An update of sorts.

So I guess the writing has been a little spotty for the past year. What can I say. I’m kind of an all-or-nothing girl, which is something I need to change — for a lot of reasons (food being one of them). It’s good for my well-being to write. So I’m going to write when I can. That may mean once a week… or once every three weeks. We’ll see. Seeing that some of you are still out there, waiting for some sign of untitledlife is humbling as well. I am amazed that anyone is still out there. So thanks for pulling me back into the fray.

I have a lot to update you on. Let’s see. I’ve lost 108 pounds and now weigh 255 pounds. It’s a lot, but it could be more. That makes me a size 22, and a 20 sometimes. I’m tall and curvy, so I think it looks better than it sounds. I think. I’ll post some pictures here soon. I’m just happy to not be the fattest person in the room anymore. There I go with my lofty goals. But really, I’m quite happy with my weight loss. I hope it continues. I’ll get into it more in a future post.

We’re also trying to get pregnant, but it’s not going so well. My eggs are follicly challenged. Or follicly collicky, as I like to say. I have PCOS, so I have plenty of eggs, but they’re all duds. I’m taking Metformin to control the cysts, and I’ll start Clomid next month. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to shots, with a dash of intra-uterine insemination thrown in for kicks. After all, it’s not a party until someone jacks off in the closet. In a sterile specimen container. With four nurses in latex gloves outside the door. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to in-vitro. Good times. Expensive times.

I get a little crazy about this whole infertility thing. It really pisses me off that I have no control over this. Surely there must be something I can do to make this happen. I have way too much love for one child to bear. I can’t possibly expect untitledson to shoulder all these kisses, hugs and ear nibbles. They will destroy him, or at the very least, turn him into one of those boys who sits home with his mother to watch “Dancing with the Stars” and knit cat berets. The boy needs a relief pitcher. Or someone smaller and weaker than him to endure the occasional noogie. And if mommy has to endure the bi-weekly transvaginal ultrasound to make it happen, so be it.

My mother, the twat.

All of you with kids – does your mother charge you for babysitting?

I’m not talking regular sitting, because that, in my mind, would call for some remuneration. I’m talking once-in-a-blue-moon sitting. In fact, this is only the second time we’ve ever asked untitledmother to watch untitledson in all of his four years. I’ve got to ask, because untitledmother recently charged me $100 for watching untitledson for one week. It was during a Montessori sabbatical, and the sitter we had lined up bailed at the last minute. We were in a major bind.

So I called untitledmother about two weeks prior and asked her to come down for a week and watch him. “I can even pay you,” I said, being what I thought was gracious and now know was just plain foolish. “Yes, I can do that. But I WILL need to get paid, since I am taking some days off work.” “That’s fine,” I said, since I had no other options. I mean, she wouldn’t actually follow through and demand payment, would she? I thought that perhaps after spending some time with her untitledson, she’d melt a bit and see that taking money for watching one’s own grandchild would be a bit callous. I was wrong. She cashed that check faster than Larry Birkhead.

A little context here – two weeks after watching untitledson, I took off four days of work to stay with her during her bariatric surgery. During this time, I incurred numerous expenses, including about $100 in gas and $60 in meals. This doesn’t even count the pain and suffering I endured while watching her sleep off the anesthesia (which was like watching an old troll suffocating on her own neck fat).

During the hospital stay, I had to beg her to spring for my motel room (she was going to make me sleep in a hospital recliner, until hospital staff informed her that isn’t appropriate). Did I ask for reimbursement for my meals and parking and gas? No. Did she even offer reimbursement for these things? No. So how can she charge me for watching untitledson, knowing that in two weeks, I was going to take four vacation days and numerous hits to the pocketbook to take care of her?

What a twat.What makes me fume even more is that every year, she watches her granddaughter (my brother’s daughter) for one week during the summer. She takes about three days off work, and pays daycare for the other days. Total cost to my brother = $0. Why does she charge me for sitting, but not him?

I’d bring up all this fuckery to her, but she has a way of justifying everything in her own mind. It’s the same thing that makes her quietly retreat when it comes time to pay for dinner. She’ll weakly say, “Oh, let me get that…” as I pick up the bill, and drop her hand back to her lap before I can even respond.I believe in karma, in so much that it is my karmic responsibility to usher justice to her doorstep. I’d love to recoup my $100 (and the $160 she owes me for the gas and meal expenses I incurred during her surgery stay). But teaching her a lesson is most important here.

Oh, did I mention that I have her credit card info written down here in my dayplanner? Seriously, I do. Half-tempted to publish it right here and let you guys have it at.

Easter Monday.

I am not dead. Life’s just gotten away from me here… but I promise I’m still around. I am working on a longer post for tomorrow, but until then, here’s a teaser of what’s up:

I am fine (now down to 267 pounds, bitches).

I am wearing size 22 pants (used to wear size 34).

untitledmother has now had the surgery too (another story altogether).

untitledmother recently charged me $100 to babysit untitledson for one week (don’t even get me started, OK now I’ve started myself – post forthcoming).

untitledhusband has been wicked busy with freelance work (thus my absence, being as shit and household chores run downhill).

I just dropped $600 on Pottery Barn bedding (what the hell is WRONG with me?).

I am starting up a charity fund (to pay off my Pottery Barn bedding).

I’ve been listening to Kanye’s new album and loving it.

Do these shorts hide my thunder?

untitled winehouse

Gosh, I feel a tad sheepish even posting, it’s been so damn long. Perhaps it would be less awkward if I just faded away into blog oblivion. Work’s been a shitstorm as of late, and I barely have time for my 3 o’clock popcorn. Blasphemy.

Don’t know if I’m looking any smaller, but I thought I’d flop it out on the table for you all to see anyway. Let’s see, as of this morning, I have lost a total of 85 pounds (65 since day of surgery). I am size 24/26 now, which means not only can I shop in Lane Bryant. I’m not even the biggest size in Lane Bryant. (If you feel the tremor where you’re at, that’s me shaking my bony ass).

Only 65 pounds, and you had surgery five months ago? Well, yes. Turns out I’m a slow loser. There are these old women on www.obesityhelp.com that have lost 20 pounds more than me at this point, and they don’t even exercise. Argggh! It’s kind of a bummer, but oh well. I have to stay focused on the big picture. I weigh 85 pounds less than last summer. Even if I didn’t lose another pound, it would’ve been worth it.

Last month, I lost like one or two pounds. Talk about a mindfuck. Meanwhile, I lost two inches from my waist. Anyone who diets has to know this happens. Now I’m losing again, but the inches are staying stable. The body is a fucked up temple filled with evil gnomes. The kind that make you weigh 280 this hour, and 276 next hour. I mean, seriously. There’s just no excuse for those shenanigans.

After doing a little research, I found out that the main reason that I am a slow loser is that my surgeon bypasses less intestine (like 105 cm). The benefit is that I have fewer food intolerances and nutrient malabsorption issues. In other words, I won’t be sucking up what’s left of my bones with a Dustbuster when I’m 50. The drawback — the weight comes off slower. At the end of year one, we all supposedly even out.

The hardest part right now? I’d say the eating. If I eat even a few bites past my limit, I am very uncomfortable. To the point where it just feels better to throw up. Don’t worry – there’s no looming bulimia here. If I was capable of bulimia, I would’ve fully embraced it and I wouldn’t have needed surgery.

There’s no pattern as to what makes me sick. I’ve thrown up on a small quantity of light microwave popcorn (which I’ve eaten many times before and many times after without consequence). I’ve also thrown up on, duh, a Cadbury egg (bock bock UGGGGGGGGH), a too-big protein bar (maltitol sweetener), and a Smart Ones fettucine and broccoli meal. Meanwhile, I have tolerated chips and queso and M&Ms (again, small quantities and not very often). So like I said, no rhyme or reason. I just have to come to terms with the fact that every now and then, I will hurl. But again — it’s worth it.

The most unexpected part? Ah, there are many. I was surprised at how quickly I began to feel better. After 20 pounds lost, I had exponentially more energy. My blood pressure had dropped considerably as well. My mental state, which I did not realize was suffering, has also improved. When you feel good and look good (comparitively), everything just seems sunnier. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday seem more like Friday, if you know what I mean.

I have also been surprised at how I have taken to exercise. I work out 4-5 days each week, doing 32 minutes on the elliptical, and about 15-20 minutes of weights. It’s not a leisurely workout, with me reading Good Housekeeping or something. I really get after it. The proof is in my hair. When I return to work after my lunchtime workout, I look like a truckstop whore who bathes in a bathroom sink. untitledhusband would say that’s completely unrelated to my workout, bless his heart.

I do see loose skin – under my chin, arms, stomach and thighs. I hope it firms up a bit. I have read that the slow losers like me usually have less problems with loose skin, so I hope that’s the case. I’ve also read that exercise really helps. Don’t know if this is true, but I’ll keep at it, especially since I actually enjoy it now.

About four to six weeks ago, the comments started flowing in, all of a sudden. “What are you doing?” “Oh my gosh, you are melting away!” “You’ve lost a shitload of weight, right?” That last one is my personal favorite. It’s more awkward than I expected, because after the compliment is given, an explanation is expected. With most people, I just say I’m eating less and exercising more — which is completely true. With people who look like they could use the surgery themselves, I am honest. I don’t usually like to bend over like that, but if one person goes on to have the surgery, it will be worth it. I find myself wanting to go up to certain people and say, “Seriously, just go have this done. You will thank me.” But I can’t do that.

All in all, this whole process has been so much easier than I ever thought it would be. I never feel deprived. I’m always satisfied. My cravings are like one-fourth of what they used to be. Don’t get me wrong — it hasn’t been a cure-all. I do have to work at it, getting my protein and working out and drinking all that water. But I finally feel like I have the same willpower and ability to be satisfied as everyone else.

Now I don’t know if this is just my perception or not. But I feel like people actually see me as a person now, worthy of having a door held open for her. Worthy of a first conversation. Worthy of respect. Before, I felt like an obese object. I had to work to peak people’s interest. My personality had to make up for my shitty clothes and all that fat. I don’t feel like this anymore, even though I am still quite fat. It’s amazing how much confidence returns with the ability to cross one’s legs. And I will continue crossing them until the surgeon uncrosses them for my varicose vein surgery when I’m 40.

Perhaps this wasn’t my most humorous post. But it’s where I’m at right now, as I sit on my porch listening to Wilco and the crickets. Give me a few days, and I’ll tell you all about how untitledmother bought a sweet little dog and returned it within three days, all because it was “too much work.” What a fucking loveless hag. Oh, don’t get me started… I need to go watch TV.

Speaking of TV… a free bariatric protein shake — banana flavored — to anyone who can attribute the title of this post.