Just Dance ...

I am a super fan of the blonde trifecta ... Madonna, Britney and Lady Gaga.  A blonde bombshell for every generation ... Madonna for me, Britney for my sister and Lady Gaga for my daughter.  At my 40th birthday party, we represented each superstar ... and for good measure ... my mom dressed as a bombshell from her era as well ... Dolly Parton. 

While I cannot remember what I had for lunch yesterday, I do remember every lyric to Madonna's "Lucky Star."  A song that was released on my birthday, November 12th, 1983!!  For reasons that I cannot explain ... I remember the first time I heard it play.  I was at a local fair with one of my loyal readers, sharrison ;)  We were riding one of the carnival rides ... that, of course, I can't remember the name of.  It was one of those rides that went around and around in circles and was set with a snow or mountain kind of theme ... Anyone?  Anyone?  The Matterhorn maybe?  Like bobsleds?  Oh well ... it doesn't matter.  I'm just proving my point that memory is a funny thing.  Anyhow, sharrison and I were on this ride and "Lucky Star" blasted over the sound system.  I had no idea who was singing ... Madonna was not yet a household name.  I asked sharrison ... she told me.  In that instant ... my life changed. 

If you were a teen aged girl growing up in the 80's, you understand my undying love for "Her Madgesty."  Madonna was my first taste of a truly independent woman.  A woman who marched to her own drum, made no excuses for her behavior and created a multi-million dollar empire.  I wanted to be Madonna ... I wanted to dress like Madonna ... I wanted to dance like Madonna ... I wanted to sing like Madonna.  My biggest obstacle?  My parents.  They were strict.  And that's putting it politely.  Her "Like a Virgin" single pushed my parents over the edge and anything Madonna-like (clothes, music, etc) was forbidden in my household.  The first Madonna cassette tape I bootlegged into my home was one I purchased with my own money at age 16 ... True Blue.  I'd listen and dance to it in the confines of my room ... with headphones ... on my Sony Walkman.  I was like Lane from the Gilmore Girls ... hiding my contraband deep in my closet when I exited the house. 

I graduated, got married, had children.  And along came Britney.  "Hit me Baby One More Time" took hold and another blonde sensation was born.  The infamous Madonna/Britney kiss at the 2003 MTV Video Music Awards solidified Ms. Brit as a superstar.  Her music took over the airwaves and much dancing ensued in the Divine Mrs. M's household ... out in the open for everyone to see ... because I owned the house and my parents no longer had a say.

And then ... Gaga.  With no disrespect to those who came before her ... there is no other artist who inspires me to dance more than my beloved Gaga.  "Just Dance," "Poker Face" and "Bad Romance" can make me break out my moves no matter where I may be ... in my kitchen, at my desk, in the car, in the grocery store.  I am not an elegant dancer ... think Elaine from Seinfeld.  But I don't care ... I dance nonetheless.  Give me some music from the blonde trifecta and my body just has to respond. 

What does this have to do with being Forty, Fabulous and Fat?  I will tell you. 

To be effective, every healthy lifestyle change has to include some form of exercise.  There are a lot of opinions as to how much exercise is required ... but the general consensus is approximately 30 minutes of brisk exercise per day.  Most studies suggest walking.  I hate walking.  As a matter of fact, I hate exercise.  One of the reasons that most of my attempts to get healthy fail is that I participate in activities that I hate. 

I am a member of our local YMCA.  Once upon a time, I lost a significant amount of weight by eating properly and working out with a personal trainer at the Y.  I loved my trainer.  We became the best of friends.  He pushed me in directions I didn't even know my body could go and widdled my middle down to the smallest it had been in years ... defined my arms and legs and there was less jiggle when I walked.  And then the unthinkable happened ... he got a better job offer and left.  I stopped training, stopped eating healthy and put on more weight than I had on me before I started working with him.  I missed him.  He was like my gay BFF ... but he wasn't gay.  He just knew how to be a great girlfriend.  We laughed, talked, had lunch ... we were friends.  And he was gone.  And I gave up.  We still talk on the phone ... we still e-mail each other and he still attempts to train me over the Internet.  But its not the same. 

I keep paying the monthly bill to the Y for a membership.  They have a personal trainer on staff.  I know how to use all of the equipment and my brain is not so far gone that I don't remember the training I received.  I just don't like it.  I don't like walking/running on the treadmill to nowhere.  The elliptical machine is not my friend and biking on a stationary bike bores me to tears.  Without someone to push me, I will lift the least amount on the strength training machines and pick the smallest number from the free-weight pile.  Without the incentive of my trainer BFF being there to greet me, I have no desire to drive or walk into the facility. 

I've tried the water aerobics with the senior citizen crowd.  Boring.  I've tried walking the neighborhood with my IPod in ... boring.  I've done step aerobics ... archaic.  I've attempted punching a speed bag and even kickboxing.  I've never been that into aggression.  I've done TaeBo and The Firm.  I've done Walk Away the Pounds wherein you walk in place in front of the TV in the comfort of your own home.  Once in awhile I even breakout the Cindy Crawford Shape Your Body VCR tape ... originally released in 1992.  Nothing sticks.  Nothing lasts for more than a week or two ... and I'm stretching the truth there a little. 

So now that I'm attempting to change my life and become just Forty and Fabulous minus the Fat ... I need a game plan.  What kind of exercise can I introduce to my under worked, over couched body that it won't immediately reject?  I've been pondering this question for the past month and I think I have an answer. 

DANCE

That's right ... dance.  I don't like to do anything else.  I really don't.  But I love, love, love to dance.  I'm not talking ballroom dance via "Dancing with the Stars" ... I'm talking just losing oneself to the music and dancing ... around the living room ... around the kitchen ... in your pajamas ... like a fool.  I figure cardio is cardio but to aid me in my quest for getting my groove on and achieving 30 minutes of cardio per day ... I have enlisted the help of my Wii.  The Wii offers two fun dance games ... Just Dance and Just Dance 2.  I have also purchased Wii Zumba ... because it's fun and flirty and fun to dance to. 

I'm on my way readers.  Will I look like Cindy Crawford, Elle McPherson or Heidi Klum by dancing my ass off (literally)?  Nope.  But I will be moving ... which is more than I can say for what I was doing before.  I will keep you updated on the progress.  If you're lucky, I will post some YouTube video of my dancing skillzzz ... so you can laugh and be inspired by a self-appointed dancing queen. 

Choose wisely when you pick your exercise program ... quit lying to yourself that you are going to get up at 5:00 a.m. and hit the gym three days a week if you like to sleep in until the last possible second and have a habit of hitting the snooze button 18 times before rising.  Choose something fun ... choose something that is enjoyable and doesn't seem like a chore. 

Or take a cue from myself and my beloved Gaga and ... Just Dance!

 © 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved

Love and Marriage ....

For those of you who read my blog regularly, you know that I reference my husband and my marriage in a lot of my posts.  In order to be a successful writer you need to write the truth (as you see it) and write what you know.  I do both ...

I have stated time and again that marriage can be hard ... rewarding and worth the time ... but hard nonetheless.  This is the truth (as I see it) and what I know. 

When my husband and I were first married we moved into a modest-sized upstairs apartment.  We decorated as most newlyweds do ... with garage sale finds and things our parents were willing to part with.  My husband had a job where he left most mornings before I was awake and he made coffee every morning to take with him.  Every morning when he would make his coffee, he would dump all of the grounds from the previous pot of coffee into the sink.  Which did not have a garbage disposal.  Which meant that I would spend my morning getting ready for work while attempting to clean out a sink full of coffee grounds.  The garbage can was located directly underneath the sink in question and for whatever reason ... he just couldn't bring himself  to empty his used coffee grounds into it.  No matter how many times I asked. 

Approximately one month into this coffee grounds debacle, I lost my cool.  I called my mother.  I cried on the phone (in my defense, I was also pregnant at the time and my hormones were out of control).  I told her I had made a terrible mistake and should never have married this inconsiderate man.  You know what my mother told me?  Get over it.  Learn to pick your battles.  Hmmmm....not what I wanted to hear.  But sound advice. 

Over the course of our marriage we have had several disagreements like the one mentioned above ... some of these disagreements have escalated to a level they had no business escalating to.  It's the nature of the beast.  Disagreements are bound to happen ... one of you is going to have to bend ... going to have to "get over it" ... going to have to learn how to pick your battles. 

From an early age, girls are taught that there is a tall, dark, handsome prince charming on a white horse waiting to carry her off into the sunset where they will live happily ever after.  Boys are taught to be strong, masculine and protector of this beautiful, perfect princess who will bat her eyelashes, smile and follow him mindlessly down whichever path leads to happily ever after without question ... acting loving and devoted the entire way. 

It's crap.  You know and I know that the princess is playing "back-horse" driver arguing with the prince to stop and ask for directions along the path to happily ever after because they seem to have passed the same apple tree three times and are going around in circles.  The prince is staring in confusion at the princess out of the corner of his eye wondering where the flawless beauty he rescued is hiding as the princess's make up is starting to wear off and her hair is frizzing and standing on end.  Eventually the prince gets more and more irritated with the princess's whining and tells her if she thinks she knows so much she can get off the horse and walk herself to happily ever after ... and so on, and so on and so on. 

That's marriage ... Happily ever after, while paved with good intentions, will never live up to the story we have written in our head of how it should be.  Happily ever after takes a lot of work ... a lot of effort ... a lot of blood, sweat and tears.  If you walk into happily ever after expecting it to be perfect ... you are sure to be disappointed. 

Marriage is a commitment.  Once you are married, you are not "sort of" married ... just like you cannot be "sort of" pregnant.  You either are or you aren't.  My husband and I have been married for 17 years.  And we have been married for 17 years because we both want to be.  We get up every morning and practice our vows and stay married on purpose.  We have weathered for better or worse, for richer or poorer, etc. and we remain married and are traveling toward our happily ever after. 

Weight loss is a commitment as well.  You can't be "sort of" committed to a healthy lifestyle ... you either are or you are not.  Have you ever been on a diet and allowed yourself a "cheat" day?  You know, the day you can eat whatever you want, as much as you want and nothing you eat that day counts?  Go home tonight and tell your spouse that from today forward you are going to have a "cheat day" once a week wherein you can go out and have a date (and whatever else) with whomever you like and your spouse cannot hold you accountable for your actions.  How do you think that would go over?  Exactly. 

So why do we think it's okay to have a "cheat day" once a week on a diet?  Who exactly are you cheating?  I will tell you who ... YOU.  That's right ... you are cheating yourself out of being successful.  If you eat in moderation and burn more calories than you consume ... would it be "cheating" to have a piece of cake at the birthday party or a popcorn at the movie theater?  No.  It wouldn't.  Because if you truly are following a healthy diet and exercising properly ... the odd piece of cake or movie popcorn won't destroy your efforts. 

If you design your diet around days that you can "cheat," you may as well not bother to diet at all.  You are setting yourself up for failure.  "Cheating" shows a lack of commitment on your part to that which you are cheating on.  If you cheat on a test it shows your lack of commitment to studying ... if you cheat on your spouse you are showing a lack of commitment to your partner ... and if you cheat on your diet ... you are showing a lack of commitment to the most important person in your life ... YOU. 

I am making a commitment to myself that I will take steps to leading a healthy lifestyle.  I started out by saying I would do Meals on Wheels ... the fast track to weight loss.  And I changed my mind.  Meals on Wheels was a lie ... it was an easy but not a long-term solution.  So I'm starting over.  And I'm not going to lie to myself anymore.  I will do what I can do ... and I will get up every morning and be committed to my lifestyle on purpose.  I will weather for better or worse and for richer or poorer ... and I will be a better person for it in the end. 

I'm going to put a ring on my finger and make a commitment to myself and my new lifestyle and I'm going to keep my vows ... just as I have done for my husband these past 17 years.  I challenge you to do the same ...

 © 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved

Chasing Mr. Big ...

My favorite TV show of all time is Sex and the City (SATC).  I have seen every episode of every season at least 4 times and can recite most of them line by line.  I watched and enjoyed the first SATC movie and was sad and disappointed by the second one.  I have gone on the SATC bus tour in New York City and answered every trivia question correctly, had my picture taken on the steps outside of Carrie's apartment, had a cosmopolitan at "Scout," Aidan and Steve's bar, and shopped in show stylist Patricia Field's retail store.  I am a SATC "super fan." 

If you don't watch SATC, you may choose to discontinue reading this because this post may not be your cup of tea.  And if you don't watch SATC ... I must ask, why?  If watching it in its original form on HBO is too graphic for you, there are re-runs to be seen on a variety of different cable channels in a more "sedated" state.  I highly recommend it. 

SATC follows our heroine, Carrie Bradshaw, a New York city gal of a "certain age" and her BFFs, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha, as they look for, lose and eventually find ... true love.  Carrie is a columnist whose meal-ticket is writing about her "single in the city" lifestyle and her long-suffering pursuit of "Mr. Big."

Carrie is  introduced to "Mr. Big" in season one.  A tall, dark and handsome business tycoon who becomes the bane of her existence as she manages to fall in love with, get her heart broken by and continuously chase over the course of 6 seasons, 94 episodes and 2 movies. 

By the end of episode 94, Big and Carrie seem to have worked past all of their issues and are sent off into the sunset (or in this case, Fifth Avenue) to live happily ever after.  Also in episode 94, we finally learn Big's name ... John.  For me, that was kind of a downer.  Part of Big's massive appeal is that he was not "every man."  Naming him took away some of his sexy mystery.  But ... I digress. 

In the first SATC movie, Big and Carrie are shown living their  "happily ever after" in the Big Apple when they hit a major pot hole in their relationship.  By movie two they are living in domestic bliss.  This is where it gets interesting.  And by "interesting" I don't mean that the movie itself is interesting ... it's not ... at all.  It's one of the worst movies I have ever seen in my entire life and being a SATC super fan, that's saying quite a lot. 

However, what's interesting is this ... after 6 seasons, 94 episodes and 2 movies ... Carrie becomes bored by her life with Big.  Feels as if they are losing their "sparkle."  Big likes to come home from work, sit on the couch, watch Sports Center and order in Chinese.  Carrie, however, wants to go out dancing, have some cocktails and have "fun."  Hmmmmm....what does that remind me of?  Hmmmm....can't quite put my finger on it.  Is it?  Well?  Is it ... marriage?

Yes, Carrie.  That's marriage.  Anyone who has been married for longer than a minute can tell you that after the honeymoon is over, you and your spouse will find yourself settling in for the long haul.  The long haul has its share of romantic interludes ... and it also has its share of boring domesticity.  You see, going to work, taking out garbage, mopping floors and scrubbing toilets is not sexy ... but it is part of being married.  Big's a homebody.  He wants to stay home with his best girl and relax.  Meanwhile, his best girl wants to go out and party like it's 1999.  Carrie has spent all of her time chasing after and finally landing Big ... and now she's bored. 

Fascinating, right?  Carrie misses the thrill of the chase ... misses all of the time she spent pursuing the one thing she always thought she wanted and always seemed just out of her reach ... Big.  And now she has him.  And it's not enough.  I am currently chasing a Mr. Big of my own ... weight loss.  I have been chasing my Mr. Big for approximately 20 years now.  I have had him in my sights ... but he always manages to slip right through my chubby fingers. 

Carrie's boredom with married life to Big got me thinking.  When and if I ever catch up to and capture my Mr. Big ... will it be enough?  Will my Mr. Big be able to live up to all of my high expectations?  What will I do with all of the extra time and energy that I had previously spent on pursuing the forever elusive Mr. Big?  Will finding Mr. Big make me happy?  No.  To all of the above. 

You see, a lot of the appeal of chasing after the "ungettable" is more about the chase than actually catching and obtaining that what you are chasing.  You are chasing after an "idea" and not an actual "possibility."  You need to have a clear objective ... and if you are running on nothing but emotion ... a clear objective is nowhere to be found. 

I want to be thin, healthy and feel better about myself.  This is what I have been telling myself is my Mr. Big.  But if I'm honest with myself and with you, when I picture myself thin and healthy ... I see one smoking hot mama with a tight, flat stomach and killer legs (think Heidi Klum).  That, if I am honest, is the actual Mr. Big I happen to be pursuing.  Will I ever be able to catch that Mr. Big?  Probably not.  I'm 40.  You cannot have the body of a 19-year-old when you are 40.  Especially if you have abused that body for 20+ years and have stretched most of it into lumps of play-doh.  You may be able to slowly mold the play-doh into a smaller more shapely form ... but play-doh is play-doh and no matter how hard you try to convince yourself it can be done ... play-doh will never be cement. 

Carrie was chasing a fantasy ... an idea of who she thought Big was supposed to be.  And she was disappointed when she realized he wasn't whom she thought he should be after she caught him.  I also have been chasing a fantasy ... and the reason I have never caught my Mr. Big is because he was never really there to be caught.  My Mr. Big was nothing but an idea.  If I had actually caught up to my Mr. Big I'm sure I would have been disappointed  ... because he wouldn't have been everything I had built up in my mind that he should be (i.e., looking like Heidi Klum).  I need a reality check ... and if you have been pursuing a Mr. Big of your own (no matter what the case may be) ... you do too. 

So I'm making a list.  A list of goals that can actually be accomplished.  I need to start small ... maybe with eliminating soda from my diet and increasing my water intake.  Once that is accomplished I can move on to something else that is attainable.  After reading all of your comments regarding Meals On Wheels, I trashed the fast and easy way out and am ready to rely on myself, trial and error and the good Lord's guidance to take me on this journey. 

So I'm ditching Mr. Big ... and settling for Mr. Not So Big instead.  I'm hoping you will do the same.

 © 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved

Results Not Typical

These three words seem to sum up the entire multi-million dollar diet industry.  There are thousands of diet plans to choose from ... and the only thing any of them have in common is their disclaimer ... "results not typical." 

Some of the larger diet plans are getting savvy ... instead of using the old stand-by disclaimer "results not typical," they lead with a story about how Janie lost 35 pounds in 8 weeks on (insert diet plan name here).*  Follow the asterisk to the bottom of the page and you will find something along the lines of "most users who follow (insert diet plan name here) can expect to lose 1-2 lbs per week after the first week."  Aha ... do the math.  35 pounds in 8 weeks is much more than the "typical" 1-2 pounds you can expect to lose.  Some diet plans go as far as using the following disclaimer as well ... "promotional discounts were received."  Do you know what that means?  It means that Janie was PAID to lose weight for (insert diet plan name here) and she earned that paycheck by making sure she lost more weight than is "typical" to that of the average program follower. Did Janie starve herself?  Exercise 16 hours a day?  Have liposuction?

If you go to one of the popular fitness fad sites you can find a similar type of disclaimer.  After visiting one particular site that says "results in 30 days guaranteed" ... it sports the following disclaimer (on a different page as the "guaranteed" statement by the way):  "The time it takes to see results depends on several factors, including your current fitness level, consistency, diet and genetics."  Hmmmmm....interesting.  And yet they continue to "guarantee" amazing results. 

So, your homework assignment of the day is to define "typical."  I will give you an easy answer.  Me.  I believe that I am "typical."  I believe that my abusive boyfriend WW should take a picture of my fat ass and put it on his website and say something to this effect "The Divine Mrs. M lost and gained over 100 pounds while following the WW plan.*"  Follow the asterisk and you will find the following statement ... "RESULTS TYPICAL." 

That's right.  I'm typical.  You may not want to see my full-figured body gracing the cover of the workout DVD that promises that you will lose 10 inches in your waistline in 10 days ... or the cover of a health and fitness magazine ... or on a diet and fitness website as a "success" story.  But I am a "success" story as far as the diet and fitness industry is concerned.  Why?  Because diet and fitness plans have one goal in mind ... to be the company that wins the honor of taking your hard-earned money.  Neither industry could care less if you ever lose a pound or tighten up your abs.  As a matter of fact, they are banking on the fact that you won't.  If the diet plan really worked and the fitness DVD managed to give you washboard abs ... you wouldn't become a loyal and (here's the key) REPEAT customer. 

I am an excellent example of the customer that they want and need.  And yet, I will never land an endorsement deal, write a blog for their website or articles for their magazines.  No.  I am not the inspiration that will encourage their customers to spend $40 a month for the humiliation of weighing in on their scales or $130 per week on their pre-packaged meals or $100 a month on their gym membership or $600 for their ultimate fitness DVD, hand weights and supplement kits.  No, I'm not an inspiration ... but I am "typical."  I am the rule ... girls like Janie are the exception. 

I probably could have paid off the mortgage to my home by now if I had reallocated all of the money I have earmarked for "losing weight" and put it toward that instead.  My 20 years of dedication to my abusive boyfriend WW has left me financially and emotionally bankrupt.  And yet, I continue to spend, spend, spend ... and continue to fail, fail, fail. 

One of my favorite speakers/authors is Joyce Myers.  My sister-in-law and I have an unhealthy obsession with every word that comes out of her mouth.  We read her books, listen to her CDs, attend her conferences and watch her daily TV program.  Joyce speaks the truth and she speaks in a language we understand ... "woman."  Recently at a Joyce Myers conference my sister-in-law and I attended, I picked up her book and CD about losing weight.  My sister-in-law and I listened to that CD on the way home and laughed the whole way.  Joyce is not a humorist ... she's a woman of God and she's a "realist."  She tells it like it is.  In the CD and in her book she laid it all on the line.  Joyce had about 30 pounds to lose ... she was experiencing back problems and struggling with fatigue.  She chalked her symptoms up to the aging process but ended up having to see a specialist for her back problems.  Joyce didn't need surgery ... she needed to lose some of her excess weight and start exercising to strengthen her core. 

Joyce is a millionaire ... a hundred times over.  She has all the money in the world to spend on whichever weight loss plan she chooses.  She chose none.  Instead, she visited a nutritionist (which is covered by most health care plans by the way) and started adding some cardio and light strength training to her daily routine.  She lost that 30 pounds ... and it took her THREE YEARS.  That's right.  THREE YEARS.  To lose 30 pounds.  That's 10 pounds per year for those of you who are mathematically challenged.  She never subscribed to a weight-loss plan although she did break down and hire a personal trainer to help her rev up her exercise routine when what she was doing was no longer getting her results.  She lost 30 pounds in three years ... and has managed to keep it off.  It's gone ...

Interesting ... how many of us would pay to join a weight-loss plan that promises that you will lose 10 pounds per year?  Raise your hand please.  Anyone?  That's what I thought.  Of course you're not going to do that ... you're going to shell out the big bucks to lose 10 pounds in 10 days ... and you may do that.  But will you keep it off? 

That being said, all of you know that I subscribe to a diet meal delivery plan that I refer to as "Meals on Wheels."  I have managed to lose weight.  I have enjoyed being able to lose weight as this is a new development for me.  However, I have been struggling with the fact that I'm not really learning anything.  "Meals on Wheels" is expensive.  I don't always care for all of the selections they send me.  And I don't care for the fact that I have to provide a separate meal for my family while I eat my portion-controlled meal in a cardboard box. 

I mentioned in one of my previous blogs that I know all of the right ingredients for weight loss ... I just don't know how to put them together to make them work consistently.  So, readers, what are your suggestions?  Do I continue with "Meals on Wheels" until at my target weight ... spending a boat load of money ... or do I break down and do the research ... experiment with different combinations of food and exercise until I learn the right formula that works for me?  Is it more important to lose weight quickly ... like the diet and exercise programs promise or to lose like Joyce ... slow, slow, slow but keeping it off for good? 

Opinions please ... my weight hangs in the balance :)

 © 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved

My husband is NOT my BFF ...

Once upon a time, someone sent me a message on Facebook that challenged me to write a note listing 20 things about myself that people would be surprised to know ... or something to that effect.  So, I did. 

One of things on my list was the following:  "Marriage is harder than I thought it would be."  Because it's true.  It is hard.  It's definitely worthwhile ... but hard.  One of my fb friends commented on the list that I had made and said the following (and please read it with the same sarcastic nasally tone I used in my head when I read it):  "I never thought marriage was hard because I married my best friend."  OMG ... Gag ... Gross!  Anyone who tells you that their marriage is "perfect" or that marriage isn't hard is one of two things:  (a) a newlywed or; (b) a liar. 

Now, before you chastise me ... I need you to know that I do believe that my husband is my friend.  But he's not my best friend or BFF if you will. 

I couldn't have married my BFF even if I had wanted to ... she's a gorgeous red-head and same-sex marriage is not yet legal in the state of Pennsylvania.  It's probably just as well.  The best thing about having a BFF is the fact that you don't live together.  You don't have the same stresses that married couples face.  You don't make a family budget together, you aren't sleep deprived and cranky because of a colicky newborn or mouthy teenager, you don't divvy up household chores and worry about how the bills are going to be paid at the end of every month.  A BFF just has to "show up." 

Your BFF is the one that you talk to about your menstrual period, and how much water you are currently retaining and how you ate an entire bag of potato chips and a full container of chip dip by yourself every Friday night for a month and are now wondering why you can't fit into last season's summer wardrobe.  Your BFF goes shopping with you and waits patiently in the dressing room while you try on 100 different dresses to end up buying not a single one.  Your BFF will tell you ... yes, your BFF will tell you that those pants make you look fat and that maybe plaid isn't a good look on you.  Your BFF will sit with you while you dissect every possible scenario that may occur if you choose one plan of action over another.  Your BFF will listen and reassure you instead of laughing at you every time you get a splitting headache and are convinced you have a brain tumor.  Your BFF will give you a makeover and help you color your hair.  Your BFF is the one that you turn to when you want to vent about your spouse.  Your BFF is your stylist, nutritionist, cosmetologist, gynecologist, primary care physician, marriage counselor and therapist all wrapped up into one neat little package. 

Now, my husband has at some point over the course of our 17-year marriage participated in all of the above-mentioned duties.  I know for a fact that he didn't much care listening to me discuss my monthly cycle, mixing the color for my hair, shopping for dresses or discussing the newest fad diet.  He has never once appreciated it when I vent about him to him (I believe that's called nagging) and NEVER in my life has my husband ever told me that I look "fat" in anything (even though I know of quite a few times that he definitely should have). 

My husband is my friend.  I love and adore him.  I love being his wife and the mother of his children.  I love our life together (most days) and I don't want to live my life without him. 

That being said, my relationship with my BFF is equally important.  You see, your husband, if he truly loves you, will give you whatever it is you want within reason and within his means.  Your husband doesn't understand the obsession you have with dieting and will go out and buy you a case of Pepsi and a king size Reese's if that's what you say you want even though you just told him an hour before to not allow you to eat any junk food. 

If you tell your BFF to not allow you junk food, however, she will remove the Pepsi from your house and donate it to a food pantry and slap the Reese's out of your hand, point her finger at you and yell "NO!" as if you were a toddler.  It's called the buddy system.  Every diet plan has them.  I strongly suggest you participate in one.  I also suggest you choose a buddy outside of your own home.  You see, my BFF can get away with telling me what I should and should not do when it comes to eating.  My husband cannot.  If my husband slapped food out of my hand and took away my Pepsi, I would immediately jump into manipulation mode and start crying and saying things like "I knew you thought I was fat," or other inappropriate statements to make him feel bad enough to give me back the candy and soda.  My BFF wouldn't put up with that shit. 

Having a BFF is crucial to a woman's life.  As a matter of fact, I suggest you have more than one.  A BFF will always tell you the truth ... even when it hurts.  They will get up at 5 a.m. (thanks Sargent) and go for a walk with you, they will join you in making an idiot out of yourself at a Zumba class and join you in the shallow end of the pool with the over-80 crowd for water aerobics.  They will go to WW meetings with you and get yelled at for not paying attention and laughing uncontrollably for no apparent reason. 

My husband would gladly do these things if I asked him to ... well, maybe not all of these things ... but a good portion of them.  He just doesn't want to.  Just like I don't want to go sit at antique auctions every Saturday afternoon and Monday evening like he does.  It's not "my thing."  And that's okay.  Weight loss is not "his thing."  First, he doesn't need to lose any weight.  Second, he just wouldn't be as much fun.  It's kind of a "girl thing."  You see Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus ... which means that my husband and I live on different planets and my BFF resides in my time zone. 

So ladies, go grab your BFF (and if you haven't been paying attention ... do not go and grab your husband) and tell her you're ready to make some changes.  Schedule some fun Girls Nights Out or Girls Days Out and take a Zumba class ... on my life I swear you will burn more calories laughing than you will dancing ... or go for a walk ... or maybe snowboarding!!!! *Wink* 

Yes, I love my husband ... but I wouldn't be complete without my BFF and the peeps.  Love you girls!

 © 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved

The Biggest Loser and Week 2

For those of you who watch NBC's The Biggest Loser you are familiar with dreaded "Week 2."  The trainers remind the contestants every day of how horrible Week 2 is while in the gym beating the crap out of them, the contestants walk around with dark clouds over their heads and there is an impending sense of doom and gloom on the BL ranch.  Then ... the weigh in.  Contestants are shaking and near tears before the big scale lights up to reveal their Week 2 weight loss.  What inevitably follows is one or more versions of the following emotions: *GASP * TEARS * ANGER * FRUSTRATION * EXPLETIVES *  And you want to know why these contestants are so upset?  Because Johnny lost 22 pounds his first week on the ranch and this week .... oh no ... he only lost 5!  Janie lost 13 pounds her first week on the ranch and this week ... wait for it ... she lost only 1!  OMG ... whatever will they do????  It's the Biggest Loser Week 2 Curse!!!!  Give me a freakin' break. 

I have successfully completed Week 2 of my weight loss plan and am now knee deep into Week 3.  I didn't lose an average of 7 pounds per week like Janie or 13.5 per week like John.  No ... I actually gained a pound this week and am hanging tight to an average of 2 pounds per week.  I'm happy with that.  Because I don't live at the Biggest Loser Ranch.  I don't have Jillian and  Bob to work my ass out every minute of every day.  I have a job and a husband and kids and, well, a life. 

I will admit that Week 2 wasn't easy for me.  For one thing ... someone helped themselves to my identity (i.e., bank card) and bought themselves what I assume to be a really nice Dell computer for Christmas.  This theft resulted in my having to cancel my card, make another trip to see Jabba at the police station and going to the bank to apply for a new card.  In the meantime, my "Meals on Wheels" (i.e, diet meal delivery plan) order for Week 2 was not able to process due to the canceled credit card.  By the time I received my new card and corrected my billing information with Meals on Wheels, Week 2 was well underway and I was totally and completely on my own. 

I'm not a dumb girl.  I understand how diets work ... eat less, move more.  Easy peasy lemon squeezie.  Right?  Wrong.  The whole purpose of Meals on Wheels is to take the guesswork out of my caloric intake.  The food is edible ... some of it is even tasty.  I know grilled chicken is better than fried chicken (in terms of health ... not taste).  I know that Pepsi is not as healthy or hydrating as water.  I know that fruits and vegetables are better for you than potato chips and ice cream.  I've got the basics down. 

The basics are easy because it all comes down to common sense.  What takes a little more work and where I tend to become confused is what to eat, when to eat it, how much of it to eat and what combination to eat it in.  You see ... I can go to the store and stock up on everything considered to be "healthy."  I can have a cart load of fresh fruit and vegetables; low fat dairy; lean meats and proteins and Lean Cuisines.  I can have all of this in my diet arsenal and still be at a loss as to what to do with it. 

There are too many conflicting reports out there in regard to what to eat, when to eat it and how much to eat.  For example ... my abusive boyfriend WW says that a serving of protein should be about the size of your cell phone.  Well, what does that mean exactly?  I have an iPhone ... my husband a Blackberry ... my mother an ancient "flip" phone.  Whose cell phone should I be referencing?  I would pick the Blackberry because it's the largest ... but that's just me .... or is it? 

There are studies that show that you should have 2-3 servings of dairy per day and it will help you lose weight.  What constitutes a serving?  What kind of dairy should you have?  Is drinking 1/2 cup of whole milk as beneficial as drinking a 1/2 cup of fat-free milk?  Is low-fat yogurt as beneficial as regular yogurt?  Do you still get the same health benefits from a piece of low-fat string cheese as opposed to whole milk string cheese?

Studies say you are supposed to have 8 servings of fruits and vegetables every day ... hmmmm ... what is the fruit to vegetable ratio?  Do I have 4 fruits and 4 vegetables or 2 fruits and 6 vegetables?  Do I just drink a V8 and be done with it?  Probably not, because fruit and vegetables in their liquid form lose more of their nutritional value than when consumed in their original form ... I heard that on Dr. Oz.

Fat in your diet is important to a healthy lifestyle ... yea, I said it ... fat is healthy for you.  If it's the right kind of fat.  EVOO (if you don't know what that is then you should check your local TV listings for Rachel Ray) is an excellent source of the "right kind of fat."  However, when using EVOO for cooking, how much can you use before it goes from being healthy to unhealthy? 

We have heard for years that carbs are bad for you.  My dad did the no-carb diet and lost a lot of weight ... and ended up in the hospital with kidney stones.  His doctor told him by eliminating most carbs from his diet, his kidneys were not able to function properly as his body was working over-time in order to process the overload of protein in his diet and kidney stones developed.  I guess this condition was quite common when the "no carb" fad hit the shelves. 

Did you know that a lot of salads (just the name "salad" makes you think "healthy") have more calories than a Big Mac?  They do!  Read Eat This Not That.  It's my favorite book because it will show you that in some cases a cupcake may be more beneficial to you health wise than a chef's salad.  You see, if you look hard enough and search far enough you can find a diet that looks good on paper but doesn't actually help you lose any weight at all.  It's the search for the Holy Grail ... in my case it's more the Monty Python version but whatever. 

Without my Meals on Wheels I was terrified to eat much of anything at all.  I chose the grilled chicken.  I ordered carrot and celery sticks as my appetizer at a restaurant when my husband and daughter ordered deep fried pretzels and onion rings.  I ate a Lean Cuisine pizza at my son's birthday party while everyone else feasted on gooey cheesy pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut.  I had one can of Diet orange Crush while everyone else drank ice cold Pepsi (my most favorite thing in the whole wide world and had two bites of my son's ice cream cake after singing Happy Birthday.  Overall, a pretty good week.  And still ... I gained a pound. 

My BFF said that perhaps I didn't eat enough.  That your body can go into starvation mode and slow the metabolism down.  My husband said that perhaps I didn't eat the right combination of food or have the right portion sizes.  You see?  Explanations as to why the weight didn't come off are just as diverse and confusing as diets themselves. 

I'm not upset by that pound but, seriously, had I known it was going to be there come Monday morning ... I would have munched on an onion ring, had a slice of the gooey pizza and ate more of that ice cream cake.  But I guess that's how I got into this sinking ship in the first place ... by thinking like THAT.  I did really well all on my own for Week 2.  No Meals on Wheels as a crutch.  No WW meeting.  Nothing.  Just Me vs. Food.  And I think I did okay. 

For now I think I'll just go the Biggest Loser route and say that I did everything perfectly and my weight gain is just a product of dreaded Week 2 ...

 © 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved

What's Your Due Date?

Okay ... so this has really got to be my least favorite thing about being fat.  First of all, if you have ever asked a woman something along the lines of the following:  (a) are you having a boy or girl; (b) what's your due date; or (c) how far along are you ... and you had no way of being 100% certain she was pregnant ... SHAME ON YOU!!!!  Your mother obviously did not bring you up properly and/or you are a man. 

There is nothing in the world that can pop the balloon of one's self-esteem faster than having a stranger or not-so-close acquaintance ask you one of the above-mentioned questions.  For future reference, unless the woman whose fertility you are questioning has a sonogram picture pinned to her blouse or is sporting a T-shirt that says "Baby on Board," don't even think of uttering any of the above-referenced phrases within that woman's vicinity ... ever. 

The "peeps" and I have numerous names for the layer of fat that a woman carries in her midsection.  For example, my BFF refers to hers as the "bread box," as she believes that this is where all the bread she eats goes to live after entering her body.  Other endearing names for this super attractive piece of fat are ... "pooch," "paunch," "butt in front," "jelly belly," etc.  Women go to great lengths to hide their "pooches."  There are entire industries dedicated to making various forms of knight-like armor to squeeze this layer of fat into in order to create a more stream-lined effect under clothing.  There are girdles, control-top pantyhose and my armor of choice, Spanx.  I believe the act of applying one of these highly attractive undergarments to your overweight body could be an Olympic sport.  It takes a lot of muscle, dexterity and maneuvering to get these things into their proper position.  Most days it is my main source of cardio and strength training.  Once in place, a multitude of sins can be smoothed over ... no more muffin top, a less prominent outline of the pooch and the jelly belly no longer jiggles when you walk.  Well, it does, but it's less noticeable.  It's also a great way to hide the "cottage cheese" dimples of one's buttocks ... just sayin'. 

A man carries his "pooch" with pride.  They call it a "beer belly."  They laugh when anyone makes a comment in regard to its presence.  They say things like, "working on my six pack," while smiling and either patting it lovingly or rubbing it like it's a Buddha.  What the Hell is wrong with them? 

The first time (yes, I said the first time) someone asked me one of the never to be asked questions above was the summer that I was 35.  My husband and I had bought a new home earlier in the winter and I was working on redecorating my son's room.  We were at the mall and I was shopping for curtains.  He went to Ruby Tuesday's to order our lunch while I ran upstairs to the home section of a major department store.  I found the curtains I was looking for and had the salesperson (a woman) get the proper number of panels for me.  She met me at the counter after collecting them and while she was ringing them up she said, and I quote, "So, you must be having a boy ... when are you due?"  Seriously?  I was shocked and rendered speechless.  For those of you who know me, you realize that being rendered speechless is not a condition to which I am accustomed.  I cocked my head slightly to the right, looked her square in the eyes and said ... "Yes, I did have a boy.  He's 12."  She was mortified.  And she should have been.  But actually, my comment made it much worse.  She kept apologizing and apologizing and the more she went on and on about how sorry she was, the more I wanted the floor to open and swallow me up.   

I left the department store, curtains in hand, and proceeded down the escalator and into the Ruby Tuesday's where my husband was waiting for me.  Waiting along with him was an order of deep-fried mozzarella sticks, buffalo wings, french fries and a loaded baked potato.  Our lunch.  I slid into the booth across from him, looked at the food, and nearly burst into tears.  I told him what had transpired, collected the car keys and promptly went to our vehicle and cried in peace.  My husband, being the man that he is, finished his lunch, boxed up the leftovers and then decided to come and join me.  My husband is not an insensitive man.  He's really not.  But in his "man" world (remember my "six pack comment) this incident was not quite the Category 6 storm that it was in mine.  I, however, was upset and irrational and proceeded to be mad at him for the rest of the day.  Actually, mad isn't a strong enough word ... furious would be more accurate.  This poor man who was sitting in a booth, minding his own business, eating his lunch, completely oblivious to what was being said upstairs in the department store next door had the distinct honor of bearing the brunt of my anger for the whole rest of that day.  I have since apologized. 

The second time I had an experience like this, I was at a work function.  I work for the state and was at the capital building for a two-day conference.  One of my co-workers and I were sharing a hotel room and were getting ready for the first morning of the conference.  I put on one of the blouses I had brought for this occasion and looked myself up and down in the mirror.  I turned to my co-worker and asked her, "Does this blouse kind of make me look pregnant?"  She said, "Of course not."  Remember that. 

Workers from cities and towns all over the state were in attendance at this conference so the conference organizers thought that they should start with an "ice-breaker" game.  This game entailed everyone receiving a list of identification clues (i.e., find someone who is wearing yellow) wherein you found someone you didn't already know who fit the description and wrote down their name, location and one fact about them to help you get acquainted.  Line 7 of this sheet said ... "Find someone who is pregnant."  Do I even need to continue???

I looked around the room and did not see ONE person that even looked like they might be expecting.  Now, being that women read things like Emily Post and Dear Abby ... not one woman in the room approached another woman in the room regarding the dreaded #7 and left that one blank.  However ... there were 4 men in attendance.  I was approached by all 4.  The first gentleman got a small smile and a shake of the head no, the second a shake of the head, the third got a sharp "no" after asking and the last got a "no, I'm not pregnant," before he even opened his mouth the whole way.  I didn't cry that day ... but I did throw that blouse in the garbage in my hotel room during my dinner break. 

The last time I had an experience such as this was the worst!  I had my identity stolen and someone had used my credit card to purchase electronics at Best Buy.  I had to file a police report before I could have the credit card reimbursed.  While waiting for an officer to take my statement, the woman behind the intake desk who resembled Jabba the Hutt (which sounds mean but you won't think so in a moment), asked me the following statement which is forever burned into my brain ... "Are you pregnant or just fat?"  Yea, "Are you pregnant or just fat?"  WTF???????  I said, "Ummmm ... just fat I guess."  And she proceeded to try and sell me some herbal diet drug she was hawking.  I'm not kidding.  Jabba the Hutt whose fat was hanging down both sides of her office chair and had heavy, labored breathing was trying to make a buck off of me for diet pills!!!!!  Ugh!

My sister-in-law has experienced the same kind of comments since giving birth to her twins 5 years ago.  Her twins were not the tiny 4 to 5 pound babies you would expect ... heck no.  They were both full size babies weighing between 7 and 8 pounds each.  Weeks before delivery her skin had stretched beyond anything I ever dreamed possible and the weight of these precious bundles left her with not only a "pooch" but a hernia as well.  She got sick and tired of people asking her if she was pregnant.  Today whenever someone asks when she is due she responds by smiling and saying "About the same time you are."  I'm told it's very effective.

I can't tell you verbatim how I responded to my particular incidents of horror the days following their occurrence.  I imagine they prompted me to re-enlist in the WW army and/or schedule an emergency visit with my therapist.  Obviously had these comments had any real long-term damaging effects on my ego, I would have shed the paunch for good by now.  I haven't.  I have a loyal reader who messaged me and told me her turning point came when she became tired of looking five months pregnant and has since rid herself of the unwanted pounds.  I applaud her effort.  I'm a little slower to the punch. 

The thing is, the jelly belly is a very small (or very large depending on what angle you are viewing me from) part of who I am.  I may not like it being there, I may torture it on a daily basis by stuffing it into uncomfortable undergarments and I may sigh every time I see myself naked in a full length mirror and my eyes are automatically drawn to that particular area of my body.  But it's there.  I'm working to make it disappear or at the very least dwindle in size. 

There's a wonderful part in the movie Bridget Jones:  The Edge of Reason, wherein Renee Zellweger's character is sneaking out of bed in the morning after spending a particular passionate night with the always delicious Colin Firth.  She's crawling out of bed quietly while wrapping the sheet around her on the way.  Colin Firth wakes up and asks her what she's doing ... she says she doesn't want him to see her "wobbly bits."  His response?  "I happen to be rather fond of your wobbly bits."  She says, "Really?"  He nods yes.  And the next move makes it into my all time favorite movie moments ... she drops the sheet with a huge toothy grin and flashes him her "wobbly bits." 

Go ahead and make the changes necessary for you to be the best person you can be and don't let the "pooch," "paunch," etc stop you from loving who you are right now.  I promise you that the people who matter love you just as you are ... and if they don't, then they don't really matter. 

So my dear friends ... drop the sheets, smile wide and flaunt your "wobbly bits" ...

© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved