Hello everyone (or no one) ... I am the Divine Mrs. M and I just celebrated my 40th birthday partying with a variety of family, childhood friends and my grown-up BFFs. My theme was a "Party Like a Rock Star" costume party wherein the Divine Mrs M portrayed Madonna from her Material Girl video. I was rocking the pink dress, long pink gloves, sparkling jewels ... and a really fat ass. *sigh*
Now, I didn't wake up on my 40th birthday with an epiphany that I was fat. I am quite aware of the fact that I am carrying a lot more baggage around than I did 20 years ago. The thing is ... when you're in the process of becoming fat ... it's easy to deny, ignore, eat, deny, ignore and eat some more. I remember Matt Lauer interviewing Kirstie Alley on the Today show once upon a time when she was promoting one of her numerous efforts to lose weight. His question (or something to this effect) ... "How did you not notice you were getting fat?" Hmmmmm.....spoken like someone who has never had a weight problem. (On a side note, I've never really cared for Matt Lauer since this interview aired ... it was his tone. I took it personally.)
The truth is ... if you are fat you know you are fat. You don't feel good about being fat. You lie to yourself and say that you aren't fat ... you say things like "big boned," "curvy," "horizontally challenged" and all the other lies big girls like myself tell ourselves to help us make it through the day. You tell yourself that you are "healthy" even though you are well past your "sell by" date (BMI) on the scale. You look at yourself in the mirror only from the neck up and are honestly shocked when you see a picture of yourself that shows the "curves" that even the best Spanx cannot hide.
If you're like me, you spend an obscene amount of money on designer handbags because they always "fit" and aren't depressing to try on. You also spend an obscene amount of money at what I refer to as "The Big Girl Store" (aka the plus size clothing store) to try and hide your flaws and still look as fabulous as you felt when you were a size ZERO ... because, believe it or not, I really was once a size ZERO!!!!!! WTF???? I was one of the skinniest girls in my high school and my goal by the time I reached graduation was to weigh 100 pounds. You know what? I didn't accomplish my goal! I ate and ate and ate and ate and I could NOT hit 100 pounds. Youth really is wasted on the young.
So, back to my fabulous 40 self. I truly do enjoy my life ... I have a lovely husband, two lovely teenagers, one of those great dysfunctional modern families and the kind of friends that you cannot imagine living a day without. The ONLY thing in my life that I'm not happy with on a daily basis is the roll of fat that hangs over the C-section scar, the bottom that sags and enters a room a full 30-45 seconds after I do and the jiggly thighs, arms, etc. So, I'm on a quest to change this and I'm hoping you will join me on this journey. I'm going to look deep within this formerly thin person and figure out what the Hell happened and how to turn this situation around. Somehow I think it will be more of an internal journey that transpires itself into an outward change.
Will I be thin when this year is over? Only God knows. I'm gonna go the self-help group route and say "one day at a time." Stay tuned and stay in touch ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
The Flying W ...
So. Here we are dear readers. Three-quarters of the way into the telenovela that has been my 40th year. What have we learned thus far?
Well ... here are a few of my favorite (well, perhaps not favorite but definitely memorable) highlights: (a) I like Madonna; (b) I like to eat and would like to not like it quite so much; (c) that pajama pants are never to be worn outside of the bedroom; (d) that I watch entirely too much TV; (e) I have an endless list of movie quotes hidden in secret compartments of my brain; (f) I secretly wish the Pilgrims had never landed on Plymouth Rock thereby bettering the chances that I would have been born and raised in Jolly Ol' England; (g) that I should be banned from all ski resorts; (h) that my husband is a secret magician who pulled an amazing rabbit out of his hat and disappeared; and (i) that for a better part of the last decade I have been sporting the dreaded size W.
Whew! Quite eventful indeed! And those were just the tip of the iceberg!
For my past few posts I have been in my "Tony Robbins" mode ... up on the soap box ... trying to convince everyone to feel good and get out there and conquer the world. And that's awesome and everything ... but tonight I'm feeling more Erma Bombeck than Tony and feeling a little bit more like the Divine Mrs. M.
*** I interrupt this thought with a message from our sponsor (me): Am I going to have change my name to Ms. in the likelihood that said husband, the secret magician, has truly disappeared never to return to the M's stage? Because if you don't know where I got my name from ... it is a play on words from the amazing and incomparable Bette Midler ... the one and only "Divine Ms. M." And no matter how big of a fan of hers I may be and how sometimes I even imagine that we are the best of friends who sing and dance and go shopping with our best gays ... I am quite sure she is not going to take pity on my poor soul and allow me to use her trademark name. So perhaps when this year is over and I have reached 40+1 years of age (I have decided that using 40+whatever number sounds younger than saying the actual number) a name change may be in order. So I'm open to ideas. Anyone?***
Moving on ... so, yes, tonight I am feeling much more like myself ... the Divine Mrs. M. And what I hope you have learned by now after joining me on this journey ... is that I like most everything about being the Divine Mrs. M ... minus the fat.
So I am proud and pleased to announce that the Divine Mrs. M has almost made it to the 30-pound weight loss milestone (I am this close) on this 40, fabulous and fat journey ... and the W's have flown by the wayside.
Yep ... you heard me correctly ... I no longer require the dreaded letter W followed by it's equally despised two digit number defiling the tags of my clothing. Go ahead ... take a moment ... I will wait for the applause to die down before I continue.
This journey to the big 3-0 has been a true learning experience ... some of the weight I worked my ass off for ... some came from stress. But, hey, you know what they say ... don't look a gift horse in the mouth (what the heck does that even mean anyway ... I really don't know ... but it seemed to fit properly so I'm standing by it).
Now, here's the thing about losing weight ... a significant amount of weight ... because almost 30 pounds is quite significant for me (see how I am so avoiding telling you I have lost 29.6 pounds ... 29.6 ... that last .4 is like that mean girl in school who makes your life miserable every day). The thing is ... that losing the weight and watching the flying W disappear into the clouds opens up a whole new plethora of stores that you can spend your money in.
Now, before you get too excited and the applause get too out of control ... I am still a two-digit curvy girl. And 30 pounds does not put me at my goal weight. However, I don't really give a shit. Because I no longer need a W!!! And you know how much I hate all things W ... W clothes ... my abusive boyfriend WW (Weight Watchers for those of you just tuning in).
Now if you are a loyal reader ... you know that every item of clothing from my past sizes leading up to the dreaded 18W were given away to the trendy ladies at the senior citizen apartment complex and a local church charity clothing store.
I decided that new clothes were now in order because all of the clothing lining the Crabtree & Evelyn scented drawers of my dresser and color coded in my closet are now 3 sizes too big. Which didn't even occur to me actually until I put on a pair of white capris the other day and realized that they weren't staying up without a belt. And when I cinched the belt ... I found that I had to poke another hole in it in order for it to stay on as well. But the result of said fashion statement was a 40 year old, fabulous woman, sporting white capris and seemingly wearing a very soggy Depends undergarment. Because after cinching the 3 sizes too big capris with the man-made hole in the belt ... I was left with so much extra material that the pants sagged quite unflatteringly below the lady bits and the buttocks. I looked absolutely ridiculous but I had no choice but to leave the house in such a state because I needed to get to my new job (more on that at a later date) and every pair of pants I owned ... being white, black or khaki ... produced the same fashion faux pas.
So ... off I went ... saggy white pants and all ... armed with a crisp, clean credit card tucked safely away in my Coach bag ready to be used at will after the end of a long work day.
Imagine my excitement as I logged off of the computer, climbed into the cool air conditioning of my car, singing at the top of my voice to the Adele CD in my car stereo and headed straight to the mall. I couldn't get there fast enough. First stop ... a major department store ... where I did my best John Travolta impression and strutted straight past the W section and into the non-W section to go on a buying frenzy. I was practically foaming at the mouth. First up ... shirts/blouses. I did some major damage there. Gone were the loose fitting size W frocks and empire waisted blouses. In were tailored blouses and blazers and fitted tees (which by the way ... just the word "fitted tees" used to make me nauseous). I couldn't get enough. Every one fit better than the next and I couldn't believe that somewhere along the 40, fabulous and fat journey ... I had found my waist!!! I had an actual waistline. I felt like a Nobel Peace Prize winning archaeologist who has made the discovery of a lifetime. Well, that last part isn't exactly true ... but for the first time in for as long as I can remember I could actually relate to what Stacy and Clinton are talking about on What Not to Wear when they say choose fitted jackets that "show off your waist." The only thing I had to show off before was a ... well ... hmmmm ... what was it? A barrel? Well, whatever ... I have a waist! And it looks flattering in fitted shirts/blouses.
After leaving my finds at the register I went in search of fabulous bottoms ... jeans ... trousers ... capris ... slacks (okay ... I hate the word "slacks" but that's what my mom calls them and since she reads this I thought I'd humor her) to go with my many fabulous shirts/blouses.
And that, my friends, is where this tale of euphoria, celebration and excitement ... goes horribly, horribly wrong.
So ... since I have been confined to shopping in the Lane Bryant corner of the world for quite some time ... can someone who has not been confined to the Lane Bryant and similarly size W stores tell me when the following things came to pass: (a) that all women not of the size W stature became supermodels with impossibly long legs so that all jeans/trousers have enough extra material at the bottom that a Project Runway contestant could whip together an entire layette for a newborn? That are so incredibly long that even pairing them with a 9-inch heel would still leave you dragging your jeans/trousers through the slush, snow, mud, rain, dust, etc?; (b) that all women not of the size W stature prefer to wear jeans/trousers in the style of plumbers and teenage wannabe rappers ... sitting so low on the waist that the band of your Hanes underwear is promptly on display for the whole world to see?; and (c) if you do actually find a pair of trousers that sits on your natural waistline ... promptly creates a gap the size of the Grand Canyon in the back??
I mean ... how do you non size W women do it? I am 5'6 ... not 5'10 like Cindy Crawford (and if you are so young that you don't know who that is ... she was the Gisele Bundchen of my day). I am 40 ... not 20 ... and I wear underwear daily ... and like to keep the brand name to myself. And while a belt can be a pertinent style statement/accessory ... I don't like to be pressured to wear one to cover the great divide.
I don't remember how many pairs of jeans/trousers/capris/slacks (hey Mom) I took into that dressing room ... but other than being able to admire the size displayed on their tags ... every last pair seemed to stare back at me from the mirror ... mocking me. I was pissed. WTF? All of this work to lose this weight and not one pair of the above-mentioned bottoms were flattering on my obviously thinner figure.
I came out of the dressing room defeated but not broken ... pulled out the shiny card from my bag and purchased all of the shirts/blouses and headed to the next store ... and then another ... and then another. Once again being mocked by the ill-fitting bottoms.
After striking out yet again at the last store ... I headed out of the shopping mall in tears. Yes ... I said it ... in tears. Is that ridiculous? Yes ... it is. I know how ridiculous it is that I allowed myself to be bullied by a pair of pants ... or several 100 pair of pants (well, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit ... it wasn't several 100 ... it just seemed like it) ... but bullied I allowed myself to be.
After an appropriate amount of crying time in the safety of my air conditioned automobile ... I pulled out of the mall parking lot and headed straight to Starbucks to pay a visit to my old friend, Red Velvet. That's right ... you heard me ... I went straight to Starbucks and ordered a large black coffee, because I don't know how to order it in Starbucks lingo (Grande?) and two very delicious ... very fattening ... red velvet cupcakes. Yes, I said two.
Never mind that one of the main reasons I find myself with the word "fat" at the end of this blog title is because of my old friend, Red Velvet. And speaking of Red Velvet if you ever have the opportunity to be in Boston ... visit Harvard Square and go to a cupcake shop called "Sweet." Best red velvet cupcakes ever. But I digress ... So armed with my Kleenex, grande whatever and trusty friend Red Velvet ... I headed home. Wherein I proceeded to cry some more and share my sad tale of being mocked by pants to Red Velvet who completely understood my pain.
Somewhere into the second cupcake I snapped into reality and out of my "poor me" phase and came to the realization that my behavior was completely uncalled for. I have lost almost 30 pounds (darn that .4) ... a feat that should be celebrated ... not ridiculed and drowned in a Red Velvet free-for-all. I have exceeded my weight loss expectations up to this point ... and the fact of the matter is ... I really couldn't keep parading around town in my 3 sizes too big pants paired with all of my fabulous new shirts/blouses. I had to bite the bullet and go in search of pants ... and to what I am now referring to as the search for the "Holy Grail."
Awaking with a clear mind and new perspective I called upon my good friend N who recently celebrated a significant weight loss of her own. She made some crazy good suggestions of where I might have some luck ... and fully backed up my theory that those who design jeans/trousers are the devil and are out to make those of us "real" women who are not 6 feet tall with skinny thighs and non-existent back sides feel bad about themselves. Armed with her suggestions and the aforementioned credit card ... I managed to strike gold and walked away with a total combination of seven pair of jeans, trousers and capris (no slacks, sorry Mom).
All in all ... I learned an important lesson. Achievements are meant to be celebrated and you shouldn't detract from the celebration of said milestones by allowing a little hiccup in your grand plan to make you lose sight of the big picture. Another ... I should probably pop a Xanax before I enter another dressing room after the next almost 30 pounds are gone to avoid harming myself or others who enter my path.
While I bid a fond farewell and watch the size W's fly up, up and away and into another stratosphere ... I realize there will always be road blocks along the way trying to steal a little bit of my joy. While I cannot always avoid the road blocks ... I can change my attitude and turn the road blocks into stepping stones.
And so can you ... but first you have to pack away the Kleenex, step away from Red Velvet and attach whatever your "W" is to a big hot air balloon and blow kisses to it as it floats slowly away ... never allowing it to steal your joy again. (Ok ... so that was a tad Tony Robbins ... so sue me.)
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Well ... here are a few of my favorite (well, perhaps not favorite but definitely memorable) highlights: (a) I like Madonna; (b) I like to eat and would like to not like it quite so much; (c) that pajama pants are never to be worn outside of the bedroom; (d) that I watch entirely too much TV; (e) I have an endless list of movie quotes hidden in secret compartments of my brain; (f) I secretly wish the Pilgrims had never landed on Plymouth Rock thereby bettering the chances that I would have been born and raised in Jolly Ol' England; (g) that I should be banned from all ski resorts; (h) that my husband is a secret magician who pulled an amazing rabbit out of his hat and disappeared; and (i) that for a better part of the last decade I have been sporting the dreaded size W.
Whew! Quite eventful indeed! And those were just the tip of the iceberg!
For my past few posts I have been in my "Tony Robbins" mode ... up on the soap box ... trying to convince everyone to feel good and get out there and conquer the world. And that's awesome and everything ... but tonight I'm feeling more Erma Bombeck than Tony and feeling a little bit more like the Divine Mrs. M.
*** I interrupt this thought with a message from our sponsor (me): Am I going to have change my name to Ms. in the likelihood that said husband, the secret magician, has truly disappeared never to return to the M's stage? Because if you don't know where I got my name from ... it is a play on words from the amazing and incomparable Bette Midler ... the one and only "Divine Ms. M." And no matter how big of a fan of hers I may be and how sometimes I even imagine that we are the best of friends who sing and dance and go shopping with our best gays ... I am quite sure she is not going to take pity on my poor soul and allow me to use her trademark name. So perhaps when this year is over and I have reached 40+1 years of age (I have decided that using 40+whatever number sounds younger than saying the actual number) a name change may be in order. So I'm open to ideas. Anyone?***
Moving on ... so, yes, tonight I am feeling much more like myself ... the Divine Mrs. M. And what I hope you have learned by now after joining me on this journey ... is that I like most everything about being the Divine Mrs. M ... minus the fat.
So I am proud and pleased to announce that the Divine Mrs. M has almost made it to the 30-pound weight loss milestone (I am this close) on this 40, fabulous and fat journey ... and the W's have flown by the wayside.
Yep ... you heard me correctly ... I no longer require the dreaded letter W followed by it's equally despised two digit number defiling the tags of my clothing. Go ahead ... take a moment ... I will wait for the applause to die down before I continue.
This journey to the big 3-0 has been a true learning experience ... some of the weight I worked my ass off for ... some came from stress. But, hey, you know what they say ... don't look a gift horse in the mouth (what the heck does that even mean anyway ... I really don't know ... but it seemed to fit properly so I'm standing by it).
Now, here's the thing about losing weight ... a significant amount of weight ... because almost 30 pounds is quite significant for me (see how I am so avoiding telling you I have lost 29.6 pounds ... 29.6 ... that last .4 is like that mean girl in school who makes your life miserable every day). The thing is ... that losing the weight and watching the flying W disappear into the clouds opens up a whole new plethora of stores that you can spend your money in.
Now, before you get too excited and the applause get too out of control ... I am still a two-digit curvy girl. And 30 pounds does not put me at my goal weight. However, I don't really give a shit. Because I no longer need a W!!! And you know how much I hate all things W ... W clothes ... my abusive boyfriend WW (Weight Watchers for those of you just tuning in).
Now if you are a loyal reader ... you know that every item of clothing from my past sizes leading up to the dreaded 18W were given away to the trendy ladies at the senior citizen apartment complex and a local church charity clothing store.
I decided that new clothes were now in order because all of the clothing lining the Crabtree & Evelyn scented drawers of my dresser and color coded in my closet are now 3 sizes too big. Which didn't even occur to me actually until I put on a pair of white capris the other day and realized that they weren't staying up without a belt. And when I cinched the belt ... I found that I had to poke another hole in it in order for it to stay on as well. But the result of said fashion statement was a 40 year old, fabulous woman, sporting white capris and seemingly wearing a very soggy Depends undergarment. Because after cinching the 3 sizes too big capris with the man-made hole in the belt ... I was left with so much extra material that the pants sagged quite unflatteringly below the lady bits and the buttocks. I looked absolutely ridiculous but I had no choice but to leave the house in such a state because I needed to get to my new job (more on that at a later date) and every pair of pants I owned ... being white, black or khaki ... produced the same fashion faux pas.
So ... off I went ... saggy white pants and all ... armed with a crisp, clean credit card tucked safely away in my Coach bag ready to be used at will after the end of a long work day.
Imagine my excitement as I logged off of the computer, climbed into the cool air conditioning of my car, singing at the top of my voice to the Adele CD in my car stereo and headed straight to the mall. I couldn't get there fast enough. First stop ... a major department store ... where I did my best John Travolta impression and strutted straight past the W section and into the non-W section to go on a buying frenzy. I was practically foaming at the mouth. First up ... shirts/blouses. I did some major damage there. Gone were the loose fitting size W frocks and empire waisted blouses. In were tailored blouses and blazers and fitted tees (which by the way ... just the word "fitted tees" used to make me nauseous). I couldn't get enough. Every one fit better than the next and I couldn't believe that somewhere along the 40, fabulous and fat journey ... I had found my waist!!! I had an actual waistline. I felt like a Nobel Peace Prize winning archaeologist who has made the discovery of a lifetime. Well, that last part isn't exactly true ... but for the first time in for as long as I can remember I could actually relate to what Stacy and Clinton are talking about on What Not to Wear when they say choose fitted jackets that "show off your waist." The only thing I had to show off before was a ... well ... hmmmm ... what was it? A barrel? Well, whatever ... I have a waist! And it looks flattering in fitted shirts/blouses.
After leaving my finds at the register I went in search of fabulous bottoms ... jeans ... trousers ... capris ... slacks (okay ... I hate the word "slacks" but that's what my mom calls them and since she reads this I thought I'd humor her) to go with my many fabulous shirts/blouses.
And that, my friends, is where this tale of euphoria, celebration and excitement ... goes horribly, horribly wrong.
So ... since I have been confined to shopping in the Lane Bryant corner of the world for quite some time ... can someone who has not been confined to the Lane Bryant and similarly size W stores tell me when the following things came to pass: (a) that all women not of the size W stature became supermodels with impossibly long legs so that all jeans/trousers have enough extra material at the bottom that a Project Runway contestant could whip together an entire layette for a newborn? That are so incredibly long that even pairing them with a 9-inch heel would still leave you dragging your jeans/trousers through the slush, snow, mud, rain, dust, etc?; (b) that all women not of the size W stature prefer to wear jeans/trousers in the style of plumbers and teenage wannabe rappers ... sitting so low on the waist that the band of your Hanes underwear is promptly on display for the whole world to see?; and (c) if you do actually find a pair of trousers that sits on your natural waistline ... promptly creates a gap the size of the Grand Canyon in the back??
I mean ... how do you non size W women do it? I am 5'6 ... not 5'10 like Cindy Crawford (and if you are so young that you don't know who that is ... she was the Gisele Bundchen of my day). I am 40 ... not 20 ... and I wear underwear daily ... and like to keep the brand name to myself. And while a belt can be a pertinent style statement/accessory ... I don't like to be pressured to wear one to cover the great divide.
I don't remember how many pairs of jeans/trousers/capris/slacks (hey Mom) I took into that dressing room ... but other than being able to admire the size displayed on their tags ... every last pair seemed to stare back at me from the mirror ... mocking me. I was pissed. WTF? All of this work to lose this weight and not one pair of the above-mentioned bottoms were flattering on my obviously thinner figure.
I came out of the dressing room defeated but not broken ... pulled out the shiny card from my bag and purchased all of the shirts/blouses and headed to the next store ... and then another ... and then another. Once again being mocked by the ill-fitting bottoms.
After striking out yet again at the last store ... I headed out of the shopping mall in tears. Yes ... I said it ... in tears. Is that ridiculous? Yes ... it is. I know how ridiculous it is that I allowed myself to be bullied by a pair of pants ... or several 100 pair of pants (well, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit ... it wasn't several 100 ... it just seemed like it) ... but bullied I allowed myself to be.
After an appropriate amount of crying time in the safety of my air conditioned automobile ... I pulled out of the mall parking lot and headed straight to Starbucks to pay a visit to my old friend, Red Velvet. That's right ... you heard me ... I went straight to Starbucks and ordered a large black coffee, because I don't know how to order it in Starbucks lingo (Grande?) and two very delicious ... very fattening ... red velvet cupcakes. Yes, I said two.
Never mind that one of the main reasons I find myself with the word "fat" at the end of this blog title is because of my old friend, Red Velvet. And speaking of Red Velvet if you ever have the opportunity to be in Boston ... visit Harvard Square and go to a cupcake shop called "Sweet." Best red velvet cupcakes ever. But I digress ... So armed with my Kleenex, grande whatever and trusty friend Red Velvet ... I headed home. Wherein I proceeded to cry some more and share my sad tale of being mocked by pants to Red Velvet who completely understood my pain.
Somewhere into the second cupcake I snapped into reality and out of my "poor me" phase and came to the realization that my behavior was completely uncalled for. I have lost almost 30 pounds (darn that .4) ... a feat that should be celebrated ... not ridiculed and drowned in a Red Velvet free-for-all. I have exceeded my weight loss expectations up to this point ... and the fact of the matter is ... I really couldn't keep parading around town in my 3 sizes too big pants paired with all of my fabulous new shirts/blouses. I had to bite the bullet and go in search of pants ... and to what I am now referring to as the search for the "Holy Grail."
Awaking with a clear mind and new perspective I called upon my good friend N who recently celebrated a significant weight loss of her own. She made some crazy good suggestions of where I might have some luck ... and fully backed up my theory that those who design jeans/trousers are the devil and are out to make those of us "real" women who are not 6 feet tall with skinny thighs and non-existent back sides feel bad about themselves. Armed with her suggestions and the aforementioned credit card ... I managed to strike gold and walked away with a total combination of seven pair of jeans, trousers and capris (no slacks, sorry Mom).
All in all ... I learned an important lesson. Achievements are meant to be celebrated and you shouldn't detract from the celebration of said milestones by allowing a little hiccup in your grand plan to make you lose sight of the big picture. Another ... I should probably pop a Xanax before I enter another dressing room after the next almost 30 pounds are gone to avoid harming myself or others who enter my path.
While I bid a fond farewell and watch the size W's fly up, up and away and into another stratosphere ... I realize there will always be road blocks along the way trying to steal a little bit of my joy. While I cannot always avoid the road blocks ... I can change my attitude and turn the road blocks into stepping stones.
And so can you ... but first you have to pack away the Kleenex, step away from Red Velvet and attach whatever your "W" is to a big hot air balloon and blow kisses to it as it floats slowly away ... never allowing it to steal your joy again. (Ok ... so that was a tad Tony Robbins ... so sue me.)
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)