Thursday, August 21, 2008

Even I Don't Read My Blog. And That Has Cost Me Dearly.

If you're a fan of the Boredom Blog, you may remember this little humdinger of a post where I mention that Bank of America is now charging a three-dollar ATM fee for non-customers. Hmm, what's that you say? You don't remember? Um, yeah, me either, because in a fit of desperation (I was wearing heels!) last weekend, I totally made the mistake of using one of their machines. That coupled with my bank's "convenience fee" (read: "Sucka! I can't believe you just paid me to do NOTHING!"), means I paid a $4.50 surcharge just to get enough cash to get a cab home from midtown (and before you snark, it was like 2:30 AM, the trains were all wonky, and I live in Brooklyn, for god sakes. Have a heart!). Adding to the list yet another reason why Suze Orman won't return my calls.

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I Wish Someone Would Do Something About How Fat I Am*

Okay, a few days ago I wrote a platitude-laden blog about how my current weight-loss plateau has helped me to re-evaluate my definition of weight-loss success. Desperation has since caused me to re-re-evaluate the situation and deem that seemingly noble sentiment complete and utter bullshit. Because after 21+ days, all I* DO* care about right now is the fact that my scale appears to be a capricious asshole who takes delight in taunting me with my non-progress.

As I’ve previously asserted, I am truly a scientist at heart (admittedly though, less of an Albert Einstein and more of an L. Ron Hubbard), and as such, have taken pains to thoroughly research possible solutions to this crisis (read: I’ve Googled the term “weight-loss plateau” incessantly over the past few weeks). The challenge is, every website says the same thing – Increase your caloric intake. Increase your activity level. Decrease your reliance on the scale as an indicator of success. All of which I’ve done. And, still…. NOTHING! I am just as scale-disadvantaged as I was a fortnight and a half ago!

While I’ve tried to appease myself with alternative metrics (like the fact that my once aspirational “skinny pants” are now loose on me, or that I’m able to work out for incredibly long periods without tiring), I can’t help but feel that it’s utter bullshit. Because my goal when I started wasn’t “Be able to wear outdated pants that reek of mothballs and desperation” or “Ellipticate (It’s a word. Look it up. Make sure you use my dictionary) ad nauseam, ad infinitum.” My goal was to have a kick-ass body like Britney’s. You know, before the babies. But even that b*tch is on the front page of OK! touting her rapid weight-loss success, proving that even an overexposed underdeveloped tartlet who is an epic FAIL at almost everything not involving hip gyrations or pedophiliac allusions can do it. And now my resolve is fading faster than Rick Ross’s street cred (Although kudos to him on the perfect attendance reward. It has to be hard to prison guard every night when everyday you’re hustling).

So I implore you dear reader, what can I do to bust out of this dreaded plateau? Eating disorders are out of question. After all, I want to lose weight, not end up being played by
Raven SymonĂ© (I know, I questioned the casting decision too) in a Lifetime Movie of the Week. Similarly, celebrity diets are also not going to work because I a) Don’t have a gazillion dollars to “invest” in my ass and b) if I did, I would probably just buy Eva Mendez and make her impersonate me (What?!?! I saw her in the clearance aisle at Costco, so I just assumed). So please post your helpful suggestions in Comments. All mean/snarky comments can be directed to your mother’s answering machine, because she’s probably the reason you’re so bitter anyway.

*Yes, I steal content. But I make it better by properly inserting it into topic, no?

PHOTO: If you're going to cast someone as me in a movie, may I make a humble suggestion? Because this is the exact face I make every morning when pondering breakfast selections. Or why it is that black face is still so taboo.

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Word of the Day: Ellipticate

Main Entry: Ellipticate
Function: verb
intransitive verb1 a: To use the elliptical machine; specifically: to move both feet in opposing directions in a running motion on a machine specifically designed to minimize impact. b: To abandon high-impact activities (e.g. running, etc.) for a lower-impact workout.

a: I ellipicated at the gym for over 2 hours yesterday.
b: After I pulled that last hammy, my doctor suggested I ellipticate my current routine.

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Monday, August 18, 2008

Please Stop Assuming that I Have a Drug Problem.

If you're my friend, you may have recently noticed that I dropped a few pounds. Ninety, to be exact. It's been a slow, steady process fraught (I've been waiting all week to use that word) with challenges, but I've persevered. Until recently.

The thing is, I hit a giant brick wall a few weeks ago. It's odd -- on the surface, it was made up of seemingly small things -- the backhanded compliments I had received from friends ("Seriously, are you on coke?"), the hopefully broken Taylor scale (which despite my best efforts, has refused to budget from 178), the excess skin on my now-deflated breasts. Taken individually, they would have been manageable, but collectively, they felt insurmountable.

And just when I started to feel sorry (and angry) at myself for failing once again, I did what any good scientist (or bullshit artist) would do -- I reassessed my metrics. My weight might be fixed, but I've dropped over 5% body fat in the last month alone. I just signed up for a introduction to ballet workshop, something that I would have never had the courage to do in the past. And shopping has regained its rightful place as my preferred lunchtime activity. For everything I've sacrificed, I've gained something new -- maybe not what I was expecting, or even hoping for, but more often, something better -- something I didn't even realize I was missing.

Maybe this then is the key to weight loss success -- the moment you realize that it is about so much more than a number on a scale. It's the sense of accomplishment that is instantly recognizable by everyone I see. The feeling that I CAN do anything that I set my mind to; I can succeed where so many others have failed, I can climb Mount Everest without freezing to death. I've come so far, to not finish now would be insanity.

So I will continue to demure when you inquire as to my drug of choice (after all, every good bad girl needs some sort of bad habit, even if only imagined), research (healthy) ways to ramp up my cardio, and start saving up for a breast lift. Because, as tough as it has been, it's still a hundred times better than the alternative.

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