My legs hate me, almost as much as I hate shopping

This weekend was slow for exercise - usually the bf and I take a couple of walks, a couple of bike rides. But this weekend, my legs were so pissed at me. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I take an exercise class that my work offers during lunch. And it is like The Biggest Loser - there's sweating, grunting and muscle failure. And I was so sore from Thursday's session that I could only hobble until today. I was thrilled when I woke up this morning and was able to mostly extend my legs - but still, it's better than the twisted up, cramped, paralyzed legs that I had yesterday. I was even able to sit on the toilet without yelling "owowowowowowowowowow." Progress, my dear reader, progress. It was a disappointment to find that after all of that, my legs had not transformed from cottage cheese to tanned, firm, muscular goddess legs. Apparently pounds of fat don't disappear after one intense workout session - though they should. That is one of my complaints about this dimension. Anyway, I will definitely have to take it easy - it's a bit counterproductive when I can't even move for the next two days.

I also had to get rid of a lot of clothes because. . .they are too BIG. There are some in there that are just faded and ugly, but most of them are too big. Which is awesome and I am definitely proud of myself. This is an awesome development. However, there are two negatives:

• The weight loss is in places that aren't that big, like my boobs (my butt is impervious to any sort of exercising or nutrition - it is a fat party there that never stops).
• It means I will have to go shopping, which is fraught, I tell you. Fraught.

Shopping is awful. I have a lot of deep-rooted fat issues (I always wonder if the salespeople are going to kick me out because I'm too fat - seriously, I think that. Yes, I know I have issues - I won't even get into some of the other irrational fat issues.) But I have since realized that shopping is fraught for even the thin women. I can never find anything that fits - my boobs are too small for fat clothes, my rear is too big for regular clothes, the list goes on. But I need clothes for work. I was looking online for plus-size clothes - it was mumus, polyester flowered shirts, elastic waisted pants - it is tragic. If a woman is overweight, does it mean, she can't wear anything with any sort of style? Doomed to a life of dowd - http://www.makingitbig.com/category/55. Why, oh why, do these stores stay in business? Do women like these kinds of clothes or do they think it's their only option? It's in the same realm as appliqued kitten sweatshirts. Why, God, why? Women need to understand that despite being overweight, ,they still have a right to care about how they look. Maybe I'm being a little harsh - taste is subjective? If anyone thinks that the clothes in the link about are awesome, let me know.

So I am definitely up to walking tomorrow - I can't live in a world where my clothing options are even more limited than they are now. If my legs finally start being friends with me again.

Sweaty and a bit slimmer. . .

Last week I weighed myself and guess who has lost 20 pounds? That would be me. I am trying to think about how much 20 pounds is, so I am questing for things that are 20 pounds. That's like 2 and a half gallons of milk, 16 cantaloupes or my little niece. I lost enough fat to cobble together a little human being. That's awesome. I keep picturing what a being made only of fat would look like. Probably a lot like Pizza the Hut from Spaceballs, I'm thinking.

Anyway, now I can fit into the jeans that started the whole debacle in the first place. I am psyched about that - until I test drove my bike and ripped the seams on the gears. But that's a whole other issue.

Still not able to eat meat because of the scary book. However, I skipped the chapter on fish, so at least I can still eat that. And while I am trying to minimize dairy and eggs (horrible stuff there too), I can't really give up the cheese. If you are thinking about becoming a vegetarian, I can give you a bunch of books to read that will totally make you rethink meat. And piss you off because, as citizens, we are considered second to any and all profits, regardless of whether or not the decisions are good for us. But I won't preach about them here; it's just mean and I don't want to become preachy and annoying.

I haven't exercised much in a structured way, but I try to walk whenever I can. And take the bus, so I have to walk a bit more (and to be more environmentally sensitive, though I don't know how waiting on the corner for a bus that never comes is helping anyone, but I digress - that's yet a whole other issue, too). I also have chosen to not use the elevator if I can possibly help it - which really tested my resolve last week. See, I got a job in another department at work and it's on the 7th floor. So instead of just walking up to 2, I have to walk up to 7 every time. So I am sweaty a lot. Like dripping sweat. All over my desk when I finally get there. I also walk up the stairs to my apartment (only on the 4th floor, but still) and then sweat there. I am just sweating all over.

Anyway, I just thought I would post about my progress for those who read this. I was excited. It all goes to my goal of losing 50 pounds by my next birthday (in July). So 30 more to go - I can definitely do that. Then I can go on a trip with my sister and hijinks will ensue.

Progress. . .

It has been a week since the Proclamation! and it has been promising. Yesterday, I got some receipes together and went to the Good Place (Whole Foods) for groceries. I handed over a significant portion of the monies gleaned from selling my mother's Belleek on eBay (thanks to Ally for offloading the FUGLEE placque and other not so fuglee items). However, I came back with beautiful, colored, plump, ripe vegetables for which to make my healthy foods. I know it's cheaper at the Bad Place (Giant near my house) but SHUDDER. The vegetables there are shrivelled, sometimes black and shrivelled and not delicious nor conducive for making healthy foods unless mold is healthy and/or delicious. It is neither; though it is furry.

Anyway, I cooked delicious foods for the week and despite a bad flaxseed oil explosion, it went well. I am reading a lot about healthy foods and how evil agribusiness is and other such humorless, scary things. I won't share for the one or two people who are reading - it will make you sad and spit out any meat you may be eating, thus creating a messy work environment. I like to live in the deluded land where I think that my government cares more for people than profit but I am wrong. So, so wrong and deluded. Anyway, I am also reading about the healthy fats and good, positive things. And finding new recipes.

Portion sizes are crucial for me - but it's always hard the first week looking at the sad little drop of food in comparison to the trough-load I was eating before. And I get very hungry at first because I am actually trying to eat reasonable portions. Which are reasonable to a Hobbit or other such tiny creatures, like Gizmo. I think it was Gizmo who decided on these portion sizes. FUCK HIM.

I also moved some and maybe burned a calorie or three. That was big excitement. I am going to move more this week, though I drove to work this morning (BAD, BAD!!!) because I had a huge bag of lunches for the week that were SO HEAVY and I am still weak. Yes, I know I will never get strong if I don't do these things, but for the LOVE OF GOD - it was like 400 degrees and the bad was heavy. I don't like getting to work all drippy so that my shirt sticks to me and I am not only fat but fat AND sweaty. It's not a GOOD LOOK, okay. Stop berating me.

Proclamation!

So last week I discovered I could no longer fit into ANY of my clothes. Seriously - it was insane. I only have like 5 articles of clothing and I couldn't fit into any of them. So I did the logical thing first and blamed the washer and dryer (named Crap and Ass, respectively). I swore at them, kicked them a little and swore revenge. Then I copped on to myself and realized that it was silly to blame the appliances - they do a lot for me and I was ungrateful. I apologized profusely but then turned my anger on the clothes. Stupid inferior clothes that shrink. I hate them so much - I will get my revenge on them as soon as I get some clothes to cover nakedness.

When I get to work, SHOVED into my clothes, I realize that perhaps, just perhaps, it may be my issue. In an extreme measure of "taking responsibility" which people seem to be so fond, I weighed myself on Monday and then again on Friday - I GAINED 10 POUNDS in five days. HOLY MOTHERLOVING FUCKING SHIT. Some of this is water from Satan's Painful Tool of Torture and Doom (or Prednisone as medical professionals call it). I had decided to eat whatever I wanted and my body responded by blowing up like I don't know what - a thing that blows up but is more interesting than a blimp.

I made the monumental decision last week to actually do something about this. So I am starting on a lifestyle change. I simply cannot gain 10 lbs a week - I hate shopping with a fiery passion, so I need to fit into my clothes. So I am going to eat vegetables and other things that occur in nature. Then I may move a little bit to burn a calorie or two.

I am turning thirty next year - and I am planning to have lost a little bit of weight by then. Then my sister (who has lost like millions of pounds already and is looking fabulous) and I will go to an exotic place and hijinks will ensue with our new svelte selves. This I proclaim.

My theory on space aliens. . .

Space aliens are among us. However, I would think that before they sent their spies to live among us that they would train them in our ways. Obviously, their trainers in the art of humanity are similar to our federal government workers in the USA, ie, useless.

This is my only theory as to why people in front of me at the grocery store are so fucking stupid. I can't imagine that people could be this goddamned stupid and still be able to breath. I was at the Giant of Doom across the street from my house yesterday. This Giant is normally awful and apparently where space aliens are thrust into our world. But on Friday it was horrific.

I was getting two things (ok, I'll admit it pie and diet Ginger Ale for my dinner - horrible, I know). All the lines are all the way back to middle Earth and I join the one that seems the shortest, but still so far back that Gollum asked me if I had the ring. Fuck. So I finally get to the point where I can SEE the register, after 10 excruciating minutes. There are only three people in front of me. The woman currently being helped is the most ridiculous specimen in the world. She is asking about the price of everything as it rings through. And she is wearing a sweatshirt with appliqued cats on it - you know, the QVC kind. And there is a man with her, who has a shirt on that says "I Love Jesus" or some other type of "I'm a Christian and you are going straight to hell beause no one can love Jesus more than I." The manager had to come over no less than 4 times to void out things that this dumb bitch decides she doesn't want after it's all been rung up. Then she pays in exact fucking change with the majority of currency in pennies.

The man behind her has like 30 groceries in the 10 item or less line. The old lady behind him was bitching to him about the fact that he had like 30 groceries. And he is feigning that he doesn't know English (maybe he didn't, but whatever). She keeps this up, and it is just fueling my rage. I can't even read the tabloids, I am just staring balefully at the fucking retards in front of me. The non-English speaking man has to pay at this point - and it's like he is completely amazed by this concept - using bills and/or a credit card in exchange for goods. Another 10 minutes of pain and he is out. I am about to gouge my eyes out.

There is no other explanation - these people are aliens. How else can they be so ridiculously dumb?

Corporate America Can Kiss My Fat Ass

Maybe I am premenstrual. And I am anti-work. But I still think this is a valid complaint.

So my boss took me into her office to tell me that I shouldn't take so much overtime. OK, I get that. It messes with the budget. I am taking on more work because I am bored with the work I had and wanted added challenges. But this pushes me into overtime because I also have my regular work. But if you don't want me to do extra work, then I guess I won't. But it pisses me off - I am actually trying to work harder and take on more responsiblity. Apparently a work ethic like that isn't appreciated - so I guess I will just work below my capacity, just do what is assigned, not be proactive and put more on my coworkers (who are salaried).

So last week I work just 40 hours. And she rejects my timesheet because she says I didn't record an absence. I had a dr. appt., so I had to leave the office at 3:30. But I came in at 7:30 so that I would get the full 8 hours in. How is that an absence? I guess I can put sick time in for the time from 3:30 to 6:00, but guess what? Then I will be in overtime. What do they want from me?

So I guess I will just do my job and leave. No more taking extra responsibility, no more trying to help out and take on more projects. I get the same review whether I do or don't. And I get the same review result whether I work at 70% or 100% or 110%. So why should I bother? Where is the incentive? It will relieve my boredom, but I guess in corporate America, boredom is par for the course.

Of course, I will probably keep working hard because I am a sucker. There is no incentive and I am just going to keep plowing on for the elusive reward of being paid enough to afford cable television (which I have anyway, I just can't afford). One day I will be rewarded, right? Right? Probably not, but I can hope.

So basically I am one with the Mexicans - hard working, taken for granted and underpaid. Viva Mexicanas!

Together, Sandie & I have a real disease

Sandie and I were researching our various disorders last night. She gets hemangiomas in her foot - hemangiomas are blood filled tumors. I have ITP - which is a form of thrombocytopenia, which means that I don't have platelets. During our research, we found a disorder called Hemangioma-Thrombocytopenia Syndrome.

Hemangioma-Thrombocytopenia Syndrome (also known as Kasabach-Merritt Syndrome) is a rare disorder characterized by an abnormal blood condition in which the low number of blood platelets causes bleeding (thrombocytopenia). The thrombocytopenia is found in association with a benign tumor consisting of large, blood-filled spaces (cavernous hemangioma). The exact cause of this disorder is not known.

So the weird part is that she gets hemangiomas and I get thrombocytopenia - so together, we have the one syndrome. I just though that was weird.

Television is the devil, but oh, how I love my stories. . .

So instead of watching the pile of work on my desk pile up, I decided to do some web surfing. There is a site for people who want to stop watching television. Intrigued by the idea of a television-less life, I read some more. People who actually live their lives instead of watching other people live their lives vicariously through fictional stories seem to do more things with their lives. They go hanggliding, they ride horses, they do things that you see people on the herpes commercials do.

However, they are isolated from their coworkers and popculture in general. They are adult version of homeschooled kids - really nice, and you wish that you had such a great education, but you only want to be them in theory. Television is a common link between most people.

Television was my second love, after books. I watched some truly awful shows that provided hours of vicarious living in middle school - The Young Riders and Baywatch being two specimens of awesomeness that I used to watch. I have cultivated my tastes now to include such gems as Strangers with Candy, The Office (because it is much funnier than my own office), 24 (again, much more interesting than my office), watch home improvement shows (but don't actually do any home improvement - so much easier to watch it and far more entertaining), The Colbert Report (so much more interesting than regular news) and of course any CW drama series on DVD - currently, Veronica Mars and Angel. I am perfectly happy curling up on my awesome couch (it really is great) and watching some television on my own or with my incredibly wonderful boyfriend (though anyone is welcome as long as you appreciate).

Sometimes the bf makes me go outside and walk. I like nature - nature is great. And DVDs & DVR make life so much easier - can watch television on my own schedule. So while I have decided not to make my goal in life getting so morbidly obese that I merge with my sofa (there is a nasty story about that in the paper at http://www.palmbeachpost.com/localnews/content/martin_stlucie/epaper/2004/08/18/s1a_mcbody_0818.html), I am never going to give up television.

Counterfeit quarter - WTF?

[repost for Kvetch is the New Blog]

I have been carrying around a bum quarter for a week now. If my cell phone camera wasn't a piece of crap, I would take a picture of it. Being that I have never met a cell phone camera I liked, you will have to bear with my description and then thoughtful analysis of why counterfeiting quarters can actually be useful.

I first discovered said quarter when I went to get my 30th soda of the day from the vending machine. The vending machine, being a sensitive, yet cruel mistress, detected that it was faulty and spit it back out. I though she was mistaken and reinserted, with the same result. When I got back to my desk, amidst the pile of actual work, I examined said quarter. It was thicker than the other quarters and just slightly off. It was a MD State Quarter, too. My first inclination is to be upset. Counterfeit! And my own home state of Maryland is maligned! I can't get my caffeine/aspartame fix! But then I started thinking - this is kind of genius, if you are into counterfeiting money. I mean, they have those markers and laser lights for bills, but nothing for quarters (except for the vending machines - which are smarter than human cashiers, apparently). But who would be the wiser; it's just off by a few millimeters. And no one cares about coins anyway. But quarters can add up - I mean, if you have 30 quarters, you can buy ONE double sided quarter (heads) and win every coin toss! It virtually pays for itself (btw, you can get double sided quarters at pranks.com, for all of your pranking needs, though I don't think you can send them 30 quarters for payment).

Here's a scenario (granted, you would only do this with a mentally deficient person - look for a sideways hat for your mark): "Hey, let's flip a coin - heads and you give me $20; tails and I give you $20.25" (you can throw in the quarter as a gift) "Sweet - let's go" says the deficient guy with the sideways hat, full of confidence that he has a 50/50 shot - thought you know differently. You flip with your new double sided coin, and it's heads - you get $20. And some hugs from the special guy. If you have no problems with taking advantage of the guy who get's paid $2.00 an hour as a Wal Mart greeter, then you are in the green. All of this is made possible by 30 counterfeit quarters used to pay for a double sided quarter. I am not condoning this, I was just trying to think of scenarios in which you would use a counterfeit quarter that doesn't even work in vending machines.

The results of this analysis - FUCK YOU COUNTERFEITING QUARTER BASTARD!

Love Life Report Card

I have been in a functional, amazing relationship for a few months now and it is amazing. Never really had this type of relationship before. This was made clear to me when today I get an e-mail from a past "fling" (I don't know what to call it - it was less than dating, definitely not my boyfriend, so I guess fling is the best word). It got me thinking about my past love life - the results are not good. These are the highlights:

1. Gay Will - the name says it all on this one. Dated in high school, totally convinced himself he wasn't gay, but he really was. Example: muscial theater, Mariah Carey mix tape with a poem using all the titles. Tried to break up with him, he broke up with me like a week later because he just didn't want me to do it. Tard.
2. Pygme - that isn't really his name, but he was petite and tiny and Dominican - he just needed a loin cloth and spear to complete the look. Also known as Indian in the Cupboard. Man from above e-mail who sparked this whole thing. Not only was he 30 to my 19, he was also living with his girlfriend (which I didn't know). Ended because he left to go back to New York. Only called for booty - last time was after my dad died and he told me he was married, though didn't rule out the booty.
3. Pothead - again, not his real name. He was the one that I lived with - he was really boring after Pygme, but only 26 to my 20. He was a deadbeat who spent the rent money on pot. He worked at Giant and couldn't stop smoking pot so that he could pass a drug test. Broke up with him by calling his parents and telling them that he was a drug addict. He got sent to rehab, to which I sensitively replied: "Who gets addicted to pot? It's not physically possible, you moron" he then whined, "But I'm also addicted to opiates" to which I replied "You wish, dumbass." Responsible for a judgment on my credit. Checked his MySpace recently during a lull at work - he lies about his age on MySpace. First engagement.
4. Fucktard - this was what Sandie and Eddie called him. He was a nice guy - just not for me. Dated him while finishing school. Mom was completely white trash and racist. Divorced the dad so that she could get drunk and whore in bars. But would also pretend to be super-religous and was obsessed with her daughter. Moment of fame was when he brought me a 5-feet-high Scooby Doo stuffed animal that said "I Ruff You." Cheesy, cheesy guy. Brother was fun, though. Asked me to marry him on the marquee of the Uptown theater - wanted to say no, but didn't know how to get out gracefully. He gave me an out when he threw a tantrum after my mom died.
5. Delusional Psycopath - same as 2 in terms of definition of relationship. He was amazingly entertaining. Retarded habit of shaving his whole back with this long stick-like contraption. Would also take shoes off in movie theaters for no reason. Smoked A LOT of weed. Ended first time when moved to CA, but since his boss didn't recognize his brilliance of sitting in the car and getting high in the parkign lot, he left and came back here. Stayed with me for a while, then left to go to Scotland - leaving because he was "disappointed" in me. Had a girlfriend the whole time. Claim to fame was his delusion that I was writing blogs about him and his coworkers were reading them. His ex and I talk about him ocassionally - he is convinced that we are out to get him. Favorite quote "no one could have gotten into my Gmail - it's only accessible by my thumbprint" and "I can get a transcript of all of your blogs on MySpace, I know Tom." Hahahah -still makes me laugh.
6. Dewey - sort of in same category as 2 & 5. Big asshole, but I kept going with it. Don't really know why. Totally useless. Saw him simultaneously with #5 (during the times where #5 was away - wasn't two timing anyone). Scared to try anything new and quick to judge people - but he was really jealous of those who actually took chances and risks in their lives. Will die sad and alone. Don't care if he does or doesn't, but that's my prediction. Ended when I sold my parents' house. Favorite thing was when he told me that I whined too much about my parents' death - parents' die, I just need to get over it.

The results aren't good. It has taken me 10 years, but finally I am managing to be in a relationship with an amazing and wonderful person. He's handsome, intellingent, funny and kind; I am really lucky. So it was worth the crap to get to this point - but damn, there was a lot of crap.

Dr. Laura is an alien who uses mind control . . .

So I was perusing a bookstore the other day and found myself in the self-help section - which I admit, I go into from time to time, mostly looking for diet/weight loss books. However, there is a whole section which I avoid (except to mock), regarding relationships. I picked up Dr. Laura's new book and boy, are there some gems in there:

1. avoid interfaith marriage
2. stay together for the sake of the children
3. never say no to a husband who wants sex
4. never insist that a man wash his own dishes

Along with this, were some books on dating - stating that if a man does not ask you to marry him within 30 days, then the relationship is doomed and you may as well not even bother. He apparently doesn't want to be with you.

This scares me - there are a whole lot of women who read these books seriously. How many relationships have ended because of some bullshit that these women read in these books? I don't even take these things seriously, and I was effected just from reading the back summary. And what is with her frighteningly archaic rules for marriage? Why can't a man wash his own dishes? Maybe, and this is a big maybe, I will wash my husband's dishes if his arms fell off. But that's about it. And never say no to your husband if he wants sex?

I had a nightmare today where Dr. Laura analyzed my relationship, yelled at me Judge Judy-style (because I mix them up a lot) and then she told me that I needed to end it because my boyfriend isn't serious about me, ,will never marry me, and I will basically end up alone. Stupid Dr. Laura and her fucking mind control. I have underestimated her powers - she is truly evil and the devil.

Peter has a point. . .

So I just had my review for this year. My boss, who is leaving, is very nice and I like her a lot. It's not her fault that my company is a bunch of cheap bastards. So I get my bonus and my merit increase. My merit increase breaks down to a whopping $60/month BEFORE taxes. That's not even enough to cover parking. But I'm supposed to be thrilled. Um, not so much. Well, maybe because I could have gotten nothing. So I guess there's an upside.

Here's the thing about corporate America. There is no incentive to work harder. I could have gotten the same review doing 1/2 as much work. So, like Peter Gibbons, it's a problem with motivation. There is a limit to how many Superior reviews they can give out, too.

So I am trying to get promoted so that I can at least have some concrete goal to work towards. It's sad that I have to make goals to work towards because if I do a bangup job currently, it doesn't make a difference to my compensation. By the way, we have a whole compensation department that looks at what everyone in the area is making at your same job and then averages it to make sure you are on track. Because dammit, it can't have anything to do with your actual performance or aptitude for the job.

So now I have an extra $47 a month to play with - I can feed my Whole Food addiction some more, I am thinking. Or I can get cable - but not quite. That's $50 a month. Dammit - so close.

Guilty Pleasure. . .

I have to admit a guilty pleasure. I enjoy staying in the hospital on the first day when I have an attack of ITP (http://www.pdsa.org/). It's a real disease and sometimes I have no platelets and I can't clot my own blood. The symptoms themselves (besides the potential for hemorraghing) are muscle aches and fatigue, along with bruises and "freckles" (it looks like freckles, but they are little bits of blood). OK, so that's the explanation in a nutshell. Before they give me medicine to bring the platelets back up, I get to stay in the hospital. NO ONE makes any demands of me on the first day. I get to lie in bed and watch television, read books and generally be a sloth. They often ignore/forget about me, so they leave me alone that first blessed day. Sometimes, for fun, the prescribe something that's contraindicated, like Aspirin (not a thing to give to a bleeder), and I just shake my head and send them away. Or they try to take my blood with the wrong gauge needle (too big) or some other mishap. Sometimes I can get them to bring me stronger drugs that make me really happy - but usually I have to trump something up for this - like nausea (it's a good thing that I can get online because I usually check out if it's all right to give me some drugs because they forget - how hard is it to be a dr. or nurse? Apparently not very - I will get me a degree this weekend). But anyway, the first day is HEAVEN. Drugs aplenty (though you have to do some research or they'll kill you), bed rest and television. With my laptop, I can even watch DVDs.

The second day is a quick descent into hell and by the third day, I want to kill the doctors, nurses and myself. The medication they give me is awful and hellish. You can't get more than 1 hour of uninterrupted sleep. The incompetence really starts to get scary ("don't worry, it's supposed to burn" was the phrase that almost made me sign out AMA last time). Crazy roommates who go on about sherbert and Jesus freak nurses. But the first day, if it is on a work day, is better than a snow day or a day when the school gets flooded.