You Damn Kids And Your Sickening Posts......

There is something so sickening and wrong being posted on Facebook and I am tired of holding my tongue and scrolling quickly by. Over the past week I’ve seen at LEAST 4 different horrific pictures of dogs being tortured in one way or another. I’ve wanted so badly to comment “Really?” or “C,MON” or even “Is this really necessary??”, but I haven’t. I didn’t want to draw more attention to these disgusting pictures. I didn’t want to give the posters the satisfaction of knowing these pictures had affected me in any way. These pictures are erroneous, perverted and intended only to shock and appall.

 

Before you say, “Well? It’s the truth…these things are happening and people have to be aware of it….” let me make some suggestions on how you can help poor, defenseless animals WITHOUT unnecessarily exploiting their pain and anguish:

 

• Post a link to a website that responsibly informs people about the abuse of animals and, more importantly, tells us how we can help.
• Start a website (or blog) about cruelty to animals YOURSELF....I mean, it means so much to you that you post disgusting pictures on Facebook, so why not put your time and money where your mouth is and DO something about it.
• Do some research about when and where these things are happening and call the police.
• Get a bunch of people together and protest a pit bull ring or puppy mill.
• Donate food, blankets, detergent, litter, toys, or money to your local shelter.  At least you can contribute to the humane treatment of animals in that secure environment.
• Speak up if and when you see an animal being mistreated.
• Help look for a lost dog in your neighborhood.

These are just a few things you can do to help fight the terrible treatment of animals.  You don't need to post pictures of mangled dog faces and "rape belts" or whatever they're called.  If you were such a dog lover, those pictures would infuriate you and your response would not be re-post, but to gasp and click "x".

Bottom line:  If you post those pictures, you are a jerk and you know it.

XOXOXO

 

 

 

Lazy man's blog.....

It's not so much a "blog" as it is a really cool quote I found today......

 



 

“I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. I possess tremendous power

to make life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration;

I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides.…..”

 

 - Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

XOXOX

NO Christmas tree, NO Christmas tree.....

Seeing all of the Christmas trees on top of cars, posted on Facebook and on TV really has got me in a mood.  Christmas trees are my most favorite thing of all.  The twinkling lights, the family ornaments, the smell of pine, the garland shimmering off the white lights, the glow in the living room when you turn off the lamps.....I could go on and on...... 

I have been wandering from place to place, with roommate after roommate, for the past few years.  None of which did I feel comfortable putting up my Christmas decorations in or with.  Not that my apartments were too small or my roommates were assholes or anything.  It just didn't feel right putting up a tree with my family's decorations on it in a place that didn't feel like home.  Well, now I have what I feel is a true home, with the most wonderful man that ever lived and a cat that I love so much, but loves being naughty more than me or said wonderful man.  Which brings me to my problem....that f-ing cat.....

I love the cat and everything, but he is a little pistol and gets into everything.  The garbage, my underwear drawer, under the sink, under the bed, under my FEET and everything else he can either leap or scrapple up (scrapple is a term we made up that describes when a cat uses their claws to scratch up any surface in order to get where they need to go, JSYK).  That being said, a Christmas tree is out of the question.  We tried to put one up last year and, within an hour, Hammy had taken all of the garland off and was eating like 6 candy canes at once.  Not that I blame him.  The tree was just too much for him.  All the glitter, lights and general wonderment made it impossible to leave alone.  So...no tree.

 

I have been forced to be creative this Holiday season by staple-gunning garland to my ceiling and hanging ornaments from it.  While it certainly isn't a tree, it's still pretty cool looking.  Now, if I play play the Christmas station, spray my Glade Winter Pine bathroom spray and squint my eyes really good, I might just be able to get through a tree-less Christmas.  Stupid, handsome, cuddly, naughty cat.....

 

XOXOXO

I'm a mean girl, and that's not fetch......

One thing that annoys me is gossiping and talking behind each other’s backs at work.  Especially where I work, most of our efforts should be focused on our patients and tasks at hand, not who’s on a personal call or wearing the wrong kind of shoes.  It has always irked me to hear whispering, crouched and mushed into a cubicle where all you can here are the gossipers “sh’s”.  Like, “SHE blah blah blah blah SHE blah blah SHE blah blah blah SHE.”  Believe me; you know what I’m talking about if you work in a quiet office with a bunch of women. 

 

The reason I’m bringing this up is that I, believe it or not (ha ha), was the gossiper yesterday at work.  I was having a really rough day and I received an email that rubbed me the wrong way for no reason at all.  It was someone asking me a question about something she didn’t know and I took it to somehow be degrading to me.  I still have no idea why it bothered me so much, but I did what all other dumb chicks do when a co-worker bothers them…..talk shit to another co-worker.  I felt bad instantly and knew I had become the very thing I hated so much.  I wanted so bad to suck back in the words for two reasons, 1. I didn’t even really mean any of the things I had said and 2. I didn’t want to be known as the asshole that everyone steers clear of like I do to some people I work with.  So, I talked shit yesterday, and today, the person I talked shit to told the person I was talking shit about.  Follow that?  (If you’re a girl, you did.  If you’re a boy, you might as well stop reading right now and go play Xbox or something.)  OK, so, my co-worker told my other co-worker that I talked shit and that she shouldn’t trust me.  How do I know she told the person?  Read on, my friend…..

This morning I was summoned by the very gal I was a mean girl to.  She asked if we could talk privately and I knew right away what it was about.  My heart sank.  She had always been so sweet to me and now she thinks I’m a total dick.  Which I was.  We went to an empty area and she gave me the best speech I had ever heard.  It went something like this:

“Robyn.  I know that you said some things about me yesterday and I’m not quite sure where it was coming from, but I know that’s not you.  You have a good heart and I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt.  I didn’t want to talk badly about you behind your back and perpetuate the negativity on our team, so I thought I’d come to you and let you know that people here think you’re awesome and I don’t want you to sink to other people’s level.”

I couldn’t believe it.  She was saying all the exact right things.  I felt so bad, but good at the same time?  She is an amazing woman and handled this with such grace.  I felt like a real turd.  Like when you were little and your Dad says “I’m disappointed” instead of yelling at you.   I apologized and let her know that I didn’t really mean the things I said and that I instantly felt bad when I said them.  All was well and we went back to work.

The moral of the story is this, don’t talk shit about a co-worker unless you’re 100% sure they won't ever know.  Just kidding.  The real moral is don't be a jerk and talk smack behind any one's back (at least at work) because you'll be an even bigger jerk than the jerk you're talking about.


XOXOXOXO

Confessions of a jerk-face.......

I am a procrastinator.  I am sometimes very lazy and would rather be home, relaxing with my boyfriend then really anything else.  I am unapologetically selfish and I think everyone should be.  I think the word "selfish" shouldn't  always have negative conotations, by the way.  I believe everyone has one life and they should live it how they like, as long as they let me do the same.  I am bothered by a lot and take action very little.  I help when I can and I don’t when I don’t feel like it, unless it’s a matter of life or death, which it rarely is.  I say I’m going to do things and sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.  I don’t see the big deal in doing things that feel and seem good at the time.  I used to care a lot about everyone and every little thing, but I don’t as much anymore.  I’m not sure if it’s my age or my experiences, but I am realizing more and more that people are mostly jerks and, given the chance, most people will do things that will benefit themselves before others.  And it’s OK.  It’s human nature.

Having said all that, it was brought to my attention yesterday that there were some people who really liked my blog and were inspired by it.  Everything’s awesome in the beginning.  I had big ideas of writing about losing weight and having pounds magically melt off my body just by watching the “how many times your blog has been viewed” ticker go up.  That will not happen, I’m fully aware, but it felt like it might.  It really did.  The truth is that I felt the pressure to blog every day about losing weight, even though I’m the one that had the idea.  I just thought it would get annoying to readers eventually…like how many blogs can you read that start with, “I’m fat and I’m tired of it” or “I went to the gym today..”  I wouldn’t want to read that.  You wouldn’t either.  I set myself up for failure and I’m pretty sure I knew it from the beginning.

I haven't been to the gym in over 2 weeks and I hate it with a passion when I'm there.  I've eaten so many desserts and fattening foods over the past week, I've stopped trying to keep track altogether.  My job is becoming stressful and I find myself coming home, putting on my pajama pants and playing Bingo online for most of the night.  That is the truth. 

ANYways, here I am, starting over.  Again.  Blogging feels good, so I'm going to continue to write.  Maybe it won't be ALL about weight loss, but it will definitely be about something real.  Real to me, anyways. 

Thanks for reading.

XOXOXO

Halloween Candy: What a JERK....

Halloween Candy:  Hey there!

Me: Oh!  Shit.  I didn’t see you there.

Halloween Candy:  Oh yes.  It’s that time of year again, Robyn!  You can eat as much as you want of me!!  I’m so small and unassuming.  There’s no WAY I have as much calories or sugar as you think!  How can I?  I’m so SMALL……

Me: NO!  No way.  I’m sorry, Halloween Candy.  I just can’t this year.

HC: What do you mean?  We’re best friends, you and me.  Remember Trick or Treating when you were little?  You and your sister used PILLOW cases, you loved me so much.  You’d lay me out on the living room floor and trade the things you didn’t like, remember?  Then when you were a young adult, you’d buy me for the trick or treaters, but no one ever came by so you ate all of me before the 2^nd week of November!  Now that you’re an adult, I’m in your office!  Every woman named Barb, Nancy or Kathy has an orange pumpkin bucket filled with delicious treats!  You can’t get away from me…..

Me:  I know.

HC: That’s right…….just take one……then another…and another…….and another…..no one’s watching…..

Me: OK.  But, just the Tootsie Rolls, I heard they are fat free, which means good for you, right?  Then I’ll just have ONE fun size Snickers.  No biggie.  Oh!  And one of those peanut butter chocolate balls with the foil wrap that looks like an eyeball.  Score.  OK, ONE tiny bag of Skittles.  ONE two pack of Starburst.  OK.  Now, that’s it.  That’s really it.

HC:  NO WAY!  You can have more!  The pieces are so teeny tiny!  It’s not like eating a WHOLE candy bar.  You deserve this little treat anyways, Robyn.  You’ve been working so hard.  Please.  Enjoy…..

Me: Shut up, just shut up, just.  Shut.  Up.  (Garth from Wayne’s World style).  You’re a JERK!  You were never my friend.  You trickster!  You chocolate devil!  You false sized little minx!  I had my Tootsie Roll, baby Snickers, eyeball, Skittles and two Starburst.  They were delicious!  But, that's it.  They were TREATS.  That means a special indulgence not to be had too often because it will lose the very definition of treat!  Be gone with ye!

**POOF!**

Happy Halloween!!

XOXOXO    

Cat Tick Fever.....

I once had a cat named Mia.  She was white with black spots and she was not very nice.  She would scratch and bite me when I walked by, but I loved her.  She was my constant companion throughout my twenties and think about her often.  Like this story, for example:

I had just gotten Mia a few months prior and was not quite sure what to do with a cat.  I had dogs my entire life and I always thought of myself as a cat hater.  But, she was cute and nice to have around the house, even if she tore through my sweaters and sliced my skin wide open with her raptor claws.  She rarely let me pet her, but when she did, she really liked it.  One day, she was letting me pet her and rolled over on her back so I could pet her belly.  I happily obliged when my hand ran over a little bump.  What the hell?  That did not feel normal.  I had read that outside cats sometimes get ticks and Mia was from a greenhouse.  She had spent most of her baby kitty weeks outside!  Could it be that she has had a tick living under her skin this entire time??  I panicked.  I felt the spot again and, sure enough, the bump was no mirage.  It was there and it was hard.  I quickly ran to my bathroom and grabbed a pair of tweezers then grabbed a box of matches.  I saw this on TV once; you burn the head of the tick off and pluck it out.  OK.  I can do this.  The burning was out of the question, upon further inspection.  She had WAY too much white, fluffy hair.  OK.  I’ll just pluck it out, right?  I grabbed her, she hissed and flailed around.  I finally got her pinned between my knees and I started looking for the culprit.  She was hissing and growling and not very happy.  Doesn’t she know I’m saving her life??  I finally find the tiny hard bump and begin to wildly pluck at it as Mia is flailing and not making this very easy.  I grabbed it and pulled and nothing happened.  I tried at least 10 more times and nothing came out.  Not even the head of the little bugger.  I let her go and called the vet.  I didn’t know what else to do!  When the nurse picked up, I told her what was going on.  Sensing the panic in my voice, she promptly got the veterinarian on the phone.   He asked me what the tick looked like.  I told him I couldn’t see it because of all the fur, but I could feel the bump.  He asked me if I felt any other bumps.  I grabbed the cat and began to feel.  No.  Just the one.  WAIT!  There’s another one!  Oh my GOD, there’s another one.  OH SHIT!  There’s THREE!  He told me to calm down and pull Mia’s hair out of the way to really get a good look at the bumps.  I pinned her down, pulled her hair WAY back from the tick bump and took a good look.  The bump was pink.  I told the vet that the ticks were so deep in her that her skin grew back on top of the tick.  He asked me then to really give her a once over and count the bumps.  I did.  Holy SHIT.  There were EIGHT!!!  EIGHT!  He said….. “Robyn?  Those are her nipples.”

Oh.  Thank you for your time, Doctor.  CLICK.

XOXOXOXO

It's very hard......

I work for a cancer hospital and it is very hard. It is very hard because I talk with people every day who are battling a disease that I have only known to kill. It is very hard because I have to talk with human beings, who are scared that they will die, about money…the absolute last thing they want to talk about. I can hear in their voices that they are scared. I can hear in their spouse’s voices that they are mad that this disease is infecting their partner’s bodies. I can hear in their adult children’s voices that they are serious about fighting for their parent’s life, just as their parent’s fought for them their whole lives. I can hear all of this just by talking to them,because I know what it feels like to be on the other end of that phone and not know what the hell is going on except that someone I love is sick.

I’ve often thought about looking for another job. Every single day I am reminded that both of my parents are gone because of cancer. Then I’m reminded how my Dad forged a new family when my Mom died, and how I was left all alone when my Dad died. Then a patient will come to my office to talk face to face and I have to smile while looking at the same bald head I looked at 16 years ago when it was my Mom.  Then I look at the framed picture of the two most important people in my life and have to remind myself, again, that I can't call them after work.  These are not great things to think about every single day from 8:30am to 5:00 pm.  But, if I'm not there to help patients and family members that are going through the same thing I went through, who will?  Someone with regular old customer service experience?  Someone who looks at the computer screen and sees numbers instead of people going through the worst time of their lives?  No way.

 I have been cursed out by people who say that all we care is money, not healing their wife/husband/sister/brother/mother/father. I have helped people get all of their balances written off without having to pay a dime of the $250,000 their insurance refused to pay. I have cried with patients, I have laughed with daughters, I have argued with husbands and every emotion and type of person in between. It’s exhausting. But the thing that keeps me there is just knowing that I am making a difference. I am helping someone who is going through the same thing my family went through the best way I know how without having a medical degree. I’m helping people understand their insurance benefits and I am arguing with those same insurances to get our patient’s claims paid so they have one less thing to worry about.  Sometimes I get a chip on my shoulder and find myself thinking, "MY parents died, why shouldn't they?"  That's not right and that's not fair...but I think it anyway....sometimes.  My job is exhausting, but I truly do love it.  I try to take the coldest part of health care - MONEY - and make it warm and caring.  I try to go about it in a real but compassionate way.  It's hard.  It's really hard.  But I do it.  I do it for my parents.  I do it for my sister.  I do it for myself.  But, I especially do it for everyone who is going through this fucked up roller coaster that is cancer, so they can have one less thing to worry about because they know I'm on the case.

XOXOXOXO
  

MMMM....Zombies.....

While watching The Walking Dead, my boyfriend and I were discussing what we would do in a zombie apocalypse.  I asked him if he would protect me if we lived in a world full of zombies and, without hesitating, he says “I won’t be around to protect you.  I’m gonna be a zombie.”  He went on to say how cool it would be to consume all-you-can-eat brains, walk around and never get tired, and not have to worry about being caught/maimed/eaten/bitten/killed by zombies.  Then we talked about how much easier it would be to just give in and become one instead of constantly running.  I was on the same page as him for awhile, but then I thought of something.  I probably wouldn’t have the CHOICE to become or not to become a zombie because I probably couldn’t outrun whoever I was with, leaving me to be the one attacked.  Yes folks, my fat ass has even affected my make believe ZOMBIE escaping abilities.

First off,  after destroying my stairs (duh), I would be forced to accept that sooner or later I would have to eventually eat the tofu noodles in the plastic bag full of fish-smelling water that I bought because someone on Food Network once told me it tasted EXACTLY like real pasta, with 75% less calories.  Ugh.  Those three baggies are in my vegetable crisper right now.  Gross.  I'd probably eat my boyfriend's Pop Tarts first.  In the first 10 minutes.  Then, after about a week of eating the stock piles of chicken broth I have because I was going to make some delicious soups and stews with it, but never did because I'd have to, like, COOK.  Soon the cupboards would be bare and my boyfriend, I'm sure, would STILL uphold the argument that the cat was a member of our family and is not to be eaten.  Then what?  No food.  No way of getting out of the house as we live on the second floor and we have destroyed the stairs to keep out the invasion of zombies that used to be our community.  No connection to the outside world because the power, to be sure, would have been out for weeks.  No way of going to the Walmarts to pick up provisions.  And especially no way of doing what I would LOVE to do at the end of times; eat every kind of cake and candy bar ever created.  No thank you.

Next we have the fact that you have to be at least the slightest bit fit to outrun, well, anything.  The other survivors trying to stay alive, the zombies that want only to consume you, and maybe even the wild animals that suddenly feel more comfortable hunting humans as they have always wanted to but couldn't because we lure them into our backyards with our garbage then shoot them.  I would easily be the one sacrificed by my once trusted group of comrades that formed our own tribe.  They would either push me down while trying to evade the army of zombie behind us or kill me themselves for eating everyone's week-long rations in one sitting.  Either way, I'm fucked.  I probably wouldn't even have the upper arm strength to lob off the head of a zombie with and axe.  I certainly couldn't wield a machete, and everyone knows THAT'S the weapon you want in a zombie invasion.  I could go on and on about the physical challenges of the human vs zombie world, but this is a blog, not a dang novel.   

The moral of the story is this: I want to get in shape, if for no other reason then to survive a Zombie Apocalypse.

XOXOXO    

Office Donuts...so much you could GO nuts.....

Why do people insist on bringing donuts into work for any kind of celebration?  Birthday donuts, anniversary donuts, Bosses Day donuts, promotion donuts, pay day donuts, I got to work on time donuts, both of my socks are matching today donuts.  When did donuts become synonymous with office treats?  I get that milestones need to be celebrated, I’d freak out if ANYONE forgot my birthday…..ANY.  ONE.  But can’t we think of a more appropriate treat for such occasions?  There doesn’t have to be a caloric equivalent to a warm “congratulations”, does there?  Here are a few suggestions for congratulatory tokens to be given and received freely in any office setting, for any occasion, instead of donuts:

1.        Money.  I mean, who doesn’t like money?  Even if it’s a dollar.  If everyone gave you a dollar in your office, you’d have at LEAST $50 bucks by the end of the day.  Then you can go out and get a manicure, or pay half your phone bill, or grocery shop at the EXPENSIVE store in town for tonight’s dinner….I don’t know.  I don’t really care what you do with the money; just don’t buy donuts to bring into work with it.

2.       A cute pencil.  Personally, I keep many different colored and patterned pencils in my drawer to match my outfit each day.  Who says I can’t start a trend of pencil-shirt matching?  I think if we all collectively agreed on this option, we could trade, borrow and collect all kinds of fun and funky pencils from each other.  FUN!  SO fun.  Start the pencil thing in your office tomorrow.

3.       A token of some kind.  Remember Shrute Bucks?  Similar principle.  There could be, like, wooden nickels that everyone gets when they first start in your office.  Maybe 20.  Then you can give your tokens out to whoever you want to congratulate!  Don’t worry; people will be giving YOU tokens when you do good stuff, too!  Win/Win.  What can you redeem with the tokens you collect?  I don’t know, you figure that part out.  I don’t know where you work and what your people would like.  Shit.

4.       OK, you know when you have a document and its 1 page long, but you don’t notice that there’s a blank second page, so when you print it, you have a totally blank piece of paper along with your document??  Use that piece of paper to make a card!  Simple.  And the dirty hippies will thank you for not wasting paper. 

5.       Why don’t you guys just bring in a donut box full of vegetables?!  People will be very excited to see the box, then when they open it….BLAMMO!  Veggies.  They will be forced to eat the vegetables as to not be rude.  Again….Win/Win.  C’mon.

I’m sure there are many more examples of replacement gifts instead of donuts, so use your imagination. 

I guess the bottom line is this:  If you work with me, please don’t bring in donuts.  I will eat more than my fair share when no one is looking and when someone says, “Hey!  Where did all the donuts go?” I’ll be like “WHAT?!  All the donuts are gone??!  MAN, some people are pigs.  Why didn’t we just give Barb a cute pencil that matches her blouse for her Birthday?!”

And……scene.

XOXOXO

In the meantime, in between time....

I was sitting here wondering why I haven't been writing this blog for the past few days.  I've been going to the gym, playing a whole lot of Xbox Kinect, working, spending time with my boyfriend and generally enjoying my life.  Then it dawned on me.  Maybe I needed to write this blog, motivate myself and get the support I've been craving for a very long time now....and I got it.  My mood has been better, my energy level is through the roof and I'm really very happy.  Maybe writing this blog has finally given me what i needed....I good swift kick in the pants and an opportunity to air out the skeletons in my closet so I can finally be free.  Free of the self-doubt.  Free of the thoughts that were plaguing my day to day life.  Free to do what's best for me and my body.  Free to let my past stay there and forge ahead.  For the first time, I'm not counting calories or being forced by guilt to work out.  I'm saying no to treats and only eating when I'm hungry.  I'm working out after work because I really enjoy it and I know my night and morning will be better when I do.  I'm feeling better then I have in years.  And it's only been two weeks.

Now, I don't think I'm cured of my addiction to food or my slothful nature, but I know I'm headed in the right direction.

I don't want you guys to worry, though.  I have plenty of stories and memories to write about.  Like the time I made cupcakes from scratch, ate most of them and told everyone I had them on a beautiful tray and I dropped them down the stairs.  Or the time I found my Mom's old VHS tape of Richard Simmon's Sweatin' to the Oldies, tried to do it, and got winded by the end of Sugar Pie Honey Bunch, or whatever it's called, and it was the FIRST song.  Or even the reason  I think I began to eat and get the way I am now.  I have them all in my memory banks and one day I'll tell you all....most of them.

XOXOXOXO

Strawberry Mrs. Fields.....

OK, remember the chocolate chip cookie story?  I know I do.  Well, that very same lady who made those delicious cookies came into work this morning.....with more cookies.  These ones were twice as thick and looked amazing.  I was prepared to decline her offer of her homemade goodness when I heard her coming toward my desk.  "Robyn?" I heard her say.  I turned around.  No cookies.  But something was behind her back.  She proceeds to say, "I know you've been watching what you eat and I'm really proud of you.  I made everyone more chocolate cookies, but I brought THIS for you..."  I looked down and an immediate tear came to my eye.  She had brought me my very own little Ziploc baggie of fresh strawberries and a granola bar.  I was so touched.  I couldn't believe she would think of me and my quest in healthy living.  I hugged her, thanked her and hugged her again.  That really meant so much to me.

See?  Just when you think you have to alter your entire world to be healthier, someone notices and supports you in the most unique and kindness ways.  Thank you, lovely lady.  You're a real pal.

This one's short and sweet.  Just like my co-worker. 

XOXOXOXO

Chocolate Chip Cookies.....

I was as at work on Friday afternoon, minding my own business, when an EVIL co-worker came over to MY cubicle with a tray full of cookies the size of your head.  Literally.  They were the biggest chocolate chip cookies I had ever seen.  They were flat and perfect and looked like they were just the slightest bit raw in the middle....my weakness.  That chewy, moist and sinful center of not-totally-baked chocolate chip cookie is my Kryptonite.  I tried to politely refuse this wonderful treat, but she said the one thing I knew I couldn't resist...."Why don't you take one for your boyfriend and one for you to have tomorrow morning with coffee?"  Now, she was a sweet gal.  She didn't know that I was refusing her treat because I knew I would eat the entire tray of cookies should they be left unattended.  She especially didn't know that I was subconsciously hoping she would offer me more then one so I could eat them ALL in  my car.  I hadn't eaten ONE treat, sugared or otherwise, all week.  I was DYING for those cookies.  I politely refused once more, she insisted that I take two and even put them in my own special container for transport.  Those cookies never stood a chance. 

I had eaten the first one before I even left me desk.  Then the second one was just sitting there, so lonely.  My boyfriend would never even know I had a treat for him.  No one would.  I scarfed down the second cookie 30 seconds before I left work for the day.

When I got to my car, I knew I had made a mistake.  Why did I do that?  This was the NEW Robyn.  New Robyn would have just simply said, "Those look delicious, but I'm trying to watch what I eat.  Thank you so much for thinking of me though!"   But I didn't.  I ate those raw, ginormous, delicious cookies and I didn't even enjoy them.  I just ate them because they were there.  As I drove to my friend's house to pick her up for a Friday evening shopping outing, my stomach started to turn.  I picked her up and headed for Gurnee.  I told her that my tummy hurt, but that it wouldn't stop our shop-date.  Half way there, my mouth started watering.  Oh shit.  This is not a drill.  I'm going to puke.  I pulled into a subdivision, my friend was confused.  "What are you doing?"  I couldn't talk right away.  "I'm gonna puke, dude."  We spent the next 2 minutes looking through our respective purses for a hair tie.  Found one.  I pulled my hair back, got out of the car, and projectile vomited in some stranger's yard.

I'm not telling you this stuff to gross you out.  I'm telling you this to 1) confess to all of you my downfalls and not-so-great moments and 2) to tell you about the silver lining.  Since the puking incident, the thought of cookies, cake, pie, anything sweet, really, makes me sick.  I even had to dump out my coffee this morning because it had a tiny splash of pumpkin spice creamer.  I think that cookie eating tragedy was my rock bottom, guys.  I had eaten enough shitty sweets to make me vomit.  I can only go up from here.  I think I needed that dramatic incident to really open my eyes to what my eating addiction is doing to me and my body.  I'm confessing my sins, paying for them and coming out the other side with a different perspective about it.  I guess that's what life's about.

XOXOXOXO

Ode to fast food....

Oh, McDonalds.  How I loved thee.  You picked me up when I was down.  You tasted and looked the same wherever or whenever I bought and ate you.  Your delicious fries and large ice cold Coca Colas made me so happy.  I loved the way your processed, orange-ish cheese melted over your greasy, grey, and rumpledy patty.  Your perfectly deep fried, white and oddly shaped like Idaho McNuggets always hit the spot with sweet and sour sauce and a large Sprite.  Oh sure, once in a while I'd stray to Burger King or Wendy's, but never too far, McDonalds.  I couldn't be tempted by flame broiled treats and square hamburger shapes.  You were always in my heart.

Remember the time you tried to trick me into thinking if I just had a double cheeseburger Mighty Kids Meal, it would be like dieting?  Ha....good times.  Oh, and remember how every year you made me addicted to your Monopoly game and I thought it was OK that I ate you every day because I was going to win $250,000?  You got me there, McD.  You got me there.  Ah, the memories.  I can remember vividly the times I would go through your drive through, order 2 meals, pretending I was bringing it home for someone, and eating the entire contents of the bag behind random buildings in town.  Or the times I would stop by and grab a double cheeseburger on my way home from work, only to get home and eat a full dinner as well.  Man, no one knew about you and me.  Your food was so easy to scarf down and all I had to do was throw away the bag and no one would ever suspect. 

I though it was really cute when you introduced a healthier menu including salad that, when your dressing is applied, has just as many calories as a Big Mac.  I would eat those salads, loaded with candied nuts, rich dressing and various not-so-great-for-you toppings, and thought I was actually making a healthy choice.  You rascal.  Your healthier menu also included items that were under 300 calories, but once you order 2 or 3 things from that "healthy" menu, you might as well have had a #2 with a Coke, what with the sodium and fat content.  It was a sweet idea, but you can't fool me anymore.

I will genuinely miss you, McDonalds.  Sure, I might see you for ONE item on a Sunday morning once in a while, or MAYBE a hamburger Happy Meal when I'm feeling especially reminiscent for you, but this is it.  This is the end of our relationship as we knew it.  Thank you, from the bottom of my clogged-artery heart, for always shining your golden arches in the shadows of my life and letting me know everything will be OK.  You were a wicked temptress, but I must move on.  You were delicious and a HUGE part of my life, ever since I was a little girl, stacking your Styrofoam Big Mac boxes in the back of your restaurant at my neighbor's 6th birthday party, but all good things must come to an end.  Goodbye, sweet prince.  Good bye.

XOXOXOXO  

The Women....

I never imagined I would have this much of an impact on anyone.  I wanted to start this blog to get all my thoughts and feelings about being an overweight lady trying to be a healthy lady out of my head and into a forum for safe keeping, nothing more.  The support and the well wishes from people I haven't talked to in years, people I see everyday and everyone in between has been incredible.  Although I know this weight loss personal challenge is just that, personal, I have not always had to go through all of the emotions of being overweight on my own.  I am lucky enough to have three main women in my life that have always supported me, with anything I've ever done, unconditionally. 

My first friend I've ever had in the world was Casey.  I met her when we were 4 years old while both  playing outside, looking for cattails.  What a cute story, right?  The truth of that meeting was that our Dads had sent us outside of their favorite bar and softball field to get us out of their hair while they drank beer.  Don't judge our fathers.  It was the 80's and Casey and I loved being there.  In the years following, up to this day, she has been the most positive woman I have ever known, the best Mother I've ever seen in action, and a complete and total safety net for me when I feel like I'm falling and no one else will be there to catch me.  We have been through a lot of emotional events in our lives together and I know, even if I don't talk to her for months, I will always be welcome to stop by on a Sunday morning for coffee and a good, long talk.  Thank you, Casey, for always being there for me.

The next lady I met in high school.  Kerry was so fun and cool, I could tell right when I met her.  She was always laughing and having fun and I wanted to be just like her.  Since the moment we met, we were instant soul sisters.  Don't believe me?  A gypsy woman fortune teller even told us once that we were "closer than sisters." : )  She has showed me what it's like to have fun and not care what anyone thinks about it.  She has inspired me to be honest and always say what's on my mind, even though it gets us BOTH in trouble sometimes.  I have seen her go through awkward teenage years, to the ultimate party girl and drinking partner, to the most amazing Mother to a beautiful baby boy and a wife.  It brings a tear to my eye just thinking about her full life and how happy she is.  I am honored to be a part of her life and her unconditional support has meant the world to me.  She was and is always there for me, from 90210 to special treats.  I love you, Kerry.

Then there's my little baby girl.  She is the first person I call when I wake up and the last person I call before I go to bed.  Jamie has inspired me to seek a healthier life, to work out and she has been known to tell me how things really are, even when I don't want to hear it.  We have about a million inside jokes and we both think the other one is THE most hilarious person on Earth.  She totally gets me, probably better than any other human being ever has or ever will.  Thank you, Jamie, for forcing me to try the Insanity Workout in your basement and almost killing me, for understanding what I'm talking about before I finish my sentence, and especially for always encouraging me to be the best person I can be.

Now, there's only one woman left.  My sister, Dana.  She is my big sister and sometimes she has a hard time understanding that I'm not 10 years old anymore, but she loves me.  We have an unusual bond as a result of the loss of both of our parents.  We are the only ones to carry on our family memories, we are the only ones who miss our Mom and Dad like we do and we are the only Bersie sisters left on Earth.  I love her so much, it's hard to type right now.  She is my blood and my sister and I love her like no other.  Dana, you have always protected me, listened to me and laughed at all of my jokes.  Even though you're weight loss advice is sometimes a very direct, "Well?  Don't eat that shit!", I still appreciate your effort.  Thank you for being my big sister.  Thank you for seeing past my physical features and seeing me....the real me.

WHOO!  That was emotional.  Although it kind of felt like a speech I would recite at all of their respective weddings, it's all true.  Yes, I get depressed and lonely.  Yes, I eat my feelings away and lay on the couch and hate myself occasionally.  Yes, I'm not as happy as I may seem on the outside.  But, I am sure of one thing in my life.....those 3 ladies will always be the core of me and they will never treat me any differently no matter WHAT my body looks like.

P.S. Don't get it twisted, there are more people who have changed my life for the better, but I feel that the siblings Schwartz deserve their very own blog.  One day.....

P.P.S. I skipped the gym today - don't freak out - I did an hour of Just Dance 3 on our XBox Kinect.  It was very fun and very hard and I am very sweaty.  Now, the donut holes I ate at work today are a different story.  Two steps forward, one step back.  I'm OK.

XOXOXO

I can't believe I'm doing this....

Today I'd like to delve into that mystical world that few women talk about and even fewer men know about.  It's a secret as old as time and wise men from the tippy tops of the highest mountains of the world don't dare to ask about it or even ponder the subject.  Women think about it almost constantly, as far as I know, and they rarely tell each other this inner, deep, dark secret.  If they do, it is sure to be whispered and gossiped about behind their backs, only to make the divulger feel better about themselves and for rarely any other reason.  This secret is one I have kept almost my entire life, and although it changes from day to day and year to year, I have only told MAYBE three people at various times throughout my life.  Ladies and gentleman, I am about to tell YOU this secret.  I don't think I can truly gain anything from this blog unless I am totally honest and that honesty starts today.  Do I have your full attention?  Have your collective interests been piqued?  Good.  Here is my secret that I feel should not be masked or shadowed as afore mentioned.  I am about to tell you.......my weight.  My true weight and not some made up number that makes me feel like a really weigh that if I tell enough people.

I weigh 282 pounds.  This is the second highest weight I have ever been.  Below you will find pictures that I had a co-worker take of me today.  This what I look like.  This is what a girl who weighs 282 pounds looks like.  I need to let the world see me and know that most secret of numbers so I can forge ahead in this journey without anything withheld.  So....that's it for today.  Look at the pictures.  Make them as big as possible on your computer or phone screens.  That is me.  Today.  Right now.  Nothing hidden (except maybe the black pants I wear everyday MIGHT hide the rimples and dimples and rolls, but nothing else.) 

Thank you so much for reading this.  It means a lot to me.   

 

XOXOXO

 

 



The Raging Bull....

Over the weekend, I went to Fright Fest at Six Flags Great America.  This was unlike any other experience I had ever had at Six Flags.  It wasn't the Halloween decorations, the extremely scary music, the chill in the air or the frightening young men and women dressed up like various dead and/or damned characters, chasing people through the park and causing general chaos within their designated "scare spots".  This was a different experience because my friend and I had already pre-planned not to ride any rides.  Now, I love rides.  I love roller coasters, swirly gigs, scramble carts, loopdy loopers, backwards cannons, crazy wheelies and face melting spin cages.  At least, I used to love them....up until THIS happened:

There was a new roller coaster I just HAD to try.  I saw it for the first time while driving down 94 and it was amazing.  It was orange and red.  I had never seen a roller coaster that was orange and red.  I knew this was something special.  The first drop alone was amazing.  This drop, at least what I could see from the highway, was WAY higher then Shock Wave, which was, up until then, the highest ride I'd ever experienced.  It looked like a steel giant, just beckoning me to feel the Gs.  I rode that thing probably 50 times that summer. I didn't go back to Six Flags for many years and for many reasons.  But one year, not that long ago, I went back to ride that orange and red monster. 

I got there relatively early and headed straight for the back of the park.  I knew right where it was and I also knew the line would be very long and very boring, but I was prepared for that.  After all, if I was this excited, there had to be hundreds of people just as enthused.  I was right.  The sign at the front of the line said "2 hour wait", but there was a queue just to GET to that sign.  I'll spare you the boring details of this tedious line, but, needless to say, it was long and almost non-moving and I probably saw at least 4 different couples giving and receiving hickeys. 

I finally got to the platform.  It took me 3 and a half hours and a whole lot of thinking of what it would feel shoot down that first drop again.  I got in line for the 3rd row.  I could've gone for the first or last row, as we all know those are the best, but I wanted to experience this in the comfort of the middle of the train as I hadn't ridden it in years.  Then the train pulled into the platform.  The gates opened and I headed for my seat.  Ooh.  Tight fit.  No matter!  I didn't have to be comfortable to ride this beast!  Then a recorded voice boomed "pull down on your lap bar."  I pulled.  It stopped.  Right on my belly.  It wouldn't click.  The attendant came around to check that everyone was safely buckled in and then he came to me.  He saw right away that the harness was not latched.  He pushed on it.  Nothing.  He put his feet on the back of the row in front of me for leverage.  He pushed again.  Nothing.  Then he called to the other attendant, "Um, can you come here?"  The second attendant came over and they BOTH pushed.  In front of EVERYONE.  There wasn't a person in that line that didn't know what was going on.  Finally, one of the guys said, "I'm going to have ask you to get off and proceed to the exit."  That was it.  I had to disembark the train, in front of EVERYONE, and go to the exit.  I was expecting some laughing or at least some snickers, but there was nothing.  Just total silence.  Everyone was stunned.  I was mortified.  I had never experienced embarrassment like that.  It didn't even occur to me that I was too fat to fit on this roller coaster.  But I was.

I should probably be too embarrassed to tell all of you this terribly intimate and  self-deprecating story.  But I'm not.  I'm more embarrassed at how I let my overeating and laziness transform my body into a rolling landscape of fat. 

For those of you still interested, I worked out after work again today.  I vow, on this very blog, that next summer, I will go on EVERY ride at Six Flags.....and not even wonder if I can fit.

XOXOXOXO

I say boobs TWICE....

All day today, people were coughing and sneezing all around me.  Then my throat started to tickle.  Then I started to feel a little warm.  My eyes were burning.  I could feel a headache coming on.  Oh shit.  I'm getting sick.  I'm getting sick and I canNOT work out to night.  That was where my head went first.  Not that I might have to call in sick the next day, not that I should take some extra vitamin C to fight this off, but I automatically thought, "Welp.  That's that.  I can't go the gym for the very first time in three years tonight."  I was dead set against going.  So much, in fact, that I actually drove home after work, pulled into my driveway.....pulled back out and went to the gym!

It was like my car was on auto-pilot.  I got to the gym parking lot and didn't even know how I got there.  I walked in and the front desk LADIES (NOT the ass munch that crushed my dreams) smiled at me and welcomed me warmly.  I was the only one in the locker room, so no one saw my boobs or my bare thighs.  Score.  As I walked up the stairs to the elliptical machines, a nice man winked at me....and not like a creepy wink, more like a wink that said "Good goin', little lady."  I got on the machine, put my ear buds in, turned the baby TV on Friends, set the resistance to 7 and went.  I went slow, I went fast.  I went forwards, I went backwards.  I went until my calves were burning and I had that coveted sweat dripping down between my boobs.  I loved it.  After wicking the sweat from my body, I went back out to my car with a spring in my step.  I did it, you guys.  The very first baby teeny step.  I did it.

     
XOXOXOX

The gym that almost wasn't...

I used to work out at a gym in Waukegan.  Every day.  For up to an hour of solid cardio and some strength training.  I was so happy and energized and I felt so good about myself.  I lost about 50 pounds and everyone was so proud of me.  I bought new jeans and went out on the weekends and didn't think twice about people thinking I was fat or unattractive.  That was three years ago.  I stopped going one day and just never went back.  I felt so guilty for missing a day, then I thought....what the hell?  I didn't go tot he gym today, so I might as well make it a total loss and eat ice cream too.  That was it.  I never went back to the gym and I continued to eat ice cream and crappy food and now I weigh 15 pounds MORE then when I started working out.  Gross.

So, I decided to join this gym again.  I really did like it there and I loved the view out the huge windows from the elliptical.  I had made up my mind to re-join last Thursday.  That night I packed my backpack with yoga pants, my favorite t shirt, 2 sports bras, deodorant and my gym shoes.  The next morning I put the backpack in the backseat of my car, determined to go the the gym after work and start doing what I found I loved to do three years ago.  During work, I was so nervous.  Skinny people go the gym.  People who don't NEED to go the gym go the gym.  I was embarrassed of the way my ginormous ass looked in my yoga pants and I didn't know what people would say once they saw me try to work out.  After all morning worrying, I psyched myself up and went to the store on my lunch break and bought sweat bands, ear phones and a lock for the locker room at the gym.  I was set.  The afternoon flew by and even though I was tired and my eyes were burning from staring at a computer screen all day, I went.  I couldn't believe I actually drove there.  I was in the parking lot and noticed a gaggle of perfectly athletic teenage girls standing around by the front door.  If anyone was going to make fun of me, it would be them.  I got out of my car, took a deep breath, and made my way the front door.  I passed the gaggle as if they didn't exist and once I opened the front door, there they were.  If the girls outside were a gaggle, this was an all out army of fit, beautiful teenage girls.  Just my luck, a fucking basketball tournament.  I started sweating and my face, I'm sure, turned bright red, but nevertheless, I went up the front counter and said "I'd like to start a membership please."  I breathed a sigh if relief.  I did it.  I got here.  I'm in.  I was so proud of myself and  happy and then it happened.  The young man behind said, "You can't."  The words echoed in my head over and over.  After all of the preparing and anxiety, I was being rejected.  When I asked him why I couldn't join, he simply said, "Our system is down, come back tomorrow."  You guys?  I was crushed.  He didn't offer to have me start on my paperwork, he didn't offer to show me around the gym, he didn't even offer a chance to pay for that day just to get a workout in.  He just said "no."  I looked at him with a deflated face and went back to my car.  Past the army, past the gaggle.  I got in my car and cried.  I had so looked forward to starting my weight loss and I was just turned away.  It.  Sucked.  That little boy had no idea what he did to me that day.  He crushed me.  He had no idea my back story, why I was there, or the first thing about customer service.  I vowed never to return....

NO WAY!!  I'm not going to let some asshole at the front desk of a gym stop me!  Is that what you really thought of me?  Hell no.  I went back the next day, went up the same stupid boy and got my membership without even saying thank you.  THAT'LL show him.  :)  I really feel like, at the end of the day, I just want to work out.  I don't care anymore how that turd treated me, I just want to do what's best for me.

So, tomorrow is my first day of work outs.  I will be there at 6:30pm.  I will workout until I can't anymore.  I will look at the cute, tight butts around me and know that someone else will be looking at MY cute, tight butt one day. 

Wish me luck.

XOXOXO

A little background.....

I can remember the first time I snuck any kind of food when I was a kid.  I must have been about 6 years old and my Mom had just bought a big box of individually wrapped Twix bars for our lunches.  I had never seen candy in bulk like that.  Sure, I'd seen candy bars at the checkout line when grocery shopping with my Mom, but this was IN.  MY.  HOUSE.  I thought I had died and went to naughty girl heaven.  My Mom and Dadworked full time and when my sister and I got home from school, we would generally be alone for about an hour.  I knew that was my window for hijinx.  The next day after scool went something like this:

"Oh my GOD.  That WHOLE box of Twix are in the cupboard.  Right.  Now.  No, no.  Mom said I could have an  apple.  But....if I took ONE Twix from that GIANT box, she'll never notice.  OK.  Just ONE.  (Open cupboard.  Check if my sister is still in her room.  Yes.  Grab ONE Twix, run in the bathroom.  Lock the door.)  THIS is amazing.  I am now eating a forbidden treat, enjoying the HECK out of it, and no one will ever know.  This is too easy!  So easy, in fact, I think I'll go get another one.  (Cupboard.  Sister.  Grab.  Bathroom.  Lock the door.)  TWO?!  I just ate TWO Twix, which is the equivalent to the package that you buy at the store.  Totally awesome, totally got away with it, totally getting another one.  (CupboardSisterGrabBathroomLock).  This is the best day of my life.  I love candy.  I love being unsupervised.  I love that the box of Twix is SO huge, that I can eat as many as I want without my Mom ever noticing.  I'm....getting another one.  (Cupboard.  Sister.  Cupboard.  Looking in box.  You can plainly see some are missing.)  OK, Mom is going to notice FOUR Twix are gone.  I'm in deep doo doo.  How can I talk my way out of this?  I can't.  My Mom is smart and I am naughty.  No contest.  Screw it.  I'm eating the whole box.  I'm already in trouble and I'm going for it.  (Cupboard.  Don't CARE if sister knows at this point.  Take WHOLE box into the bathroom.  lock the door.  Eat until I have a tummy ache.)  THAT was awesome......but I feel sick."

Now, I don't remember what happened when my parents got home or how much trouble I got in, but I do remember the exhilaration and the happy feeling I got when eating those Twix in the bathroom.

SO.....now I'm 33 years old and I have been through some shit.  Most of the time, after a stressful day at work or thinking the losses in my life, I just want to go the store, buy a huge box of Twix and eat the whole damn thing.  But, I don't.  But I'll tell you what I DO do.....I come home from work, eat a shitty fast food large sized meal, sit in front of my TV, wonder how I got to be this fat and feel sorry for myself.  This is the truth.  I am ready to change that.

I'm hoping this blog will help me in my weight loss journey by sharing my stories with you out there.  My struggles, achievements, memories of how I got here and general getting-off-my-chest-ery.

Thanks for reading.  Much more to come.

XOXOXO