The Size 12 Myth

December 30, 2012

50 pounds to go

Ah, Maryilyn Monroe.  The icon.  The curves.  The sexiness.  The idol us "real women" put on a pedestal and say "if I were a size 12, my body would look exactly like her.  She was a real woman with real curves."  Early on in this adventure, I said the same thing to myself.  And I wondered, when I get to a size 12, will my sizing be the same?  Let's take a look:

Thank you Mike for being my photographer.

It took 50 pounds of weight loss to get to a size 12.  And right now I am a solid 12.  What does this mean?  I affectionately referred to myself as a "fat 16" when I started this journey.  This means that I could squeeze into a 16 but it was uncomfortable.  Then I became a solid 16.  Then a skinny 16.  Then I moved on to a fat 14 and so on.  This also means when I go to the store I can pick up any size 12 and get into it, whereas when I'm a "fat 12" in some stores there's no hope for me.  

So what is the industry standard for a size 12?  Well, there is none.  You may widen your eyes and say "how can that be?" Because no one made a rule that said "A size 12 shall be a bust of 38, waist of 31 and hips of 42.  And so it was known."   I even took a look online at the stores I frequent and each one had a different measurement for a size 12:

Store	Bust	Waist	Hips
J Pederman	38.5	31	41
Ann Taylor	38.5	31	41
Pin Up girl	40	31	41
New York and Company	39.5	31.5	42
Dress Barn	39.5	31.5	42
Old Navy	38.5	30.5	41.5
Jones New York	39	32	41.5

An inch or two of fluctuation may not seem like a lot, but I've noticed with myself it takes about 10 pounds of weight loss to lose an inch in my waist.  That means whatever store I go to, I can be 20 pounds heavier in some cases and still get into the outfit.

Here is something that is even more mind boggling to me: I'm 5'4 and my measurements are 41-33-43 yet I can comfortably get into size 12's (no laying down or acrobatics to button the pants.) but clearly I should be too fat according to the size charts.  What is going on here?  Are the charts lying?  Is it the friendly "stretch" fabric?  Is it the "relaxed" waistband?  Is it the gaucho-cut legs? As a company if I say the waist is a 31 but make it 30% spandex you bet that bitch is going to be able to stretch an extra couple of inches.  Meaning there is a 10 - 30 pound spread where women can still get in even though they shouldn't be able to.  Each company sets their own standard, and many are prone to this "vanity sizing."  Slap on a "12" label on and us 14's and 16's can feel better about ourselves by squeezing our wobbly legs into them.  I may not be able to breathe but I don't care.  I'm in the pants.  Company sells more pants, we get a self-esteem boost.  It's a win-win.  (Except for the fundamental lie but who cares about that?)

Let's take another look at Marilyn.  She was still one sexy hot mama.  No one seems to know what size she was.  Take into account all the modern fluctuation in size 12s, then realize (could not find a documented standard) that a size 12 was probably smaller back in the 50's and 60's.  Plus, I would imagine they weren't meshing everything with spandex meaning that a size 12 would have been much less forgiving than it is today.  Look around on the internet and she was a size 8!  No, a 12!  Some even claim a 14.  If she was a size 14 then I'm a banana.  Let's take a look at the side-by-side from some different angles:

The frontal pictures in the beginning of this blog are much more flattering to my body image.  Then with Marilyn there's a hint of her vag which I think is what makes men go nuts.  The second two pictures are less forgiving.  In the top one you can see that my legs are thicker and a hint of a belly.  Then in the last one there are no secrets.  My boobs are bigger.  There is an ass there.  I have a belly.  A hint of the dreaded cellulite (goddamn it legs, I've told you time and time again not to be so lumpy!) and my arms are bigger.  I'm not getting down on myself, I'm just looking at it with a cold eye.  Plus, Marilyn was clearly good at posing whereas I am no where near ready to audition for America's Next Top Model.  (Where is your barbie toe?  Find the light!  Pop your booty!)  

Clearly, we can't both be 12's so what were Marilyn's hard numbers?  When I was doing the research for this blog a few months ago my Mom asked with baited breath, "so what were they?"  According to her dressmaker, she was 5' 5 1/2" and her measurements were 36-24-37.  At her skinniest she was 118 pounds and at the height she was 140.  Her bra size was 36D.  My mom was crestfallen.  "So she was thin."

With those measurements according to today's wacky standards she would be between an 8 - 10.  But that's just with her bust and hips measurements, her waist was unusually tiny and was the equivalent of a modern day size 6.  After looking at the numbers, she had unusually pronounced proportions.  What I mean by this, is the difference between my waist and bust is 8 inches, creating the "curve" look.  Hers was 12 inches meaning her waist nipped in 33% more from her boobs than mine do. That is a whole hell of a lot, and not normal.  Let that sink in for a moment.

The current "curvy" poster child is Christina Hendricks (Joan from Mad Men) who has slapped around a reporter for calling her "full figured."  This is another celebrity synonym for 'fat' which actually does mean fat: full-figured (adj) having an amply proportioned or heavy body.  I would have slapped the bitch too.  Back in my first blog I admitted to my girl-crush on her and it still holds true.  I think she looks amazing.  She looks real.  She is fucking sexy.  And side by side, at my current size, it looks pretty accurate:

To be fair, that dress was a little tight on me.  Am I supposed to be able to breathe?  No?  Well, then it's perfect.  (My favorite quote from "The Prince and Me."  Yes, I watched it.  Stop judging.)  Christina had officially told the press she's a size 14 but her weight isn't listed anywhere.  I would hazard a guess she's at least 30 pounds thinner than I am, putting her in a healthy BMI range. Besides having a a waist even I drool over, she shouldn't be the poster child for "curvy" but the poster child for NORMAL. 

I have come to detest the word "curvy" to describe women.  Recently it has become synonymous with "fat."  She's not a blob she's curvy.  Every celebrity out there who has a little meat on her bones past looking like a 12 year old boy is curvy.  Then even women who are rail thin strike some sort of pose in a bathing suit and are pronounced curvy in rag mags.  My understanding is that curvy is having an hourglass figure - meaning your waist nips in from your boobs and hips making it look like there is a literal curve.  I inherited the german-stock-wench-genes for my DD boobs and ass, so I feel that I have the right to say I'm curvy.  Kristen Stewart and Taylor Swift do not.

Again, any woman plastered on the TV who is bigger than a size 2 has the caption "look at her embracing her curves!"  Scarlett Johansan, Beyonce, Kim Kardashian, Jennifer Lopez.  I will eat my hat if any of those ladies are bigger than a size 6.  (I've said this to girls I know who are thin and it makes them mad which shows how deeply rooted this idea of "curvy" is in our culture.)  These women are not fat!  They don't get any skinnier, it's how they are built.  They literally have the boobs and the bone structure to justify it.  And in some cases more heavily pronounced than the average bear which is why we point and gawk so frequently.  You may be able to hear the thunk of my anger-typing as I write this.  It really does piss me off that a size 6 could be considered fat.  It's thin!  And the size 2 we see on models are so thin that they officially are underweight.  They start being underweight at 129 pounds if they're 5'11" or taller.  It is a fundamental lie that they are healthy.  Then the ladies who are at a healthy weight with "curves" are being subtly shifted into being perceived as "overweight."  Then all us normal "size 12s" try to squish into stretch jeans and are left with no real tether into reality.  It's all fucked.

So in the end, me saying I'm a 12 is a myth.  It is not true.  My pants say 12, but I look like a 14. Clothing companies have deceived me with their sizing and if they were not forgiving I would be a 14.  Again, in the media, women who are normal sized - meaning in a healthy weight range -  (of which there are 5) are pronounced fat.  Then women who are thin (size 8 or smaller in my eyes) are pronounced curvy.  Finally, women who are underweight are declared normal.  In reality, 68.8% of the U.S. population is overweight or obese (Source: NHANES, 2009–2010) and we're light-years away from achieving the underweight ideal.  In fact, it is something we will probably never achieve but at least I know where I stand. 

Having a 'hollow' day.

December 22, 2012

50 pounds to go

Where are the cheese crunchies and veggie chips?

To be fair, I stole this phrase from The Hunger Games.   Not to compare my over-privileged middle class life to that of Katniss Everdeen, (or that I've been hiding in trees from radioactive bees) but I have had the feeling of being able to eat a house and still feel hungry.  Those times when it doesn't matter what I eat, or the volume of eating - full never comes and I'm hunting around my house for something to make me feel better.  

Before I started managing what I eat earlier this year, I could go on some spectacular food binges.  Put it in front of me and I could put it away.  Huge noodle dishes.  Fast food.  Big fuck-off sandwiches.  And beer.  I still love beer even though it gives me a gluten headache the next day.  I stay away from it now ninety nine percent of the time, but once in awhile I say "it's not going to hurt me THIS time."  Nope.  Headache.  Pay the price bitch for this beer.  Anyway, I loved to eat.  And it wasn't just the love of eating - in times of extreme stress it felt like my digestive system was on overdrive.  Even though I was packing in these huge portions of food I never felt comfortably (or uncomfortably) full.  It was all I wanted and I could never seem to get there.  I'd eat lunch and say "why am I still hungry? What can I eat to fix this?"  So I'd go eat more and still be a bottomless pit.

I thought I kicked this problem in the ass a few months ago when I discovered that gluten and simple carbohydrates were spiking my blood sugar -- like a ninja in my stomach preventing the "I'm full" triggers from activating.  I threw that stuff out of my diet, upped my protein and started eating baked potatoes instead of fries, and found out that fat free refried beans mixed in anything is satisfying.  If all else fails eat a bowl of cooked broccoli smothered in light laughing cow cheese wedges (120 calories) then chug a glass of water.  I had found the cure to 'not full.'   Alas, this last week it stopped working.  I still was scuttling along eating my normal choices and suddenly I wasn't full when I was done with lunch.  I came home and my normal dinner combos weren't doing the trick.  I paced around my living room after watching the Gossip Girl finale (I'm still reeling.  Lonelyboy?  What a fucking girl.) baffled why I still felt like raiding the fridge even though I had just eaten an 800 calorie meal filled with all the right choices.

There are three things that I can do in this situation:

1) Give up and order a pizza.

2) Chug a glass of water / get a cup of coffee / a cup of tea

3) Go do something else.

Once and awhile I still give in and eat an extra helping of cheese crunchies (just a few hundred extra calories, not the whole hog) which I did a lot of this week.  Sometimes I recognize the 'hungry'  go chug a big glass of water or non calorie beverage just to keep my mouth occupied.  (Yes Mike, that's what she said.)  However, I almost always forget, and rarely deliberately go do something else to distract myself because all else has failed.

Last night on day 4 of bottomless pit week I realized that I have been under an abnormal amount of stress.  This should trigger the 'duh' reaction as I've been dealing with a company take-over for the past 3 months, but I was doing fine.  What made this week so fucking different?  Now that I'm a ladder-climbing manager in a privately owned company the threat of "I own you" has been ominously hanging over my head.  Truth be told, I'm exhausted (again, duh, I've had 4 aura-blinding-firework-show migraine headaches in the last month.  It's not really funny when I'm sitting at my desk and am temporarily blinded by a light show) and I know it.  I need a break.  I have a vacation planned but now that it's on the books I have 3 huge projects that have been dumped on my desk.  "Work on it over the holidays."  Break means going away.  Break means detaching for a few days so I can catch my breath and do these projects well.  Break means not taking phone calls.  Break means not checking my email.  I will not be owned.

Deep breathes.  Pick your battles.  Put down the chocolate.  Now is not the time to shout "the emperor has no clothes!  You are out of your fucking mind!"  Or draw a huge dancing penis on my boss's door because at least that would make me laugh during this insanity.  After I had a teeth-grinding drive home yesterday and scared the shit out of Mike with my grump-face I just vegged out for a few hours and ruminated on my "I'm never full" and work situation.  This isn't the end of the world.  And I'm very good at my job.  Next week will be quiet, and in all likeliness I can get these projects done (for the most part) before I leave on my vacation.  Plus, I know that no one else is going to do it on time so I'm going to look like a hero.  And as far as being made to work on my vacation?  I'll be going to Antarctica -- I hear the reception is terrible.  In all seriousness, I'm still relatively new at this company since I was 'acquired' and now is not the time to make a huge fuss.

So bottom line is: my stress trigger is still what is causing this.  It's just hidden down deeper and takes longer to detonate now that I've gotten a better hold on my food-emotion-connection issues.  Once I came up with a game plan last night (even though it's still mildly overwhelming) I felt better.  Also, "I'm full" miraculously returned this morning after I ate breakfast.  (Yummy breakfast burrito guts of potatoes, scrambled eggs, sour cream, salsa and fat free refried beans.  465 calories.  Still bursting.)

Maybe it's a good thing that I experienced 'hollow' this week because I know I have to re-asses how to manage my stress.  It's not necessarily a good thing that I have to cope with this huge pile of it, but it's what I've chosen and the bottom line is I do like my job.  I like the level of responsibility I have and even in moments of "I want to draw a penis on your door" I still like the people I work for.  They're mostly in the same boat that I am, respect me and have a good sense of humor.  The fact that my boss was quoting "Office Space" the other day while dumping a project on my desk made me crack up.  They don't care if a random "oh fuck" slips from my mouth (which happens) and the first time I said "are you nuts?" on a project timeline I got the reaction "I like her, she tells the truth" instead of "Do it!  You're my minion.  You minion-y minion grunt.  Get to work!"

When I don't manage my stress and my expectations at work a layer of mild discontent forms underneath my surface.  I feel depressed without knowing why.  I feel out of control.  I feel like eating a monster burrito.  A life lived in mild discontent is a wasted life.  To go way down deep into the pit of philosophy; is re-assessing my stress and coming at my life from a different angle an illusion I create for myself to cope?  Or do I really feel happy now?  Only I can determine that.  It takes a lot of guts, and honest assessing to come up with a real answer with only my own experience to draw from.  Many moons ago when I worked at the bookstore, I fucking hated my job.  I kept ladder climbing but it wasn't helping.  I would be so miserable I would cry for no reason sometimes.  That deep rooted feeling of "I don't want to go" or "I hate my job" or "I am never going to get out of this" or "I'm stuck" haunted me when I woke up in the morning.  I look back at it now and I was wasting my life in a pool of mild discontent.  Saving up my money and quitting that job was the best present I ever gave myself.  And I can say I don't feel discontent in my job now.

Life was never meant to be a flat, hill-less boring ride into the boneyard.  I know instinctively that there are going to be periods of great stress and periods of great joy.  When it's really bad (like it was this last week) I have to step back and say "this is just a shitty week."  And now it's not.  

The secret to life.

The guilt

December 16, 2012

50 pounds to go

Pleasedon'tjudgemepleasedon'tjudgemepleasedon'tjudgemepleasedon'tjudgemepleasedon'tjudgeme.

I have hit the '50 pounds lost' milestone and had a dance party in my bathroom this morning.  Then Mike joined me for a dance party later in the kitchen.  

The compliments and feedback that I have been receiving in the past few weeks have subtly shifted from "you are looking good" to "how much more weight do you want to lose?"  Here is my standard canned response: "I set a goal for myself in the beginning that I want to lose 100 pounds because that's what the weight loss clinic / doctor told me.  So that means I have 50 pounds left to go.  I am going to continue on this adventure until I achieve my goal because I've never been able to do that before.  Once I get there, if I feel I'm too thin, I will put on a few pounds until I have the body that I've always wanted to have.  If I feel like I need to lose a few more pounds, then I'll do that.  We'll see when I get there. "  When I say this, I inherently feel guilty.  Like my goal is too low and I shouldn't want to be that thin.  Or, I can feel the judgement wafting off the other person which says:

"You look good already."

"50 more pounds is too many."

"You will be too thin if you lose 50 more pounds."

"You are in danger of becoming an anorexic if you lose that much more weight."

"That is unhealthy."

And, there is the shadenfreude lurking beneath the surface which says:

"You'll never be able to achieve that"

"You'll just gain all the weight back once you get there."

Or, if the person is an inherently angry or judgmental who is also overweight, it's almost as if my weight loss makes them mad or uncomfortable.  I went into this awkward feeling in more detail earlier in my posts, so I will refrain from doing it again now.   Ultimately, I know it's something that's going on with them, not me, so I have to learn how to not let that feeling affect me.  However, those emotions have definitely detonated in the last few weeks.

Getting back to the original discussion: is 50 pounds more too many?  If I were to announce my number, and instantaneous judgment also comes tagging along.  Just pick one.  Two hundred.  Two twenty.  One eighty.  One fifty.  One seventy five. One thirty.  One eighteen.  Or as men like to say, "she couldn't be more than a buck-oh-five soaking wet. " I get this feeling that men think the normal weight range for women is between 105-130 pounds.  Anything over that is fat or overweight.  As we all know, everyone carries their weight differently.  If you are tall you will look thinner at 150 pounds.  If you are short, you will look fatter at 150 pounds.  If you have no muscle, it doesn't take too high of a number to look fat.  If you're a six foot three burlyman then 220 will look trim.  I have shared with a chosen few my number and typically the first reaction is surprise.  Really?  I didn't know it was that high.  Then when I say I want to lose 50 more pounds they say, "well, that sounds pretty reasonable."

What's your number?  Or have you already fled?

Everyone has a number in their head that is the ideal weight.  Then below or above is judgment.  It's different for everyone and it doesn't matter what the number in your head is, what matters is that if you're judging then people can FEEL that emanating off you.  Stop it!  Coming from a family that has vacillated up and down for a lifetime with weight (as well as combining with huge stuff-yourself-food-is-love parties) this conversation comes up a lot.  And we judge what the media portrays a lot.  And we judge women in magazines.  We judge our skinny friends.  We judge our fat friends.  We have a pastime of judging one another but not to their face.  Then we hear about it second hand.  So-and-so wants me to talk to you because you're too fat.  They're worried.  So-and-so wants me to talk to you because you're too skinny.  We're worried.  I know it's why I've plastered a big giant "stop" sign on my forehead for so many years and stayed at the same weight.  I was comfortable.  And secondly, what's it to you?  Why does my number matter so much?  As you can see, this detonates a bomb of self destructive thinking in my own mind, and what it comes down to is I want people to care about me, not the number on my bathroom scale.  Humans are judge-y people so I know inherently we can't help ourselves but it doesn't mean I can't feel annoyed.  What it comes down to is that I don't share my number because it's private.  I don't want to have to put up a shield of self-protection / rationalization that I know is coming if I were to share it.

Now that I'm I'm at the halfway point, I almost feel like I'm starting over with the comments and how I perceive my own body shape.  Going back to my very first post, I said: 

Do I really look like someone who seriously needs to lose weight and am deluding myself because I happen to like the way I look?  Do I have a skinny spirit inside a more-than-voluptious body?  Every time I see pictures of myself I cringe but when I look in the mirror I feel good….  When I've told those who are close to me that the number is 100 pounds they give me statements of disbelief.  Is it because we're all used to people being at least overweight if not obese?  Is it comfort talk?  Is it somewhere in the middle?  I'm finding more and more recently (like within the last 2 months) women who are seriously obese come up to me and saying things like "us girls have to stick together on this" and it makes me cringe inside.  I don't feel like I'm part of a fat club that needs defending."

I don't cringe when I look at pictures anymore, I feel pretty good about them.  Although once in awhile, someone still gets me at a very unflattering angle to which I say "Are you kidding me?? Delete that shit!  Immediately!"  Again, when it comes to my body shape: am I delusional or not delusional?  Do I still look overweight?  Do I look healthy? Do I look healthy because the majority of us are overweight or obese?  I still don't think I'm in the position to give a balanced answer to that question.  If I had to make one statement about my body shape without trying to sound conceited or defensive I would say that I am fortunate to have an hourglass figure that holds weight a little better and I think I have more muscle than the average bear because I have been fairly active from a young age.

Looking at the numbers with the cool eye of a doctor or weight loss clinic, there is a BMI chart that shows what is a healthy range for women by height and weight.  For me, I just exited the "obese" category and moved into "overweight."  In 30 pounds I will move from the "overweight" category into "healthy range."  Here's the thing, the healthy range has a 30 pound spread.  So really, I could lose 60+ more pounds and still be considered healthy.  And those are the facts ma'am.

The truth is, I want to lose 50 more pounds.  I've never seen my body at that size.  I want to know what my body looks like at that weight.  I want to achieve my goal.  I want to see if I will have that flat stomach sans pooch that I haven't seen since I was 14 years old and not fully developed so it doesn't count.  If I get there and I do look scary skinny where my head is too big for my body or my ribs are poking out like a starvation victim, then yes -- I'll put on a few pounds to look healthy.  And if I get there and I still have the belly pooch, in all honesty I'll probably try to keep going and get rid of it.  This is still my journey and I'm proud to be on the path.

Celebrity Obsession

December 9, 2012

53.9 pounds to go

Celebrity obsession is when I think I wake up in the morning and naturally look like this:

When in reality I look like this:

Or, if we're really being honest, when I sit down to write I mean business, pull my hair up and look like this:

The trends that celebrities wear change by the minute, but right now it's a short skirt, sparkly top, dangly accessories and hooker heels.  And good lighting.  And flattering photo angels.  I didn't have the requisite sparkly top, but I made do with a short black dress.  In that picture (which I took first this morning) I'm wearing more makeup than I would normally put on in a week, contacts, and spanks.  (Spanks are pantyhose that are so tight it makes breathing challenging.  It's the modern day girdle which also comes with a pee-hole so you don't have to struggle in the bathroom to pull them up and down.  In short, it's a torture device.)   Trying to look like a celebrity takes a lot of work.  

It seriously takes a village.

In reality, looks are part of a celebrity's job.  They have a stylist to pick out their clothes.  They have a makeup artist.  They have a personal hair professional.  About a year ago, I really wanted to become a redhead, and I lusted after Joan's hair in Mad Men.  Then I read an article in a magazine that they touched up her hair color every single week.  No wonder it looked perfect and I was so envious.  I certainly don't have the time to hit the salon every week for a touch up, or the money.  I have also read multiple times that celebrities are carefully prepared for any event, especially when it involves television.  There was a compelling story about Jennifer Lopez in a magazine by her makeup artist that said oftentimes she would have 2 or 3 wardrobe and make up changes a day.  First a TV interview, then an event then a dinner.  Each prep session required at least an hour or two and it sounded exhausting.  On top of the big three of hair, makeup and clothes there is the body.  They have personal trainers and chefs.  This means they have someone driving them to work out every day with an ideal regime.  And then the chef ready with their favorite, ideal body-shaping foods.

It doesn't mean that every single famous person out there has an entourage to enhance their beauty, but I would hazard a guess that the ones that are frequently scrutinized and photographed in magazines have at least a few of the perks that I listed in the earlier paragraph.  If I didn't have anything to do except work on being pretty my life would be very different than what it is now.  In short, to think I'm going to look celebrity-perfect, even at my ideal weight is unobtainable.  I don't have a village to help me.  Circling back to my reality pictures above, I don't wear heels on the weekends.  I wear ridiculous looking thick fuzzy socks around my house so I don't freeze.  I have cellulite.  Even when I was thinner in college (about 30 pounds less than I am now) I still had wobbly bits - a belly pooch and a layer of fat on my thighs.  And for some reason when I want to pick on myself I always scrutinize my legs.  Why do you look so lumpy legs??  You piss me off.  Thighs, I'm putting you on a disciplinary action plan.  And then despite all of my hard work there's still some flab at my ideal weight.  I know it will always be there, so I can't take too much time to worry about it.  This is what I've got, and if I really want to there are artistic ways to hide the stuff I don't like.  Such as longer skirts and posing.

Also, in my reality pictures I washed off all my makeup and pulled my hair back.  This is my ground zero with "pretty" and where I would spend a hell of a lot more time if I had a choice.  Right now, it's only after work and on the weekends, but it's the 'real' me.  I am not fond of wearing makeup even though I'm used to it.  Any member of my family will tell you that I fell like I am putting on 'war paint' every morning for work.  It's the mask we women are required to wear.  And the older I get, the more mask I want to put on.  Yes, I need this eye-bag remover!  Yes, I need mascara!  Yes, I want to 'glow' so I wear blush.  If I had a choice I would just put on my sunscreen and be done with it (the only real anti-aging magic cream out there).  A flip did happen a few years ago where I feel like I can't leave my house without putting on makeup.  It goes back to the argument of what I want to do versus what I feel like I have to do because society expects it of me.  It's still sticky and I can't quite explain it.

If you're wondering where you can witness celebrity obsession / mimicking in action go to Vegas.  You will see a museum full of short skirts and sequined tops.  When I went back in August, all of the girls were teetering around and I couldn't stop staring.  People-watching became a full time habit.  At one point I turned to Mike and said "are there even guys here?  I haven't noticed one, and I'm not even into girls."  On one night, we were at the Wynn at a club opening and it was a sparkly parade of celebrity wannabes.  At one point a girl walked by with sequined shorts that were so short that her ass cheeks quite literally poked out of the bottom.  I tugged on Mike's sweatshirt and said "sparkle butt!  I've found a sparkle butt!"  "Where? Where? Oooooh."  Then, when we went up to the Palms Ghost Bar, I had no idea what to wear.  Back when I was in college the uniform was tight pants, backless top and chunky heels.  So I put on a boob shirt, tight pants and chunky heels.  Man, did I feel old and out of place.  But the chocolate martinis were good.

Another place you can witness celebrity obsession is a college town on a Saturday night.  Last year for New Years we took a trip up to San Luis Obispo and that's where I learned that it is mandatory to wear something sparkly.  It seems like every age group of girls is susceptible to wanting to look famous.  Fourteen year old girls are wearing the uniform to their school dances.  College girls are wearing them to their drunk frat parties.  Girls my age are decked out at Vegas.  Women older than me are at and schmooze & booze events and country clubs. (I went to one last week for work and felt like I had been inducted as a WASP because I had three glasses of wine on an empty stomach.  Where are those damn waiters who are supposed to snack me to death with the appetizers?? Get your ass over here, I'm hungry!)   When does the obsession start?  When should it end?

I don't think it will ever end unless there is a massive collective shift in consciousness regarding women's looks.  Socially, I think we want to fit in and look like everyone else, but what is slapped in magazines and on TV is an unobtainable model.  Occasionally, celebrities will step out and have a carefully arranged photo shoot 'au naturale' with less photoshopping, makeup and hairstyling than usual but it's not the norm.  Us women glom onto it, point and say "look, she can be normal!  Like me!"  But in my mind, it's still one step above the status quo.  I don't think I'll ever be able to get there -- I can do my best, be healthy, control my food and invest in sparkly-butt shorts but I don't have the requisite village to help me.  What I do have is my own circle of support to stay on track.  It is my reality, lumpy legs and all.  I wish this is what the media would portray, but I know it's a stretch.  The best I can do is live in my own normal world, and not let "the celebrity" hurt my self esteem.  It takes work, but it's possible.

The Scale. (Dum da dum dum. Eeee!)

December 1, 2012

54.4 pounds to go

Fuck this, I'm going to quit eating.

Ahh, the scale.  It is the bane of the dieter's world.  It can be the key to having a good day, or completely falling off the rails.  I'll wake up in the morning, have a bad weigh and sit and stew while poor Mike is unaware that I've become a radioactive time bomb.

"Have you seen the scale?  I can't find it."

"I took it behind the barn and shot it.  It's best if you don't ask questions."

So how do we deal with this annoying-yet-essential element?  For me, I weigh myself once a week - on Saturdays when I write my blog.  I start from ground zero: first thing in the morning, after I pee, naked.  I will also typically weigh myself on Wednesday (midweek) to make sure I'm on track.  That's it.  If I weigh myself more than that I will slip into neurosis-with-the-scale mode.  It's a Tuesday and I ate fish!  I think I'll weigh myself.  It's nighttime, I wonder what the difference is!  I'll weigh myself.  I just worked out!  I just went in the sauna!  I just had a massive pig-out!  Look, I took a man-pee and lost 3 pounds!  When I slip into this mode I become one dangerous woman.  It's what eggs on the shameful-jesus-look-at-all-this-fat attitude.  I'm totally guilty of this and when it gets really bad is when I stand in front of the mirror naked inspecting different parts of my body expecting them to morph instantly into the end result. 

If I do a headstand I'll definitely look skinnier.

I made the excuse earlier this year that I was curious about the differences.  I was jumping on the scale after any minor item that would cause a fluctuation.  How much weight gain does chugging a 12 ounce glass of water cause? (1/2 a pound)  How much weight will I lose after a sauna session? (3/4th of a pound.  But then you drink water and poof!) What is the difference when I'm soaking wet? (1/2 a pound).  What is the difference between first thing in the morning and right before I go to bed? (2 pounds).  I just went number two!  (nothing.)  It's nice to know what these numbers are now for reference, but it is very easy to get discouraged when that's my entire focus.  The bottom line is all these weird things I was doing did not amount to a huge amount of weight.  In my mind I was thinking it would be a 3-5 pound difference and really it was mostly under 1 pound.  

Feeling like I'm losing nothing is the other dangerous element of excessive weigh-ins.  As a reminder, my goal is to lose 1-2 pounds a week.  If I weigh myself every day then it will seem like I'm on a plateau because losing .1 of a pound every day is infintessimal.   Then if I throw neurotic behavior into the mix, all bets are off.  Best to save it up for my Saturday one-pound party.

On the other hand, the scale going up is an unpleasant Saturday morning surprise.  This can't possibly be right!  

Try putting it on the carpet instead!

I have had moments of disbelief where I'm moving the scale around my bathroom like a Mexican jumping bean.  No! Put it over here.  No over here.  Hmmm, I'll just get on the scale over and over again, it will definitely change.   This fucking thing must be broken.  Finally, I have to laugh at myself, step away and accept that I gained instead of lost.  

So if the goal is to lose 1-2 pounds a week, that means monthly I'm expecting to lose 4-6 pounds.  That's it, and that's reality.  Sometimes it's a little less, like 3 pounds in a month.  In the first week I had a water-weight dump and lost 6 pounds but that's highly unusual, especially for a woman.  Over the past 197 days I've learned that my weight comes off in increments linked with my cycle.  Week 1 during my period I gain 1-2 pounds (then gone at the end, so flat with the scale).  Week 2 I lose 1 pound.  Week 3 is a good weight loss week, typically 2-3 pounds.  Week 4 - 1 pound.  If the scale goes up or doesn't move, I check where I am in my cycle then act accordingly.

Because the scale can be so discouraging,  many people just quit weigh-ins because they can't handle it.  The reality of how much weight loss should be expected is amiss.  Or what the scale says vs. what they think it should say will tear them apart.  It's only a reference point, it shouldn't be the defining factor of your life.  Throwing the scale in the lake and living in ignorance is dangerous.  If you can't measure your success then how can you truly know if you're on track?  By not weighing yourself, you can't celebrate the pound or two you may have lost.  And when there's a bad eating day (like Buca di Beppo "family style." Sweet Jesus -- so delicious, so immense.  Hello my Thursday evening.) it is super scary to get back on the scale and see the damage.  Most of the time it's not going to be as bad as you think if you stay consistent.  Mr. Bucca didn't do anything to me, but I also barely ate the day before and exercised the day after.   An extra 450 calories will not make you gain 5 pounds in a day.  Just like starving yourself isn't going to make you lose 5 pounds in a day.  Let's lower the bar people.  In reality, the scale is an inanimate object that can't do anything to you.  It's a device that helps keep you accountable for your actions.  How you interpret the number or behave after a bad / good weigh is entirely up to you.  But it's best to lock up the weapons just in case.

I love it when people tell me why I'm fat. (not)

November 24, 2012

57.3 pounds to go

To start, a song tribute to Thanksgiving:

(To the tune of Oasis's "Wonderwall")

Today's gonna be the day I eat three plates of food.

By now I shouda figured out that pie's not good for you.

I don't think that anybody ever knows what to do

This year now.

Today's gonna be the day there's a line outside the loo.

I know I shoulda said no to the turkey and the stew.

If you wanna sit next to me I'll share my food with you

We'll go all out.

And all the paths I walked around this morning

you still went and nicknamed me miss snorfalorfing 

Every years it's as if I went and sniffed a bunch of glue

and forgot my health.

Cause maybe, I'll drink all the gravy

Cause after all, I'm a butterball.

Thanksgiving is a hard holiday to deal with in moderation.  There's the classic tips like exercising, eat slowly, wait 10 minutes before you go and get a second helping and try not to eat just because everyone else is still eating.  Alas, I dunked my head in the food and sucked everything up like a hoover vacuum cleaner.  Sometimes there's just going to be harder days than others.  To my credit, I did exercise like a maniac beforehand and got back on the wagon yesterday.  One bad day isn't going to kill me, it's when I let a bad day turn into a bad week and a bad week turn into a bad month.  Nip that bad track in the bud!

Onto this week's subject: fat stereotypes.  I have had more than one conversation in my life (not self prompted) as to why I'm overweight.   It's as if people feel safe to bring it up because it was in the past.  "Remember that one time we went to visit you in northern California and you were a whale?  We knew something was definitely wrong with you."  To their defense, yes, I was depressed.  I wasn't in a good place.  Yes, I was eating everything that wasn't nailed down (very similar to 6 months ago). It circles back to cracking the ice with someone when they're overweight and how do you talk about it?  There's really no good way.  However, being on the receiving end of it is never easy, especially when someone wants to continually reminisce about my 'fat days' and tell me how I got there.  There are two things going on in my head when this happens:

1) I was the one who went through it, not you, so how could you possibly be able to tell me what the answer is when only I can know the whole truth?

2) I hate it when people "take my inventory."

What is "taking someone's inventory you ask?  Has this every happened to you?

Now I'll tell you how to do everything more efficiently.  (That sounds awesome.)

I'm not trying to say it's forbidden to ever ask another person a question but when you start firing them out as if it's a CIA interrogation your subject has most likely mentally fled the scene.  Or literally.  It's why you see certain family members hiding in corners at big events.  (Although this year people were fleeing from me at Thanksgiving because they're afraid I'm going to put them in my blog which actually makes me giggle a little inside.  It must be a sign that I've officially become a writer.)  I do internally know the fact that someone has come up to me and asks me questions is a sign that they care, so I try to hold onto that when I start getting annoyed at the rapid-fire.

Anyway, those judgements and assumptions as to how I got on the path to fat could be right, or totally wrong.  These are all reasons people have given me as to why I am fat:

1) I must be lazy

2) I must be clinically depressed 

3) I was purposefully pushing people away 

4) I don't want to be loved

5) I don't care about myself

6) I don't want attention.  

And my personal favorite:

7) I must not want sex.

Man, just looking at this list still brings on the hurt inside.  How could you be so wrong?  Have you ever looked at the clothes I wear?  It's harder to find stylish clothes when I was more overweight, but I really tried to dress well.  I always do my hair.  I wear makeup, I get manicures.  I accessorize.  I wear heels everyday to work.  I'm a human, of course I want romance and love.  I crave it just like anyone else.  And yes, I do like attention -- I try not to be a spotlight hog even though I think I'm occasionally spastic because of nerves.  And the sex thing?  This is a blog that my family reads so I'm not going to go into detail, but suffice it to say that someone's body fat percentage is not a measure of their passion.  There are horny fat people out there.  Just like there are horny skinny people.

There are so many stereotypes; they say not to judge a book by its cover but we do it all the time.  Fat people are nice.  Fat people are funny.  Skinny people are mean.  Rich people are dickbags.  Poor people are scrappy.  Poor people are lazy.  Mean people live forever.  Pretty people get all the breaks.  Ugly people are smart.  Ugly people have good personalities.  Only sexy women get ahead.  Sexy women get ahead because the men want to fuck them.  Only men can get ahead.  White people are lucky.  Jewish people are good with money.  Jewish women are divas.  Canadian people are sweet.  Mexican men are macho.  Chinese women are subservient.  Old people are wise.  Young people are stupid and entitled.  Powerful women can't get a boyfriend.  Powerful men always cheat on their wives.  The list goes on and on and on.  Yet, I know I've met a fat asshole and nice skinny person.  It's as if we use the stereotypes as a collective rule of thumb and we're all at their mercy.  It can be exhausting bucking them all the time and saying "no, that's not exactly true."

The reason I am overweight is for a cluster of reasons.  I know I'm beating a dead horse here, but it's mostly a fabricated emotional connection and issues with compulsive stress eating.  Mild depression is also a contributor.  For others, maybe they were traumatized at an early age and started using food as comfort long before the rest of us.  Maybe there is a body issue like hyperthyroidism.  Saying someone is inherently lazy, doesn't care or want love is like forcing a square peg into a round hole.  

But how could I possibly be wrong??!?! I'll keep hammering.

What I can say, is the only way to bust the stereotype is to educate the perpetrator on the real reason behind the issue.   And if they don't believe you repeat yourself.  If they still don't believe you repeat yourself again.  And then tell them you are repeating yourself.  Hopefully they will eventually get the message but know it may take some time to affect change.  Sometimes people fixate on a wrong answer and it takes a really long time to get over it, I know that I've done that and it's a very vulnerable place I had to come from to say I'm sorry and that I was wrong.  Make sure when someone comes to you with the long-waited apology not to tromp all over them and say "I told you so!"  You can never go wrong with being kind.

Making an effort.

I think I'm going to offend everyone again.  

November 18, 2012

56.3 pounds to go

I've noticed some people will reach a point in their life where they say 'fuck it' and weird behaviors emerge.  It's when grandma starts regularly telling you about her bowel movements or uncle Steve starts pulling his pants up to his nipples.  Maybe a sister starts wearing the same plaid pants everyday with a ratty shirt.  Or a mangy housedress with bright orange tights.  A brother suddenly puts on 50 pounds and there's no way you can pull him away from his recent 'World of Warcraft' marathon.  (But Bonnie, I have a level 73 orc shaman master.  There's no possible way I could stop now.)  Maybe a co-worker comes in a crumpled outfit that looks suspiciously slept in.

We're in public dude!

When someone around you starts dressing like a hobo, it's normally a sign that something much more disturbing is happening underneath the surface.  I don't have a problem when someone has a 'unique sense of style' but when basic hygiene starts to go by the wayside, something is amiss.  These things include brushing your teeth, putting on deodorant, brushing your hair, wearing a shirt without holes, shaving and showering.  I know I've had exhaustive moments of stress where I sleep until 10AM, wander around my house in PJ's drinking coffee, marathon bad TV and then my big activity of the day is venturing to the grocery store.  I think everyone has these days sprinkled into their lives, and there is nothing wrong with having a 'veg' day.  However, if 'veg' day is happening 7 days a week there is a problem.  Spending that much time isolated starts perpetuating laziness and negative thoughts, and the more time you spend doing that, the harder it is to come back to reality.  I've also found that major isolation like this is what starts triggering 'fuck it' behavior.  So what if I eat 4,000 calories today?  So what if I wear sweat pants to a fancy party?  So what if I wear an "I'm with stupid" shirt to work?

So circling back, what is the "disturbing thing happening underneath the surface?"  In my opinion, in one word: depression.  Depression is a sneaky bitch.  I've never been officially diagnosed with anything major, but it does run in my family, severely, on both sides so I know to watch for it.  For me, depression has a 'creeper' effect.  It's the occasional thought that starts getting watered and tended to and soon it grows into an out-of-control crop.  It really does start off as an innocuous idea and then one day you wake up and say "why is everything so much harder than it used to be?  What the fuck is wrong with me?  I guess I'll just play video games all day and maybe I'll get inspired."  It's not as if you wake up one day and realize "gee, I'm depressed, I think I'll do something about it."  There's lots of denial, hibernating and tears that happen beforehand.  For me, I recognized that I get hormonal dips the week before my period (ew! you said period!) which actually mimics depression.  And the doctors say that being overweight can also contribute to mild depression.  During those times it was happening, I truly thought "what the fuck is wrong with me" as it occured.  Then it would clear up a week later and I would say "ahhhh, it's all chemical."  What I will say if what I was experiencing was mild, god help me if I got the full-blown kind, because what I felt seriously fucking sucked.  I would have no hesitation to take antidepressants if I had been diagnosed with something major.  And no shame about it either.

Depression is no laughing matter.

So what happens if you are depressed and want to start coming out of your cave?  What I would suggest is first, go to a doctor and get help.  The second would be to just go through the motions.  Even though it may seem like a pain in the ass to gussy up every day, get a job and start trying it becomes easier with repetition.

So what if Uncle Steve is not depressed but won't stop wearing his pants around his nipples?  Or take off the dildo hat?  This is definitely a grey area, but I think it could be a gross difference of opinion on what is socially acceptable.  The term "socially acceptable" is a worthless platitude in itself, so how do we define it?  Or abide by it?  What makes someone go 'fuck it?'  I could write an eleventy-billion page paper on this because it's so vague.  If you look up the term "socially acceptable it is defined as: showing standards of behavior that are socially and morally acceptable."  This gets us nowhere, so I looked up "social" which is defined as: the term social refers to a characteristic of living organism as applied to populations of humans or other animals.  It always refers to the interaction of organisms with other organisms and their collective co-existence, irrespective of whether they are aware of it or not, and irrespective of whether the interaction is voluntary or involuntary."  Huh?  So then I looked up the etymology which states: "the word "Social" derives from the latin word socli ("allies").  It is particularly derived from the Italian Socli states, historical allies of the Roman Republic."

So if I had to take a stab at a general definition of "socially acceptable" it means fitting in with everyone else, a.k.a. becoming an ally.  This could trigger a cluster of "well, I'm not gonna!" reactions, but seriously, think about it.  Sometimes, even though we may not want to, we need to adopt certain behaviors to 'fit in" and I think this is what's going on beneath the surface when people say 'screw you guys, I'm gonna do wha' ah whant:'

1) Some people just like to challenge everything for the sake of challenging it. i.e. If you really loved me you wouldn't care that I'm wearing a dildo hat.  I personally find this infuriating.  You don't have a good reason for doing it except for the sake of doing it.

2) Something kicked you into 'I don't care' mode - what is it?

And as a side note, when am I allowed to say, out loud, that I am embarrassed by someone's behavior without sending them into a funk?  Because if you are the perpetrator of something totally bizarre, believe me, people are talking about it even if it's not to your face.  It's certainly happened to me.

Ultimately, it is up to the person who is in "I don't care" world to make the change to "I do care."  I can't spend too much time getting torn up about it because what matters is that I'm making an effort to care about myself.  I know I get sucked into "let me save you" mode, and it's just not possible to save everyone.  However, to leave it as an elephant in the room would be a mistake.   I do apologize for being unintentionally offensive and if you want to come back and smack me later, that's ok.  Just don't totally kill the messenger. (i.e. me.)

Getting back to the light-hearted nature of this discussion, just because I have to make an effort to care, doesn't mean I have to take 2 hours getting ready in the morning as if I were going to a ball.  All that other stuff I had mentioned in my previous entry like listening to my body, apologizing to it when I overdo it and simply paying attention all counts.  It seems like it would be easy to keep all of my ducks in a row, but sometimes just sticking with the basics can be a lot of work -- especially when I'm overloaded with my job.  This may sound silly but when all else goes awry, at least I have my health and can pay attention to it.  That, and remember not to wear crumpled PJ's to work with kitty vomit stains on them.

Declaring Peace.

(I really should post this tomorrow to go with armistice day.  But what the heck, I'm gonna do it now.)

November 10, 2012

58.7 pounds to go

Plateau number two has reared its ugly head and I'm going into week three of "I'm not gonna budge" with the scale.  I noticed it 2 weeks ago and I went on a crazy exercise binge to see if I could jump start myself.  (I was inspired).  Then to my disappointment I gained weight last week at my weigh-in which I immediately dismissed as an error.  Now I'm back to where I was with the numbers.  Here's the thing: now that I'm experiencing this (again) I don't feel like going into the streets to find someone to punch, I'm just trying to be nicer to myself so I don't fall off the wagon.  

Even though the scale is not moving, I feel really thin today.  I've run into long strings of rationalization over the past 2 weeks: I went on some monster hikes so maybe I gained muscle.  The week before last I ate like garbage and I know it.  This week I have been the salad queen to try and clean up my diet.  And I haven't really exercised since my binge a few weeks ago because I got sucked into a vortex with work.  (I know this is happening because I've been getting a lot of texts recently reading "Are you dead?  I haven't seen you in weeks!")  I do think my body is recalibrating which is why the scale isn't moving but I'm not letting it get me down.

So, I'm getting into this new relationship with my body.  What does that mean?  This conversation I had with my cousin last week explains it:

"I think the reason why I gained weight (along with other problems in my life) was due to deliberate ignorance.  The key to figuring everything out is simply to allow awareness."

"Like, I'm gonna eat McDonald's because it makes me feel good, and not think about what it's doing to me?"

"Exactly."

I've spent such a huge majority of my life not listening to myself.  Now that I pay attention I can feel when my body doesn't feel good.  I eat bread and I get a headache.  I eat too much in one sitting and I get tired.  I eat too much processed food and I feel weak.  I don't eat vegetables and I can't shit.  I drink too much coffee and I shake.  I go long stretches without eating and feel hazy and disconnected.  I have more than three drinks and I get a hangover. (Then I'm a bottomless pit the next day.  Yuck.) 

I can now admit when I do the huge hikes and then binge eat at a family event I suffer the day after.  Again, I first discovered this at the family 4th of July party this year.  The next day I was so fucking hungry.  I had gone back to my normal eating plan and since I had stretched my stomach with a 1500 calorie meal the day before I couldn't get full.  Finally I laid down on the couch, closed my eyes and apologized to my body for about 10 minutes for abusing it.

In the past I would never do anything like that, but again, now that I'm listening it becomes more and more obvious that the things my mind wants are completely separate from the needs of my body.  My mind loves bread.  My body hates it.  My mind craves fast food when I get stressed but then my body will rebel after I've eaten it.  My mind gets distracted by work and I run though my lunch.  Then my body shuts down because it needs food.  My mind wants to keep going going going and my body will say "Oh yeah, you need your eyes to work at a computer, right?  Bam!  Migraine auras.  Slow the fuck down."  My mind says exercise blows.  My body rewards me with a mood lift after I work out.  There is a huge disconnect between the two and when I first realized it I said "this doesn't make any sense!  Shouldn't they be working together?!"  It makes me feel like my consciousness is a little alien inhabiting this body and we have to learn how to play nice with each other.  And awareness is the bridge between the mind and the body.

This sounds silly but when I feel really good I take time to say to my body "thank you for being so good to me."  When I've done something a little ignorant or mean (like overstuffing myself or drinking beer) I apologize.  The more and more days I log my food and eat healthy (176 days today) the easier it becomes to make the right choices.  I got myself into the mess by repeating bad behaviors over and over again.  Now I am cleaning up my act by repeating good behaviors over and over again.  And the more I repeat them the easier it becomes to let go of my food issues.  In fact, they just start to fall away.  It's like when I get a bad cut in an uncomfortable place.  The first few days it hurts and it feels like it's never going to go away.  I stop every 20 minutes and examine how fast it's healing.   When I finally stop picking at it and leave it alone my body can get to work at healing itself.  Then a few weeks later I forget how much it hurt and the cut is gone.  Stop fixating.  Start living.

So when a day like today happens with the scale and I'm plateauing I tell myself "learn to love every step of the way."  This is the body I was given and it's a good one.  I liked my juicy curves when I was bigger and I love how my clothes look better on me now than ever.  I revel in the feeling of "smaller."  I pay attention when my bra is loose on me.  And when I woke up on Wednesday I simply realized that my thighs weren't chaffing me anymore.  The scale is just a number -- one I still need to give some attention to -- but it's not the end-all be-all in this relationship.  I'm grateful that I finally got on the wagon and that I choose every day to keep going on this journey.

A love to last a lifetime.