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.