The Demons That Haunt Me

Obesity is such an ugly word.  I’ve hated being fat my entire life – which is about how long I’ve been fat.  And the weight causes me to hide myself from so many things.  I’m uncomfortable in my own skin most of the time – even when I leave the house feeling like I don’t look too bad.  But maybe I need to be that uncomfortable.

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Me just prior to my gastric bypass (on the right, weighing just over 300 pounds) and about a year ago, weighing about 20 pounds less than I do right now.

The two times in my life I can honestly say I wasn’t overweight were the result of drastic measures.  In high school, I stopped eating.  No, seriously – just stopped.  I drank iced tea all day long, and then for dinner, had small portions of whatever my mother was cooking.  Nothing to eat, all day long, took me from a size XL teenager to a size medium teenager.

The other time, I had gastric bypass surgery.  The surgery took me from a size 3XL woman to a size medium/large.  From a size 26 to a size 10.  And aside from the grey pallor, I thought I looked damn good.  I didn’t – and I had friends and family telling me I didn’t – but I was convinced.

Then I had a couple of surgeries, followed by complications, and with each instruction to rest and recuperate, I ate.  I learned that my surgically altered pouch could hold way more than I thought it could – especially if I ate stuff that was bad for me.

Thank you, Tania Lamb, for the photographic evidence of how far I've let myself go!
Thank you, Tania Lamb, for the photographic evidence of how far I’ve let myself go!

I’ve started and restarted diets more times than I care to count since my surgery.  It really is like an albatross around my neck – and every time I feel like I can lift my head up and move forward, it drags me back down.  We’ve started cooking all of our meals at home, so there are no fast food temptations, but I find myself grabbing a bag of chips or package of cookies every time I hit the supermarket.

And guess what?  I’m about to turn 50 years old.

This last surgery, combined with the realization that I am now only 6 years younger than my grandfather was when he died, and only 16 years younger than my dad was when he died, has issued yet another wake up call.  I don’t know how many of those calls I’ll need before I finally “get it”, but my kids leave for camp on Monday, and Jim and I are going to head back into the gym.  We have no running around or excuses to prevent us from getting there.  And the cookies and chips that I buy because I think my kids need them?  No need to have them in the house for two full weeks.  Maybe by then, I’ll have cured my own need for them.

My most recent blood work came back excellent – and my sugar level (I was full blown diabetic before my gastric bypass surgery) was 85 – which is great.  But the rest of me is a hot mess.  I’m going to see what I can do about that.  Maybe I’ll celebrate turning 50 with a little less of me.

 

Oh You Crazy Cosmo Girls!

My husband is a bit of a pervert, and if there is anything worse than a regular pervert, it’s a delusional one.  Part of his delusion – for the past 25 years – is to see the Cosmopolitan magazine at the grocery store check out, with the scantily clad cover girl gazing seductively back at him, and immediately thinking there is something in there among the articles about sex, sexy, sex starved, and sexting that will teach me something, and therefore, benefit him.

And then he buys the magazine.

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I’m convinced that only men buy this magazine.  Even in my 20s, there was nothing of any value to me in Cosmo.   My spring wardrobe consists of the same jeans I’d wear in the winter with short sleeved t-shirts instead of long sleeved sweat shirts.  And if by “Hot New Bod”, they are offering me complimentary use of the Extreme Makeover team, I’d be all over that.  But the worst of all?  The articles!  Who are they written for?

Ladies, let me save you the $5.  Or let me save your husband the $5.  Based on the cover articles, I thought I’d put my own spin on things and let you put that $5 in your pocket.  Or your $5 jar.

Cover Article #1:  15 Easy Ways to Score an Extra $2,000

I have to admit, this article goes where I never expected it to be going.  I mean, I’ve seen the girls in Cosmo Magazine, and I could come up with a few ways they might quickly score $2,000.  The article, however, recommends that instead of putting your spare change in a change jar like us shlubs, you put your spare $5 bills.  Every time your wallet fills up with those pesky Lincolns, you put them in your $5 jar.  My advice – put your annoying $100 bills in your $100 bill jar.  You’ll get to $2,000 much quicker.

Cover Article #2:  Is Oral Sex Dangerous

By the time I found the page this article was on, picked up the 42 subscription cards that had spilled out all over my floor, and blew my nose – which was running from inhaling the fumes of numerous designer perfumes, this is the tip I can offer you.  Yes – if you do it with vampires.

Cover Article #3:  What Guys Secretly Freak Out About

This could be a very useful article to someone who had never lived with a man before.  They’re very difficult to read, and any sort of manual to help you figure them out could come in quite handy.  The brave men in this article have imparted this wisdom unto you, you dear girl.  “I’m afraid someone is going to beat me up in front of my family.” (If this is really your secret fear, they probably will someday.)   “I worry my arms won’t get big, even though I work out four days a week.” (Maybe those four days would be better spent lifting something else – try a book.)  “Girls always tell me I’m ‘too big’ – I think my penis is too long.” (Oh, come on, that’s about as real as a reality show starring the Kardashians!)

cosmo 2

Let me clue you in on what guys REALLY secretly freak out about.  Getting married.  Having children.  Being left alone with those children while you run to pee.  Running out of wings during the Super Bowl.  Beyond that, most guys are pretty chill.

So, there you have it.  I hope my husband reads this blog post so he knows there is never again a need to pick up Cosmo magazine.  I’ll never fit into the clothes – or look good in them if I could.  I’m not going to make any secret confessions about having sex under the dining room table while my parents are entertaining the whole convent full of nuns (nor am I likely to get any ideas from these true confessions).

If something on the cover peaks your interest.  Come see me.  I’ll tell you what the article says, without even looking inside the magazine, and you can put that $5 in your $5 jar.  You’ll be at $2,000 in no time.