Vintage Trouble.

I was just watching Hulu and this Honda commercial for the new Civic just came on. There's nothing too spectacular about the commercial in general, except for the band that plays the background song. They're called Vintage Trouble and first off, they're just cool looking. See for yourselves, take a look over there -->

Amirite?! Like they're the type of people that you want to be friends with, the kind who would give you major hipster street cred. So the commercial starts out with Ty Taylor (as I now know, since I've been doing a little behind the scenes stalking), chill'n on a stool while growling, "Today... the world is pretty sad." I dunno, there's just something about him and his voice that's just so cool.

"Today is Pretty Great"

He reminds me a lot of Al Green and a better Lenny Kravitz. I grew up listening to Motown and Ty Taylor sounds like he came from that era. Here they are playing live for a radio station.

See what I mean?

What does this have to do with losing weight or lupus? Nothing. But this is my blog and you're not the boss of me or my body.

The Incredible Shrinking Woman.

When I was being measured yesterday, the nurse repeated my height as she entered it into the computer. 5' 2 1/2". What? I asked, silently lamenting the crack addiction that she must be suffering with. She double checked and said, that yes, I was in fact a tiny midget. She then went back in the annals (*snicker, annals*) of her computer and found that when I was there 2 years ago I was the same height.

SAY WHAT?! As far as I've known, I've been 5' 3 3/4" since I was in high school. WTF, man? How could I have shrunk so much? I'm not in my 70's where that kind of shit is expected! I need to do some research. Can it possibly be because I have so much weight on my beautiful body? Does obesity, like cold air, cause shrinkage?

Let me see if I can find anything on the interwebs... brb.

What I'm gleaning is that the excess weight can cause spine compression and poor posture which can lead to a decrease in height. Sonofabitch. So, now I need to get one of those upside down bat hangy things that RICHARD GERE HAD IN AMERICAN GIGOLO!!! Woah, I was just referencing that movie yesterday.

Oh Richie... I'll be your gerbil any day.

6-Month Sentence & The Return of Lucy Liu.

A couple years ago I toyed with the idea of getting a sleeve gastrectomy, which I eventually decided against. During that time, though, I met up with a terrifying (yet titillating) nutritionist who I like to refer to as Lucy Liu. Or is it whom... who, whom I like to... grammar, ye are a finicky she-beast.

Anywhoosies, I decided that I needed to get the surgery done and today returned to the Weight Loss Center. I'm super excited to get 'er done and everything was going along swimmingly until I found out that my insurance needs proof of a 6-month medically supervised diet. SAY WHAAAAT? Now don't get me wrong, I'm pleased as punch that my insurance actually covers the procedure, however, it just seems so uncool that they have this caveat in place.

I mean seriously, how many "ladies of a certain age," such as myself, get to this point without having tried a ZILLION different diets/potions/lifestyle changes/hypnotists? I'd say less than 1%. So that means that the insurance company is making the rest of us wait an additional 6 months for, really, nothing. During that time, our type are not like, "Whoa! I'm really glad I had this time to lose this 5 lbs, be super frustrated, and potentially fuck my body up more with all the pleasantries that come with being morbidly obese."

And what if, in the meantime, I end up stroke'n out, dying of sleep apnea, my heart explodes, or a zillion other things? I'm fucked. And if we lose our insurance before I finish the 6 months? I'm fucked. Yes, I know that no one did this to me, I'm the one who made the decision to go to Carl's Jr instead of Salads R Us; but, fuck. Come on insurance. Why you gotta dangle the chocolate carrot in front of a sista' like that?!!!!

Hubby said he would call on Monday and see if there's any way around the 6-month policy. I suggested that he give up his body for them to use with it as they will. I'm not sure he's going to go along with that plan, but he needs to suck it up and give 'em a little sugar.

But I digress. So yah, the sleeve gastric bypass. Gonna do it. "What it the hell is a sleeve gastrectomy?!" you might ask. Well let me tell you. It's a surgery whereby 85% of your stomach is removed, basically giving your a "sleeve" type stomach the shape of a banana. It's what they call a "restrictive" surgery: it limits the amount of food you can process and doesn't move around or connect any other body parts.

It's great because it removes the portion of the stomach that secretes Ghrelin - a hormone that is responsible for appetite and hunger. I think that they forgot the "m" when they were naming it, 'cause it does seem to me that g[h]remlins are a part of this conspiracy to keep me fat. Little fuckers.

Learn more about the surgery and support forums at ObesityHelp.com. There's a lot of cool info there. I also thought this video from the Mayo Clinic was kinda cool:

Transcript: In a sleeve gastrectomy, part of the stomach is separated and removed from the body. The remaining section of the stomach is formed into a tube-like structure. This smaller stomach cannot hold as much food. It also produces less of the appetite-regulating hormone ghrelin, which may lessen your desire to eat. However, sleeve gastrectomy does not affect the absorption of calories and nutrients in the intestines.

So I'm going to let these doctors cut up my body so I won't die early. The scariest part of the whole procedure, though, is having to meet up next week with the nutritionist I lovingly refer to as Lucy Lui. Yes, she's still there!!! And I'm sure she's as terrifying as ever. She's going to be the one who is responsible for my 6-month sentence. Sweet mother of gahd.

Can I Get a Wuh-Wuh?

Holy crap, I'm so tired.

My allergies have been craaaaaaaaaay-zaaaaaay these past couple of days. What's weird is that I always want to eat a chit-load of food when I'm all allergy-ridden. Well... I always want to eat a chit-load of food when I'm not allergy-ridden too. *le sigh*

My mom was visiting last week and we decided to re-re-re join Weight Watchers. Although this is my ump-teenth time joining, I always end up losing weight so, for me, it's worth it. I think a lot of people have misconceptions about what Weight Watchers (or as I call it, Wuh-Wuh) is about. You don't have to buy WW food or weigh-in in public. For the most part, WW teaches you how to eat healthier.

All calories are not equal. Weight Watchers knows this, but it's constantly struggling to get us fatties to know it as well. Many years ago they had the Core program, which was bad ass. It's now called Simply Filling, but back in the day it was an entire program unto itself. It should have been called the Whole Foods program because that's what it was essentially made up of: fruits, veggies, lean meats, dairy (bluah), whole grains... yadda yadda. The only issue I have with the Core/Simply Filling plan is that it's not entirely free of processed food. Evidently there are some trigger foods that we voluptuous chickies can't eat in moderation so they've limited dairy to the fat-free variety. They've also removed avocado and olives from the buffet eat-until-you're-satisfied list.

So, I'm choosing to do a modified Core/Simply Filling program. I said it. I'munna do it. While the wonderful thing about SF is that you don't have to track, I'm going to. Now I feel like I'm rambling. Prolly 'cause I am. But, you know what? I can do it if I want to. It's my prerogative, I can do what-I-wanna-deeew. It's my prerogative, I can live my liiIiiIiiIiife.

Fun fact: "perogative" has an extra "r" in it. Bobby Brown, you sonofabitch, you need to learn to ENUNCIATE!

Lupus Strikes Again.

Sonofabitch. I was doing GREAT last week: walking every day, eating well, gett'n stuff done around the house. Then Sunday hit, the weather changed, and BAM! lupus struck.

It's infuriating!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!

!

Seriously, all of a sudden it feels as though I was hit by a Mac truck. Tired (soooo, soooo tired), depressed, feeling utterly hopeless, headachy.

I hate being told what I can and cannot do. Especially by my own godforsaken body. Et tu, Brute?

Starting Weight: 250ish Pounds of Gorgeousness

When I first began (again) this journey towards better health, I was not what one would typically think a morbidly obese person would be like. I've always been blessed with high self-esteem (or... delusional narcissism, either way it works for me), so even at my highest weight I didn't see it. You know what I'm saying? Sure, I knew I had gained weight, but I was still figuring out the Lupus, the uterine issues, and dealing with the emotional upheaval of it all, so I gave myself a little leeway.

My weight didn't affect me the way it should have. If I were in my right mind, I should have been pissed, angry, or scared that I had allowed myself to become that unhealthy. I think over the years I'd become so p.c. that I no longer recognized what having the excess weight really meant. I had been conditioned to love people for who they were, not the color or shape of their bodies. So, in essence I ended up screwing myself over because I loved myself for who I was, warts and all.

Therein lies the problem, if you completely accept yourself for who you are right now, sometimes you don't see your flaws. I think that's how I lived for a very long time. I didn't recognize the unhealthiness of my ways - both physical and emotional. Don't get me wrong, I'm not meaning to generalize or say that you shouldn't totally accept yourself, I'm just talk'n about my experience.

<-- Take a look at this photo right here. I'm adorable, right? RIGHT?! *said with glaring eyes, one twitching slightly* My huge, sparkling personality really made up for my huge butt. I still had people giving me a lot of attention, my husband loved me unconditionally, and even though I was tired and sick, I was blessed.

There was only one friend of mine who actually said anything to me about my weight. He wasn't mean about it: he was just concerned, but when he said something it was really painful. I was pissed. How dare he? Doesn't he know what I've been going through? He has no idea how I've suffered!!

But really, I was embarrassed. He had called me out. In true Emperor's New Clothes fashion, he basically screamed out, "Dang girl, you nekkid!!!" I could no longer pretend that something wasn't wrong and that other people didn't see how big I had gotten. It still took a little longer before I did anything about it, but it got the wheels in motion.

A few weeks later, Elle and I joined Weight Watchers and started Fat Camp. We began at the end of July 2012 and I weighed in at 250.6 lbs (BMI of 44). Yeesh. From September to this February, I managed to maintain the loss through the increasing pain from my fibroids and endometriosis (was not fun). When I recovered from the hysterectomy, I began again.

What's different now is that I am starting to recognize the harm that the fat can do. It's not just "oh yuck, fat," it's really fucking up my organs and the inside of my body. Like, really. Seriously, I've got to give props to the Biggest Loser and the education that they provide on that show. When they would do the health consultations and explain how fat was hindering the body's natural state, it made an impact on me.

They talked about how obesity was similar to other horrible types of diseases and they constantly ask, "If you had cancer, wouldn't you take 2 hours a day for chemo?" Of course, the answer is yes, but most people don't see fat % as being as dangerous as cancer. In our society, we're fucking ourselves over with the shit we're putting in, on, and around our bodies and we just keep consuming.

Well, I, for one, am waking the fuck up. And I'm pissed at my ignorance.

The crappiest picture of me. Evar. Highest weight: 250 lbs.

Steel Cut Oats.

Today's adventure is all about steel cut oats. "Adventure?!" you might say. "ADFRICK'NVENTURE!!!" I would retort. For me, stepping into the kitchen is a miraculous and awe-inspiring thing. For the longest time, I've either been too tired, to sick, or too recovering-from-surgery to attempt anything other than a microwave dinner.

Luckily I have very high self esteem and don't let my inability to feed my family affect my woman-hood-ness. Damnit. With much rejoicing, though, I now have increasingly more periods of energy and have been toeing my way into that linoleum wonderland.

This morning I tried steel cut oats. First I had to spend 20 minutes searching the internet and reading about the difference between steel cut & rolled oats. I learned that they're basically the same thing except that the steel cut is less processed: the steel cut are just chopped up while the rolled are steam rolled for faster cooking time. Since my friend Elle had graciously donated a container to our home, I decided to try the steel cut.

I don't know about you, but it freaks me out when I cook anything that creates a film or light, airy, floaty bit that waives at me from the stove. That's what happened when I got to the 30 minutes of simmering. I tried to remove the excess layer, but it would stick to the side of the pot or evaporate or disappear into another dimension... I don't know. It just made me very uncomfortable. At this point I was thinking how in the world does cooking oatmeal rock me to the core?! Oh gahd... ooooh gaaahhd...

Anyhoosies, I assembled the ingredients that are all the rage when making steel cut oats: "milk", raisins, almonds, flaxseed, cinnamon, sugar. Typically I only have some stevia and soy/almondmilk, but this time I figured I'd go all out. I was, after all, a new chef... creating... exploring...

Exhibit A.

I added the ingredients with fervor. I sprinkled bits of goodness to and fro. I felt an inner sense of accomplishment that, YES I TOO CAN DO THIS! I'm not gonna lie, the cinnamon did fight with me. But as you can see here (Exhibit A), I splashed its guts all over the bowl CSI style. SCREW YOU CINNAMON!

Overall it was a great accomplishment. It was tasty, but a bit sweet. I think next time I'll take out the raisins and sugar and add just a scoach of honey.

The most interesting thing that I learned from this experience has nothing to do with oatmeal. It turns out that I have been duped by the advertising. "Sugar in the Raw" is just plain ole crappy-for-you sugar that has been sprayed with molasses.

And "raw " sugar is no better, Nonas added. "People are very susceptible to marketing. And just because something is natural doesn't mean it's particularly healthy for you," she said.
Raw sugar isn't even really raw. It's just slightly less refined, so it retains some of the molasses. But there's no real health real benefit from it. "There's no more nutritional value in raw sugar than there is in white sugar or brown sugar," Nonas said. 

The Raw Facts on Sugar, ABC News 

Sonofabitch. *sigh*

And another thing, Weight Watchers (and every other diet guru) always says that oatmeal makes you feel fuller longer and that it's supposed to hold you over forever and ever and ever. I find that that's not the case with me. I'm frick'n hungry right now. I think I may have to go back to my eggs, cheese, and Ezekiel bread slice.