So Our The Days Of Our Lives

Hi!

I have no clever title. I have no clever introductory sentence.

Damn it. I hate it when that happens.

I have been thinking about my bloggers these last few days. I wondered how my fellow American's lapbanders and dieters held up during Thanksgiving day meals. I found comfort in the fact that last year I am happier and healthier than last year. I ate slow. I only PB'd once in the last 6 days.


I weighed in today at 168.


I am content.


My mind and thoughts are scattered, but I didnt want another day to pass without blogging, so I will let them spill out and you can do with them what you will.


You will be happy to know that last weekend, I did indeed hang the Christmas lights outdoors. I didnt go crazy, but enough to feel in the spirit. I don't think I will put up my Christmas tree after all. And I am okay with that. It would feel like an impostor in the house right now. Next year, it will take it's rightful place in our home.



We spent the last 5 nights in Defuniak Springs with Heather's family. I always come back with fabulous stories and a desire to return. I have a GREAT hunting story, which may be better vlog material...


keep your fingers crossed.

Thanksgiving morning, Heather and most of the family went hunting. I stayed behind to help Granny get the food ready for lunch. It's crazy how different families have different types of foods that make up their traditional table landscape during the holidays. For example, I have never had a Thanksgiving without mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, and corn. But at the Gaineys, there were collards, 4 different kinds of fresh beans, sliced tomatoes, and apparently, a variety of "southern" staples.


I didn't eat very much. But I never really do on Thanksgiving. With or without the band. After lunch, I went hunting with everyone else. That morning...I snuck off to Walmart and bought me some camo gear. Including camo boots from the childrens department. A boys size 4. They were precious!


So for the next few days, we hunted and familied it up.


Saturday we went to the Florida State/Florida game in Tallahassee. Heather is a huge Gator fan...and now by default, I of course route for them too. If you don't follow college football, just know this. We got our ass beat. By a team that for 6 years prior...well...they have been "rebuilding". We still had a great time though!

It was a wee bit chilly in the morning...oooh..you can almost see my camo boots here...

I'm doing a baby Gator chomp.
Sometimes it doesn't matter if you team loses...just as long as you can hug someone who is hot. That's my motto anyways.


Oh...did you notice my hair is darker. I went brown for the winter. Blah.

Yesterday on our way home from Defuniak, we took the long way, which took us through Destin, Florida. Home of beautiful beaches, tourists, and shopping. It was Heather's idea to go shopping, which...let me just say...is a RARE RARE day when my little sugarplum wants to spend money. But shopping we went.

And we bought a little vacation to the Smoky Mountains. It was through BassPro, and they are going to try to sell us a timeshare, but we booked 2 nights, 3 days at a resort...for a total of $99 and we got 4 $25 gift cards to BassPro for doing so. We have been talking about getting away, from everything and everyone, for our Christmas present. And so the week of Christmas, before we go to my parents, we will go to Tennessee. I am super excited and hoping for snow. I can't wait to have nothing to do except...

well...

you know :)

Heather also bought me a pair of jeans. She wanted to buy me a purse, or shoebooties (bc I say that all the time....try it. SHOEBOOTIE! It's just fun), or a pair of jeans.

I can't explain it, but it is really hard for me to let someone buy me something. Even if it IS my girlfriend. I don't want her to spend money on me. But, after a little lecture about how I shouldn't pass up the one time when she is like "buy something, get something"...we went to the Buckle for a pair of jeans.

I don't even know what size I wear when they are not size 12, 10, etc. So the cute little sales girl helped me out.

I ended up with a pair of 30's. Whatever that means. I will take a picture. They are officially the most expensive pair of jeans that I have ever owned. And for $104...I will make sure I don't outgrow those suckers.

It really was a great end to a great few days. More than anything, having time with someone you love is the best present ya know?

So back to the grind today. I have a feeling the month of December is going to fly by!

Please keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times.

Love ya's!

The Pig That Ate My Purse (and my pencil skirt)

People. Sometimes it is just safer to stay in bed.

First order of business, I would like to introduce you to the 3 pigs that live in our house. You have met some of these players before...but it will help with the story that is to follow.

Shelby. My Dog. Age 12. Nickname: Pappy or FooFoo

The Original Two Pigs: Codie and Honey May

Codie, pictured with Heather. Age 12. Nickname: Bubba

Honey May. Age 3. Nickname: Biatch

My dog is special. He likes to bite ankles. He likes to "herd". He is cranky and old.

Heather's dog Bubba...is a big old baby. He is also a walking sperminator, and bc he can't quite do it the old fashioned way, he just visited the vet for his "donation"...and hopefully there are little Bubba's and Bubbette's on the way (the mommy dog is his old girlfriend who they breed with).

Honey May is a sweetheart. You come home and she is so excited to see you her entire body shakes and dances. She is also a BITCH. She will eat Bubba up for no good reason. She will also eat your clothes, shoes, bra's, and apparently...purses from Chicago.

This morning, I woke up and walked to my room. In the dark I could make out something on the floor. It vaguely resembled something dear to my heart. With trepidation, I flicked on the light...and there...laying in mangled tatters...

My white purse from Chicago. Pictured here.

It was laying next to my new black pencil skirt that I only wore TWICE. Both were now free of their zippers and other parts. Both were ruined.

Now sometimes, sometimes....I leave my stuff where I shouldn't . For example, it took me two pairs of shoes to learn to never leave them on the ground. But let it be known, my skirt was in my laundry hamper (which was tipped over by one of the pigs and drug around the room), and my purse was on a chair, under other stuff.

I cried. Of course I did. And I know it's just stuff, and neither was very expensive. But after my post yesterday revealing my mental state, it was icing on the cake. I wanted to say "REALLY"??? I can't buy shampoo...let alone a new skirt and purse! And then I started getting sentimental...you know..."AND I bought that purse in CHICAGO, with my BOOBS, and with Draz, and Jenny, and Carmen. There will never be another one...."

Dumb dog. If she wasn't so cute 98% of the time...I would be mad at her.

OOh, and you know what the crazy thing was? I had dreamt last night about me being in a house with these two kids, and they hadn't picked up their toys...after I had told them too...and I went into their room and Honey May had chewed all their toys up and I thought "HAHAH...KARMA"!

Little did I know...she was karma-ing my purse and pencil skirt.

Oh my God. Is this payback from the animal kingdom from Mr. Squirrel?

A Nice Reminder

I was cleaning out some folders at work and found this typed up in a Word Document. At first, I thought I typed it...and I was impressed with myself. But after a quick google search (and the realization that I have never been a waitress), I realized the credit goes to Amy Bloom, and the article first appeared in Real Simple in December of 2009. Hell, I may have even posted it on this blog...but if I can't remember it, then hopefully neither can you....unless of course you are one of the special elite that have recently read my blog from beginning to end.

Regardless my fellow bloggers and stalkers, I share this with you. I have highlighted my favorite parts.

Events reveal people’s characters; They don’t determine them. Not everyone with divorced parents has terrible relationships. If two people are hit by a bus and crippled for life, one will become a bitter shut-in; the other, the kind of warm, outgoing person (cheerful despite everything) whom everyone loves to be with. It’s not about the bus, and a dreadful childhood is no excuse. You have the chance to be the person you wish to be, until you die.

Lying by omission or commission is a bad idea. I cannot shake my dependency on the white lie, because I was brought up to be nice. And I’ve never figured out the nice way to say, "I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than to come to your house for dinner." But the meaningful lie, the kind that involves being untruthful or deceitful about important stuff to those you love, is like poison. Telling the truth hurts, but it doesn’t kill. Lying kills love.

Sex always gives you an answer, although not necessarily the one you want. It’s possible to have very good sex, a few times, with a person who shouldn’t be in your life at all. Have fun, and hide your wallet and your Blackberry. On the other hand, it’s unlikely that a grown man, however nice, will become much, much better in bed than he was the first five times you slept with him. And if you sleep with a man who is unkind to you, there be more of that; long after the sex in humdrum, the cruelty will be vivid.

Most talents are transferable. If you can raise toddlers and drive teenagers with relative calm, you can be a CEO. If you’re a good driver, you can probably steer a cab, fly a plane, captain a boat. My years as a waitress-serving food to demanding people in a high stress environment without losing my temper-served me equally well as a mother, a wife, and a short-order cook for my family. And if you have the teaching gene, you can teach anything. (I mean it. All you have to do is be on lesson ahead of your student. Sole meuniere, Latin and Greek, algebra-you can teach it!)

Fashion Fades; Style is Eternal. Not only do you not have to wear torn jeans, a barely-there tank top, and a fedora, but you probably shouldn’t. The point of fashion is to indulge briefly in something fun. The point of style is to have one-whether that’s a sheath and spike heels or slouchy jeans and your husband’s T-shirt-and it should last you a lifetime. All you have to do is think you deserve to look and feel your best and spend some time figuring out how to do it. Don’t know how? Find a woman whose style you admire and ask for a little advice.

You can’t fake love. Staying in a love relationship when love is not what you feel isn’t likely to end well. If you know that what you crave is security/disposable income/child care and not the person next to you in bed, do the right thing. It’s true that one can learn to love someone over time and often through difficult circumstances. But unless the two of you agree to wait until you’re old and all the storms have passed, in hope that love will kick in, it’s better to bail sooner rather than later.

Mean doesn’t go away. Some people get better looking with age; some don’t. Some people soften; some toughen up. Mean streaks tend not to disappear. A person who demeans and belittles you and speaks to you with contempt to others is probably going to be that way for years. The first time it happens, take note. The second time, take your coat and go.

No one’s perfect. I knew that I wasn’t perfect; I just didn’t realize that this also applied to the people I fell in love with. The object of your affection will always turn out to have huge and varied faults. The smart thing is not to look for someone flawless (which is why Elizabeth Taylor married eight times), but to look for someone who mix of strengths and liabilities appeals to you (which is why she married Richard Burton twice).

Ask for help. It’s possible you’ll get turned down. It’s even more likely that you’ll feel vulnerable and exposed. Do it anyway, especially if you are the helpful sort yourself. Those of us who like to offer assistance and hate to take any are depriving other people of the opportunity to be generous and kind; we are also binding ourselves to the reality of mutual dependence. You wouldn’t wear pink hot pants and pretend they were flattering. Don’t pretend you don’t need help.

Keep your eye on the prize and your hand on the plow. It’s easy to lose sight of what you want, especially if you haven’t gotten it. I know it’s less work to put the wish away, to pretend that the wish itself has disappeared. But it’s important to know what your prize is, because that is part of who you are. Whether it’s financial stability, two children, a collection of poetry, or a happy marriage, take Winston Churchill’s advice and never give in. Never give in. Never give in.

Bitch and Moan...It happens

Something is wrong with me this week. Something is a little off. I am so tired lately. Exhausted tired. Crawl into the fetal position and take a nap in my pencil skirt exhausted. Things are bothering more than other times, while other things that usually bother me...aren't.

Basically I would like to sum this feeling up with one word: &^#(&*^#&*(^)*@@!

I wonder if it is my uncanny knack for pushing things deep inside that bother me...until they spill over. I wonder if I am premenstrual...and thus all doom and gloom. I wonder if perhaps the fact that I have barely been drinking water or eating anything nutritious is starting to affect my energy level.

I just don't know. Probably all of those things. A funk trifecta if you will.

So let me just bitch and moan, in hopes that it will be a cathartic release. And I do realize that my issues are minor in the grand scheme of life...and that some of you are dealing with huge things right now...so please don't think I really am pretending to be Chicken Little with my "sky is falling melodrama".

Moan #1: I just don't know how to feel about Christmas this year or how to approach it. I love Christmas. More than any holiday, more than my own birthday. And since I am not a religious person, Christmas has always just been a time of giving, family, love, Christmas lights, and all the goodies that one can list. I wouldn't care if I didn't get a single present...but I love to give them. I love my Christmas tree. I love laying in bed at night and seeing the glow from the Christmas lights on the house. I love Christmas parties and baking.

You get my drift.

But this year...I am struggling with the idea of decorating. I do plan on doing it. I want to hang the lights this weekend. But I am haunted by the fact that the house is not mine. Being in the house, at certain times, is anything but festive or peaceful (read: not because of Heather...but other things). So, do I put up my Christmas tree knowing that it will probably be resented? Do I put up my Christmas tree and lights knowing that our house won't be a place of festivities? I will I think. But my heart is weary. And so I have also thought..."Well Amy...can't you go one Christmas without the lights and tinsel?"

And yes. But I don't want to.

And to top it off, Heather doesn't really like Christmas. She doesn't like the stress of having to buy...It's just not a big thing to her.

So I feel like I will be celebrating and decorating only for myself. And that's sad. It makes me want to cry right now.

So. That's that.

Moan #2

I am tired and can't really figure out why. I do think that my lack of healthy, body fueling foods might be playing a part...and I am working on formulating a plan of attack. I will keep you posted.

Moan #3

Money is so tight right now. I wonder if I will always live paycheck to paycheck. I wish I could afford a pair of winter shoes or a winter coat. Right now...I have neither. And trust me...I don't mean that I couldnt find the money to buy a coat (it's not that bad), but it's hard to justify it when there are other things that take priority. It's a good thing I live in Florida huh?

Moan #4

I never got that fill. I am pretty glad I didn't. I am throwing up several times a day. It's really annoying. And it's not always bc I eat to fast or eat the wrong things. Maybe it is. Maybe I should go back to soups. I dont know!!!! I just don't know. But today I tried to eat a hamburger patty...knowing that I already felt stuck for some odd reason.

I ate it, knowing full well it would come back up.

And when it did, I ate some more...knowing that it too would come back up. And it did. All of it. That is unhealthy behavior. And not normal for me. But I just wanted to taste it. I just didn't care.

#!$!&!*(!((!(!)!^&#%&^%

The end.

Warning: I Shot Something

This weekend we went to Defuniak Springs (about an hour away from Pensacola and where Heather's family lives), for a wonderful weekend of front porch sitting, moonshine drinking, and shotgun shootin fun. Defunk is a great place to escape to for the weekend. And while Catherine was having a much deserved swanky party in NYC, I was marching around with a shotgun lookin for a squirrel to shoot.

Now, you should know something. I hit a squirrel once with my car. I cried for 30 minutes. But here is what happened.

We were all sitting around and they were poking and making fun of me for not going with all of them on Thanksgiving when they go deer hunting. EVERYONE goes. Including Heather. But I am going to stay with Granny and help her (although she probably doesn't want my help) because even though I have become more comfortable with the idea of deer hunting, I don't think I could see a deer actually get shot and die.

Nope.

So anywhoozle, Henry (you know Henry...he is the one who taught me to shoot, and made me eat Mullet) said if I wanted to earn the Gainey name...I would have to shoot a squirrel.

Again, let me take pause here and tell you that they squirrel hunt to eat the damn things. They just don't kill them for sake of sport. I didn't know people actually ate squirrel...unless you had no other options or were on Survivor or something. So, he brought me out is shotgun and we started searching for a squirrel. Just me, Henry, and Fisher.

That's right. I hunt in flipflops.

So, we must have walked for at least 20 minutes with no sign of Mr. Squirrel. But on our way back...it happened. Far off in the thick, there was movement. So I snuck off. I saw the squirrel in a far off tree...it was haulin ass. And then...I shot.

Someone should have told me a shotgun kicks back into your shoulder! OUCH

And then Mr. Squirrel fell from the tree. I started yelling. I almost started crying. So Henry goes in looking for it and retrieves it.

And it was official. I was a killer.

I refused to look at it. All the way back I didnt even peep at it. I will have to tell you though. I wanted to shoot something else! (even though I felt a little bad...I kept telling myself that Mr. Squirrel was really a squirrel bully and I did the squirrel kingdom a favor).

Well, when we got back A) no one believed I actually shot it and B) They made me take a picture. And as a true Top Model, I had to do it.

Poor little guy. But Henry prepped it for eating. I would have tried it, but they werent cooking it until this week. Apparently squirrel is some good eating.

Now that I got that off my chest...

I also tried oysters for the first time. I don't eat seafood, and never really thought I could even swallow an oyster. But they found me a tiny one, plopped it on a cracker, and in my mouth it went.

Looks like me tequila face huh? Well. It went down. And honestly, the taste was not bad. It wasn't that fishy. It's just the texture that will get you!

Here is a picture of Clint and I (Heather's cousin, flight attendant, and Henry's older brother).

I kinda like this girl.

And that was it for the weekend! Monday comes to quickly!

Happy Humpday lovies! Go forth and....hump.

Just when you thought Chicago was a thing of the past...

I found this picture on Maria's facebook. It might just be one of my all time favorites. Can you spot Sarah in this picture? (clue: look towards my crotch)




hahahahahahahh

Pictures Make Me Happy

Maria posted these on her blog today, and as promised I "pirated" (read: stole them) from her. It is amazing to meet other bandsters in real life. And this will have been the third time Maria and I have united...first in Chicago, then in Orlando, and now on Pensacola turf. What's amazing is how any of us, upon meeting, can go from blog writers and readers, to acquaintances, to friends. The added bonus of course is meeting the people that share are lives. It was great to meet George, and to see him come to life (instead of a still picture), and I love when Heather can meet "my people".

Band 101: 20 Tips From Amy

For our newbies and our researching prebandsters, I thought a nice topic for discussion today would be some Band-basics. A little "what Amy thinks she knows about the band" now that she is 20 months out. If my mature bandsters think I have forgotten anything, please point that out in the comments!

Kisses!

Band 101

1. The band is not a sure thing. There you go. Right up front and in your face. One of the first things my doctor ever told me...Some people do NOT lose any weight with the band.
2. I believe that with the right surgeon, and by being an active participant in your WLS journey, the band will work.
3. By active participant I mean: You have to get your fills, you have to try and make the right choices the majority of the time, you have to use your doctor and nutritionist, your support group and these blogs, to help keep you on track. There is no autopilot setting with the band.
4. You have to believe in yourself. There will be times that you do doubt the surgery. There will be times that you might worry. But, from the beginning, the more you believe, the more you will achieve.
5. The first rule of band club is there are no rules. You will find that every doctor has different rules to follow. You will find that one doctor says "NO pop EVER", and another doctor will say "Anything in moderation". You should use your doctors rules as guidelines. Find what works for you and your body. Just like every doctor, every patient is different as well.
6. Sometimes you will fail your band. This might be with one meal, or it might be a two week bender of Halloween candy and wine. It happens. It happened to me many times. And then, one day, you wake back up, pull up your big girl panties (which are going to get a little saggy in the ass area), and get back on track.
7. A cookie, four pieces of pizza, two entire bottles of wine...are not the end of the world.
8. Your scale will begin to rule your world. This will let up...eventually. But not totally.
9. If you eat too fast or do not chew, you will get to experience the dreaded PB. A productive burp is somewhere on the lower end of the throw up continuum, and includes but is not limited to: slime, rubber slobber, heaving, and chest pain. It's not as bad as it sounds. In fact, I think we bandsters, much like girl scouts, should have sashes we wear and get little badges for.
10. Fills don't really hurt.
11. You do not have to mourn the loss of food. Trust me...the food will still be there.
12. You will eventually have to...EXERCISE. (please refer back to number one for WHY). You may be able to coast for awhile exercise free. But soon enough my friends, the plateau will find you. And you are going to have to up your game. It took me over a year to enjoy the benefits of working out enough to actually miss it when I skip a day. But find something you like...and move.
13. There will be times when you aren't losing. Take your measurements. Take pictures.
14. If you surround yourself with people that support you, encourage you, and feed your soul, this journey is a hell of a lot easier.
15. Set goals. Work towards them.
16. Be proud of yourself, everyday, for choosing to make a difference in your life and health.
17. Try new things. As you start to shed your old self and create the new you, layer back up with experiences, tastes, and people...you have never tried before.
18. Eating in your car is never really a good idea.
19. Pooping ain't so easy post band.
20. The band, much like life, is what you make it. So make it worth it.

They Stole My Laptop and I Lost some L.B's

Well kids. I woke this morning and got into my car...odd I thought that my glove compartment and my center console were open.

I grabbed the dog leash and walked to Heather's truck to put it in there for her. I noticed her drivers side door was ajar. I opened her door to find her center console and glove compartment open, and all the contents scattered around the cab. I saw two nicely folded pair of pants (that had been in my laptop bag with my laptop) sitting on her drivers seat.

Sure enough, someone broke into our cars...and the only thing they took was my laptop.

Oh my laptop. My laptop that was buried under clothes in the backseat of her darkly window tinted truck. My laptop that I almost brought inside last night, but then decided I didnt need it.

My laptop that links me to blogland.

The one that contains all of my pictures from the last five years of my life. Including my weight loss pictures.

It's gone.

Blah. That is really the only part that makes me sad...is the loss of my pictures. Pictures are so important to me. And just the other day I was thinking how I should back them up. Damn. Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda. And I do have a majority of my pictures on Facebook or my iPhone, so I can save them again...

It's just sad.

But it is what it is.

Funny thing is, is that my laptop is a crapper. It's 5 years old, and the screen only works if I use a hardware clip to hold it together. And that's the only thing they took! They didnt take the $100 pair of sunglasses, the cash in the coin holder, our discs for disc golf. It could have been worse. They could have damaged Heather's new truck, or got her wallet (which is usually in the truck most of the time...NOT ANYMORE OF COURSE).

So let us learn from this. Backup your pictures, put a password protect on your laptop, and don't leave anything valuable in your damn car.

With that said, I had a pretty good week managing my eating behavior and I lost 6.5 pounds. I am at 166 this fine morning (fine except for the theft of course).

Yesterday Maria and her husband George were in town, so we all had brunch at a very nice restaurant on the water. It was yummy. It is so great when Heather meets other bandsters, other women who say and think the way I do about food. And it's funny bc when Maria was talking about eating food that she knows is going to get stuck, Heather will just pat my leg and say "sounds familiar". As soon as Maria posts some pics, I will steal them and post them on here.

Oh. It's not nice to steal.

Lest the world has forgotten.

A Fluffy Calorie Pillow of Sweetness

HELP! I've fallen and landed on a big pillow of calories and lard....and I just want to motorboat the sons-0f-bitches...I just wanna get in there and eat some shit up.

Now. How about that for an opening? Usually I try to bury my good cuss words like 'shit' deep in a post, but not today my fair lovelies. Today it's balls to the wall.

So. Amy's in trouble. I KNOW. I KNOW. You have already lectured me after Mr. Hamburger and the yummy incident, but I do not blame La Burger for what has happened.

You see, first I would like to play a game. We were watching Hoarders last night, and the lady didnt like for the counselor to say she was 'hoarding'. Instead, she liked to have it referred to as "collecting".

OOOOH, so we get to name our disorders anything we want to make ourselves feel better? Goody. Let's play.

What shall I be?

Food Lover?
Lifer in the Fatlane?
Vigorous Overeater?

(your turn)

Anywhoozle, I have gained several pounds. Please refer to the ticker to verify. I am sitting at 172.5. Technically, I don't know what that works out to. I know one day probably over a month ago I saw 163.5 on the scale, but it was a fluke. I was hovering around 167 for a long time, so I am at least up 5.5 pounds...possibly more.

And it's not the end of the world.

It's not all doom and gloom.

But it doesnt make me feel peppy and like I want to throw glitter on the floor and rub my well oiled body all over it. You dig?

So it's time to do something. Thank God I am working out 5 days a week...at least I can feel good about that. Although I think I am addicted to making my muscles bigger, which means I am a Steakhead (like meathead), and don't know how to stop lifting heavy...

I digress...

But I have been giving some thought to a few things. First, To Fill or Not to Fill. ooh, that's the million dollar question with us bandsters yes? Because there are some things a fill probably wont help with. Things like Snickers, pop, cheese...the good stuff. BUT, there are somethings a fill would help with. HUNGER is numero uno. I am actually physically hungry within an hour of eating 7 chick-fil-a chicken nuggets. And with proper restriction, I should be able to go longer.

Can't I just do it without a fill? This is a question I ask myself. The answer is NOT SO MUCH!

But you know...here is the thick of it. I am going to try to write this as coherently as possible.

When I was losing weight and taking names, when I had my most restrictive restrictiveness (that sounded fun), food was a different experience. I had to be careful what I ate in the morning, and I was rather limited. Things like a pancake, muffin, cereal, toast, etc...were off the table for me (literally). Lunch was usually soup, chili, or something hamburger based that I had made. I ate small portions. Dinner took awhile to eat. No rushing could be had. I had to cut my food and chew well.

That is not how I eat these days. I have grown accustom to eating with a little less care now. I push the limits. Yesterday I actually stopped at McDonalds for breakfast!!!!! And ordered...get this...cinnamelt, a side of sausage, and a large REGULAR coke. The cinnamelt and sausage...I couldnt eat much of. Thank you band. But I drank the Coke. But restricted Amy would have never even thought about putting a fluffy moist cinnamon covered bread product in her mouth. I have been eating cupcakes from this gourmet cupcake store. Restricted Amy couldnt have eaten one. I have been eating more bread products. I can eat cereal again. I know that the point of the band isnt to eliminate foods, but I need it too. I can't be trusted with certain foods. I know this.

And that's okay.

So I will get a fill.

But this does mean I am going to have to return to eating like a bandster. Softer, easier foods. Slower, more thorough chewing. More water. Vitamins. Good things. But I need help to get back there. And I will use my band for that. It will be a good refresher for me. It will be good to go back. Because my habits now are not the good ones that helped me become Amy 2.0.

So there it is.

My non-plan. Or my plan.

Whichever...I wanted you to be a part of it.

To be continued...

Oprah, Lesbians, and Food

One wonders, from time to time, when food will no longer serve as our Kryptonite, the impetus to a landslide of self hatred.

And one also wonders, and fears, if the answer is: NEVER. We will never be free of the fight.

So. Okay. I have been fighting the battle for, let's say, over 25 years. And some of you have been fighting it for much longer than that. And now...we are winning. I would consider myself on the winning side. But it's still a fight.

And mommy no likey.

Did anyone catch Oprah yesterday? Portia de Rossi was on, pitching her new book and talking about her battle with anorexia and bulimia. It was interesting to watch, made me cry a little, open my eyes a little, roll my eyes a little, and made me think.

The Part That Opened My Eyes

She was reading an excerpt from her book about how after eating some yogurt, she felt horrible and fat, and she would look at herself in the mirror and call herself horrible, hateful things. It was a long list of words like fat, worthless, ugly, lazy, etc. Heather was watching with me and she said "Dang"...which made me think that she thought it was pretty extreme what Portia was saying about herself. To me...all I was thinking was...that sounds familiar. And I wasn't ready to have the discussion out loud yet, but I want (and will) ask Heather..."Don't you talk to yourself in your head like that sometimes?" Because...don't you? I just thought we all did. I certainly do. When I am really inside my head (I like to say that bc it sounds better than saying 'when I am really beating myself up') I say horrible things to me...about me. I say them because at the time, I want myself to feel terrible. I want to be wrapped in misery. I think I am trying to make myself accept the fact that I am all of those horrible things...because if I could accept the fact...then I could just get on with it.

In otherwords...if I am fat, ugly, lazy, loud, stupid, and therefore unworthy of love...and if I accept it...I could stop looking for it.

But I know that I am not those things. I know that most of the time anyways. But I wanted you to know that even shiny bright Amy talks shit about herself.

The Part That Made Me Roll My Eyes

Portia, with her 5'8" frame, starved herself down to 86 pounds. During her recovery, she went up to 167. And that is when she met Ellen. If you have seen Portia these days, she ain't no 167. She is pretty damn thin. Oprah asked her what she does now. Her answer...She lives an active life and walks her dogs.

mmmhhmmmm....

no ma'am.

I also had a problem with the fact that she said when she starved herself down to skeleton state, it showed how much discipline and self-control she had. And she still seemed proud of that. Which I think sends a terrible message to the women watching and now wanting...to have that same "self-control".

I did enjoy though when she was talking about how several years ago she was the face of Loreal makeup and she went for a photoshoot. They had all of these skirts for her to try on...in a size 4. All of them, over 15 skirts, were too tight and didnt fit. The director yelled "No one told me she was a size 8!!!" Oprah said, "Shoot, size 8 is my goal size".

Everything is relative.

The Part That Made Me Cry

Honestly didn't have anything to do with weight. It had to do with her coming out, the recent suicides of gay kids, and taking Ellen's last name. I will say here on this blog, because I never really said thank you...Thank You.

When I first told all of you about Heather, do you know that I didn't get ONE negative email or comment? I don't know if I lost any followers, I know that the next day the number of people following me actually increased. But I was ready for whatever anyone wanted to say. And every comment or email you sent me was nothing but supportive.

And what made me think of that is because Portia said if more people would come out and be who they are, less people would feel ashamed and hate themselves.

She also officially changed her last name to Degeneres...and Oprah asked her why that was important. And she explained, through tears, the importance of marrying the person you love, of becoming part of them.

And it makes me sad. It makes me sad that right now, in the state of Florida and I think 42 other states, I cannot marry the person I love. I could go change my last name I suppose, but that's not really the point. I think that it must be a good quality I possess that I believe that people are better than that. I forget that people think that because I love someone built the same as me, I do not deserve the same rights. I can't put on a pretty white dress, wear a pretty diamond, write my vows, and legally be bound to her.

Sigh.

Times are changin. I know. It still is hard.

And I know some of you are probably thinking...who in the hell wants to be married anyways?

OOOOH....MEEEE! Don't you remember Barbie and her little ring that poked through her plastic webbed fingers? The one you would lose just about as quickly as you would lose her little pink high heels or the damn Barbie hairbrush? Barbie and Ken weddings were a big deal in my Barbie table (I didnt have a barbie house, my dad built me a "barbie desk" instead...I will find you the picture).

Anyways...I guess it wouldnt be a Barbie Ken wedding would it? hahah...it's Barbie and Barbie now baby!

So there you go, a post about Oprah, lesbians, and food. A trifecta if you ask me.

If You Can't Dress Like A Whore On Halloween...

When can ya? I mean come on?

So, as you may remember, I was fretting over the Halloween weekend activities. I was nervous for the big Halloween grown up lesbian soiree'. I was feeling a little fat and bloated, and who wants to be fat and bloated when you are supposed to be naughty school teacher. But I sucked it up (and in), pulled up my big girl power panties, and got dressed. Heather was teacher's pet, complete with the dog leash and collar. Getting into the truck, sitting, and breathing was a task for me, but one must make sacrificies. After a few blueberry beers (Wild Blue...have you had these? They are like 9 % alcholo and yummy) it's a little hard to walk in 5 inch heels. But I did ladies and gentlemen. I did indeed. Here are the shoes.

We had a really good time. I didn't fall over. Someone told me she wanted to be my cougar. I call that a successful evening.

Earlier that day, we did the Pensacola Mall to Mall Walk for breast cancer. It's a little over 3 miles and not a race...just a walk. It was nice to be with people from work, early on a Saturday morning, doing something for others.
And what shirt is more fitting than our BOOBS tee?

Halloween night we sat up in the driveway, complete with chairs, beer, tiki torches, and chocolate to pass out to the kiddies. We didnt have lots of trickers, but we were able to chat it up with the neighbors....I was making new friends. Secretly I am planning a Christmas block party in my mind.