive at first (old dudes aren't known for being technologically inclined), but once I got everything set up it took him all of twenty minutes to hand over his credit card and ask me to sign him up for his own account. Six months later, daddy is still raving about the wonders of Netflix. And as an added FYI, he probably watches about 10-15 movies per week (no joke).]

We watched not one but TWO movies and I don't feel any guilt in saying that it was time well spent. I spent the duration of the movies pampering my momma (let's be real here, moms deserve that kind of treatment ALL THE TIME) until my parents were falling asleep on the couch, at which point I tucked them into bed and set my sights on running. I learned a very important lesson on my 6km jaunt around our neighborhood: running at midnight in Iowa City is perfectly acceptable because that's hardly the weirdest thing that happens in a college town at that hour; but running at midnight in a conservative residential neighborhood in a real city Des Moines is generally frowned upon. Many people stepped out on their porch to see what tripped their automatic flood lights, and thankfully I wasn't wearing my contacts or else I might have seen that some of neighborhood watch were carrying guns and/or other weapons. I pretended they were rolling pins and walking sticks.

Saturday was another go on the merry-go-round. The words that come to mind are frenzy, panic, overwhelming, and spray glue. Yes, spray glue. It was wedding day for our good friend and adopted family member, Crystal. She's fresh-out-of-college young, madly in love, and seriously underfunded so her dream wedding was of the DIY variety. Her expectations for this event were not unreasonable, but her resources (namely time and help) were severely limited and the last days were spent furiously putting together more than just loose ends. My mom and I (along with a few other friends) woke early, skipped the ceremony, and worked til the last minute to get things done. In the end we fell short but no one seemed to mind, thankfully. I feel bad that we didn't get to nail the details and present a polished end result, but there came a time during the reception as the guests began to pour in that we realized we had done all we could and it was time to party.

The reason that I mention any of this is simple, it's another one of life's lovely lessons: whatever you're going through with weight loss/maintenance, whether it be exercising or dieting or a combination of both, it's important to stop and smell the roses. I took time to exercise when it could (there was very little of it this weekend, to be honest), I did my best to balance eating well and enjoying the good eats, but at the end of the day what mattered the most is that I enjoyed myself. I didn't fret when I was elbow-deep in a vat of butter cream frosting, and I certainly didn't think twice about licking my fingers afterwards. I didn't sleep as much as I would have liked, and I would have felt better if I had more time to run, but the hours I spent dancing in my heels count as exercise, and the workout I got from laughing my ass off easily counts for a session of ab work.

I'm a perfectionist, anal retentive and detail oriented at that, so it bothers me to apply the mindset "this is as good as it gets" because I will always wish that it was better. Instead of fretting over what could have been, I need to focus my efforts on what will be because the bestest part of living is that there's always more. Never backwards, always onward and upward.

Next up: our gang reuniting for our annual Hootenanny this weekend, then... PITTSBURGH.

Something tells me my diet is shot. Fuck you, summer.