Too Good To Be True?

Hi all!

I'm going to breeze right over the fact that it has been, oh, a zillion-and-a-half years since I blogged, and jump right in to the reason for my post...

I just discovered that band surgery is tax deductible. According to IRS Publication 502, you can deduct any medical or dental expenses over and above 7.5% of your Adjusted Gross Income. For us, this would mean that we would be able to "claim" about $8000 of the cost of my surgery.

Did any of you bandsters out there take advantage of this? Is it too good to be true? (Please tell me it's not, because I'm super excited about my new discovery...)

And in other news, Bubbster turned one last Friday, which I totally can't believe and am in denial about. He's still my little bubby baby boy, right? (Say that one three times fast.) We had one small family birthday party for him and his GiGi (great grandma on my step-mom's side), and he'll have his big birthday party on the 7th. It's Mickey Mouse Clubhouse themed, y'all. Oh, Toodles!

He also had seven (yes, onetwothreefourfivesixSEVEN) Christmases, and not by choice or by my doing. I would have been happy with one, but darn it for family and friends! The kid received NO duplicate toys, either, which has to be some sort of Black (Christmas) Magic or something. We're going to put some of the toys in a closet and pull them out throughout the year for him.

I've missed you all and have been a bad blogger. Sorry, y'all. Life's been a royal bitch for the past six months or so, so I've been doing pretty well to not climb in a hole or drive my car off a cliff or something. But I'm here. I'm alive. I'm doing.

So anyway, let me know about the tax deduction thingamajig, because that's so flipping awesome if it's true!

Hugs to you and yours, and Happy New Year, too!

Wordless Wednesday: Hick Edition

Monday morning...

Survival kit.

Hello, lover.

Wherein I go all doom and gloom on your asses...(UPDATE)

I've known that I needed to post a new blog soon, but haven't really had the energy to do it. What I want to blog about is just not pretty or fun, and who wants to waste time writing about things that aren't pretty or fun? More than that, who wants to read about things that aren't pretty or fun?

So here it is.

I am in a dark place right now. I'm having a hard time seeing the light at the end of the tunnel as anything other than an oncoming train. I just haven't had the energy to put any of that elloquently, so when The BFF asked me in an email about what was getting me down and if there was anything she could do to help, this was my reply, and it's now my un-pretty, un-fun, dark places post.

"You can’t do anything. Life is just going through a super sucky period right now, and it sucks. It’s my job, his (lack of a) job, his mom, his mom keeping Bubbers at her house, his mom not coming to our house to help out, us spending too much time at their house, it’s The Hubs and I not having any time or ability to ‘reconnect’, it’s my mom being sick, it’s my dad being sick, it’s my sister being a derelict, it’s my nieces being who knows where, it’s me worrying about Bubbers, it’s me travelling too much, it’s me wanting out of our apartment, it’s me wanting to stay home with Bubbers, it’s me wanting The Hubs to try harder, it’s me worrying about our 3rd anniversary coming up and knowing that there are a million things on my mind rather than thinking about celebrating it, it’s me wishing he were more romantic, more able to show sympathy, a harder worker, smarter, more determined. It’s me feeling absolutely horrible for wishing he were all those things and not focusing on the good things that he is/does. It’s me wishing I had more time to devote to helping you with your wedding and wishing that we didn’t live so far apart, it’s me worrying that your wedding won’t be everything you hoped for but not knowing how to make it so. It’s me wishing certain people would jump off a cliff sometimes, and then feeling horrible about that.

It’s just everything right now. And it’s all bundled up into a nice big fat boulder sitting on my chest with a pretty red bow and a tag saying “To: Anna, Love: The Universe”. And I can’t make it go away."

Sometimes life isn't pretty. This is one of those times.  I'm breathing, and that's all I can really promise you right now, but I know that The Eternal Optimist is still in there somewhere, buried under all the rubble, and that someday she'll find her way out and into the light. And when that happens, I know it won't be the oncoming train.

*UPDATE*

You know, it's funny how much better I feel after just throwing up all of that horribleness into the vastness of the interwebs and into the arms of the loveliest blog readers a girl could ask for. This is what I assume praying feels like to believers - to just give everything up to God. Thank you all for your kind responses and love. You are my light.

Ugh

Judge for yourself, but I say this woman is awesome.

American Apparel's Creative Director, Iris Alonzo is quoted as saying: "If every brand that tried to do this was met with such negative press, we may have to wait another decade for the mainstream to embrace something so simple."

How dare American Apparel use this as a means to justify discrimination.
 
I'm disgusted.

Just another typical work email conversation...

Today, the lovely MFN (My Friend Natalie for those of you not in the know) sent me an email, and if you can ignore our complete overuse of the term "LOL", I think it proves a pretty good point as to why we're friends.

MFN: Umm I just read a yahoo article on feminine products – have you heard of vajazzling!? And hair dye for the nether regions!?

Me: LOL, yeah, it’s all a bit strange to me. I’ll just let mine be what it wants to be and if it leaves me alone, I’ll leave it alone. LOL

MFN: LOL. I’m slightly tempted to get the hair dye as Christmas gifts for my girlfriends – it’s just so ridiculous I think it would be hysterical to see everyone’s reaction. “This is…what!?” Just be prepared.

Me: Lol, you’ve ruined it for yourself. Now I’ll totally be EXPECTING vajayjay dye, so I’ll be all, “oh, yeah, that.”

How I honored 9/11

I'm sitting at the Dayton airport waiting for the first of my two flights to get me to Dallas. I'm having a hard time travelling today - not because I'm afraid something will happen, but because it's hard enough to give up control and fly on an airplane on a normal day. And today, my brain is overwhelmed with thoughts and images of what happened on four planes ten years ago. As much as I want to escape from remembering what happened, I can't.

A little over an hour ago, I was sitting in the Max & Erma's after going through security. I sat down and ate breakfast, and as I did, the TV, trained on CNN went through the list of names of each person who was killed. Talk about loosing your appetite. At any rate, I remembered hearing something about 9/11 being considered a National Day of Service, and a thought popped into my head.

There were four other tables of people eating breakfast around me, two tables with older couples, a table with a family of four, and another table with an older couple who were OBVIOUSLY well-to-do. I decided that I would help spread love today and pay for one of the tables' breakfasts. I sat there for about 5 minutes, trying to figure out which table I would pay for. (That was the hardest part of the whole occasion - I wanted to pay for everybody!)

In the end, I decided to pay for the breakfast of the older well-to-do couple, rationalizing that they were probably the best able to pay it forward to someone else.

The waitress came over with my check, and I told her I wanted their check as well. When she came back with it, she asked me if I knew them. I said "No, but today is a day to spread love", and she said "Yes, every day is."

So I paid for our breakfasts, and on the receipt I left on the table, I wrote:

"Today, and every day, spread love. :)"

BYOC

Since Draz said exactly what I wanted to say, I'll just go ahead and let her say it:

It’s FRIDAY – thank the ever-loving heavens above. I mean why is it that short weeks (after a holiday) end up being thee longest weeks on Earth? Oy.

Let’s do BYOC – Bring Your Own Crazy. We answer 5 questions in an effort to get to know each other better and to give our blog brains a break. Copy to your own blog and ENJOY!

1. Do you drink coffee? Decaf or regular? Cold or hot? If not – what’s your go-to morning drink?

No. I love the way coffee smells, but hate the way it tastes. My go-to caffeine fix is either Diet Coke or Mountain Dew, depending on whether the restaurant I drive-thru that morning is a Coke or Pepsi restaurant.

2. What are your top six characteristics in a partner if you could hand pick them. And just for kicks – if you’re in a relationship – after you make the list of six – does the person you are with possess all five?

Honesty
Integrity
Sense of humor
Adventurous spirit
Musicality
Chub n' scruff

The Hubs is all of the above, except, he can't sing or dance, or play an instrument. And I should add that "chub n' scruff" is the physical appearance of men that I am attracted to. A little overweight with some sort of facial hair. I'm forcing The Hubs to keep a beard for me since he's currently out of work and doesn't have to impress anybody. I luuuuuuuuuuurve it. He hates it. But still, he humors me. :)

3. I’m going to pick a person – not knowing if this person even exists in your life – and you try to describe this person in 5 short words or sentences:

Paternal grandfather

• Lloyd
• Kind of mean
• Glasses
• Lived in VERY rural Tennessee
• I vividly remember him in his casket at his funeral

4. What’s your signature item? Color? Piece of clothing or jewelry? Accessory? You know – that one thing people know you will ALWAYS have on?

Sunglasses on the top of my head. Even when it's raining. Several years ago, I spent a ridiculous amount of money on a pair of Prada sunglasses, and since I spent so much, I wouldn't go anywhere without them. Now, I've traded them in for a $16 pair of Tarjay sunglasses, but haven't shaken the habit. They are ALWAYS there. Business meeting? Funeral? Shopping? Snowstorm? Yep, they're holding my hair back.

5. Repeat question: Summarize your week in real life and in blog life.

Longest short week EVER. I haven't slept well all week and work has been nutso. I'm leaving on Sunday to go to Dallas (via Chicago) until I return on Wednesday night. Yep, I'm getting on two airplanes on the 10th anniversary of 9/11. I'm not really concerned about safety, but more about obscenely long waits and security feeling up my hooha for explosives.

Blogland has been kinda slow, except for the fact that I'm Donna Reed, bitch! So, not too much to report there.

Love, my lovelies!

It's too bad...

...the Donna Reed show theme song didn't have lyrics. They would have made a great title for this blog post.

I'm Donna Reed, bitch!

First, I perfect meaty balls o' goodness, and now I make homemade chicken and dumplings?! Watch out now! Next thing you know, I'll be wearing pearls and high heels and bringing The Hubs his pipe while he reads the newspaper. (Sidenote: the mental image I just had of the confused look on The Hubs' face that says "What the hell am I supposed to do with that?!" just made me giggle out loud at McDonalds. Oopsie.)

At any rate, I did, indeed, make homemade chicken and dumplings. And it was, indeed, the bomb dot com.

Here is the recipe, and the changes I made (or will be making next time) in red. As far as "healthy" goes, I'm sure it's not the best thing out there, but I'd bet my pearls it's healthier than frozen pizza and mozzarella cheese sticks.

Easy Chicken and Dumplings

2 Tbsp. olive oil
12 oz. pkg. frozen mixed veggies (I'll probably double this next time)
12 oz. pkg. frozen peas (I'll omit this next time - TOO MANY PEAS!)
32 oz. chicken broth
1 can (10.5 oz) cream of chicken soup (condensed)
2 lb. boneless, skinless chicken breast cubed in bite-sized pieces (uncooked)
2 C Bisquick
2/3 C milk
salt & pepper to taste

Heat olive oil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add vegetables and saute until tender. (About 3 minutes). Add chicken broth, salt & pepper, cream of chicken soup, and chicken. Allow the mixture to come to a boil. (The original recipe called for cooked chicken, but I added my cubes in raw and made sure they were fully cooked at the end. I think it would have overcooked the chicken if they were added in already cooked, but you do what you want. I won't tell.)

Combine Bisquick and milk in medium bowl. Drop by spoonfulls into boiling mixture. Reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered for 10 minutes. Stir occasionally, breaking up dumplings into bite sized pieces if needed. Cover with lid and simmer an additional 10 minutes.

Et voila, you can be Donna Reed too!

Food photographer, I am not.

I served this with mashed potatoes (But don't tell Donna that they were the Bob Evans microwaveable kind). I don't know why the original recipe calls for mixed veggies AND a bag of peas - it was way to pea-y. So next time, I'll omit the bag of peas and either double the mixed veggies or just do one bag of mixed veggies.

It was super good even if it was all pea-ed out. Try it!

Somewhat Wordless Wednesday

For realz.

Victory tastes delicious!

I'm not Suzie Homemaker by any means. Just ask my husband. He'll tell you how he does the majority of the 'cooking' in our house, and that most of the time we cook things that are pre-packaged and microwaveable or frozen and heated up in the oven. There aren't many "made from scratch" dishes in our repetoire.

Well, yesterday, we took Bubber Man to his 8 month check-up. (He's healthy by the way, 29.5 inches tall and 20 pounds 6 ounces, finally double his birth weight.) At any rate, the doctor told us that she wants him to be on nothing but table foods and formula by his 10 month visit. And by "table foods", I'm pretty sure she doesn't mean frozen pizza and mozzarella cheese sticks.

She was rattling off a list of all the things we could "easily" cook that he could eat - lentil soup, hummus, anything with beans, indian food, sweet potatoes, etc. Somewhere in the middle of her list of things that The Hubs and I don't even eat, she mentioned homemade meatballs. At the mention of meat, both The Hubs' and my ears perked up.

There's only one problem - I don't cook. For one, I give up easily at the mention of anything that requires chopping, sauteing(sp?), or lots of herbs. For two, our kitchen is a postage stamp. It's what we call a "One Butt Kitchen", so anything you try to cook makes a complete disaster of the two square feet of counter space we have. It has to really be worth the effort if I have to cook AND clean up the mess!

But, knowing that Bubs needs to start eating something more substantive than pureed and liquified fruits and veggies, I got home and started looking for recipes. I came upon this recipe surprisingly quickly. A recipe with four normal ingredients and three steps?! Even I can do that!

After reading the reviews, I ended up adding in some salt, pepper and grated parmesan, and they turned out A-MAZING!!!

Meaty balls o' goodness.

We had my homemade meatballs with spaghetti, garlic bread, and the world's best sauce.

I am so impressed with myself! (She said ever so humbly...) Next time, I think I'll add some Italian seasoning because they turned out a tiny bit bland, but over all, I kicked turkey meatballs ass!

We're getting ready to let Logan try some, and hopefully he'll be a fan too. If not, The Hubs and I will have to eat them all, which is just such a shame. :)

Be proud of me, Bloglandians! I made meaty balls from scratch!

BYOC

It's Friday! I guess you know what that means...

BYOC – Bring Your Own Crazy….5 little questions we ask to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break. Copy and paste to your own blog and enjoy!

1. If you have a camera and have the time – take the contents of your purse out – and take a picture of said contents and explain them. If you don’t have time or a camera – please describe the contents of your purse.

I usually keep my purse pretty empty, much to the delight of my MIL. There's little in life that she likes more than to feed her superiority complex when I don't have something completely random in my purse that no normal person could ever foresee needing, and yet, somehow, we need. What ever it is, she's got it. It's like Mary Freakin' Poppins in there. Need a coat rack? I'm pretty sure she'd have it in her purse just incase you need it and her daughter-in-law didn't come prepared for just such an occasion. 

But I digress. 

In my purse currently, there is:

• a pink wallet (with a debit card sticking out)
• my phone (had I not used it to take the picture)
• loose change
• 8 used fake fingernails (don't ask)
• my keys
• a leopard print pair of tweezers in a plastic tube
• 4 hair ties
• 3 earrings (one and a half sets, lol)
• a bobby pin
• a tiny plastic baby from a Mardi Gras King Cake 3 years ago (which I put in my purse when I left my old job and have forgotten to take out)  
• two pens
• miscellaneous receipts
• a bottle of this
• business cards
• a container of Sensa
• a notepad that I got from St. Jude Children's Research Center

Random. And note the complete lack of essentials like tissues, medicines, bandaids, Tide to Go, etc. that my MIL likes to remind me I don't have. What can I say, lady? I like to live on the edge. Neener neener with my tongue stuck out.

2. Repeat question: I’m going to pick a person not knowing if you have a relationship with this person or if the person even exists and you try to describe the person in 5 words or short sentences. Your kindergarten teacher.

Seriously, how do you remember that person?! I have no recolection of kindergarden, except for making way too many art projects out of uncooked macaroni (some of which still get hung on my mama's Christmas tree, thankyouverymuch).

I'm sure my kindergarden teacher was a very nice person.

3. What’s your favorite guilty pleasure / trashy TV show you like to watch?

Much to my chagrin, I do not have cable. However, I do enjoy trashy reality shows. I loved "Love In The Wild", and still love The Amazing Race, even though I wouldn't really consider it trashy. I heart pretty much any reality show you'd find on TLC, plus any of the documentaries on addicts, prisoners, and serial killers.

What does that say about me? Eeek.

4. A lot of you told me about your first day of school experiences when I posted about how my 5 year old going to kindergarten wasn’t causing me too much heartache. So now I’m officially asking – tell me about one of your first day of school experiences that sticks out in your mind the most. Who put you on the bus? Did you ride the bus? Did your parents take pics? Did they walk you into school? Drive you there? Cook you breakfast?

I can't remember any of my personal first days of school and I haven't had the pleasure(?) of sending Bubbers off yet. I'm sure it will be filled with pictures and tears.

5. Repeat question: Summarize your week in real life and in blog land.

In real life, I made the decision to get banded, which I posted in blog life here. I'm also going through a work/life/husband crisis where I just can't be happy with anything in any situation. (It's a fun time over here in BatShitCrazyLand, won't you join me? My husband sure would appreciate it.) I'm looking forward to the 3 day weekend, and to starting it a little early - I'm leaving work at 12:30 to go pick up Bubbers and take him to his 8 month check-up. Yay!

In blog life, we finished the remodel! Yay! Thanks, Tricia! For some reason, the post fonts aren't working on IE9, but I think she's working on that. I've been catching up on banded bloggers' stories, usually starting from the beginning of their blogs or band journeys. It takes a lot of time, but the information is incredibly helpful. I hope that my blog will be a source of information for possible bandsters one day, too. And also, in Blogland, I'm growing insanely jealous of those BOOBs who are going to Chicago. Hopefully I'll be an attendee in 2012, ladies, so save some fun for me!

Guess that's it, lovelies. Have a wonderful 3 day weekend if you get one!

Decisions and Confessions

"I've got another confession my friend, I'm no fool
I'm getting tired of starting again, somewhere new..."

("Best of You" by Foo Fighters)


In my case, "somewhere new" tends to be a new decade of poundage. I started this blog in the 260's, worked through the 250's, had a brief stay in the 240's, and now I'm smack dab in the middle of the 270's. I gained back more than double what I lost.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that I'm not great at this whole weight loss thing.

A few months ago, I became Facebook friends with a girl I knew in high school named Kristin. Through catching up with her, I found out that she works for the Cincinnati Weight Loss Center and that she had had Lap-Band surgery a few years before.

Now, previously in years gone by, the thought of having Lap-Band surgery was, for me, like the thought of winning the lottery - it would be nice if it happened, but chances were slim to none, so why dwell on it. I just knew it would be too expensive and that my insurance wouldn't cover it, and I didn't know what hoops I would have to jump through to get it. And then, there's always the fact that it's surgery. Permanent. Invasive. And, did I mention, expensive?

As I mentioned before, Kristin had had the surgery and now works for the doctor who performed it. In fact, every person who works in the office has had the surgery, so they know first hand how it works, feels, costs, etc. She and I talked about the fact that I was semi-seriously considering the surgery but that I knew very little about it. She told me about her experience and how much she paid (she was a self-pay patient, and for those of you who might not know, if your insurance does not cover the cost, you can pay for it yourself, using financing options if you need to). She told me about what she eats and how having the surgery has affected her life, and she invited me to come to the office for an informational seminar.

Also during this time, I started doing my own research. I looked for people who blogged about being banded, and it turns out there's an amazing group of B.O.O.B.s who are a wealth of information, support, and humor. But I didn't just take their word for it. I researched the heck out of weight loss surgeries in general. How safe are they? How expensive are they? What complications can arise? What is life after surgery like? What are my options? Can I really do this?

The Hubs (ever the pragmatic one) was mostly concerned about cost. And being the realist that he is, he also wanted to make sure that if we were going to spend the money (it's, of course, not covered by my insurance) that I would actually stick with it and not find ways to 'cheat' the system. Boy, does he know me or what? It's kind of scary.

He agreed to go to the seminar with me, and by the end of it, he said if we had the money, HE would have the surgery ASAP. Of course, if anyone's going to have the surgery, it's going to be me, because we can't afford to both do it.

It's going to be me.

I have made the decision. I'm going to have Lap-Band surgery.

You may not like it, and that's okay. You may not agree with it, and that's okay too. You may be happy for me, and that's excellent. All I know is that I am finally making a decision to do something for myself. And I'm thrilled!

Now, I am in the very early stages of planning here. I've only gone to the seminar and done the research. I haven't had a consultation or worked out the financing or set a date. In fact, I have to wait to do anything until The Hubs finds a steady job, so it might be months before I can actually put my plan into action.

But at least I've got a plan.

There's the decision. Want to know the confession?

I'm scared.

Here are just some of the things I worry about, and also a little bit about how I am overcoming the fear:

~The Cost~

Being a self-pay patient is going to cost me about $14,000. That's a chunk of change. And it's not like we have it stashed under our mattress for just such occasions. We will have to finance and pay interest on it for years to come.  It will mean a car payment's worth of money coming out of our paychecks every month.

However, remaining morbidly obese will cost me well over $14,000 over the course of the rest of my life. And it will not only cost me monetarily, but it will cost me physically. My dad is basically dying of unchecked Diabetes, have I mentioned that lately? That will be me. And me being overweight doesn't just affect me or my quality of life anymore - it affects Bubbers now, too. Being morbidly obese means that I can't play with him the way I want to. I can't do the things I want to do, and being this fat is almost an early death sentence. I want to be around for him. Not experiencing his life to the fullest is a cost that I am not willing to pay.

~The Surgery~

One thing that I didn't know until I did my research is that having the Lap-Band means actually having a port attached to the muscle in your stomach. Permanently. As in, it's always there, and when you get skinny enough, you can sometimes see and feel it. (Gross!) Having that port also means getting a needle stuck in your abdomen for "fills". I guess when I thought about the concept of the Lap-Band, I never realized that it was something that was dynamic, that changed. I just thought you had the surgery, they put a "collar" on your stomach, and you lived your life. Now I know that's not the case. Just because you have the surgery doesn't mean you're done. You have to maintain the band. Get it filled and un-filled. It's not something Ron Popeil created - you can't just "Set it and forget it!"

I have made peace with the fact that there will be a foreign object in my body for the rest of my life. And, it wasn't really that hard to deal with the thought of the needle and fills/unfills because of the insulin shots I had to give myself while pregnant. That was multiple times a day. If I can deal with that, I can deal with a few adjustments a year if I have to.

I have made peace with the fact that it's surgery. I had my gallbladder taken out in early 2008, and the process is similar to that. I had a 10 pound baby delivered by c-section and survived. If I don't have this surgery, there will be other surgeries because of it. My Diabetes, if left unchecked, could mean heart, liver, eye, or foot damage, all of which lead to surgeries. (All of which, except for liver, are surgeries that my dad has had, by the way).

I generally do well under the knife, and although I know that there are always possible complications, I'm not concerned.

~Life After The Band~

What does having the band mean? How will it affect my day to day life? What will I have to change?

This is the big one for me. The money, we can find somewhere. The surgery, I can handle. But life after? That's the scary part. I'm having this surgery because I need someone or something to FORCE me to change my ways. (But that scares the shit out of me!)

How is the Lap-Band going to force me to change? I'll have to temporarily succumb to a liquid diet, and might have to return to it after fills and if I have any issues. I'll have to cut my food into the tiniest of tiny pieces and chew it to a pulp. For evah. I'll have to watch my protein intake and make sure I'm getting vitamins and nutrients. I'll have to quit drinking during my meals (which I'm not entirely convinced I'll be able to do), and most difficult of all for me, I'll have to give up pop (and all carbonated beverages) for good.

My dad works for Coca-Cola. Diet Coke runs through my veins. And I'll have to give it up.

(Now, just so you're fully informed, there is some controversy surrounding this restriction.Some doctors don't say that you can never drink pop, and some do.  The doctor at CWLC says you do, so I will.)

 These are all big, daily, life-altering changes. Scary stuff.

But what would life be like if I didn't have the surgery? If I continue on the course that I've taken for thirty years? Sure, life without the band would be easier in some respects. I could drink what ever I want and eat what ever I want, but then I'm where I always have been. Only worse. Lap Band Gal says "If hunger isn't the problem, then eating isn't the solution."

Being able to eat whatever I want is not going to make my life worth living.

All in all, I have researched, asked questions, thought, debated, cried, and pretty much done everything I can think of to make sure that having this surgery is the right thing for me. And I wholeheartedly believe it is. It's not a quick fix or a simple solution. It takes effort and commitment just like dieting and exercise, but the Lap-Band is there to help.

It's like this: let's pretend that in order for me to reach a healthy weight, I have to swim across the ocean. Diet and Exercise are my arms and legs. They are the tools that I have to get there. Now, I could swim and swim and swim to my heart's content, but there's pretty much no way that I'll make it across the ocean on my own. Then along comes Lap-Band - my life jacket - which makes me just a little more buoyant, and in turn, makes my journey just a little bit easier. Now at least I have a chance.

Lap-Band is going to be my life jacket. I'll swim harder than I ever have before, and it will help me go farther than I ever thought I could.

New Digs...

How do you like these apples?! Pretty fancy, eh?

With lots of thanks to Tricia, and no thanks to PayPal, Breaking Up With Burgers has a new, happy interwebbian abode!

Welcome home, y'all!

:)

"Every day I'm shufflin'..."

("Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO)

I'm sending out the warning right now that this will probably ramble and not make much sense and cover a bunch of random topics. Consider yourselves forewarned.

~Blog~
My lovely blog re-design is thisclose to being finished. PayPal actually pulled through and sent the correct amount of money to Miss Tricia. She sent me a sample yesterday and she's just making a few minor tweaks to the design. I think it will be up and at 'em in the next day or so, and I can't wait! Now, once it's up and purty, all I have to do is force myself to update it on a regular basis. I haven't really updated because I have been absolutely sucktastic on the diet front. Which segues nicely into...

~Diet~
I thought for sure that when I stepped on the scale today it would read 280 pounds or more. How sad is it that I was pleasantly surprised at 275.8? Seriously, girl, get your shit together. I almost weigh what I weighed when I was pregnant. And ten pounds of that weight was actual baby! Two-hundred seventy-six pounds.

It's flicking ridiculous. I never expected to weigh this much in my life. Even when I was at 250, I never thought I'd hit a weight as high as this. And here it is in all it's glory disgustingness. (It's a word. I made it one.)

The BFF, yours truly, and Tonja at Jimmy Buffett Tuesday night.

Do you see that freaking monster truck tire around my midsection?! Wanna know the worst part about that? I'm wearing Spanx. It's being sucked in. For serious.

I have more to say on the whole fatness issue, but I think that's better left for another blog post.

~Job~

I wish I didn't have one. I like my job on most days, but I am feeling lately like it's pointless. The Hubs is in between jobs right now and "gets" to stay at home with Bubbers all day. I can't help but feel like that should be me. Selfishly I want to be the one who doesn't have to get up at 6 am. I want to be the one who doesn't have to deal with office bureaucracies. I want to be the one who could wear sweats all day if I chose to. But most importantly, I want to be the one who gets to spend time with our son. I want to feed him and dress him and take him fun places, and teach him things all day, and watch him play. I want to get to see him for more than 2 waking hours every night. But it's just not in the cards, I guess.

My dream is that The Hubs will land his dream job, making enough money that I can quit mine and be a SAHM. People do it, somehow, they make it work, and they can't all be top executives at big companies making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. I want that to be me!

(Whine over, I promise.)

~Life~

As you can see from the picture above, The BFF, Tonja and I went to see Jimmy Buffett Tuesday night. We try to go every year, but I didn't go last year because I was pregnant and the weather had been pretty bad prior to the show. This year's concert was fun - I took the day after off work so that I could drink and not have to worry about the hour long drive from the concert venue back to my house. (Which is a good thing, because I probably wouldn't have gotten home until 1 am!)

Bubber Man sprouted a third tooth, on the top right side of his mouth. He looks like a jack-o-lantern now, which makes me giggle.

The rest of life is normal. Nothing major going on. I'm sorry for the long and rambling post, but that's what you get sometimes.

How about ending this post with a picture of Bubs to make it up to you?

Keepin' it classy.

PayPal Diatribe Number 2: or "Why I'll never be a Customer Service Representative"

OH EM GEE, people!!!

So, it's been days and I haven't received a letter with a code. Meanwhile, my lovely new blog is dangling in the nether regions of the interwebs.

Lovely Tricia sent me an email letting me know that PayPal contacted HER and let HER know that they are giving ME back my money. Luckily, she was nice enough to pass on the message, because PayPal apparently didn't think it was an important enough piece of information for them to, you know, tell me.

So I checked my account, and sure enough, my moolah is back, but my account is still limited access, so I can't do anything with the money that is rightfully mine.

At this point, I've absolutely had enough. I decided that I'm going to call the bastards and get some answers and get this shit settled. So I look for their contact information, and of course, they want you to use their written prompts to try and figure out your problem before you actually call a human. I make it through all that and find a phone number for customer service.

Now, folks, what does a customer service phone number start with? Usually 1-800 or 1-866, right? Do you think PayPal has a toll free customer service line?

Of course not.

1-402-935-2050. I had to call them long distance to solve a two week long dispute that THEY CAUSED. But, okay, fine, I'll call Nebraska for you fuckers. Anything at this point to just get access to my own damn money.

I called Nebraska, and of course had to go through five minutes of phone prompts and yelling "REPRESENTATIVE!!!" at increasingly louder decibel levels. (I was smart enough to leave work and go out to my car to make this phone call, because for some reason, I had an inkling that it might get a lil' rowdy.) And I finally. Finally. get a person.

Turns out that, yes, I do have my money back, and yes, there is a limitation, and yes, he can lift it during this simple phone call without me having to wait days for a pin number to show up. Oh, and why did the "dispute" happen in the first place?

He asked me if I had been travelling.

Nope, not recently.

Do you work in a different city from where you live?

Well, technically, yeah I do. Why does that matter to you? 

Did you access your PayPal account from a work computer?

Okay, Big Brother, I did, but don't tell my boss on me.

Aha! That's what caused your issue. I can take care of it for you right now.


Apparently, their smartie two shoes system saw that I logged in from a different city and went all "Danger, Will Robinson!!!" on them saying that I might not be who I said I am because I logged in from a location 30 miles from home. So take that, internets, you're supposed to be all "hey, connect from anywhere and be connected to anywhere all instantly and shit", but as it turns out, I'm only allowed to connect from home. Connecting from anywhere else obviously means my identity was stolen and someone is trying to steal minimal amounts of money from me.

Clearly, that's the case.

Now, Blogland Lovers, I *so* try to not go all bat shit crazy on Customer Service Representatives, because, hey, I know it's not your fault you work for the biggest douche canoe of a company known to man. But, duuuuuuuuuude. You all have no idea how hard it was for me to not scream at the poor guy.

I took a few deep breaths, tried my best to reign in the snarky, and "calmly" let him know the process that I wen through to get to this point. I told him all about the bait and switch email that said "oh, just change your password and all will be right with the world" when the actual process was something more akin to teaching an elephant to speak Chinese. In sign language.

I told him how I think it's re-donk-u-lous to require a land line in "this day and age." (yep, actually used that phrase. I'd like to be called Grandpa from now on, please.) And I told him that his company is not customer friendly and that the thousands of blog followers that I have all know about their evil-doings.

So I embellished a bit. Sue me. Or better yet, call me long distance from your land line and we'll hash it out.

At any rate, he lifted my dispute and I'm supposedly able to get back into my account and do whatever I want to do with my money. Thank you, PayPal, for the privilege of being able to access my own damn money. Douches.

But I'm not bitter...

PayPal: A Diatribe

Listen to this ridiculousness…


As you all know, I'm having my blog re-designed into something super fabulous by this lovely lady. We used PayPal to complete the transaction (which she's done a million times, and I've used PayPal for years with no issues). Anyway, I went to paypal to pay for it and they took the money out of my account. I thought all was hunkey dorey.

Then the fun began.

Paypal sent both she and I notices that my account has been frozen until I verify that I am who I say I am by updating my security settings. The email said I have to go to the PayPal website and change my password and my password questions.

Okay, well that’s dumb, but I’ll do it.

I go to the website, and before I can even get to the part where I have to change my password, I have to give them the FULL account number of the bank account that my paypal account is registered to. I don't have it memorized (do any of you have your bank account numbers memorized?), so I had to wait until I got home last night to look it up. Here is where my pulse starts quickening and I can feel my blood pressure starting to raise.

I had The Hubs look up the bank account number and went back to the website to type it in. Then I finally get to the screen where I can change my password and password questions.

Done, right?

Wrong. Next, they tell me that they have to verify my address before they can lift the “dispute”. In order to verify my address, they now need me to link a credit card to my account. I screamed "Are you serious?!" at the computer, but got no response, so I assumed it was, in fact, seriously requiring me to do this. So I dug through my cavernous hole of a purse and found a card. I had The Hubs put in all the numbers and the code on the back and my address and the name of our first born son.

Done, right?

Wrong. At this point, I'm swearing and gesturing dangerously behind my husband who is doing all of the finger-work at the computer. Now, they need a phone number so that PayPal can call me to verify my address. Now, setting aside that completely illogical thought process, I'm thinking, "I really want to get this over with so that I can play in my pretty new interweb home. This HAS to be the last step. And what are my options, anyway, short of shoving my fist inside my husband's computer and hoping to strangle a PayPal developer on the other end?"

I give them my phone number and I have the choice of “have PayPal call now” or “have PayPal call in one minute”. Dear God, I don't want to give PayPal another nanosecond of my time or thought, so check the little button to “have PayPal call now” and hit "Submit".

Done, right? (You lovely blog readers out there on the interwebs are so smart that I bet you know where this is going...)

Wrong! The next screen tells me that they don’t accept cell phone lines for verification and in order to verify my address through a phone call, it must be a land-line. Who decided to be all dependent on technology and not have a land-line in her house?

Thaaaaat's right. Me.

However, sweet and helpful and accomodating as they are, PayPal offered me yet another way to "resolve my dispute" (the dispute that THEY initiated, mind you.), as if giving them my full bank account information, providing them with a new password and password questions, linking a valid credit card with a billing address to my account, giving them my cell phone number (which I don't give to anybody), promising them my first born child (only if he turns out to be a dud, but don't tell PayPal that), and the promise to never watch trashy reality tv again weren't enough. ("Love In The Wild", Mama's gonna miss you.)

Turns out, after all this technology, and trying to pay for something through an "easy and convenient" electronic method, I'm now reduced to waiting on snail mail. Who would have thought, in this day and age, my electronic purchase would be dependent on a land line and snail mail?! My alternate option to verify my address requires Paypal to send me a letter (like, acutally, in the mailbox) with some sort of code on it. PayPal's website said "...it should take days to receive this letter..." No, really, PayPal. Days? Thank you for being so specific.

When days are up and I finally receive their letter, I have to go back to the website and enter this code. This magical code that is somehow acceptable notice that IyamwhatIyam, that none of the other information I provided to them was able to do.

Done, right?

Who the hell knows. I'll let you know what other hoops lie ahead after I enter the code. What else do you think they could possibly make me do?

All I know is: I'm doing this for you, my Blogland Lovers.

Y'all better appreciate. :-P

Where in the world is Breaking Up With Burgers?

(You MUST sing that title to the tune of "Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego". If you're thinking, "Who is this Carmen Sandiego she speaks of?", you must die. Do it, Rockapella!)

I'm on assignment in a super-secret far off location which you will never be able to guess in a million bagillion kazillion years. But you can take your best shot...

Here are your clues, and no fair if you're a FB friend and already know where in the world I am.

1. The desert.
2. Art Deco.
3. Roller Coaster. (of loooove, roller coaster, ooh ooh ooh - BAM! Stuck in your head. You're welcome.)

Where in the world am I, bloggie friends?

Stupid or Clever?

The Hubs sent me this picture of the outgoing mailbox in our apartment building.

Is the sender just really dumb, or are they trying to get away with something? Either way, I don't think this letter will get very far.

Oy to the vey.

Hey y'all. I'm alive. I'm here.

I'm exhausted.

The traveling portions of my trip can only be classified as a clusterf*ck. My second flight home was delayed twice. I got home late Tuesday and worked all day Wednesday, then for some reason Bubbers decided that last night would be the night he turned into an insomniac. He finally went to bed after 2 am.

I took a personal day today, and I'm going to use the opportunity to get him to his (very past due) 6 month well check visit.

At any rate, this is a post about nothing, except to say that I'm here, I haven't forgotten about you, and I'll be back as soon as my brain can formulate complete sentences without strenuous effort.

Oh! And I would be remiss if I didn't send a birthday shout out to The BFF!!! Happy 29th birthday!!!

Love, my lovelies.

A Special Treat...

You get my Monday Weigh-In a day early!

I know, I know, you're sitting there wondering how in the world you got so lucky. Well, you can thank my job. I'm currently sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to Atlanta, and then finally to Ft. Lauderdale, where I will be spending two days gathering ideas for our LMS/intranet at a sister company. At any rate, there will not be a reliable scale in my hotel room on Monday morning, so I figured I'd weigh in today so as not to miss it.

Last week, 273.6. This week...

(Drumroll, please)

270.8

2.8 pounds! Yay! And it's a really short week, too, since I weighed in on Tuesday and it's now Sunday. I peeked at the scale yesterday and saw a glimmer of hope that I would weigh in under 270, but alas, it didn't happen. That's okay, though, because I'm stoked with 2.8 pounds!

What have I done differently this week?

Well, since my plane's about to board, I guess you'll have to wait to find out. :)

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train...

(Crazy Train, Ozzy Ozbourne)

I recently discovered a lovely group of lady bloggers, and I'm totally jumping onboard their Crazy Train! Drazil is the conductor of this "loco"-motive, so let's get to chuggin...

In Drazil's world, Fridays are BYOC days. Here's her explanation...

"It’s time for BYOC – Bring Your Own Crazy…a couple of questions we answer to get to know each other better and to give our blogging brains a break! Copy and paste to your own blog and enjoy!"

"Copy and paste to your own blog and enjoy!"...Well, Drazil said it, so I'll do it.

Question 1: If you were asked to symbolize yourself as an animal – which animal would you be?


Um...a monkey? But not one of those monkeys that throws their poo at you. A nice monkey. I say that because I like to have fun and generally feel lighthearted and carefree. Also, if you're my friend on FB, you've seen video proof that I can do an excellent monkey impersonation. Just ask my 6 month old.

Question 2: Did you ever play an organized sport – with coaches, rules and scoring? Tell us about it.


I played one year of softball when I was in middle school, but not for a school team. I was the catcher, so yeah, pretty much the least active member of the team. For two years in high school, I was a member of our show choir, which was a pretty intensive, year-long physical activity, and it was a TON of fun. I miss those days.

Question 3: When did you start shaving your legs?

Oh, geez. Sixth, seventh grade, maybe? I begged my mom to let me and finally just took it upon myself. I'll never forget my older sister laughing hysterically at me one day because I had a smidge of shaving cream on my face from shaving my armpits in the shower. Still to this day, I don't know whether other women use shaving cream on their armpits, or if I'm some sort of shaving cream freak.

Question 4: When you’re in a crabby – pissy – want to stab everyone you see kind of mood – what do you do to get out of it or do you revel in it?

Misery loves company, and as much as I wish I didn't let my bad moods affect other people, I can't say that's true. Usually a foul mood consists of lots of pouting. My poor husband. LOL

Question 5: Repeat question: Summarize your week in blogland and in real life.

In blogland, I discovered some lovely new blogs (Evolution of a Black Butterfly, My 30th Summer, My Trek Downward, and Beer, Dogs and Getting Healthier), and blogged alot myself. I also hit fiddy followers! In real life, I'm super busy at work, developing the online learning management system for my company, and also researching intranet options. I'm leaving on a jet plane Sunday afternoon to head to Ft. Lauderdale for a few days so that I can get some LMS/intranet ideas from a company that shares it's best practices with us.

Personally, my husband has finally decided to quit his horrible job, which makes me happy and scared. I miss my son, who has been at my MIL's house since Wednesday morning, and The BFF and I got to go see The Lion King musical for free because my company is a sponsor. All in all, it hasn't been a bad week.

Peace out, homeslices! Enjoy your weekend!

Fiddy!

I done gots me fiddy followers!

Thanks to the beautiful Miss Glory at Glory Is Losing It, the Ex-Mayor of Burgerville (aka Me) has hit the lovely milestone of fifty amazing, lovely, wonderfully witty Bloggy McBloggerton friends.

I heart you all!

I might be biased and all, but I think I've gotten myself surrounded by some of the best of the blogworld. And I'm eternally grateful for that.

To me, having you all as readers on my blog is less about what I can do for you, and more about what you all do for me. I'm not egotistical enough to think that I am instrumental in any of your journeys. I try to be funny, fun, and honest, and apparently you like that enough to click on the "Follow" button.

But really, knowing that there are people out there on the world wide interwebs who read what I say, who cheer me on, who keep me on track and going, without that (and you), I would have little to go on.

Last night, I ate more than I shoulda, worse than I coulda, but better than I woulda, if it weren't for y'all. I know that now that I'm back in the blogging saddle, I have fiddy (I'm so sorry, I just...can't...type..."fifty") people to report back to. A half-hundred (it's a new term, I just made it up) folks hoping that I do well, sticking with me through the ups and downs, and ups again, and holding out hope that one day, I'll get it right.

I'm starting to get it right. FOR me, yes, but BECAUSE of you.

It's gonna take time..

A whole lotta precious time,
It's gonna take patience and time, oh,
To do it, to do it, to do it, to do it, to do it,
To do it right.

(Got My Mind Set On You - George Harrison)

Question. (I've been on a "The Office" kick lately, and have channeled my inner Dwight Schrute. On second thought...ew).

Anyway, I've got a question. How do you find the time?

I have a six month old baby, a 'full time +' job, a commute, an apartment the size of a postage stamp quite literally filled to the brim with life's junk (which means if you use one thing, the whole place is a disaster), a husband, three full sets of family, friends, and chores all competing for my time. Oh yeah, and sleep too. I have to sleep in there somewhere.

I know I'm not the only one.

I haven't figured out how to fit all of those things - that whole "living" part of life into the 24 hours a day I get.

My day:

• Wake up between 6:45-7:00. My MIL usually shows up around 7:05 to watch Bubbers for the day. The Hubs works third shift, so he's not home. If Logan wakes up during the night (like last night when I had to feed him at 3am) I get to handle it.
• Leave for work by 7:20. Drive 40-ish minutes (on a good day)
• Work 8-5, drive 40-ish minutes (on a good day) home.
• Spend 20 minutes staring at cabinets and refrigerator, willing something to pop out and make itself for dinner, when that doesn't happen, resign myself to a quick frozen pizza or pre-packaged meal. On fancy, well prepared nights, we'll have Hamburger Helper or Tacos, or something that actually requires more steps than "open package, microwave".
• 6:30-7:00ish: Scarf down food during the rare quiet moments when Logan is watching Word World or Dinosaur Train. I'm eternally indebted to Netfix since I don't have cable.
• 7:00ish - 9:00ish: Feed/change/play with/entertain kiddo, while possibly fitting in some time on crack FaceBook.
• 9:00ish: Give kiddo a bath (most nights) which is good for about 30 minutes of "Happy Kid" time.
• 9:30ish: Give kiddo last bottle and hopefully put him down for the night
• 9:45ish: Clean up around the house, catch up on emails/Facebook/blogs while watching something trashy on Netflix.
• Go to bed.

It is worth mentioning that my husband gets home from work anywhere from 9-11am, pays bills and does other house-typey stuff for a bit, then goes to bed. He usually gets about 4 hours of sleep - 6 is a treat for him - before he has to get back up so that {1} my MIL can trek it 45 minutes back to her house in rush hour traffic, or {2} he can be on call for work.

His job requires him to be on call every other week, from Friday at 5pm until Friday at 5pm, which means that while he is physically home, mentally he's working. Scheduling, managing, researching, stressing about whatever stupid Tech he has in Bangladesh or India or China who's not doing his job correctly.

He's exhausted. And if he's in between phone calls or emails or speaking veeeeery slooooowly to Chinese guys, he is as present as he can be. He helps me entertain Logan, or changes his diapers, or feeds him if he can. But it's hit or miss, and because of his stupid job, I can't rely on him to be available to help.

And whether he's on call or not, he has to be out of the house by 10:15 pm to physically go to work. So, not only am I having trouble finding time for life, I'm having trouble finding quality time with my husband.

Not to mention that damn treadmill that keeps nagging at me.

I know that the time after Bubs goes to bed is the "free" time that I have to play around with, but there's not much of it - especially if I want to get to bed at a decent hour. And frankly, when I do have a minute to myself, when nobody else is demanding my attention, I would rather veg than work out.

How do you do it? How do you fit it all in? How do you manage to find time to do the things that you WANT to do around all of the things you HAVE to do?

Help me, blogland!

If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?

(Kryptonite, 3 Doors Down)

Monday weigh in (on Tuesday): 273.6 lbs. Fo shizzle.

Here we go, kiddos. So far today, I've kicked butt.

• I took the 26 (yes, I count them every single time because they're evil) stairs to and from the floor my cubicle is on.
• I had yogurt, a slim fast and 1/2 a can of Diet Coke for breakfast.
• I decided to go to the Chick-fil-A in the Food Court at the mall because it would be more walking than going to the stand alone store.
• I didn't park by the entrance closest to the Food Court.
• I didn't search around and around for the closest parking spot to the door. I found a spot, parked, and walked.
• I passed up an elevator and escalator in order to take the stairs to the 2nd story Food Court. Even though they were closer, faster, and my left foot has been killing me.
• I ordered a fruit cup with my combo instead of those famous waffle fries.
• I had ketchup (if you're one of those people who spells it catsup, I can't be friends with you) with my sandwich instead of what I really wanted to dip it in (Polynesian Sauce high fructose corn syrup)
• I faced, challenged, and defeated my kryptonite:



See that gorgeous, toasty bun of deliciousness at the top? Goodbye, my almost lover. Goodbye my almost friend.

In the interest of full disclosure, I did eat the bottom portion of the bun. And I stared at the top portion, salivating through my entire meal. I considered eating it. I considered pinching out the middle deliciousness and still calling it a 'win'. I even considered licking it. That is the stronghold that my abusive relationship with food has on me.

But I didn't.

I finally got smart and flipped it over, so that the golden buttery toastiness wasn't taunting me anymore. When that didn't work, I covered it with a napkin. When that didn't work, I threw it away.

Luckily, that worked. It would have been embarrassing to explain to mall officials why a twenty-something girl in business casual attire was dumpster diving at the Food Court.

Unhealthy choices are my kryptonite, but for the moment, I'm Superman.

I want YOU!

To have a safe and happy 4th of July!

I can't button my pants.

(It's my 200th blog post! Woot! I hope you weren't expecting anything earth shattering to mark the occasion.)

Yes, interwebs, it's true. I wore pants to work today that I am physically unable to button. It's past laundry day, so I'm literally down to the 'slim' pickins. They are size 22 camel colored slacks.

Size 22.

TWENTY-TWO!

Apparently, size 22 is 'slim' in my world now. I am, quite literally, too big for my britches. When did that happen? How did that happen? Rhetorical questions, of course, because I know exactly when and how, but I like to pretend that I don't.

Anyway, I bought several pair of capris before our recent visit to South Carolina, and most of those were 24s. Except for one pair. In one pair, I had to buy the biggest number I've ever bought. I *shudder* thinking about it.

I bought a 26.

(Which is not to say that anyone wearing a 26 or higher should feel horrible about herself. It is just to say that I, personally, have never had to reach that number, and it was a big deal to me.)

I know that stores size things all wonkey and that an 18 in one store could be a 22 in another, but no matter how off the sizing is, I don't have to be a genius to know that a 22, 24, 26 is too big for me. I wish I could say that I don't get caught up in numbers, but when the numbers keep going up, you HAVE to get caught up in them or else they'll just keep going that way.

I vow to never have to buy a 26 (or higher) again.

Soon, I'll share a picture of Mount Pantsuvius, the mile-high stack of jeans and slacks that I'm saving because I refuse to give up hope that I'll be able to fit back into them one day. I just can't bring myself to give up the dream and donate them to Goodwill. When I get home, I'll have one more pair to add to the top. But one day...

One day, Mount Pantsuvius will be conquered and replaced. Goodwill will get my pants, and they'll get them because I can't fit into them. Not because I'm too big, but because they're too big, and no buttoning in the world would ever make them fit.

That's what you get.

I'm a sweets person. Usually, every day after lunch, I'll have three pieces of this. It's not a great habit, but those three pieces usually suffice to satisfy my craving.

Unfortunately, I ate my last 3 pieces yesterday and forgot to bring more into work this morning. I felt like I had to have something, so I decided to go to the vending machine in the breakroom at work.

Apparently that was a big mistake.

As I reached into the vending machine to pull out my candy bar, the door swung (swinged? swang? that can't be right, lol) back really quickly and slammed into the top portion of my middle finger, pinning it against the wall of the machine.

Holy mother of all things that hurt! It was a damn snapping turtle disguised as a vending machine. I'm now convinced that we have Decepticons hanging out in our breakroom. They're everywhere, people. Watch out.

As I muffled my scream, I thought, "Dude! It was a 3 Muskateers! They totally have 45% less fat than other candy bars. What were you going to do if it was King Sized, take the whole hand?!"

You would think my workout last night would have counteracted my bad snacking karma, but apparently not.

Well played, God of Unhealthy Snacks. Well played.

Breakup Progress Report

Hellz. Yeah.

I said at least 30 minutes. 30:01, baby.

I said at least 1.5 miles. 1.536, baby. 

Are they earth shattering goals? No. At least, it's something.

"I'm here for the party and I ain't leavin' till they throw me out"

(Here for the Party - Gretchen Wilson)

Who:  You! (And Me, too)

What:  The start (or continuation) of a healthiness journey

When:  Today, tomorrow, and for the rest of your life

Where:  Anywhere you wish! (Some bad ideas include a comfy couch, a favorite fast food restaurant, or the bottom of a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos).

Why:  Because We Like You! No, really, because you deserve to live the best life you can.

How:  Sit on a bike, Eat better, Sleep more, Procrastinate being lazy, Make Excuses for why you can't give up.

Come join the party!

P.S. Half way through writng this post, I thought it seemed familiar. And then I remembered that Jack Sh*t posted something similar earlier this month. Jack, please consider this un homage to you.

"Everybody's working for the weekend..."

(Working for the Weekend - Loverboy)


The past six months have brought about a lot of changes. I have a new baby, which y'all know about. But I also have a new job, too.

My return from maternity leave was definitely unpleasant. For one, I was leaving a gorgeous seven-week-old baby, and for two, I was leaving a gorgeous seven-week-old baby to return to a job that I was really unhappy with.

I stayed there because it was good money and easy work. I liked the company, I liked (most of) the people. I really, really disliked my day-to-day tasks, my overall contribution to the company (or lack thereof), and the lack of direction I was receiving. When I came back from maternity leave, I was basically told that I was lucky I had a job to return to, and that I wouldn't be receiving any sort of raise or bonus.

That's not exactly an incentive to stay somewhere you're unhappy with in the first place.

So, in typical Mrs. B's OCD fashion, I obsessed over job searches. Any free time I had was spent on Career Builder, Indeed, Glassdoor.com, and any other job related website I could think of.

My MIL sent me job listings when ever she saw something that might be pertinent, and early on into my search she sent me a link to a training job. I brushed it off because it was located at a business that was farther away (and in the opposite direction) from where I was hoping to work. I searched and searched, and sent in resume after resume. It was definitely slim pickings, so I eventually decided to go ahead and send in my resume for the position my MIL found.

I ended up getting call backs for two places. Two. Out of dozens of applications and resumes.

The first was a training position at a downtown bank. Yay, downtown! Where I used to work, and where The BFF and several friends work, and close to my hometown roots. Boo, downtown traffic, gas costs, and exclusively training the collections department. Ultimately, I interviewed twice for this job, but was not selected. No big loss.

The second was for the job my MIL found. While I was in the process of interviewing for the bank position, I was also going through the process of interviewing for this job. It's a local retail company with 10 brick and mortar stores. They were looking for a corporate trainer with knowledge of Learning Management Systems.

I went through an initial phone screening, an in-person interview with the Director of HR and the COO, a second in-person interview with the Director of HR and the Director of Stores, and a third in-person interview including a powerpoint presentation with all three of those guys. After that, I had two phone interviews with members of the board. And finally, finally,  I was offered the position. When I came in to sign my offer letter, I also had an impromptu meeting with the owner of the company.

After all that, I'm adding "professional hoop jumper" to my resume.

I've been with the company since April. Currently, I'm developing their Learning Management System from scratch, and they recently decided that they wanted to add an intranet, too. It's two, two, two jobs in one! (Shoot me now!)

I love it there, though. They give me the freedom to make decisions, and they have absolutely gone out of their way to make sure I feel comfortable, at home, and have all my questions answered. They are sending me to Florida, Las Vegas, and Dallas this year for some discovery/training opportunities. 

My only regret is that I'm a horrible, no good negotiator. It's my own damn fault that they've gotten me for a steal. But you know what? There's something to say for not getting physically sick to the stomach at the thought of having to go into work the next day. That's for sure.

I'm still 'working for the weekend', but at least I don't mind the weekdays as much.

The most interesting (wo)man in the world...

Alternate Title: "Scenes from Mommyland"

Alternate Alternate Title: "I'm A Sucker For a Good Tagline"

Scene: Bubbers is laying on his changing table, I'm undressing him to give him a bath. He loves it when you make a big deal out of pulling off his socks one at a time.

Me: "Uno sockie! Dos sockies! Dos sockies. I don't always wear socks, but when I do, it's dos sockies."

Logan: (giggle)

Stay thirsty, my friends.

Old Beginnings and New Endings

The post below was my very first Breaking Up With Burgers post, written on December 10, 2008. My how things haven't changed...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I will go in this way, and find my own way out..."


Here I am. 26 years old, married for 52 whole days, 260.6 pounds (really?! When did that happen?!), newly-diagnosed Type 2 diabetic, gallbladderless, and scared shitless that I'm not going to get to spend the 60 years that was mutually agreed on with my husband.


I have been told that if I want to start a family, I have no choice but to lose weight, get my diabetes under control, and (oh, that dreaded word...) change. Not an easy change, you know, like changing the sheets on the bed, although I could stand to be better at that, too. No. Life-altering, get-off-your-lazy-ass-'cuz-that's-how-you-got-this-way, hardest-work-you'll-ever-do kind of change.


Shit.


I suck at that.


(Obviously, since I'm 26 and have never stepped on a scale to see a smaller weight than the year before. NEVER.)


There are about a gazillion different reasons and/or excuses I could tell you as to why I find myself in this place. My parents had a nasty divorce when I was younger, and food was comfort. I didn't have money or parental support to get into sports as a kid. There is a history of obesity in my family. My gallbladder was removed and I don't process fat as well. Whatever you want to hear, I've got it for you. What it boils down to, though, is this:


1. I am in a love affair with bad food. Greasy, cheesy, fried, barbecue-sauced goodness. Ugh, I'm drooling like Pavlov's dog just thinking about it. It is my companion when everything else sucks. How do you let go of something that makes you happy because you know it's bad for you?


2. I am lazy. Jack (my "almost too handsome in a 'What in the hell are you doing with me?' sort of way" husband) and I come home from work - where I sit on my ass, mind you, and he stands on his feet all day - eat, and crash. I love my Dancing With the Stars, Private Practice, Boston Legal, Amazing Race, Two and a Half Men, etc. Reality junkie? Right here. I guess I'd rather be a voyeur into someone else's reality than deal with my own. Okay, you psychiatrists out there: have your field day. We have lot's to talk about.


3. I am scared. All I've ever done with weight loss is fail. Hell, let's broaden our view, shall we? All I've ever done with life is fail. I graduated from high school, went to work, made a decent attempt at a communication degree, and then f*ed that up. I'm horrible with money. I slack at my job. I feel entitled to the 'creature comforts' of life that we really can't afford. In general: I don't have it all together. I don't have anything together, and I'm absolutely petrified that I will never be able to change my ways. That's a lot of stuff to do, man, and I already told you: I'm lazy! I'm scared to tell people that I have goals because I don't want to deal with the consequences of not meeting them. It's so much easier to beat myself up for not doing something, than to see the disapproval of my friends and family when they realize that I've not accomplished yet another goal. I'm the fucking Chicken Little of weight loss.


I love my husband, my friends, and my family. I want a dog, a house, and a nicer car. But I also want to be able to enjoy those things. I want to sit on my husband's lap. I want to do more than just go out to eat with my amazing friends. I want to impress my family. I want to give a dog the home and exercise he deserves. I want the energy to do things around the house. And I want to be able to bend over while sitting in that nicer car, and be able to grab something off the floor.

While we're on the subject, let's talk about some other random things that I want to be able to do: Sit comfortably in an airplane. Buy cute clothes. Wear a swimsuit. Use regularly sized towels in the shower. See my belly button (it's been hidden for years!). Feel sexy, even though my husband swears I am. Have something better to go on than just my 'big boobs'. Sleep better at night. And the list goes on and on.


So here's the thing: I have to do it. It took 26 years, but my body is finally giving me the choice: (wo)man up, or die miserably. If morbid obesity, gallstones, and diabetes don't tell me something, then I don't know what will. So here, in this crazy big world, I'm sending it out there. Hold me accountable. I dare you.


My goal is to weigh under 200 pounds by my first anniversary: October 18th, 2009.


61 pounds. 213,500 calories burned, that's all. Piece of cake...


Shit. Okay, so I've got a long way to go.


But my new life starts now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It breaks my heart to read this now - two and a half years later.  I still have diabetes. I'm still (if not even MORE so) morbidly obese. I weigh more now than I did when I wrote the original post. I'm still lazy. I'm still horrible at getting/keeping "it" all together. I didn't even take the risk of having a high risk pregnancy seriously enough to change my ways.

I am exceptionally successful at failure.

It's times like these when an introspective person, such as myself, might read these words and wonder why she even bothers writing again. Why bother trying again? Why bother risking the possibility that I'll start things up and fail miserably? Again. Why set myself up to fail? AGAIN.

Why? Because struggling with weight isn't a one and done sort of thing. I am willing to bet my right arm (which I really like, by the way,) that there isn't one person in the world who has struggled with a weight issue once and only once in his or her life. It's not the nature of the beast for it to work that way. Being healthy is a continual journey, one that you aren't even finished with after you've fought the battle of the bulge and the war on weight.  When I do succeed, I'm still going to have to think about it and fight tooth and tummy every day.

So, yes, I have failed. Yes, I didn't do what I said I was going to do. Yes, there's the chance that this time will be no different. But.

But, but, but.

There's a wee  bit of me, a tiny little sliver, that just once wants to fail at failing. And as long as that spark is still there, the journey isn't over.

There's still a chance for this old, warn out beginning to have a new and different ending.

Break up buddies

I'll be honest. (As usual).

I have been considering weight loss surgery. Specifically, The Lap Band. And again, to be honest, if I had the $14, 000 I would do it tomorrow. However, this post isn't really about that. Through researching the Lap Band, I stumbled across some a-frickin-mazing bloggers, and I thought I'd give 'em a little shout out.

If you're interested in learning about WLS, or you're just looking for some fun, fresh new blogs to read, check out the following peeps:

Catherine at Chronicles from Band Land.

Breanne at Lady Lap Band.

Lap Band Gal at Lap Band Gal!.

And one of my personal favorites, Amy at Once Upon A Time in the Land of Cheese and Sunkist.

Of course, I always have my favorite fitness bloggers to enjoy, too!

If you don't know Jack Sh*t, then you don't know... well, jack sh*t!

And a personal friend of mine who is (literally) kicking ass and taking names: Nicole at Future Healthy Girl.

So take a few minutes, head over into their little worlds and see what kinds of fun they've got going on!

Fresh and Fu-ull of Life!

The old bloggety blog here is going to get a design update soon! And not the rinky-dink job I did using blogger's design tool, either.

Nothing but the best for you guys. Nothing but the best.

A big shout out to my pal Tricia over at Tricia Nae Designs who is going to take on the task! Go visit her and get yourself a fancy-schmancy new blog 'do. (But let her get to mine first, she's a busy lady. lol) 

I'm sure it will be a while before Mr. Blog here gets his new digs, but I'm super excited that it's in the works.

Have a great Friday, lovelies!

Henry Ford is my homeboy.

I can change a flat tire.

I can speak a little french.

I can name all 50 states in alphabetical order. (In 30 seconds or less).

I can cook a mean chicken casserole.

I can drive a stick shift.

I can sing at least the chorus of almost any song on any station on the radio.

I bet you're thinking, "Is there anything this woman can't do?"

I can't look at my son without thinking "My God, I'm lucky."

I can't not smile during Progressive Auto Insurance commercials. (I love Flo.)

I can't believe I weigh 271 pounds right now.

I can't find the time to do anything about it.

I can't imagine it getting better any time soon.

But you wanna know the one thing that I'll absolutely NEVER be able to do, no matter how hard I try?

I can't give up.

"Whether you think you can, or think you can't, you're right." ~ Henry Ford

Where have you been all my life?

So, the obvious song choice for the title of this blog should have been "It's Been A While" by Staind. Have I ever been one to do the obvious? Nah, it takes the fun out of life.

In the past six months, my life has changed dramatically. And mostly, for the better. I thought I'd creep my toes back into the shallow end of the blogging pool by telling you all about my favorite part of the last six months.

Gaining 18 pounds.

Just kidding, sort of.

I have gained almost 20 pounds since Logan was born, but that's a post for a different day. The 18 pounds I'm talking about is a giggly, bouncy, poo-filled bundle of joy.

Here's the story of Logan (or Bubbers, Bubberoo, Bubby, Bubber Man, etc.):

Grab your popcorn and make yourself comfy, because it's a long read.

Logan was born on Thursday, December 23, 2010. I had been put on bed rest starting November 18th because of extreme swelling and elevated blood pressures. The doctors were concerned about the possibility of me developing pre-eclampsia.
Everything was going fine until a doctor’s appointment on November 24th. They checked my blood pressure and it was extremely elevated, so they sent me to triage and ultimately admitted me for 24-hour observation. When my proteins and blood work came back perfectly normal, they sent me home with a prescription for blood pressure medicine and an order to do 24-hour urine tests and pre-eclampsia blood work every week until delivery.

Two weeks later, at another regular check-up, my blood pressure was still elevated after being on a double dose of the blood pressure medicine, so they sent me to triage and admitted me again. I was in for 72 hours at that point, with no plan to deliver the baby even though I had made it to 37 weeks. One of my doctors said that we would do an amniocentesis the following Wednesday (December 15th) and if Logan’s lungs were mature, they would induce me the following morning at 3am.

I went in for the amnio, which had to be done twice, and the end result was that Logan’s lungs were not developed enough to deliver early. I was given the choice to do another amnio in a week (December 22nd) to check again and then be induced the following day, or to wait until we had reached 39 weeks and deliver on December 28th or 29th without another amnio. The Hubs and I decided to go ahead and do the second amnio to try to have Logan delivered before Christmas.

On December 22nd, The Hubs and I went in for the follow-up amnio, which was to be done by my primary doctor who was finally back in the country after being out of the country for most of my pregnancy. Luckily, she was going to be in charge of my care from that point forward, since I couldn't stand the other doctors that had taken her place. She came in to do the amnio, but ordered another growth ultrasound first, saying that if he was “too big”, they would recommend a c-section be done soon. We did the growth ultrasound and Logan was estimated to be at 9 pounds 3 ounces, so she very strongly recommended we do a c-section at 39 weeks without going through another amnio that day. The Hubs and I were heart broken at the thought of having to do a c-section and not being able to have Logan the “regular” way, but we decided that it was what was best for Logan’s and my health. We were scheduled to come in at 9am on Sunday, December 26th for the c-section. Once we had the time and date, we called all the grandparents and gave them the information so that they could plan to be there for the birth.

Later on that same day, I had to go back to the office for a regular check-up. The Hubs and I were thinking that we already had the c-section planned for that Sunday, so we didn’t bother packing up all the things that we would need for the hospital stay. At the appointment, my blood pressure sky-rocketed to 196/110 and the doctor made the decision to send me to triage and then admit me, saying that Logan would be born either that night or the following morning, since my blood pressure was not responding to the two medications they had me on.

Once in triage, they took blood and a urine sample to be tested. If the lab work came back badly, we would be doing an emergency c-section that night. If the lab work came back fine, we’d be doing the c-section at 8 am the next morning (December 23rd). The Hubs and I were so relieved to know that there was a real end in sight! He left the hospital to go home and pick up all of our stuff while I waited in triage for my lab results.

My results came back fine (as they always did, proving that I just suffered from Pregnancy Induced Hypertension and not Pre-eclampsia) so the plan was made for us to be admitted to the hospital and have my c-section at 8 am Thursday, December 23rd. The Hubs made it back to the hospital (an hour and a half round trip) and I was admitted to a Labor and Delivery suite to wait out the night and call the grandparents with the new plan. They put in my IV and hooked me up to fluids that night, and our amazing nurse, Sarah, made the night so much less stressful than I thought it would be.

Close to 8 am the following morning, they took me to the operating room to start my epidural. The anesthesiologist was amazing, and only had to try once to place it. The epidural procedure itself was very strange, and it felt like Velcro being ripped apart in my spine, but didn’t hurt. Shortly after, my legs started going numb and tingly, and felt like they were placed in buckets of ice water from the inside out. They laid me down on the table and placed the curtain up in front of my face so that I couldn’t see anything. After a few minutes, they started talking about beginning the surgery so I asked for The Hubs. He came in shortly after and sat by my head.

I couldn’t feel anything the whole time, not even any tugging or pulling. The only thing that ever scared me was at the beginning of the process. I started feeling the epidural in my chest and couldn’t tell if I was breathing or not. I had to tell myself to breathe in and out so that I knew I was still breathing. I told the anesthesiologist and she did something that fixed the problem.

The Hubs took video and still pictures throughout the whole surgery, and the anesthesiologist told him that she would tell him when they were about to pull Logan out so he could get pictures. Once they pulled Logan out of me, he got pictures and video, and we both cried. Logan was born at 8:40 am, weighed 10 pounds even, and was 21 inches long. The Hubs followed Logan over to the warmer where there was a team of doctors on hand to make sure that he was healthy. They had to remove some fluid from his lungs, and he scored 6 and 9 on his one and five minute APGARS.

Minutes after birth.

10 pound Christmas Turkey

It seemed like it took forever for them to finish stitching me up, but it didn’t matter to me because Logan was out safely. Once they were finished with me, they moved the three of us to a recovery room for a couple of hours. The BFF was the first person other than us to hold Logan, and then shortly after, some of the grandparents got to see him.

Mama and Bubbers

Logan spent the vast majority of his first Christmas Eve sleeping because he had had his circumcision, Hepatitis B Vaccine, and PKU test all done that day. It was a rough Christmas Eve for him. We promised him that Santa would bring him a day where he didn’t get pulled out of a uterus, stuck with a needle, or operated on for Christmas.

Christmas Eve Grinch

The Hubs started our Christmas tradition of reading ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve, and we went to bed. On Christmas Day, they let us go home (24 hours early), and like crazy people, we drove an hour and a half north to visit The Hubs' family and then 2 hours back south to visit my family for Christmas. With a two-day old. And did I mention that I had no pain medication because no pharmacies were open on Christmas Day? Yeah, it was fun.

Ready to head home!

But it has been totally worth it all. The hard pregnancy, the hospital stays, the c-section, every bit of it. Having Logan has been the most challenging, but most fun experience I've ever had, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

Now, if you read that whole thing, give yourself a pat on the back from Bubber Man.