Category Archives: Scaling Back

My Ass Is On Fire

So, I have written and talked and contemplated weight loss for several weeks now, but as usual, have neglected much of the …. ummmmmm….. doing it part.  But I am very grateful now that I was weak and cowardly earlier today and let myself get bullied into working out by a kind, fierce friend who swears way too much.

hottest warrior ever

So, I worked out, felt sick, smelt sick and then I showered and now…I am a warrior.

Seriously, I spent the entire afternoon singing & whistling and feeling great.

Until my husband got home.

So, husband is home, dinner is ready (yep and the fact that I managed somehow to both workout and prepare dinner in the same day has also contributed to my glee/Glee – husband claims this is a first btw).  I am singing (not unloudly) as I dish out the chicken and suddenly husband bursts into laughter.  H asks me, pretty please, to repeat what I have just sung, in the same smug-ish voice he uses when I try to pronounce irregular French verbs.  Ok, it’s a tune I’ve had stuck in my head all afternoon, so no problem:

Me: “…My Ass is On Fire……”

Him: Can you  sing it again?

Me: Sure…(clearing throat)…My Ass Is On Fire

Him: Right.  Walks over to laptop and clicks on this video:

Me: Oh Shit…well whatever…why do those boys all look the same?…my version makes more sense anyhow”

And then he reminds me the time I confused this one too:

“Later on, we’ll conspire, as we dream by the fire…”

And my version:

‘” Later on, we’ll perspire, as we dream by the fire…”

Husband’s equally “funny” father got miles of jokes and laughter from that one. Used to sing it like that during the holidays. Yup, they’re all “funny”.

I don’t limit my gaffes to songs either. Earlier in the week,  I noticed there were 4 empty beer bottles from the previous night,and he was the only one drinking.  I turned to husband and declared:

“Husband, you got some ‘splaining to do.”  Except I used my best Gary Coleman-Different Strokes voice.  Except,as everyone except me knows, this infamous ‘spression was coined by Ricky Ricardo.

what chew talkin bout Lucy??

Husband did abrupt double take and lectured me on the appropriate Different Strokes – I Love Lucy pop culture applications. On a related and stunningly uninteresting note (husband specializes in related and stunningly uninteresting notes, sidebars and footnotes), did you know that Ricky Ricardo was a famous and established band leader pre-Lucy? Me neither. Do you care? Me neither. I just thought he had great hair and a cute accent.

This is why husband will get leftovers tomorrow night.



Filed under Heavy Weight Wednesdays, Saucy, Scaling Back

I’m kind of not a big deal

I’m kind of not a big deal, and that’s ok.  But sometimes I just kind of forget, y’know?

Exhibit A.

When I was 10 I was the ultimate Solid Gold Dancers Fan, I used to watch it religiously and had their posters splattered all over my bedroom (ceiling). I even had – gasp – personalized autographs from a few of them.

Talk about "Dance Like Nobody's Watching"

I adored them and it looked like they thought I was pretty special too, right?  Until I went over to Katie’s house and  {louder shrieky} gasp, she had the same personalized autographed glossy 8×10 headshots as I did.  Apparently, anybody who asked got one – just like that. Turns out I wasn’t so special after all.   Fast forward to grade 8 math class:

Mr. Mucusker, my first school-girl crush: I was convinced that if he looked deep enough into my eyes, he would see me and crush right back.   I used to stare-wide-eyed and unblinking during his  lessons.   I got a C that year.  Typical.

So I was completely floored by a recent post by  the very amazing  Sharon D, who  wrote candidly about a part of her troubled youth and the man she  credits for reaching out, in  spite of everything and pulling her up.  In her case, this policeman  needed to show her that she really is kind of a big deal, since she couldn’t see it herself yet.

So the moral here is that we really are ALL kind of a big dealer actually.

Just that maybe we can’t always choose the MOMENTS of our Big-Dealness y’know?  (Really humiliating example to demostrate this is quickly approaching)

Exhibit B:

I am currently working on a top secret undercover project for spaghettiandspanx and  decided that getting an interview with Jessica Seinfeld would really help cement the project and give me focus ( ok, yep, and provide a whole lot of klout too) Eagerly, I wrote her an email asking her to contact me.  Three entire days went by and – nothing!!  I even sent her a couple of tweets, one which included a link to the 5 minute long confessional rant post.  See –  I was convinced that it would go something like this:

Jessica, upon reading the post where I break up with my scale: “ahhh hahaha hahahaha …Jerry, you gotta read this – this girl’s a riot {insert coffee shooting out of her nose from unexpected hilarity}

Jerry, in next room, doing um, funny things: Hey honey – can you keep it down.  Me and {insert cool celebrity here} are {insert funny activity}

Jessica: “yada yada yada Jerry, you gotta come watch this!!”

Jerry {enter stage right} camera pans in to Jerry reading intently: “honey, you gotta collaborate with this girl, she’s even funnier than me – not that there’s anything wrong with that” {as lone tear trickles down his face}

Um, what actually happened was she sent me a very gracious & polite note, regretting that she was unavailableDuh!!

Seriously, it was Mr. Mucusker all over again.  As soon as I come out of my imaginary fantasy -crazed daydream I am actually horrified by my behaviour.  Luckily I spent 3 hours completing a very complicated puzzle with my youngest , and now HE thinks I am kind of a big deal!

So tell me (PLEASE!!!) that, you too have been struck by delusions of  grandeur??  I am actually begging you to …*whimper*….


Filed under Heavy Weight Wednesdays, Saucy, Scaling Back, Uncategorized

Who owns Fat????

I realize that this is a FIVE MINUTE long video – I swear – I did not intend that, I know how long 5 minutes is these days.

But it’s the hardest post I have written (um, ok, video-d) and it would mean a lot to me to get your fedback. Mainly that you do not hate me for my twitter comment.

Let me preface this by saying when I am nervous I smile.  It is an INCREDIBLY bad habit because it looks like a smirk.  I was literally cringing inside when I taped this but I am smiling the entire time.

Also, when I say we should get *over it* I am referring to this feeling of fat, not my comment.  My comment was horrendous, I am just lucky this gal is so dignified and gracious.


Filed under Heavy Weight Wednesdays, Saucy, Scaling Back

what if you’re only half the chick you think you are

OK –  so I realize that it’s not often one gets to call *serendipity* while sitting on the toilet, hunched over, while the last 5 days worth of food comes gushing out – but that’s EXACTLY how it happened.  In preparation of an extended stay in the bathroom and in between cramps, I had grabbed a magazine from the kitchen  and on the cover was the headline,

my electrician must have accidently left this behind

“Real People: Half Their Size”!!  OK, so this was not my usual issue of the The Economist or The NewYorker, it was the special Double Issue of People, but I swear – I have no idea how it landed in our house, really.

See, I don’t know what I ate that has caused my body to go into Code Red but I have been sitting on the toilet or very near to it, doing exactly what this article was promoting: losing half my body weight!!

Except that we all know sickness weight loss only lasts as long as the sickness and I have plans for tomorrow so if I was serious about losing half my weight, (which I am not, only like maybe a quarter or so)  I’d have to find another way. So I decided that the only thing cooler than finally shedding some poundage would be: SELECTIVE WEIGHT LOSS!!  Whereby I get to choose exactly where the weight comes off.  Talk about incentive!!!

So with that in mind, I will start with the easy ones:

60% of my butt.  The bottom half. Unless,I can simply re-locate it to my boobs. That would be awesome too!

The furrow in my brow.

The part of my mid-section where my back-fat is meeting my love handles.

The excess fat around my stocky peasant ankles.

I know this will only amount to a small amount but sometimes it’s the little things right? I’d get rid of the hair growing strangely out of my chin. They are coarser than the regular ones so their combined weight may really add up.

Now it gets tricky (and weird) as sacrifices must be made to shed more of me:

Both my pinkies: I have this really annoying habit of sticking them upwards when handling a glass of any kind.  And since I am not Victorian gentry I think I ‘d be willing to give em up! Also, I am a thumb-typist so again,no *real* reason to keep em, right?

I am totally willing to rid myself the part of brain that registers the sound of people chewing loudly

So happy to be rid of  the part of my heart that causes my arrhythmia

And there goes the part of nose that registers the scent of  blue cheese, human farts & obnoxious perfumes (dog farts don’t distress me as much as they probably should)

Finally gone would be the part of my hearing that has had to endure childrens whining,  Celine Dion and Margaret Atwood.

I'd be all of her, all the time!!

Combined, I think that brings me to approximately 30%- give or take a limb or artery.  But no

reason to go all Drew Carey at once  And I am not ashamed to admit I got all warm & fluffy knowing that at half my weight, I’d weigh less than a super model, ok,, not all models, just supersexy curvy ones like Crystal ….Awesome!!


Filed under Heavy Weight Wednesdays, Monday's Misssion, Scaling Back

Happiness weighs more than a barbie doll

Dear Bathroom Scale that smells like piss and crap

I am breaking up with you.

You suck the life out of me.  I have spent twenty years trying to please you – nothing I ever do makes you happy.  Any pleasure you have ever given me has been temporary and volatile.

Stupid scale: Why couldn’t you be more like my heart monitor.  It always encourages me, gently beeping to remind to work a little tougher, keeping a record of all that I have done, not mocking me for eating that extra slice of pizza.

When I look at you all I see reflected back are my jiggly thighs and gooey squishy belly.  You are a constant reminder of all that I have not accomplished.  All you care about are pounds and ounces: you never once acknowledged my muscles or endurance or energy level.

You have cost me thousands of dollars.  Trying to please you, I have invested in books, videos, workout pants, horrific supplements, weights, gym memberships.  And even when I am feeling good and exercising, nothing I ever do is good enough for you.  All those times, I would plead, cry, I even resorted to lying to you, setting the dial to below your zero – nothing worked.

You would dictate the way I felt, what I wore, the length of my skirt. I have been your whore for too long.

And  when I was bloated and feeling crummy?  Those extra pounds you would pack on always made me feel so special and loved.

You are the reason I own so many *forgivable* pants and stretchy tunics.

Muscle weighs more than fat.  Happiness weighs more than a barbie doll

It’s as if you wanted to weigh me down  with unhappiness misery and failure

I realized it was never even you I wanted: I had you confused with health and vitality and happiness and the confidence to wear skinny jeans.

And btw, my friends never liked you either.  They always told me to get rid of you, that I was too good for you. That you weren’t  good for my self-worth or happiness.

You are useless.  The only people who even need you are butchers, bakers and pediatricians.

You were the most stubborn thing in my life: never budging an ounce in the right direction.  You are cold & heartless.  Like metal and tempered glass.

We are so over: I have found a very nice tape measure in a flattering shade of green.


Filed under Heavy Weight Wednesdays, Saucy, Scaling Back

3×528-13+4= frustrations & funky odors!!

and that’s how much I weigh…or at least that’s what it feels like.  For the first time ever (and this includes to pregnancies) I actually feel as if my stomach is too big.  It hurts. It whines. It makes strange noises and occasionally emits funky odors.

a good support system is very important

I don’t get it – I have been writing about weight loss for weeks now. And talking about it.  I read about it incessantly. And still no weight loss.  So I am going to try um, acting on it now.   I will go old-school – and by this I mean jump (carefully) on a scale and actually look at the number. I do know  I am past overweight – this is where the word obese is joyously introduced into conversation. I feel like shit and am beginning to smell like it too.

For the record, I am trying to lose weight for me but mainly because my doctor suggested it.  I am noticing a trend where educated, articulate feminist gals are not meant to  admit to wanting to lose weight.  It is akin to giving up the vote and putting our bras back on (for the record, I barely wear one…just sayin).  One women remarked that with my attitude, it is a blessing that I do not have girls.  Here’s the thing: I like feeling pretty And sometimes I feel pretty in a dress and makeup (but never, ever with heels, those things hurt, man). and sometimes I feel all pretty and snuggly in my pj’s with a well- moisturized face and freshly brushed teeth. Sometimes I feel pretty, sweating along to a crazy Jillian Michels DVD.  I don’t know how you define it, but pretty to me mainly feels like there is alway the hint of a smile and a twinkly in my eye. I stand a little straighter and smile more.  If I get that from being able to wear size 8 jeans (as if!!!) then amazing.  I also know that regardless of size, making the right food choices and pumping some iron while listening to Flashdance also make s me feel pretty good too. But not being able to reach down to the ground properly and farting and huffing & puffing up the stairs: Not so pretty.  So I have chosen not to wait: by my 40th birthday I want to feel 16 pounds prettier.  Just call me Gloria!!

p.s. this 16pounds will not get me to svelte….it’s just that my birthday is 8 weeks away (Valentines Day but don’t worry there will be plenty of reminders) and 2 pounds a week seemed reasonable. I will still have miles to go after that, not too worry!

Is your will-power as flabby as your flesh?


Filed under Heavy Weight Wednesdays, Monday's Misssion, Scaling Back

Meet Bitchy’s little cousin, Feisty.

“So I read what she wrote on the facebook page of the girl who said that thing to her, can you believe it – what a bitch!”

So in my last post, I blamed my weight gain on my mom. Today, I’d like to take aim at mean-spirited  people instead (yes – I do realize that blaming everyone except for myself may be counter-productive but that’s another post.) .  Earlier I found out I was being accused of playing mind games and other fun juvenile stuff. My problem with this is that 1)  I prefer to go for the heart, preferably with dagger or crossbow rather than waste my time with a soft, squidgy brain fat and 2) This kind of crap makes me want to eat – a lot!

As I was listening to all the gory details of my supposed treacherous behavior, all I could think of was chocolate chip cookies.  And pies. And carrot cake.  My friends voice started to sound not unlike that of Charlie Browns teacher as I wondered which would be faster: baking something or a trip to the grocery store (and if you knew just how much I abhor both baking and going out in the snow, you’ll understand the gravity of the situation.

The thing is, I cannot not get upset about these things.  And as far as my thighs are concerned, feeling upset is the same thing as eating the damn cookies anyhow.

Enter Bitchy’s  little cousin, Feisty.

Feisty has come a long way (baby). Historically, feisty was defined as aggressive, nervous, touchy but is now more often used to describe one as spirited, assertive and able to speak up for oneself. I love the fact that a word can evolve over time, rather than lay dormant, useless. I love that depending on by who and how it is viewed, Feisty can be both aggressive & touchy, as well as assertive and spunky.  Bitchy – on the other had –  is over. Bitchy is  empty, void of any punch & vitality.  It is a useless one-dimensional catch-all used by people too lazy and spineless to know better.  So the fact that I was called one – meh, big deal!


Feisty on the other hand is awesome! Feisty shouted out to drink some water so I did.  Later,  Feisty just rolled her eyes when I tried to justify my sudden craving for a burger & fries and wordlessly brought out the hummus and carrots instead. Feisty reminded me to work out instead of pig-out. Feisty could beat Bitchy in a thumb-wrestle any day. Basically, Feisty rocks and I’m so glad to have met her!


Filed under Heavy Weight Wednesdays, Saucy, Scaling Back