Random Tuesday Thoughts - I'm a mean white Obama lovin' fool

It’s Tuesday Randomness over at Keely’s place. You know the drill.

I’m feeling a little bad for being so hard on Trainer Dude yesterday. The power of the blog is quite something because based on your comments I could easily form a little army of pissed-off mommy bloggers to go and kick his ass. You guys are awesome, and I’m pretty sure if I was able to unleash you into the world you’d have this whole Iraq/Afghanistan war business dealt with in a couple of hours. I think I’m going to email Barack and tell him what time it is.

As for Trainer Dude, I may have misled you. It’s not like he’s a total muscle head shit-for-brains or anything, he just gives off an ‘I don’t like fat chicks’ vibe. But, let’s be honest – don’t most guys to a certain degree? I don’t mean regular guys like our husbands or the fearless Captain, but I think the beer drinking, macho, pub-crawl loving meathead guys have a genetic predisposition to the anti-Fat Chick point of view. It's not even really his fault, if you think of it that way. There is also a reasonable chance it’s all in my head anyway.

Did you know that Obama just held the first ever White House Passover Seder? I think that is the greatest thing ever. Especially since Christianity reigns supreme in pretty much everything, observing a holiday from another religion is awesome. Inclusion rules.

I need advice on how to change the colour of my legs. They are currently about two shades lighter than snow. They don’t tan naturally, tanning beds totally freak me out and every spray on/rub in tan stuff I’ve tried makes me look like a carrot. I know I should just embrace my whiteness, but it’s so bad people audibly gasp when they see how truly white the gams really are. I just want to stop making children cry. Suggestions are welcome.

I haven’t actually had the pleasure of seeing Master’s Degree since last week’s RTT, so I don’t have any updates on the crazy chick front. It’s too bad, really. I had a lot of fabulous suggestions I was dying to try out on her. I’ll keep you posted.

I’m so hungry. I really miss my friend’s chips and dip some nights. My friend’s carrots and celery are boring. It’s sort of like trading in cocaine for earl grey tea.

I think that’s it. All cleared out now.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Fifteen

I’m still going to boot camp three days a week and it’s very effective. I’m sweaty and gross by the time I leave so I think that is a good measure of any workout session. Unfortunately for me Trainer Lady went and got herself a day job, and therefore is not running the boot camps anymore. She is still offering one-on-one sessions thank god, but running the boot camps three times a week has been passed to another trainer. A DUDE no less.

At first I kind of liked him. He was so hilariously awkward that it was sort of charming. Watching some big muscle-head guy stand at the front of a gym leading a group of mom-types in a fitness class was providing a new level of amusement to my exercise routine. He also plays really loud circa 1995 alternative rock music which I also like. It’s sort of like being 23 again and back in my favorite bar shaking my fabulous ass. My ass was fabulous in 1995.

The last few classes, however, I have been reminded. He’s a guy. A fitness trainer guy. Guys, especially the type of guys who become personal trainers, don’t like fat chicks. I love Trainer Lady not because she is a great trainer (she is), but because she didn’t pass judgment on me when I showed up on her doorstep all fat and out of shape and defeated. She accepted me for where I was and dug in. And, a couple of weeks ago when we did my three month reassessment and had discovered that I had lost twenty pounds and sixteen inches, she was genuinely happy for me. Trainer Lady has played a big part in my success so far. I don't even know her very well, but I somehow still want to do her proud. I love her.

I’m not feeling the love from Trainer Dude. He is trying his best to mask his distaste for me (as resident fat chick in boot camp class), but he’s not very good at it. I’m pretty sure I’m the butt of a few jokes when he goes home to whoever he goes home too. Whoever that person may be, my money is on them not being a fat chick.

You know, I honestly don’t care what he thinks of me. I don’t need to like this guy; I just need him to lead me through some exercise three times a week. The thing that does bother me is that in his subtle way he drives home the fact that I’m the fat chick. He reminds me that more often than not I’m the chick who is standing next to the hot chicks being completely ignored by some random asshole. I don’t need or want attention from assholes, I just don’t want to be the fat chick anymore. Yes, I know I’m the fat chick. That’s why I’m in that fucking exercise class in the first place.

Well, you know what Trainer Dude? You’re ugly* and you have stupid clothes. So there. I’m fat and immature. Deal.

I lost two pounds this week. I have 36.5 to go.


*He's not really ugly - he's just a regular guy. I kind of feel bad writing that, but not quite bad enough to remove it. After a talk with myself I settled on a disclaimer. I totally stand by the stupid clothes comment though.

Whoever said 'time is on your side' must have been in their twenties.

The lovely Sprite's Keeper has this groovy little thing over at her place called the Spin Cycle. The assignment last week was to write a post about time. I started my post about time, but then I got all busy and lazy and well....I ran out of time. But since I sort of appreciate the irony I finished it late and am posting it now. This week's assignment is a free for all, so it still kind of counts, right?

It’s no secret I have had a weight problem for years and it’s been a major pain in my enormous ass. I have had such tunnel vision about the fact that I’m fat I haven’t really paid much attention to anything else. Now that I’m starting to lose some weight and my body is looking good (well, better), I have only recently noticed another problem. Cyberland, I am OLD. When did that happen exactly? I embraced the fact that I’m somebody’s mother years ago, but it honestly hasn't occured to me that I might actually look like somebody’s mother too. I’m old, and it snuck up on me. I’m super worried that any minute now I’m going to have an uncontrollable desire to cover my furniture in plastic.

Alright, so I’m not really old old. Not old by conventional standards anyway. I don’t have pieces of hard candy covered in lint at the bottom of my purse or anything. There is no denying that I’m definitely aging though. I need to go to bed at a reasonable hour or else I’m cranky and tired the next day. I don’t let my gas tank get below a quarter of a tank for fear of running out and being stranded somewhere. I can’t function on any level when I'm hungover anymore. These are all things that have become my life standard since I got old. Ahem, mature. None of those things would have ever crossed my mind to consider in my twenties. That’s all fine and good – maturity, responsibility, reasonable behaviour…it turns out all that stupid crap is actually pretty useful. I was an idiot fifteen years ago, now I’m not. For that, I’m grateful.

For what I am certainly not grateful is the inherited treachery that is slowly taking over my body. What the fuck am I doing looking like my mom all of a sudden? What IS that and when did it get there? Do I need to start using some kind of cream product in order to deal with it? When did my skin stop agreeing to report back to its original position? Is there some kind of government sponsored subsidy offered to help with the additional time and money I am losing in order to keep myself running? I was under the mistaken impression that I was under warranty.

My friend Politika did her master's thesis (no, she’s not this chick) on the health impacts to women who get breast implants. I didn’t read it (she’s a lot smarter than me and I wouldn’t have understood what she was talking about anyway), but not surprisingly the bottom line was they are bad. Bad, bad, bad and it doesn’t matter if they are silicone or saline implants, they are still bad bad bad. She completed her thesis about ten or so years ago, and her firm position back then was that no one should ever get implants for any reason ever. Not for cosmetic vanity, not because you are a woman trapped in a man’s body, and not even if you ended up with cancer and needed a radical double mastectomy. I remember somewhat trying to argue the point that for some women the risk to their physical health might be smaller than the risk to their mental health should they not be able to correct whatever problem they have (or perceive to have).

She was having none of it – they are bad bad bad regardless of circumstance. Now, that was ten years ago. Politika is gorgeous and always has been – she never wears a stitch of make-up, has a great body and looks fit and radiant all the time. However…..I would be willing to bet the boobs of the 25-year old thesis student who wrote that paper are probably different than the boobs of the 35-year old mom who has now nursed two children. I often wonder if her position on that subject has changed slightly. Not that I believe for a moment she would ever consider getting a boob job, but I bet time has softened her stance on the bad bad bad implants somewhat, at least for a few special circumstances. It’s pretty easy to say NEVER when you are twenty five with an absolute perfect body and have no idea what it’s like to live in an imperfect body.

Either way, I have no firm plans to get a boob job. I’m just going to watch them shrivel up and sag to my waist like a regular old person. They’re heading south pretty fast right now too. Maybe in a few years I’ll be able to smack people around with them. Wouldn’t that be awesome? People talking in a movie theatre, people crowding me in the elevator, whoever happends to be in striking distance and pissing me off would get a whap! upside the head. I could just whip out one of the girls and tune in whoever needs it. They wouldn’t know what hit ‘em. Alright, getting old might not be all bad.

Random Tuesday - the one where I'm not even bitching about anything!

It’s Random Tuesday again folks! Ahh, it’s good to be back. I missed last week because I was having a personal crisis and forcing my brain into unstructured behaviour was just too tall an order.

I have recently met a woman who uses every possible opportunity to mention to anyone within ear shot that she’s working on completing her master's degree. Within the first thirty seconds of meeting anyone new it manages to come up in conversation.

“Hi there, nice to meet you. What do you do?” I’M COMPLETING MY MASTER’S DEGREE , and I’m a teacher.

“Hey, did you get that email?” I HAVE A MASTERS DEGREE, I know how to read email."

At first it was odd, then it was obnoxious, but now it’s fucking hilarious. I have started a new game called Six Degrees of Masters Degree Separation. I think of the most random, bizarre thing to say to her and see how quickly she can bring it around to her MASTERS DEGREE. So far I’ve tried, “Hey, do you like monkeys?” and it only took four steps to get us there. Monkeys = rainforest = environment = class she took as part of her MASTERS DEGREE. I see her a few times a week usually, so I’m open to suggestions for questions. I’ll report back on progress next Tuesday.

It’s spring here finally! Thank god. I know you’re all as happy as I am because you don’t have to listen to me whine anymore. Yeah, I know it was annoying, but that was honestly the worst winter I have ever experienced in my entire life. I think Mother Nature finally got laid because she was being a major bitch for five solid months. Maybe JC fixed her up with an apostle or something. I’ve heard Luke was something of a babe.

My new workplace has a fridge stocked with all kind of drinks. It’s pretty awesome, but there are no diet drinks so the temptation for a coke ….a cold, cold frosty, bubbly and delicious can of coke (Barry White is giving me the oooooohhhhhhh yeeaahhhhhhhh in my head right now), is torturous. The only non-42-grams-of-sugar beverage they have is V8, and you all know how I feel about that. I’m going to bring some sparkling water in tomorrow. I like that stuff. It’s fancy.

I miss my beautiful big office with a window. I have a cubical now, and I really didn’t think I would care, but I do. Natural light can really do a lot for ones mood. No, I didn’t take a demotion. It’s more of a ‘big fish in a small pond’ vs. ‘small fish in a big pond’ kind of arrangement. It’s okay. When I take over the world I’m pretty sure I’ll get an office again.

Drop by on Keely and see what’s up with the rest of cyberland. There are a lot of people signing on for RTT, so clearly it's THE place to be.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Fourteen

Alright week fourteen! Wow, that week went by pretty quick. In fact, all the weeks are going by pretty quick. I’ve been using the “I’ll just cheat a little now, and be REALLY good next week” line of thinking for a while now. I’ve missed two boot camp classes in a row because I decided to go for beer and nachos instead of exercising. I’m still losing weight, but I betcha it would be coming off a lot faster if I didn’t cheat so much. I know, I should give myself a break, and I do. Obviously. The plate of nachos I inhaled Friday night had a little voice with a sexy Mexican accent telling me to go for it.

‘Seniorita! What is boot aaa feuu nachos? You cheeet a leetle, no?’

It’s hard for me to walk the line between leading a regular life that is healthy with the odd treat, vs. indulging every craving, opportunity and whim that comes my way that involves food and drink. I’m stressed, I miss my co-workers, I feel like I’m always behind, and I use these excuses to cheat. Just this ONE time. This ONE time seems to be happening a lot lately. And holy SHIT, it’s almost Easter. I am seriously expected to buy a huge bag of chocolates and hide them all over my house? Are you kidding? That’s what I’m trying to STOP doing. Do you think my kids will mind if I gave them yogurt cups and grapes instead?

I did get my first 'holy shit, look at you’ this weekend, so that felt good. My life is pretty regulated and I do the same things day after day. I am in fact quite dull. Consequently, I see the same people every day which means my weight loss has gone largely unnoticed. On Saturday I went to a baby shower that was filled with people I only see a few times a year, and more than a few people seemed obviously surprised with my new boot-ay. It felt pretty good. So, off I go! The beginning of week fourteen. I am going to boot camp tonight (thanks to Keely who it going to take over some of my mom-duties in order to make it possible for me to go. She rocks), I have trainer lady Tuesday, boot camp Wednesday, the gym on Thursday, boot camp Friday and most likely squash during the weekend. And, I might throw in a few AA meetings because I’m jumping back on the wagon. No booze for me, the WHOLE week. Now, if I can only figure out a way around those fucking chocolate eggs I’ll be golden.

I only lost one pound this week (stupid nachos). I have 38.5 to go.

It's a new one - I better pace myself

I’m having drinks tomorrow night with the a group of ladies I worked with ten years ago. It’s amazing I still even know these women, considering when we worked together I was very young and pretty much a dumb-ass. We worked in the ‘sales and marketing’ department of an insurance company. That sounds really dull, but actually, it was kind of awesome. One year we entered a team in the local Dragon Boat festival (long canoes paddled by semi-drunk people wearing matching t-shirts) and called ourselves the S & M Dragon Warriors. Get it? The S &M Dragon Warriors?? Aren’t we clever? We even had a banner designed that included a logo with a large cartoon dragon sporting a dog collar and a whip. Yeah, it was insurance, but we managed to make it cool. That was a long time ago, and I’m still in touch with my ladies. This, along with my recent career change, has made me think a lot about co-workers and the role they play in our lives.

Co-workers are a mysterious thing. They’re sort of like in-law’s – life just assigns them to you on a totally random basis. You have no say whatsoever in who they are, but more often than not you spend more time with this ad-hoc group of people then you do your own family or friends. You get to choose your husband, you get to choose your friends, but your co-workers are completely pre-determined. As a result, you need to think more strategically about how you manage these pre-assigned relationships, especially when they're brand new. When do you get to talk about your weekend and mention the drunken escapade to the gay bar? When do you get to say ‘fuck’ without feeling like a serial killer? When do you get to sing ABBA songs in your office in a weird falsetto voice when you can’t stand the hummmmmmmm of the fluorescent lights anymore? Ahem…not that I would WANT to do that…..

Counting my new position, I have now had four ‘real’ jobs in my life. I’m not counting the years of total shit ‘I just need rent money’ kind of jobs (I’ve had a million of those), but four honest to god, career-esque kind of jobs. Thinking back to each of those I remember less about the actual work and more about the people I was working with. Some of them were the greatest people ever. Some of them totally sucked ass. Some of them I wouldn’t remember if you put a gun to my head, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were part of my separate world that no one in my ‘real’ life gets to be a part of.

Starting a new job has made me wonder….how does the real life FoN match up with the work FoN? If you asked my friends who I have known for twenty years what they think of me and the type of person I am, would you get the same answers as when you asked my work friends? Not sure. I bet you wouldn’t. Work is a very different environment, and even when you get comfortable and form real friendships, you still have to be a different person than you are in your regular life. Okay, maybe not different, necessarily, but certainly modified. However, the longer you work someplace, the more of the ‘real’ you comes out. What makes a good workplace? When the ‘real’ you comes out and it turns out to be a good thing.

I better pace myself though. Too much of the real FoN might just freak them the hell out. I don’t think they’re ready for the sadomasochistic dragon banner quite yet.

Fat Chick vs. Food - Week Thirteen

I have officially completed my first three months. I have been working with Trainer Lady since January 8th, and at my session last week she decided to re-check my measurements. If you will recall, my first meeting with Trainer Lady was a lesson in humiliation. This time, the measuring was far less horrifying:

Here is the new vs. old:

Big and Fat FoN (Jan 8th)

Chest: 43.5
Waist: 40
Hip: 49 (ugh, that one hurts)


Moderately Chubby FoN (March 24th)

Chest: 40.5
Waist: 35
Hip: 40.5

You betcha ladies – that is a total inches down of 16.5! Almost nine of that has come off my ass alone. I’m pretty pleased with myself. However…I must say I am starting to miss my boobs. The girls were the only good thing about getting fat, and now they are disappearing and I can’t wear any of my good bra's. But, let’s look on the bright side. My ass is now less Rosanne Barr and more J-Lo. Alright, that might be getting carried away. My ass is now more J-Loish. I’m Jloish. FoN Jloish, that’s me. If I ever have to flee the country at the last minute and need an alias, I'm totally using that one.

Anyhoo – this week was not only the end of my first three months of Fat Chick vs. Food, but it marked the last full week at my job. So what does that have to do with a Fat Chick post you ask? Umm….well…it meant that I cheated a LOT this week. Tons of food, drinks, drinks, some food and maybe a few drinks here and there. Let me put it this way – Friday night found me and my soon-to-be former co-workers at the gay bar at 2:30 am doing the Thriller dance and drinking some kind of liquor that tasted like apples.

I would normally be beating myself up about sucking on the ol’ diet this week, but it’s been an emotional week that had me focusing more on my impending career change and less on the size of my ass. I still did manage five days of exercise though, so I was able to stop the bleeding a little and didn't gain anything this week. I didn't lose anything either, but whatever. Watching Cutie Pie get down with his bad self was totally worth it.