Posts Tagged ‘Best Friend’

Somewhere across the country there’s a secret collective of post-op dairy farmers. They haven’t been clear on their target market, or the cost of their product to consumers when it officially hits store shelves. One thing is clear: confidential sources have revealed they’re milking it for all it is worth.

Ugh.

Piece of advice: if you fell off the post-op salad truck, STOP posting, ‘What do I DO???” all over the internet. If you are a weight loss surgery post op for any length of time (two seconds, two months, two years, two decades), you know what you are supposed to do…unless of course you were hit on the head with fried Twinkies. Then you could be suffering from WLSPOA (weight loss surgery post op amnesia).

To avoid becoming a POW, try the following steps:

1. Talk to someone. You have a primary care doctor, you have a surgeon, you have a nutritionist. If any of these professionals have mysteriously vanished out of your life (alien abduction?)…FIND SOMEONE NEW. If you’re unable to do so then my assumption would be you reside on an island in total solitude, which means you have no access to communications and will not read this anyway.

2. If you know you’re eating habits are bad, and you know you have consumed that which you probably are not supposed to (like a container of crispy oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from Trader Joe’s), get over it. It’s summer. You can grow stuff. Even better, you can pay someone who grew it already.

3. If you have the phrase “I can’t afford to” flashing behind your eyelids in reference to item #2, hold your tongue. Chances are incredulously high you have, oh let’s see: all the cable channels, all the movie channels, a smart phone and a big ol’ plan.

I whine to a select few of my friends, none of whom give me one ounce of slack because they’ve been privy to my weight loss changes. I don’t complain online all that often. Usually I will talk to someone who puts me in my place. I also yell at people. Ask my friend Anne. I chased her bum back across the football field at boot camp a few weeks ago for short-cutting the track, later I made her do half leap frogs. My trainer gives me no slack at all-and it has nothing to do my picture he put on his car advertisement. It’s because he remembers when I was the fattest woman in the gym, how my stomach drug the ground during push ups, or how 40lbs made a world of difference in climbing 17 steps.

God, you have so much to celebrate. Don’t be a POW. Don’t focus on the prison and the chains…neither hold you anymore.

If that doesn’t encourage you, get stuck somewhere. I got wedged in that little space there between the bed and nightstand over the weekend to fix the carpet. I hadn’t laughed that hard at myself in a long, long time.

smallspotigotstuckin

A dear and close friend of mine replied to a text I sent her this morning with the following:

I am very proud of your tenacity…

‘Tis a rare occasion when I become at a loss for words, today was one of those occasions.

Never in a million years would I have said I was tenacious. It’s not been a word I have used when I’m asked to share bits and pieces of my story along the road of life. But I learned something today…I am every word that is found in the definition of tenacious.

Are you?

tenacious

I went with Bestie last night with L-Act and D-Tek to the castle of the Pastry King. They needed to check on a garden, Pastry King was visiting another realm, I needed to pick Bestie’s brain.

Any amount of time spent in the vicinity of teenagers who get along like brother and sister and not like dueling squires, definitely bound to be interesting. As the chariot rattled down the road of death (seriously…I bet an entire family was swallowed alive in their chariot by the craters chiseled in that road!), L-Act ended a sentence with: “…I can act gay.”

I promptly informed him he was in error. He replied, “I can too act gay.” Bestie and I both said, “You SO cannot act gay.”

The next few comments left us a in massive fit of laughter and Bestie overshot the entrance to the castle by a good 200 feet.

IMG_1077After we got wet and dirty dug holes and planted stuff, L-Act and D-Tek took care of a few chores in the castle. I was overwhelmed by MOC syndrome (Mud on Car)…”OMG Muddy” appeared out of nowhere on the rear door. I admitted to the deed…sort of…

Best part of the night was after we left the castle of the Pastry King. Bestie asked D-Tek about a place in town and if they had deserts. The next five minutes were filled with D-Tek’s tale of sugary sweetness, she had the same glee in her voice when the Pastry King speaks such wonders. She is her fathers daughter.

After a chai frappuccino, a mocha frappuccino with no coffee, a lemon pop, triple venti carmel frappuccino and a decaf (really???), L-Act popped out the playlist. We spent the next 30 minutes singing badly and laughing loudly (with tears). Bestie overshot the turn to take D-Tek to her palace because we were laughing so hard. Closer we got to D-Tek’s palace, the harder we laughed. Then the snorting. Then the laughter turned to squeals (that was me)….then Bestie shut us down for fear of what D-Tek’s mom would think (you know, that we were all nuts).

This has nothing to do with exercise (unless you want to count the 40lb bags of potting soil I helped drag around and four holes I dug). I’m disgustingly happy, and having so much fun just being alive.