Yes, I know it's cheating by writing about two weeks at one time, but that's just how I roll.
Week Five
I lost another two pounds and was so sure of myself that I made a mixed berry cobbler for dessert on Thursday night. This thing had fresh fruit, rolled oats, whole wheat flour, Splenda Brown Sugar Blend, and margarine. AND, I paired it with Arctic Zero Ice Cream, which has only 136 calories per pint.
A good dessert decision, right?
It might have been if I hadn't consumed the entire thing. I mean, I didn't eat the entire cobbler or pint of ice cream in one sitting. Plus, I was going to the gym at least five days a week - I even ended up going twice one day to hit up two different classes. But, my food decisions were bad. Very, very bad.
I had the cobbler for breakfast on Saturday, and did it again on Sunday.
Week Six
I knew the weigh in was going to be bad, so I picked my clothing based on which items would add the least amount of weight. I ended up in a summer dress and peep toe flats.
It rained all day, and a gust of wind almost blew my skirt up. Twice.
Despite my best efforts to out smart the scale, I gained a pound.
For those of you who are following along at home - that's a net loss of eight pounds. The weight isn't exactly melting off like I had hoped, but I'll take a slow loss over no loss.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Biggest Loser Week Four
The good news is that I've lost over seven pounds over the past few weeks.
The bad news is that I've started compulsively thinking, talking, and even dreaming about food - especially when it comes the food I'm trying to avoid.
Last week, I couldn't stop talking about quiche. It was all about how I wanted to be elbow deep in cheese and fluffy, fluffy eggs, but it needed to be surrounded by a buttery, flaky crust. Frittatas weren't going to cut it. And, most importantly, I wanted to eat the entire thing.
Earlier this week it was pizza. I couldn't stop talking about it - thick, buttery crust, spicy sauce, delicious cheese and wonderfully fresh toppings. And, big surprise, I wanted all of it.
This process has taught me that my inner fat kid is a bit of a bitch, especially when I'm starving her. She REALLY does not like to share.
The bad news is that I've started compulsively thinking, talking, and even dreaming about food - especially when it comes the food I'm trying to avoid.
Last week, I couldn't stop talking about quiche. It was all about how I wanted to be elbow deep in cheese and fluffy, fluffy eggs, but it needed to be surrounded by a buttery, flaky crust. Frittatas weren't going to cut it. And, most importantly, I wanted to eat the entire thing.
Earlier this week it was pizza. I couldn't stop talking about it - thick, buttery crust, spicy sauce, delicious cheese and wonderfully fresh toppings. And, big surprise, I wanted all of it.
This process has taught me that my inner fat kid is a bit of a bitch, especially when I'm starving her. She REALLY does not like to share.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
It all Started with a Skinny Mustache
I don't even know why I thought it was a good idea to go to a medical provider located in Portland's Pearl District. Oh, that's right - I'm lazy and that particular optometrist office is five blocks from work AND in network.
Seriously, I've been going there for about 18 months, and my hatred for that office increases with every appointment. Since I have a chronic dry eye situation that arises in the middle of the night hasn't significantly improved in the past 18 months of eye steroid drops, Omega 3 pills, twice daily eyelid washes, warm eye compresses, and regular appointments with my optometrist - my hatred level for this office is beyond words.
Not only is there the obligatory gay guy with a skinny mustache,* but you've also got the waif-like blond with a pixie cut,^ rockabilly loving brunette with a passion for cat eye eyeliner, and a hot Asian chick.
In short, it's a hipster petri-dish.
An allergy to hipsters is a burden that I have to bear. I've been using this doctor's office as a way to build up my hipster tolerance, and today it backfired.
All I wanted was my annual eye exam. They couldn't cram it into my last dry eye follow up, so I went today. It was a bad visit from the start.
Not only was the doctor running 15 minutes behind schedule and I got to hang out in a waiting room littered old water and tea cups, but I had to deal with the creepy hair lip liner guy. I was trooper and didn't stare too hard.
I was more than a little bit relieved when the doctor strolled in. That relief lasted exactly as long as it took for the doctor to introduce herself and shake my hand, and all bets were off when she pointed out the long term ramifications if I didn't consider addressing my dry eye condition - soon.
The same dry eye problem that she had been treating for over a year and checked on two weeks ago.
It was during her lecture that I realized two things, 1) she had no idea who I was and 2) she didn't even bother to look at my patient file before launching into my exam. And, honestly, I'm more concerned about the latter.
So, I'm going to wrap up my little contact fitting project and then head to another optometrist's office. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to find a doctor who can treat my peepers without the mustachioed posse.
Hey, a girl can dream.
*A la Austin Scarlett
^If you're thinking Mia Farrow in "Rosemary's Baby", you'd be right on the money.
Seriously, I've been going there for about 18 months, and my hatred for that office increases with every appointment. Since I have a chronic dry eye situation that arises in the middle of the night hasn't significantly improved in the past 18 months of eye steroid drops, Omega 3 pills, twice daily eyelid washes, warm eye compresses, and regular appointments with my optometrist - my hatred level for this office is beyond words.
Not only is there the obligatory gay guy with a skinny mustache,* but you've also got the waif-like blond with a pixie cut,^ rockabilly loving brunette with a passion for cat eye eyeliner, and a hot Asian chick.
In short, it's a hipster petri-dish.
An allergy to hipsters is a burden that I have to bear. I've been using this doctor's office as a way to build up my hipster tolerance, and today it backfired.
All I wanted was my annual eye exam. They couldn't cram it into my last dry eye follow up, so I went today. It was a bad visit from the start.
Not only was the doctor running 15 minutes behind schedule and I got to hang out in a waiting room littered old water and tea cups, but I had to deal with the creepy hair lip liner guy. I was trooper and didn't stare too hard.
I was more than a little bit relieved when the doctor strolled in. That relief lasted exactly as long as it took for the doctor to introduce herself and shake my hand, and all bets were off when she pointed out the long term ramifications if I didn't consider addressing my dry eye condition - soon.
The same dry eye problem that she had been treating for over a year and checked on two weeks ago.
It was during her lecture that I realized two things, 1) she had no idea who I was and 2) she didn't even bother to look at my patient file before launching into my exam. And, honestly, I'm more concerned about the latter.
So, I'm going to wrap up my little contact fitting project and then head to another optometrist's office. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to find a doctor who can treat my peepers without the mustachioed posse.
Hey, a girl can dream.
*A la Austin Scarlett
^If you're thinking Mia Farrow in "Rosemary's Baby", you'd be right on the money.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Biggest Loser Week Three
Folks at my company started their own version of The Biggest Loser a few weeks ago.
Week one worked out great - I lost three pounds.
Week two rolled around and sucked ass - I gained .4 pounds. Read that one again. I gained, not four pounds, but less than half of a pound.
Freaking LAME!
Not only did I have to shell out a whole dollar, but I also spent the next two days complaining about how I didn't drop a deuce before weighing in last week.
The good news about all of my complaining is that it opened the door for other people in our little competition to share their weight loss secrets with me.
One of my coworkers stops drinking water the night before whereas there's another that doesn't weigh in until after she pinches off her morning loaf.*
My coworkers' crazy approaches toward this little competition just makes me <3 them even more.
*I'm just glad that I'm not the only one who thought of it.
Week one worked out great - I lost three pounds.
Week two rolled around and sucked ass - I gained .4 pounds. Read that one again. I gained, not four pounds, but less than half of a pound.
Freaking LAME!
Not only did I have to shell out a whole dollar, but I also spent the next two days complaining about how I didn't drop a deuce before weighing in last week.
The good news about all of my complaining is that it opened the door for other people in our little competition to share their weight loss secrets with me.
One of my coworkers stops drinking water the night before whereas there's another that doesn't weigh in until after she pinches off her morning loaf.*
My coworkers' crazy approaches toward this little competition just makes me <3 them even more.
*I'm just glad that I'm not the only one who thought of it.
The Feminine Side of Recycling
I’m an Oregonian. I’m supposed to recycle. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be crazy when it comes to recycling, but I am.
When I had roommates, I used to pick through both the trash and the recycling and resort it. The roommates might have been from another country or another state, or just didn't understand the concept of recycling.
If I saw aluminum foil or a glass bottle in the trash - I'd clean it out and put it in with the recycling.
When plastic bottles and tin cans were put in the recycling and still covered with chocolate sauce or ketchup - I'd clean them and put them back in the recycling or set the bottles with deposits to side so I could place them out separately for the folks who would otherwise pick through our trash.
Well, that was until things got more and more ridiculous, and the crazy roommate started pulling things from the recycling bin and putting it in the trash and removing the bottles deposits labels so the deposits couldn't be collected.
I just couldn't take it any more. So, I left things in the trash and threw the soiled recyclables away.
Now that I'm living on my own in an apartment building that means that my crazy recycling ways pop up in other ways.
My building has a dumpster for trash, another dumpster for mixed paper, a small bin for glass, and a large bin for all the other recyclables. Everything's labeled, but I find trash bags in with the mixed paper recycling among other things...
Today I found an empty ergonomic vibrator package - made for women by women - in the wrong recycling bin, so I moved it and the empty protein shake bottle into the the right bin.
Although, I'm glad my neighbors are taking their sexual satisfaction into their own hands while they thin down, I still really wish people would learn how to read freakin' signs.
When I had roommates, I used to pick through both the trash and the recycling and resort it. The roommates might have been from another country or another state, or just didn't understand the concept of recycling.
If I saw aluminum foil or a glass bottle in the trash - I'd clean it out and put it in with the recycling.
When plastic bottles and tin cans were put in the recycling and still covered with chocolate sauce or ketchup - I'd clean them and put them back in the recycling or set the bottles with deposits to side so I could place them out separately for the folks who would otherwise pick through our trash.
Well, that was until things got more and more ridiculous, and the crazy roommate started pulling things from the recycling bin and putting it in the trash and removing the bottles deposits labels so the deposits couldn't be collected.
I just couldn't take it any more. So, I left things in the trash and threw the soiled recyclables away.
Now that I'm living on my own in an apartment building that means that my crazy recycling ways pop up in other ways.
My building has a dumpster for trash, another dumpster for mixed paper, a small bin for glass, and a large bin for all the other recyclables. Everything's labeled, but I find trash bags in with the mixed paper recycling among other things...
Today I found an empty ergonomic vibrator package - made for women by women - in the wrong recycling bin, so I moved it and the empty protein shake bottle into the the right bin.
Although, I'm glad my neighbors are taking their sexual satisfaction into their own hands while they thin down, I still really wish people would learn how to read freakin' signs.
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