What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

Weight Loss Wednesday: Just what I needed

I've drafted the subtitle to this entry about oh, eighty gazillion times since Friday night, the most popular one being "I can explain" because not only did I eat out THREE EFFING TIMES this weekend, Monday saw me eating Luke's famous corned beef and cabbage like a piggy at a trough. I did not have high hopes for the scale.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 146
CURRENT WEIGHT: 144.5
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 14.5

I usually hop on first thing in the morning, right before I shower, so the significance of the numbers didn't kick in until I was conditioning my hair, because the whole time I was focused on a new subtitle, "I'll take what I can get," forgetting I wasn't starting out at 145 like I did last week and thinking I'd only lost half a pound. But then it hit me: Was 146 last week! Was horse with feedbag! Lost a pound and a half this time!

I am so happy I swear I could shit rainbows.

And let me tell you, I worked my ass off for that pound and a half. When Luke and I went to Red Lobster on Friday night to finally redeem his birthday gift card from my sister and brother-in-law, I ordered grilled chicken and a baked potato instead of the fried strips I really wanted. On Saturday, when I met up with some Indianapolis-area bloggers at a restaurant right down the street from my apartment (who were fabulous, by the way), my eyes feasted hungrily on the choices at my disposal: baby-back ribs, steak, big fat juicy burger, even spinach dip! But I already knew I'd be going to Red Robin the next day (Samantha was in town and had not yet been introduced to their deliciousness) so I went for chicken once again, this time chicken fajitas, and what do you know, they were awesome. I had my big fat juicy burger the next night, even some cheesesticks and fries, so my hopes for recording a loss were slowly beginning to dwindle. And after Luke's St. Patrick's Day feast, I assumed all was lost, so much so that yesterday afternoon I even had a Snickers bar because really, when you're convinced that progress is no longer possible, what's one more guilty pleasure?

But all wasn't lost! The only thing lost was weight. I lost weight because I made some better food choices and even managed to take a couple of walks before the rainy weather returned. The size-twelve black pants I bought from Express have more give in the waist, and.... Well, that's about it, no other noticeable differences, but I don't care. Like I said earlier, I'll take what I can get. Especially since I'm still so down about returning to work. It was so heartening to see that I really can do this.

It's going to be a good day.

Weight Loss Wednesday: At least I said "No" to KFC last night; that's like losing three pounds right there

It's my first official weigh-in since announcing my goal weight last week, but not even the pressure of sharing my numbers online was enough to change my ways.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 145
CURRENT WEIGHT: 146
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 16

The first half of the day continues to go well: Cheerios, sandwich, fresh fruit, raisins, yogurt, some 100-calorie Honey Maid crisps, and a mug of hot chocolate for a pick-me-up around ten. It's the after-work hours that slay me.

I know what the problem is. The problem is I go to bed at eleven-thirty, and by the time I come home I've been running around for almost twelve hours on less than six hours of sleep. I'm tired. I'm out of sorts after being gone from Kara all day. Luke's worn out from being WITH Kara all day. My only source of comfort is food. The burger and fries I had on Sunday night made me feel good. The spinach dip on Monday was like chicken soup for my soul.

But both times, after the first few bites, I felt guilty. Guilty for completely disregarding my weight-loss goals and not taking my high cholesterol more seriously. I want to be successful at this. I need to be successful. I just need better motivation.

I also need exercise, and with spring on the way, that will finally be possible. Luke and I are going stir-crazy in this apartment, biding our time until the snow melts permanently and the temperature's high enough to take Kara for a stroll. Indianapolis has some wonderful parks and walking trails; those paired with my early schedule and Daylight Savings Time should mean we'll have no problems becoming one with The Great Outdoors. I'd love to take advantage of the complimentary gym membership now offered by my company as well, but honestly, I don't think I could stand another two hours a week away from home, not when our "situation" is still so new.

I mean, could you hit the treadmill knowing this face was waiting for you?

I didn't think so.

For more health-related goodness, check out the conversation over at Parents regarding the controversial HPV vaccine. It's wicked fun.

Weight Loss Wednesday: Game on!

But only for like eight minutes because my alarm is set for five o'clock in the morning, which means I should've gone to bed yesterday. I promised you a Weight Loss Wednesday, though, and a Weight Loss Wednesday is what you're gonna get.

Minus the actual weight loss.

CURRENT WEIGHT: 145
GOAL WEIGHT: 130

With numbers like those, a sane and rational person wouldn't let the clerk at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles assume she was still a hundred and twenty pounds when updating her driver's license last week. She wouldn't delude herself into thinking her weight gain wasn't that noticeable or that wearing a black tee shirt would totally camoflauge her bowl full of jelly.

God, would I love to meet HER.

And things were going so well, too. Remember back in January when I was all, "Look at me, I've lost all this baby weight, I'm gonna be the best me ever, blah blah blah"? I used to wonder how a new mother could possibly gain weight when she's on her feet for ninety percent of her day, feeding the baby, bouncing the baby, changing the baby, the baby, the baby, the baby. Now I know that stress and sleep deprivation bring on the mad munchies more powerful then even the strongest pot (I'm assuming, I seriously never took more than a drag, and even that I messed up). Somewhere between then and now I forgot what apples looked like and stuffed myself with potato chips. I've consumed Reese's Cups at 9:00 a.m. and Snickers ice cream bars at noon. I'm not proud of this. But I didn't care enough to do anything about it until I was crying in Eddie Bauer's dressing room because I couldn't squeeze my ass into a pair of jeans.

Life is already hella-emotional right now without throwing my body issues into the mix, but I actually think returning to work will play a key role in forming better eating habits, mostly because the lab doesn't stock their freezer with Ben and Jerry's and my fingers will be too busy pecking at the keyboard to open a candy wrapper. That alone should shave at least five pounds off my mid-section, but just in case, I'm also vowing to pack lighter lunches and increase my water intake. Today started strong; I began my morning with Honey Nut Cheerios and sliced banana, had two cups of hot chocolate for a little caffeine rush, and devoured a roast beef deli sandwich, handful of raisins, and one sorely missed apple for lunch. But Luke and I were both so disoriented from our very long day that come dinnertime we said "Screw nutrition" and grabbed a pizza from Papa Murphy's. At least it was vegetarian.

I originally planned to talk more about my fitness plan and how I decided on my goal weight, but seeing as it's already eleven o'clock and I have to get up at the butt crack of dawn, you'll have to make do with my not-entirely-cohesive ramblings and one adorable baby picture.

Friday can't come fast enough.

I have a confession to make.

I think I thought I could have this baby and not gain weight.

Really! Despite the weight loss I experienced as a result of "morning" sickness in the early part of my pregnancy, my belly continued to grow, Freka continued to thrive, and my doctors continued to tell me not to worry. So I didn't. In fact, I relished it. I was a good ten pounds heavier than I should've been at the time we conceived and in no hurry to put on any more than absolutely necessary.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 136.4
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: 0.8

Holy automated scale, Batman! A positive number! I'm totally blaming the two bowls of Cocoa Puffs I had before I stepped on. The Snickers cheesecake I had after dinner last night may also have been a contributing factor.

Seriously, though, it was a little jarring. At my last appointment, my doctor said it's not always necessary to gain the standard twenty-five to thirty-five pounds, so long as I was subscribing to healthy eating habits. Which I was all for. Who doesn't want to be a tiny pregnant woman? But now reality has set in. I cannot gestate for nine months and stay within that coveted one-hundred-and-twenty-pound range I was striving for pre-conception. And that's OK.

Because I have new maternity clothes.

Before our trip to the Cheesecake Factory, Luke and I stopped by a couple of shoe stores and Mimi Maternity to find some things to wear for BlogHer next week. The cute, comfy ballet flats I bought in May are still cute and still flat, but they're not as comfy as I originally thought. Oddly enough, the bottoms of my feet are fine; it's the tops that suffer from the criss-cross of the tight elastic straps. As for clothing, well, I'm not down with the idea of rotating the same four tops for the next four months.

Every time I walk into Mimi, I am hopeful. Their items are classy and sophisticated and totally support the image of the "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful and with child" woman I always hoped to convey. However, they also charge eighty dollars for a damn top, so the most I've walked away with is their underwwear, which I don't even like anymore because they constantly fall off my belly. The high-cut Motherhood ones are much more my style, even if their sexuality is equal to that of a ripe peach.

Anyway, I don't know why I thought last night's visit would be different, because it wasn't, so Luke and I went to dinner and I ate my cheesecake, secretly hoping the sales pieces I found on Gap Maternity's Web site could arrive before I left next Thursday. Afterwards we hit a Target close to the mall so Luke could look for a new wallet, and I actually found some tee shirts that weren't unravelling at the seams or carting an outrageous price tag. So I bought four and wore one to work this morning, and oh my God, did I get the comments about how pregnant I looked!

But for the very first time, I didn't care. For the very first time, I felt comfortable in my new skin, wearing my new clothes and donning freshly trimmed hair. I wanted to get on with my bad mamma-jamma self.

You have no idea how scared I was that someone would walk in and witness me taking a picture of my own reflection in the company john. I suppose I could've blamed it on pregnancy brain.

Obligatory Wednesday

The last few days have been considerably kinder to me than in recent weeks. I'm able to eat more, hug my toilet less, and get to work earlier than ten o'clock. However, I've been so tired come nighttime that all I can do is zone out on the couch, nevermind there's a TLF soundtrack to create and blog materials to research and a sink full of dishes that aren't going to clean themselves, you know.

I also need to ponder why I'm still losing weight.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 130.4
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: -5.2

It's not a huge deal, I guess, but when I think about how I usually float between 137 and 139 pounds, it becomes more significant. A doctor's appointment is scheduled for next week to check my progress in this area, so hopefully I can at least maintain my current weight until then.

Things haven't been too exciting since I last posted. Luke returned from a three-day trip to Louisiana on Friday night, and we decided to exchange anniversary presents a few hours early. I received the Cherish figurine from the Willow Tree line (love love love Willow Tree!), and my husband was presented with a scrapbook of mementos documenting our courtship, wedding, and honeymoon. Since traditional first-anniversary gifts are paper, I tried to include all sorts of related items: movie stubs, concert tickets, the message slip documenting my first phone call to his newspaper, even the check I wrote to pay for him at the bachelor auction. All that and pictures, too! I came up with the idea on Thursday night and immediately scampered off to Target to buy the necessary supplies. The muse of craftiness kept me and the baby awake until two in the morning cutting and pasting and cursing and farting, and the muse of exhaustion woke me up just long enough to turn off my alarm so I could call in to work. It was worth it, though, because Luke seemed to like it--maybe not as much as lil' Freke and I liked it--but it was appreciated nonetheless, so GO ME.

We spent the afternoon feasting on pasta at the Macaroni Grill and shaking our heads in disbelief at Spider-Man 3; Luke is much more generous with his review than me, but I didn't like it, not the plot, the personality changes in Peter Parker, the one-dimensional take on the villains, or the predictable death at the end (I'm not even going to count that as a spoiler, because at least one person has bitten the dust in every Spidey flick thus far). It pains me to say these things, because I truly loved the first two movies, and I adore Tobey Maguire, but still. Thumbs down, Sam Raimi.

On Sunday, we visited our first maternity store. That was, um, interesting.

The clothes, for the most part, were beautiful, and looking around, I actually became excited thinking about all the classy outfits I could wear. Hell, I'll probably look more put-together in two months than I do right now, simply because my ever-changing shape will make me self-conscious enough to put forth extra effort in how I present myself. I found my first tummy tube, delighted at the idea of wearing my pre-pregnancy pants a few weeks longer, and pulled no fewer than eight tops into the dressing room to try on. And when I saw the belly belt hanging on the wall, I almost squealed like a pig. It was the ultimate dress-up dream.

Until I put it all on. Then I felt ridiculous, because wearing the belt gave the impression that my stomach was popping a boner instead of housing a human being, and anyway, I have no baby belly to speak of and therefore no business buying clothes that only come with a ten-day return policy, because who knows where I'll gain weight? Who knows how fat I'll get? I could have a ginormous ass and flabby arms or I could be all belly or I could gain a little bit everywhere and in general look like a chubby hot mess. So I bought the tummy tube, a pair of lounge shorts, and a sleeveless yellow top that I should be able to fill out sometime before August and dragged Luke back to the car, where I cried a little bit and sipped on the shake I would later regurgitate the minute we got home.

If that's not enough of an update for you, we also shopped around for a new cell phone provider. Feel free to share your thoughts on Cingular, Verizon, and Sprint, though I've been a Cingular customer for about three years and haven't been terribly impressed with the service. I also spotted the resident baby geese loitering around our apartment building today and got Luke to take this picture:

This so belongs on a Jones soda bottle.

Coffee Talk Wednesday

Somehow, it seems, through no official planning on my own, Wednesday has become our time--the Internet's time--for which I retreat from the worn spot on my couch to bitch to you about the insignificant melodramas that make up my life. I don't like coffee, but I did just gulp down half a glass of orange juice. What's your beverage of choice this evening?

Since it is Wednesday, first things first.

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 133.8
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: -1.8

Pre-pregnancy Frema would be so proud of her bad-ass self for finally keeping her hands out of the Ben and Jerry's, but pregnant Frema is hoping the weight loss will justify the second-trimester cravings she plans on fulfilling the minute she can tolerate foods other than grapes, strawberries, select flavors of yogurt, toast, lemonade, Minute Maid juice boxes, and certain kinds of pizza. No milk, unless with cereal. No water, period. No Cheerios or Fig Newtons. Luke made bacon sandwiches for dinner last night, one of my very favorite foods ever, and I had to force it down. I don't think I've ever eaten so little in my entire life, and that includes my stint with Weight Watchers. My household is definitely ready for the first trimester to be over.

In the meantime, I regularly consult the five-dollar, cheapie Wal-Mart mirror in our bedroom hoping to pinpoint physical evidence that a condition other than an eating disorder is taking over my body, but there's still nothing visible to the naked eye, no matter how many times the well-meaning accountant at work compliments my stomach rolls. "I think someone's pouching out," she exclaims every few days, delighted, and every few days I reply, "Nope. That's just my gut. Seriously. It's that big."

The weird thing is that even though I've lost weight, my pants are somehow eating up all the extra space that should exist between my hips and theirs. Work slacks are fine because the material is stretchy, but jeans are another story. One day I said to hell with it and wore them zipped up but unbuttoned TO THE OFFICE, opting to cover the waistband with an oversized college hoodie from my undergraduate years. Pair that with a fro that's weeks overdue (not to mention weeks away from) a hair cut and a face that can't bear the feel of make-up and you have one smoking woman.

(The face thing is my fault, seeing as I've stopped taking my acne meds because I can only swallow so many pills in one freakin' day and have reduced the application of the topical creams to once every morning. I don't even brush my teeth before going to bed anymore. I'm afraid of my gag reflex.)

(Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?)

The icing on the cake? I had to schedule a doctor's appointment for tomorrow morning because it burns when I pee and there are undeniable signs that a yeast infection is camped out in my nether regions.

Is this TMI for coffee talk?

To wrap things up, I want to thank those of you who've sent in assvice stories thus far. I had originally hoped to post one on Monday, because these gems must be shared with the world, but you know, that would've interfered with the whole laying-on-the-couch master plan, so next week, definitely. Plus, I have plans to blog tomorrow! Two days in a row! I know! It has to do with the graceful way I announced my pregnancy to my boss last week. Just in case you were wondering if it'd be worth it to check back.

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Holy crap, this entry was posted for eight seconds before I realized I forgot to talk about American Idol. Can anybody tell me what the hell Blake is still doing on this show? I mean, his "rock star" rendition of Bon Jovi's "You Give Love A Bad Name" consisted of miming a record player and spitting on his microphone with his JT-wannabe beat box sounds. He has yet to belt out a tune but gets away with changing all of his songs into cookie-cutter techno recordings. And the judges eat him up, even Simon. Why, WHY? At this point, I don't even know who I'm rooting for. Melinda's great, but I don't think her sound is modern enough to sell albums. LaKisha is too diva-like, and Jordin is good but occasionally resorts to cutesy tactics on stage that irritate the shit out of me. What to do, America? What to do?   

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Sickness

Some lovely random facts for you all:

• I started having stomach pain and difficulty peeing on Wednesday. Oh, the joys of pregnancy, I thought. Surely this will pass.
• Persistent nausea began on Thursday.
• A couple of hours after my alumni board meeting on Saturday, I drove myself to the Jasper County ER at the recommendation of my clinic's on-call doctor, where I was diagnosed with a urinary tract infection. Man, was I pissed at myself for not just dragging my ass to the doctor during the week, but I was also kind of happy I didn't have to miss any work.
• I threw up for the first time on Sunday morning in a BP gas station in a very questionable restroom facility just minutes away from the on-ramp to I-65 South, aka my ticket home. I've barfed every day since.
• I'm wondering just how cut out I am for this whole motherhood thing, plaguing myself with questions like, "Did we get pregnant too soon?" "Will I ever want to do this again?" "Will I be any good?"
• I cry every day. Today's reason? My newfound ability to hit record-breaking levels of unattractiveness, as evidenced by the aerosol-free fro I've been sporting to the office and the right hand I've been jamming down my pants, Al Bundy-style, protecting the tiny life within from the harsh elastic waistband of my DePaul track pants.
• I've lost weight. Who knew the key to shedding those pesky unwanted pounds was the first trimester of pregnancy?

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137.2
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: 1.6

In happier news, Saint Joe's English department will allow me to end the blogging class by Thanksgiving with no penalty to class credit earned. If I go into labor prematurely, they would want me to come back and teach a couple of sessions as soon as I'm able, but let's hope that doesn't happen, because right now nothing displeases me more than the thought of making a three-hour round trip to teach a two-and-a-half-hour night course with leaky boobs and (most likely) a tear-stained face.

She's Come Undone

Now that you've read two perfectly coiffed posts in a row, posts that were written, edited, and extensively proofread almost a full week ago, let me tell you how I really feel.

I'm scared. I'm tired. I'm nervous. I cry a lot. I read a lot. I try to sleep but end up running to the bathroom at least three times during the two-hour window before my alarm clock goes off, which is less about peeing and more about, well, since I'm up anyway, I might as well do something constructive with my time. I stare at pictures of my wee embryo's development online and try to imagine what it looks like. I check for blood in my underwear every time I pee and whisper hearty words of encouragement to my future spawn after zipping up my pants to STAY PUT so Momma doesn't have a heart attack in the corporate john.

The day we found out I was pregnant, I was truly shocked. I always thought I'd have some tell-tale sign from my body that it was leasing space to a new human life, like swollen breasts or waves of nausea or an insatiable appetite for peanut butter ice cream with pickles on top, but it wasn't like that at all. My inspiration to take a test in the first place came from two leftover sticks stashed in my bathroom junk drawer and pure boredom. My period wasn't due until the next day. I had no reason to be suspicious.

Now, I don't know what to do or how to act. It's too early to "sit back and enjoy the ride" because I'm battling the constant fear of doing something that will hurt the baby or worse, bring on a miscarriage. (By the way, if a pregnant woman expresses these fears to you, appropriate responses do NOT include "Well, if it's meant to be..." or "Everything happens for a reason...." I guarantee you will either scare the crap out of her even further, piss her off, or both. If you value the friendship and/or your own life, just give her a hug and tell her she'll be fine. Even if she doesn't believe you, she will definitely appreciate the gesture.) I carry this feeling with me every day, and I never know when it will surface. Luke and I watched an episode of House last week in which Hugh Laurie performed high-risk surgery on a twenty-one-week-old fetus, and by the last five minutes I was bawling louder than the baby. On Sunday night, I sat in Luke's lap and sobbed on his shoulder because of a cloudy vaginal discharge that I later learned was totally normal. Turns out those cheapie pamphlets from the doctor's office are good for something.

I don't know how women do this every day. I've only known for a week and a half and already I'm a basket case.

On a lighter note, I've received a handful of inquiries about the future of Weight Loss Wednesday, and rather then disband it altogether, I've decided to modify it to accommodate the circumstances of my current situation. Because there is a recommended weight-gain range for pregnant women (twenty-five to thirty-five pounds), and because I'm also afraid that my calmer, second-trimester self might use the baby as an excuse to eat a gallon of Breyer's every night before bed, I'm instituting Weight Watch Wednesdays so I can continue to strive for healthier eating habits and will my bloated ass off the couch. I'll still hop on the scale for you all, since "the books" recommend that, anyway, but instead of tracking the pounds to my goal weight, I'll monitor how much I've gained since the first WLW of my present cycle, which occurred on February 28th. (The first day of my last period was February 22nd.)

(Was that too much information?)

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138.6
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: 3

I'd really like to keep my total gain under thirty pounds, but hell, I'd put on a hundred if it guaranteed a healthy baby. Maybe that Breyer's will come in handy after all.

P.S. Amalah pimped me out over on Mom's Daily Dose. Won't you please stop by and tell everyone how wonderful I am? There's only one comment so far, and that's from me. The baby is already embarrassed.

What? It's Technically Still Wednesday

Geez, with only sixteen minutes left to Weight Loss Wednesday, you'd think there was bad news to report. But actually, I did myself proud.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 138.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137.2
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12.2

Not bad, right? I'm not sure how it happened, really, since not only did I move forward with my plans to indulge in a big, heaping bowl of spinach dip this weekend while my beloved was out of town, I did it TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW. Once on Saturday night while enjoying my long-awaited Sex and the City marathon, and once the night before at a quaint little pub with Jessi, a blog reader who works and attends law school in Indianapolis. I was so nervous about meeting someone whose sole perception of me was based on meticulously crafted entries and goofy pictures that almost always involve Photoshopping some of the acne off my cheeks, so afraid I'd look like an asshole when referencing something from my blog, as if I assumed people had nothing better to do then commit my archives to memory, but the minute I laid eyes on her happy smile outside the Aristocrat in Broadripple, I immediately relaxed and let myself be carried away by good conversation. Which lasted two hours. It was that awesome.

Plus, I felt a little like a rock star when we would delve into a new topic and she knew exactly what I was talking about, like when we were swapping stories about old boyfriends and I'd said only a few words about my second one before Jessi was like, "Oh, when you were Trophy Frema?" And I was like, "Oh, yeah!"

(How many of you have met other bloggers/blog readers? Did you have a similarly awesome experience?)

In other news, I can't deny my feelings any longer. I miss All My Children.

The Bible reading is becoming harder to keep up with, despite my intentionally leaving the Good Book in plain sight on the nightstand instead of tucked away on a shelf halfway across the room, but I still manage to get my time in more often than not. And I still enjoy it and feel like I've learned a lot. However, the absence of AMC from my daily routine is almost impossible to bear. No, I haven't cheated, thanks so much for your faith in me, that is, unless you count desperately flipping through soap mags in the check-out aisle at Target as cheating, which I don't, because I totally didn't learn anything about whether or not Krystal's had her illegitimate baby, Tad knows his own son is (unknowingly) (of course) playing daddy to the long-lost daughter he once thought died in utero, Babe's fake death has been brought to light, or Kendall is still carrying hottie Zach's child. Easter Sunday will indeed be a glorious day, because in addition to celebrating the resurrection of our Lord and Savior, I'll also be reprogramming my VCR to record channel six every week day at one o'clock eastern standard time. Let us rejoice and be glad.

On a related note, Carrisa asked me last week why I decided on AMC as my Lenten sacrifice, which was a perfectly valid question; after all, boycotting daytime television doesn't eliminate disease or help the poor or even make a difference to anyone but me. I really wanted to pick something, though, that hit me where it hurt, and if you had any idea how much time I spent catching up on episodes, lurking on message boards, and combing through character bios, you'd know that by the time Lent rolled around this year I was on the verge of obsessed. For my own peace of mind, I wanted to know that I wasn't as dependent on such a shallow form of entertainment as I thought, and when times got tough, I tried to remember how insignificant my sacrifice was when compared to what Jesus did for us, even though it was an insanely important part of my life. I love the history and the characters and the laughable plots and the inappropriate wardrobe choices made for Susan Lucci (how many times did she wear strapless dresses in November, girlfriends? How many?) and the guilty-pleasure escapism provided by the great and wonderful land of Pine Valley, but I had to prove to myself I could take a step back when that love got out of control.

How about the rest of you fellow Lenten observers? Are you happy with the choices you made regarding your own Easter sacrifice? (If in fact you gave anything up in the first place; I know not every Christian denomination does this.) How did you do? What did you learn?

P.S. Both Bethiclaus and David have decided to take the WLW plunge. Let's show 'em some love, shall we?

Baby Steps Wednesday

Baby steps, indeed.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 138.8
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138.2
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 13.2

I blame the absence of any truly significant weight loss this week on Luke's surprise dessert Tuesday night. The day had been going so well otherwise; me weighing in at a respectable 137.2 that morning, the two of us feasting on a light dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup, my future plans of nursing a small bowl of berry rainbow sherbet before bed. Then, suddenly, I noticed the oven was on.

Surprise! Luke said. Pillsbury cinnamon bread!

Foiled again!

In an effort to remain content with eating at home, we often pick up fun breakfast items from the grocery store to have on the weekends, like muffins or cinnamon rolls. Who knew one could partake in the joy during the evening hours?

After it finished baking, Luke presented his spontaneous masterpiece on one of our largest Target dishes, along with two forks, and we delighted in the gooey, frosty goodness. Ten minutes later, Luke had stopped with the delighting; meanwhile, I was packing it away like a rabid squirrel on the cusp of hibernating for the winter. The look on my husband's face clued me in that we probably weren't meant to finish it off in one sitting.

And to think I told my new ob/gyn I was giving diet and exercise "an honest try." Ha!

My appointment yesterday ended my journey to find a doctor who could manage both the care of my nether region and the delivery of my first child before either was actually necessary. The first one I met with two Fridays ago was receptive to all of my questions, but Dr. Wonderful (do you think she'll mind if I call her that?) took a more proactive approach in providing information. She initiated conversations about office procedures, equipment capabilities (3D ultrasounds right in their office!), how to time conception, standard L & D practices, and anything else you could possibly think of; plus, the fact that she was a young, healthy woman currently experiencing pregnancy herself--she's due at the end of the month--put me at ease right away. I knew within the first five minutes I'd found the right person.

Before I left, Dr. Wonderful sent me off with a generous sampling of prenatal vitamins, and it's now starting to hit me that holy crap, I'm trying to grow a baby inside of me. For the first time in my life, I'm counting the days on the calendar in anticipation of my next fertile window, Luke and I both so excited about finally taking the next step in our relationship as a family. There's no guessing how long it will be before the little person I'm so in love with already will assume his/her rightful place in the world, but knowing that we're finally OK with putting ourselves out there, well, right now that's fantastic enough.

Not so much that I'm laying off the junk food, apparently, but fantastic just the same. I'll get there, sweet baby, I promise!

Bah Humbug Thursday

Because I can't very well call it Wednesday if I'm posting at 1:12 Thursday morning, can I?

My last official Weight Loss Wednesday entry was on March 7, when I delighted in a lovely reading of 135.8 pounds. Then I went to Chicago and had a grand ole time. Two pounds of grand, to be exact.

It's been downhill ever since.

LAST WEEK'S (SECRET) WEIGHT: 138.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138.8
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 13.8

I don't know what happened to bring about this new blasé attitude, but for the last two weeks I've eaten whatever I liked without paying mind to the consequences. It all started the Thursday before our Chi-town extravaganza, upon Luke's receiving a totally well-deserved but completely unexpected cash bonus from work and our decision to celebrate with a dinner out; it snowballed on Friday with a trip to Steak 'N Shake after our Jerry Seinfeld show and climaxed several times during the weekend over mushroom pizza, my dad's barbeque ribs, and bagels at Panera to hold us over for the drive back home. The following Friday I gave in to my burning desire for two dollars and forty-two cents' worth of grease and potato at Chi-Town Dogs and Beef, maybe to relive happy memories from the city, I don't know, and then on Monday we dared to step foot in a local burger joint because nothing sounded good at home. The finale last night? Spinach dip. And if you think it's good with one cup of Parmesan cheese, imagine the ecstasy that follows an extra fourth. I don't know which was more offensive to my scale's delicate senses, the extra three pounds or the unabashed flatulence.

We were doing so well there for a while. I thought I'd finally become the master of my nutritional destiny, perfected avoiding the triggers that lead to junk-food cravings that in turn lead to spending money and ultimately credit card balances that give me nightmares to this day. One weekend away and it all went to pot. But for some reason I don't have it in me to muster up the appropriate level of concern, partly because I'm still living off the high you get from a smart hair cut and therefore have convinced myself I can wear the extra pounds so long as I keep my salon appointments, and partly because so many other things are out of wack that reflecting on my life's path over a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone from Baskin Robbins doesn't sound so bad.

What am I thinking about? I'm thinking about how Luke and I have accelerated our plans for family expansion and are curently moving full speed ahead in all things baby. About our very recent decision to hold off on buying a home right now and how this will probably lead to caring for an infant in this eensy weensy one-bedroom apartment, not to mention my dermatologist's "skin therapy" is leaving tiny red dots all across my nose and forehead and I'd much rather use the perscription money for a pedicure. Nothing's wrong, exactly--the baby news is quite exciting!--but it's like someone took the Earth from their gym shoes and sprinkled it all over our short-term road map. Dirt is everywhere. Everything feels unsettled.

Still hanging in there with Lent. I've slacked off a little on the Bible reading but haven't missed more than four nights altogether, and the characters on All My Children continue to manage fine without me, though sometimes I miss it so violently I can't hear. Luckily, Blockbuster Online has filled in some of that screen time; this month alone we've seen The Departed, Lady in the Water, The Night Listener, and two episodes off the second disc of Big Love, which, can I just say, made my night when I saw a Suze Orman cameo and Lionel Richie "Hello?" cover within just twenty minutes of each other. They almost made up for the absence of Bill Paxton's butt cheeks. I'm setting high standards for episode five.

The weather's still exhibiting Sybil-like tendencies, but the recent time change means the sun doesn't set until around eight o'clock here, so I'm sure it's only another couple of weeks before Luke and I can leave our own sneaker dust on the path of the city's various greenways and the trails winding through our state parks, which should increase my motivation to get physical (physical) once again. Plus, I've signed up for a free, six-course home-buying series at the local university over a series of lunch hours spanning March and April, so the more I learn about credit reports and mortgages and escrows and such, the less willing I'll be to blow our down-payment money on smoothies from the mall. At least, here's hoping.

(Speaking of credit reports, OMG. My first class in the home series focused on money management and credit maintenance, which whatever, Suze has so already told me everything I need to know, but it did encourage me to obtain a free copy of my credit report for the first time ever. By law, every individual is entitled to receive one free copy a year from each of the three major credit bureaus, but until now I was afraid to. It's kind of like going to the dentist; nothing's wrong as long as you don't go, right? But suddenly I knew I couldn't be a baby about it anymore. If there's an error on my report, it needed to be fixed before Luke and I stepped foot in a bank to ask for wads of dough. Luckily everything was in the proper order, and the report itself was surprisingly easy to read, but I was still blown away at the sheer amount of detail. I can tell you the highest balance accrued on the Fashion Bug card I had for two years in Rensselaer or what I paid towards my Limited statement in June 2005. I know all the different ways my name's been spelled in U.S. mail and how many different addresses I've had. Twenty-two pages. It's all there.

Have you ever seen your credit report? Because you so should. Really.)

(...And one more: Have you seen Isabel's rockin' post about TLF? If not, GO. Go now.)

Life-Is-Good Wednesday

Seven days in and already I love March. The sun is out longer, there's less ice to scrape off the windshield of my car, and current temperatures are leveling out in respectable double digits.

When it comes to Weight Loss Wednesday, though, I much prefer negative numbers.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 135.8
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 10.8

OK, so I didn't lose the pound and a half I vowed to in last week's update, but I'm still impressed because, point-two pounds? Please. That's the (eight) handful(s) of M&Ms I scarfed down over the weekend. It's the fudge pop I had while watching The Departed last night. If I'd kept away from both, I'd be at 135 even. At least.

When it comes to eating, weekends at home are the epitome of temptation. Flipping through the pages of Marie Claire is more interesting with a package of Fig Newtons, and it's incredibly difficult to watch television without feasting on some sort of delectable treat, but I'm getting better. The biggest change in my habits this past week has been my recent befriending of the water bottle, which gives me something to grab on to when I don't know what to do with my hands and keeps the urinary tract sufficiently flushed as I strive to reduce the frequency of my UTIs. We go everywhere together, though his countless attempts to score during our trips to the bathroom have been unsuccessful. He's a fresh one, that bottle.

 

My new, sexually-aggressive BFF. I think I'll call him Wilson.

I'm ready for spring. I'm ready to hit the trails of our state parks and get moving after four months of sitting like a blob on the couch. Our annual pass has been purchased, the gym shoes moved to a more prominent position in the closet. It's time.

Since Weight Loss Wednesday and Ash Wednesday fell on the same day, this time of the week always seems most appropriate for filling you in on my Lenten commitments. Still AMC-free, though I did read yesterday's update in the paper and was surprised to learn Zach and Kendall have come face-to-face with Alexander Cambias, Senior, aka Zach's presumed-dead father, aka Pine Valley serial killer, and my first reaction was to rush to my desktop and pull up the soap's message board to get the full scoop. I didn't, but boy, did I want to. I'm still not sure what I'll do come Easter. I love my show, but I enjoy my newfound free time. Luke certainly doesn't miss it. We'll see.

The Bible reading continues to be one of the best parts of my day. It's a peaceful way to wind down before lights-out, and I'm constantly (re)inspired by Jesus's words and teachings. Challenging myself to put them into practice is another story, but at least I'm thinking about people and things in a way that I wasn't before, even going so far as to seriously contemplate repairing one of the family bridges that was burned a couple of years ago (even though the other person totally started it) (apparently the eight-year-old in me is not competely on board yet). Which raises a question: when you decide to forgive someone, do you have to let them know? I mean, I'm sure she isn't spending her waking hours gazing out the kitchen window, secretly wishing to be part of my life again. I don't even know if she's aware of how much she hurt me. Maybe it's enough to internally put those feelings in the past and plaster on a happy face the next time I see her, which might very well be years away.

On the other hand, I could've behaved more gracefully, and Jesus does talk about "making peace with your brother before offering your sacrifice."

What are your experiences with forgiveness? Have you ever had to forgive someone for your own peace of mind? Has anyone ever forgiven you when you didn't expect it? Or, when you didn't think there was anything to forgive?

This isn't how I imagined ending this post, but now I'm curious. Bring it on.

Oh, What a Beautiful Wednesday

Oh, what a beautiful day!

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 137.8
CURRENT WEIGHT: 135.6
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 10.6

I knew a loss was coming. After pledging to stop binging for Jesus exactly seven days ago, I've been stepping on the scale every other morning in anticipation of Weight Loss Wednesday, looking for proof that my efforts weren't in vain. Apparently my Lord and Savior is a more effective motivator than being able to button my pants.

There's so much to talk about, and I've been meaning to blog every day since Monday, but for some reason the words aren't coming like I want them to. I've been pleasantly surprised at my ability to exert self-control, to step away from that bag of salt-and-pepper potato chips, box of Git 'Er Done™ chocolates received from well-meaning neighbors, and coveted package of Thin Mints before doing serious damage to my waistline and self-esteem. (This is good news for Luke, who gave up cookies for Lent. Poor Luke!) (Also, how evil are the Girl Scouts for scheduling their deliveries after Ash Wednesday?) The progress hasn't been huge--turning down a third slice of pizza is grand, but it's still pizza, and dude, two slices!--but I'm happy. To make my ten-pound goal more attainable, I'm setting several mini-goals to help me get there. For example: next week I'll aim for an even 134 on the scale. If I'm successful, I'll have lost my first five pounds since moving forward with this whole "Fitness Schmitness" attitude last November. (Well, it would've been five pounds; either way, I'm counting it as a big deal, seeing as my lowest weight thus far's been 135.) And if that happens, there will most definitely be a picture, which might be scary for all of us, seeing as I'm three weeks overdue for a hair cut. March 10th can't come fast enough.

In regards to my Lenten commitments, I've been doing well in that department, too. Last Tuesday I deleted the Monday-through-Friday recording of All My Children from my VCR and took my New American Bible down from its dusty spot on my bookshelf, placing it on top of the cheapie plastic filing cabinet next to my nightstand (on top of Christopher Pike's Spellbound, which I found at Half-Price Books for a quarter and am just now reading for the first time, OMG) so that I'm more likely to pick it up before bed. So far I've touched on the first couple of chapters in Genesis and the beginning of Matthew's gospel (including the introduction), and for the first time, I feel like I'm really thinking about the life Jesus lived and what he went through before he died. Also, with all the religious exploration I've done in the last year, I'm more interested in studying this Good Book as a historical text. I used to think the Bible was just the Bible--one universal table of contents, one agreed-upon translation--when really each denomination embraces a particular version and all of these versions have nuances unique to their sect and oh my gosh, it's a miracle Christianity survived when we all can't even agree on the same damn manual.

Anyway, let's move on to the AMC thing, which, let's face it, is probably what you're really most interested in. Logistically speaking, the not-watching part of it hasn't been hard; since I'm not taping it, and I don't have cable, and not having cable means not having SOAP NET, there's no way to cheat on that one unless I make the twenty-five minute commute back home to plop on my couch and catch up on Zach and Kendall's progress with the Satin Slayer (seriously one of the dumbest storylines this show has ever done but I still want to see Alexander Cambias, Senior brought to justice) in real time. And since making two round trips to work five times a day would put a serious damper on my gas budget, there you go. No AMC.

Giving up the message board, however, hasn't been as simple. Before last Wednesday, I was checking that puppy at least three times an hour, reveling in the latest batch of spoilers and enjoying discussions on controversial plot points, like whether or not Krystal carrying Tad's baby and passing it off as Adam's is just as detestable as her helping Babe keep Bianca's baby for ten months, allowing Bianca to believe that Miranda drowned in a river minutes after her birth (close, but the "your baby's dead" thing still wins). I enjoy reading episode threads maintained by various posters and the lively commentary they provide. Those people have no idea who I am, but lurking on that site has been a fun way to stay connected with a show that in 2004 fast became my favorite form of escapism.

As fellow AMC junkie Dawnie can attest to, committing to a daily program is no easy task; forty-five minutes a day isn't too bad, but when you miss Monday's episode, you spend the length of a movie catching up on Monday and Tuesday. Miss Monday and Tuesday and you're going to start your Wednesday two hours and fifteen minutes in the hole. "I'll just skim through the scenes with JR and Babe and Tad and Krystal and ignore the rest," you think, but suddenly it's twelve-thirty in the morning and you're wondering what the hell happened to your evening, and hey, at what point did your husband go to bed without you?

So this boycott, it's been a good thing. Though I was flipping through the entertainment section of the paper yesterday and accidentally glanced at the weekly soap update. Nothing was revealed I didn't already know, but still, it was enough to peak my interest. AMC, what have you done to me?

In other news, today is the last day of the first month of Luke's and my new budgeting system. More details tomorrow.

Double-Duty Wednesday

I was pretty sneaky last week, huh? Going on about my teenage years and former flames, parental trials and tribulations, basking in the afterglow of the Internet's sympathy, all the while ignoring the white elephant that was Weight Loss Wednesday.

I didn't skip out completely--I did submit myself to the unforgiving nature of the scale, and I was neither pleased nor surprised with the one-point-two extra pounds of insulation I seemed to have accumulated watching all those DVDs from Blockbuster Online.

Things aren't much better this week:

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 138.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137.8
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12.8

Apparently skipping out on my after-dinner ice cream indulgence last night was just enough to register a loss this morning. Go me.

After work yesterday I abandoned the business-casual khakis I wore to the office and slipped into a pair of my favorite NY&C jeans, and I was horrified to realize how tight they felt in the thigh. I could still button them without cutting off circulation to my brain and legs, but it wasn't a comfortable fit, and I didn't make it further than watching Monday's episode of Heroes before I was rummaging through my dresser drawers, searching for my favorite draw-string pajama pants, pants that probably deserve an Honorable Mention in my hypothetical top five, so often are we together.

As I mull over another week of missed opportunities to become a stronger, healthier person, I also remember that today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, the first of forty days (forty-six, actually, thanks Wikipedia!) spent in preparation for Jesus's death on the Cross and subsequent resurrection. I can remember going to church after school with my mother as a kid to receive my yearly thumbing of ashes, contemplating a suitable sacrifice to show my thanks, which usually turned out to be something like cookies or chocolate (Chips Ahoy products being the ultimate tester, Mom loved to keep a package in the freezer) and I never made it past week two. Since stumbling blindly into adulthood, I can't remember making any Lenten offerings, but this year, in light of all that's taken place in my spiritual journey and how truly blessed I feel to enjoy this stage of my life with such a wonderful person, I think I have a special responsibiltiy to do something outside of myself, something to show God how appreciative I am for everything He's given me, which includes the body I spend so much time picking apart.

I complain and complain and complain about my rolly-polly belly, my alarmingly round face, my flabby back fat, and yet I continue to gorge myself on cookies and candy and handfuls of shredded cheese when I'm supposed to be washing pots and pans. I'm not thirteen pounds overweight because of a slow metabolism or gestating baby, but rather a lack of self control, and I've been so angry with myself for caring more about snacks than the importance of maintaining a healthy weight. It's not right, especially when I have an actual condition to control. In addition to wanting to be around for my husband and our future children for decades of years to come, I have an obligation to God to make smarter choices with this body He created specifically for me.

So, during this season of reflection, every time I reach for that bag of Keebler Fudge Stripes, every time I think of diving into a mountain of berry rainbow sherbet, I will remember what God has done for me and and treat my body with more respect. I will think before I open the pantry door. And I will remember that my spinach-dip recipe doesn't really need a full cup of Parmesan cheese. (Ah, cheese, both friend and foe!)

I am also giving up All My Children. What, you didn't think I'd take the easy way out, did you?

Since I've been dragging my feet over the weight-loss thing for such a long time, and since it's actually a personal benefit to slim down and eat better, it didn't seem right to offer my harmful caloric intake to God. I thought it would be more of a sacrifice to cut out a vice, something I genuinely love and encounter on a regular basis but doesn't add to my quality of life. Luke suggested spinach dip, but since I only pig out on a batch once or twice a month, that didn't work, either. Then he suggested my blog, and I laughed hysterically. AMC it is.

I also wanted to make a positive commitment during this time and settled on reading some part of the Bible every day. I like hearing scripture readings during church services, and though I studied scripture in high school and college, I don't remember a lot of what I learned, so I'm looking forward to reaquainting myself with the Good Book.

There's still one week to go before March, but already I'm experiencing a new beginning.

Greedy or Not Greedy? (See Also: Could've-Been-Worse Wednesday, But We'll Get to That)

Last week I mentioned several topics I've been meaning to address in upcoming entries, and seeing as tonight I experienced a series of conniptions over a social worker's rejection of almost two hundred thousand dollars, this is the perfect time to discuss Deal Or No Deal, only the best game show to hit television since Ray Combs hosted the Family Feud.

Besides the charming, gloriously bald essence that is Howie Mandel, one of the reasons I'm so enraptured with DOND is that at any given moment, the life of an average Joe (or Josephine) can change forever--if you know how far to push your luck. You're delighted for the middle-class construction worker who can open up his own restaurant, for the Italian retiree who can finally pay off his home and arrange for quality medical care.

(Unless you're the twenty-year-old college student who settled out of the game for a pink Escalade, a vehicle whose value will depreciate faster than you can release your own urine, in which case you deserve every high-interest loan this world has to offer, you stupid, foolish twit.)

Whether the amount is ten thousand or one million, that money is a gift that holds the power to relieve burdens and rectify situations that otherwise might've taken decades to resolve. And of course, it doesn't escape your attention that, one day, that contestant could be you.

Every time Howie relays the banker's latest offer, I think about what I would do with that money, understanding that my priorities will change according to the rise and fall of the numbers. If it's twenty thousand dollars, I'd pay off the Cobalt and set aside the remaining dough for a down payment on a house, which when combined with Luke's and my savings would total that magical twenty percent. With fifty thousand, I'd spend ten on the house, ten on the car, and pay off my private Sallie Mae loan, whose monthly payment fluctuates every quarter and will soon be equal to the price of our new digital camera. With a grand, I'd put it towards the Visa and thank the Lord we didn't have to pull from savings to foot the bill. I don't even entertain the million because seriously, people, nobody on this show has ever gotten the million. You have a better chance of marrying your second cousin than you do winning a million dollars, which is exactly why I don't understand the contestants who turn down offer after offer after offer because they're confident the million is in their case. They're on a mission. They "deserve" this money, and they're going to get it.

Except when they don't. Emika, tonight's audience pick, was a social worker with a small son who admitted her salary was fewer than 50K a year. In the first round she knocked out five amounts smaller than fifteen hundred dollars, thus increasing her chances of toting a significant wad of Benjamins in her case, so she passed on twelve months worth of income. She did it again at sixty-one thousand, and sixty-eight thousand, and again at eighty-four thousand, and once more just for the hell of it at ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS. Approximately four times her pay. The cost of one middle-class house. A mind-blowing retirement account that could reap immeasurable benefits via compounding interest. Paid tuition for her son to the best schools this country has to offer. But she said no. And why? Because a two-million dollar figure taunted her from its place on the tally board. Because her mother grabbed her by the shoulders and urged her to open one more case, even though the next highest amount plummeted to fifty thousand bucks. Because even though Emika was visibly sobbing over the thought of saying "No deal" to such a life-changing amount of money, according to her, "I came here to win."

So she opened one more case--the two-million-dollar case--and minutes later received an offer of seventy-five hundred dollars, barely the cost of a used car.

Oh, was I mad, because I so badly wanted this woman to win her some money. I wanted to see her cry tears of joy when she realized she would never lack for anything again, that this money provided a platform on which to build new opportunities, a new life that didn't involve debating over generic versus name-brand products at the grocery store or fretting over how to finance her son's continuing education or even her own. But no. A hundred and seventy thousand dollars is a miracle, but not miracle enough. Thanks anyway, Jesus!

Lucky for her she still made a good deal, eventually accepting 15K before learning her own case contained just two pennies. It could've been worse; last month, some pervy dude from Alabama turned down two hundred and fifteen thousand dollars only to walk away with a fin. Here, buddy; enjoy this White Castle sack with NBC's compliments.

This may sound incredibly naive, but I would never want to win a million dollars, mainly because it'd create more problems than I'm equipped to handle. When you have that much money at your disposal, how in the world do you spend it? Which charities do you support? Which requests do you honor? Should every single relative on both sides of the family get a small cut, even if they already make a comfortable living, or do you reserve it for the ones in danger of having their heat turned off? Will Grandma Ethel bitch about her five thousand because she knows it could've been fifty? Will any amount you offer ever be enough?

I once read in a magazine that it makes Howie physically ill to see so many people casually dismiss six-figure amounts in search of the elusive mill. Well, Howie, if I ever make it to the show, I won't even think about the damn million. If I could get the Sallie Mae monkeys off my back, I'll call it a day and let you touch my breasts and then invite you to live with Luke and me in our new villa in France. As a strictly platonic token of my gratitude, of course. As long as you stay bald.

Not that he's on my top five or anything, or that I even have a top five.

(However, in case you follow the link, know that my last (hypothetical) spot is currently being filled by John Krasinski of Office fame. We could be Frim!)

In other news, thank you all so much for your supportive comments regarding my upcoming leap into academia. So far, it looks like I'll be teaching for two and a half hours on Thursday nights from late August to mid December, with one week off for Thanksgiving. In the meantime, I spend the majority of my waking hours devising the class syllabus and determining my overall goal for the course, which so far is to compare and contrast current blogging styles to personal memoirs and essays and give students a taste of the current blogging culture. I also want to demonstrate the practical application of blogs in fields like marketing and business and their ability to generate income through ads, merchandising, and paid writing gigs. I already know I'll require students to maintain their own blogs and explore non-literary features that can enhance the blogging experience and their place in the blogging community--photography, videos, podcasts, widgets, etc. This means I'll be doing a lot of research and mucho head-banging against my computer monitor because I'll be damned if I even know what a widget is. But that's what books are for.

I'll be especially eager to pick your collective Internet brain. Who are your favorite personal essayists? Favorite bloggers? What attracts you to someone's site? What can turn you away? Be on the look-out for future posts on all of these topics and more as I attempt to tackle blogging in a way that validates its credibility and elevates it to a more sophisticated level. (In your face, MySpace!)

Finally, lest it think it's been overshadowed by a hottie game-show host or trendy online phenomenon, it's Weight Loss Wednesday. (At least it was two hours ago when I started this entry. Whoops.)

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 135.8
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12

Normally I'd be more upset over my set-your-watch-by-it lack of progress, but I received a couple of esteem-boosting compliments from Saint Joe friends over the weekend and Luke complimented my knack for filling out Banana Republic turtlenecks, so I'm gonna take the numbers for what they're worth and appreciate that my husband thinks I'm hot. Whatever helps you sleep at night, you know?

Wahoo! Wednesday

I did it! I lost weight! And all without resorting to bulimic tendencies.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 138
CURRENT WEIGHT: 135.8
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 10.8

But don't pat me on the back just yet. Remember what I said last week about dumb luck? Well, she must've been a lady for every night of last week, because not only did I continue to avoid the gym, but Luke and I finally took official measures to axe our membership. We're both sad about it, because we really do like working out, but the motivation to get us through those blasted double doors just isn't there, and I don't want to flush another sixty-nine dollars down the toilet while we coax ourselves into a better mindset. Fortunately the Y doesn't charge registration or cancellation fees, so we can pick up where we left off any old time we want to. Which helps to lessen the blow--a little.

In the meantime, I'm going wallow in self-pity over the plethora of dental problems currently plaguing our household. You'll recall that two weeks ago a permanent crown fell out of my mouth, requiring another trip to the dentist and the refastening of my silver bling with temporary cement until he could schedule another appointment for an impression. "If it falls out again," he said, "don't worry about it. You'll be back in another few weeks and we'll take care of it then."

As luck would have it, the blasted thing DID fall out again, last Tuesday while I was at work. Because a root canal was performed on the original tooth just six months after the crown, I'm unable to detect sensitivity or pain, so I simply shrugged it off until Monday night, when a piece of said tooth broke off during a marathon viewing of the last four episodes of All My Children (Dixie is dead! Because she ingested poisoned peanut-butter-and-banana pancakes originally meant for her skanky daughter-in-law! If that's not infuriating enough, her 2006 storyline revolved entirely around finding the little girl she gave up for adoption four years ago after receiving substantial injuries from a plane crash in Switzerland and being suckered into signing away her parental rights by her doctor, who told her she was on the verge of death and hinted that Tad would resent Kate for taking Dixie's life. And then she croaks before learning her daughter is now living in PINE FREAKIN' VALLEY. Though viewers were treated to Dixie's spirit realizing the truth and blowing her daughter kisses before ascending into Heaven and flashbacks to all three of her weddings to Tad. Hiccup sob blah).

Anyway, the tooth. I tossed the fragment into the garbage can and indulged in a mini-freak out, because what if they can't save what's left? What if it's so weak and decayed that the dentist opts to pull it and drill another post into my gums? So I called his office in a slight panic yesterday morning, and Betty, the sent-from-above hygenist who held my hand and dried my tears during the whole implant procedure, assured me there were other ways of fastening the crown without replacing what little of the tooth I appear to have left. They'll assess the decay and outline my options first thing tomorrow. Because there's no better way to motivate yourself for a nine-hour work day than a consultation for hundreds of dollars of anticipated dental work, work that doesn't include the extraction of Luke's wisdom teeth OR the minor gum surgery he'll have this spring. Praise Jesus for insurance.

Moving on....

After reviewing yesterday's post, I realized that for all my talk of houses and cars and stay-at-home parenting, I neglected to address the most emotional topic of all: baby making!

Before the wedding, Luke and I had planned to start trying for kids as early as the honeymoon, so eager were we to start our family. However, when forty days passed and we confirmed I wasn't pregnant, we decided to hold off until Luke found a job and we had stabilized our finances. Once that happened, we agreed to start this summer. And even as we bounce back and forth like ping-pong balls over every other issue under the sun, this is the one plan we continue to agree on. It's the one plan that hasn't changed.

I'm not sure why I feel the need to spell that out for everyone. Maybe it's due to the fact that whenever I broach the subject of getting our ducks in a row before making The Leap, many people like to remind me that Luke and I can never adequately brace ourselves for parenthood; there will never be enough money or time or insurance or enough square footage, and we'll never have all the answers. And I know that. I have no intentions of allowing the best part of life to pass me by because I was busy worshipping a spreadsheet.

That said, I also don't like the idea that family, friends, or even blog readers might be calling me naive for wanting to buy a house or have a baby without worrying about foreclosure or having to transform one of my dresser drawers into a makeshift crib. For cripe's sake, I'm only 27 years old. My clock isn't ticking. I have not been diagnosed with a fatal illness. Waiting a few months or even a year to procreate doesn't seem unreasonable or even idealistic to me.

Not that I'm defensive or paranoid or anything. Not at all.

Weight Loss Wednesday

Sometimes I feel silly continuing this weekly update when it's clear I haven't really committed myself to eating better or losing weight.

When I'm at a restaurant, it never occurs to me to choose the grilled chicken and vegetables platter because I'd rather be scarfing down a burger. On the drive home from work, I no longer contemplate taking the interstate exit that leads to the Y. The perky little gym bag I bought at Target last fall was sitting on the floor of my bedroom collecting dust until this weekend, when I finally emptied the contents and tucked it next to the tupperware bins of journals and yearbooks competing for space in my closet. Any weight I lose isn't a result of hard work or will power. It's just dumb luck.

And dumb luck doesn't last very long.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 137.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 13

It's in moments like these that I have to remind myself I'm not doing this (solely) for the Internet's entertainment. I'm doing this because my cholesterol is high and I'm fifteen pounds heavier than someone with my frame should be and I want to have a baby and I don't want to carry him/her in an unhealthy environment.

When defending myself TO myself, I grudgingly acknowledge that a few changes have been made to the food Luke and I keep in the house and the way I eat during the day, at least while I'm at work. For example, there are no Wal-Mart fruit smiles or pudding cups waiting to be consumed as mid-day snacks. My lunches have become fairly simple: unless we're trying to finish off dinner leftovers, it consists of a half-cup of Campbell's soup and two servings of fruit (fresh or canned). I stopped stashing granola bars in my desk because the more food I have at my disposal, the more I will eat. I'll never be that girl who can eat whatever she wants and not gain a pound. And when I do lose weight, eating right will never be enough to shave off the gut I've been sporting since the age of eleven.

Instead of losing heart, I need to face my reality and stop pretending someone else's happy-go-lucky diet plan will work for someone like me. I enjoying eating and eating often. My body enjoys storing fat. I need to take this information for what it is and not bitch and moan about how cool it would be to fit into a size six jeans. I need to embrace my eight/ten waist and do what I can to make sure it stays that way. There is no fairy godmother waiting to flick a magic wand and change the way I think about food or how my body processes it. I've got to do it myself.

What's killing me about today, though, is that in light of Molly's weight-loss challenge, I've been weighing myself every other day to monitor my progress, and until this morning, the numbers were favorable. On Sunday, I was still in the 137 range. Monday morning, 136.2. However, after I weighed in I took Luke to the airport to catch a 6:30 plane to California, where he'd spend the next three days on business, and I used his absence to justify devouring an entire batch of spinach dip all by myself. And STILL this wouldn't have been a big deal, except the dip...alters my bathroom habits for several hours, so it wasn't until I got to work that I, um, took the kids to the pool, if you know what I mean, which of course you do because what the hell else could I possibly be talking about?

Molly, I swear, next week there'll be a loss, even if I have to stick an index finger down my throat to make it happen.

But this new attitude will have to wait until tomorrow, because I'm picking up my husband from the airport tonight and he's already requested a stop at Steak 'n Shake. And because I'm such a loving wife, I'm happy to oblige him.

(Just kidding about the barfing part. It's OK to laugh.)

Weight Loss Wednesday

Feelin' good, people, feelin' good! I'm wearing my super-comfortable gauchos, pain-free brown boots, and less weight than I did this time last week. Miracles, they do happen.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 138.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137.2
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12.2

I'm not really sure HOW I lost the weight, since I pigged out on TGI Friday's beef brisket and a Pot Belly's roast beef sub within a twelve-hour timespan, but when faced with a miracle, it's in one's best interest not to ask questions.

Unless those questions are about a costly gym membership. Luke and I have discussed this on and off for the last few days without coming to any real conclusion.

In theory, we're both serious about wanting to commit to a regular fitness program. The Y is a seven-minute drive from our apartment; unless we decide to shack up in the facility's parking lot, you can't get any better than that. The branch is less than a year old, so the equipment's top notch. At the end of our work-out, we always feel better than we did coming in. What is the problem?!

The problem is reality. In reality, we function better at night and stay up too late to put in sufficient time on the treadmill before breakfast without wanting to crash after dinner. In reality, at five o'clock we're more excited about coming home to each other and our pajama pants than spending another hour at a place that isn't home. (OK, so I'M the one who tosses the work clothes aside for pjs. The SexyBack giveth, and the SexyBack taketh away.) When push comes to shove, we're mentally burned out.

But there's something about the gym that keeps us holding on. As long as we continue to renew our membership, there's still hope that one day we'll fulfill our half of the bargain and actually use the machines we pay to access. Continuing our membership gives us motivation to get our squishy asses off the couch. Being open to even the possibility of swiping that plastic card at the Y's front desk means we're not failures.

One option we've talked about is eliminating the Y from our budget and paying for an annual state park entrance permit instead. It's way cheaper--just thirty-six dollars for the whole year--and we'll be paying for an activity we truly enjoy. The majority of our weekend trips revolve around hiking, camping, and frolicking at the beach, anyway, so this would just encourage that.

What do you guys think? Are we awful for giving up before we even really get started, or does it make sense to axe the Y and explore different ways to get in shape?

In other news, the crown is back in my mouth, held into place with temporary cement until the dentist can see me again in February, at which time he'll fit me for a new, permanent piece. Since I was so busy reading through yesterday's entry for typos, I didn't get out of work until forty minutes before my scheduled appointment, which means I didn't have time to pick up my old one on the way. I called the receptionist twice to make sure this wasn't a problem, and twice she assured me it wasn't. That is, until I got to the clinic and waited an hour and fifteen minutes to be seen for my "emergency" fit-in, only to be chastised by the denist for not bringing in the original crown. If looks could kill, some funeral director would be pumping that woman's limbs with embalming fluid as we speak.

Since it would've taken another hour and a half for me to go home, pick it up, and come back, I did what any married woman would do--call her husband and beg him to make the drive himself. Which he did, bless his white little heart, and the doctor took all of four minutes to stick the thing back on tooth number fourteen. By this time it was seven o'clock and we were about to eat our own arms for nourishment, so we hopped over to Bennigan's, home to The Best Spinach Dip In The Universe. I planned on ordering that and nothing else, fully content to bask in the glory that is spinach and artichokes on seasoned flat bread.

Imagine my surprise, then, upon learning that the dip had been removed from their appetizer menu ONE DAMN YEAR AGO. I almost burst into tears right in front of the waitress.

A perfect ending to a perfect day.

Weight Loss Wednesday

Why is it my body decides to malfunction right on the cusp of Weight Loss Wednesday? Last week it was dizziness and vomit. Today? A head cold, a cold that got me into bed early two nights in a row. On Monday I was under the covers by ten and didn't wake up until six the next morning. Yesterday I made it to eleven, but only because I wanted to catch the end of Law and Order: SVU, during which Blair Underwood set his ex-wife on fire.

Unfortunately, the scale doesn't care how stuffed up your nose is or how dangerous Blair Underwood is with a bottle of gasoline. He is just the messenger, cold and heartless.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 137
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138.6
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 13.6

Thanks to my fancy schmancy scale, demicals have now entered the picture, which means I have to record this week as an almost two-pound gain. Crap.

Why have I lost my motivation? I attribute part of it to the shopping sprees I had in December. Wearing new clothes can make you feel like you've lost five pounds, when in real life all you did was purchase some cute t-shirts whose hems you don't have to yank on every eight seconds to cover your pot belly. It also helps that my hair's been on its best behavior and my feet are sporting a different pair of shoes every day. Why pay attention to my expanding waistline when I can admire my heels or the curls I was able to shape with only two of my three styling products?

It might also be due to the fact that my weekend was bookmarked with trips to Longhorn Steakhouse and Ted's Montana Grill. I suppose a gain shouldn't come as a complete surprise.

It's been a month and a half since I walked into the gym, and if the YMCA wasn't a Christian organization, I'd feel like Luke and I were throwing our money away; as it currently stands, it's just like making a sixty-nine-dollar-a-month contribution to a local charity. We're not lazy, see? We're just making the world a better place.

Last Saturday I visited the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles to finally update my license and state IDs to my married name, and while the attendant was reviewing the paperwork, she asked, "Is your weight still 120?"

"Yes," I replied. Then I went home and had a good laugh before my spirit burst into tears, because really, people, the last time I was 120 pounds was probably my sophomore year in high school, and yet I continue to give this number when any government official asks for my total poundage, even though I'm terrified they'll raise their eyebrows and shake their heads to let me know I've been caught in a blatant lie. I can remember renewing my license in Rensselaer and almost having a heart attack over the clerk's listing it as 125, even though I done told the bitch it was 120 (and even though I actually weighed 132. Whoops). When I moved to Indianapolis, I changed it right back, despite my failed attempts to button my size-eight jeans. In those situations, I always think, "This extra flab is just temporary! Any day now I'm going to slim down and become the number I feel on the inside!" Which I apparently think is eighteen-point-five pounds fewer than my mortal shell. I'm also a fan of assigning blame to the water retained during my menstrual cycle. Even if it's day six and the womanly blood is nowhere in sight.

Tell me I'm not the only one who does this. How much cushion (no pun intended) do you allow yourself when reporting your weight?

Also, that city clerk probably knew I was lying, didn't she?

Let's face it. She totally knew.

And for those of you wondering about last night's dessert choice....

Was there ever any doubt? Although I wish I'd asked for the brownie sundae. The banana was actually sort of bland. Luke was quite pleased with his tiramisu.

Weight Loss Wednesday

When I was lying on the living room floor last night, clutching my stomach, begging God to make the pain stop, all I could think was, "Please don't let me throw up, please don't let me throw up."

Of course, that practically guaranteed a quickie with the porcelain throne, but it was upon remembering the return of Weight Loss Wednesday that I realized regurgitating my lunch of spaghetti and Italian sausage just might work to my advantage.

WEIGHT FROM TWO WEEKS AGO: 136
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12

I'd like to think it was self-control that kept me from gaining more than one pound over the course of two weeks, but getting sick the night before your weigh-in helps, too.

Bad foods consumed over the holiday; where to start? Since last week's gluttonous report, there's been more Baker's Square goodness in honor of my mother's forty-sixth birthday, for which I generously scarfed down two slices of Oreo pie, pizza and chips in honor of Jack's big Number One, beef sandwiches drenched in gravy, and plenty of Mike's Hard Lemonade to bring in the New Year.

Needless to say, I never made it to the gym.

I can't tell you how pissed I am for forking over sixty-