Breastfeeding in Public

Got your attention, didn't I?

So I was listening to this story on the news about this woman who was nursing her baby on a Delta flight, and refused to cover her boobs. So the flight attendant kicked her, her husband and their baby off the flight. Apparently nursing mothers across the country had "nurse-in" protests at airports everywhere. The flight attendant was later disciplined by the airline, and Delta apologized to the family.

Know what, lady? You should have taken the damned blanket and covered your frickin' boobies. Yeah, breastfeeding is natural and beautiful and all that crap, but no one should have to look at your veiny, leaking milk machines while you're doing it.

Listen, I nursed four babies. I know it's sometimes difficult to maintain your modesty in public when you have a little one squirming in your lap and yanking at your shirt while he or she nurses. But for cripes sake, I at least tried! I never went out in public without a large blanket to drape over my front in case I had to nurse my baby while out and about. In fact, now they have these huge bibs that you can find in any department store. They snap around your neck so your cover can't fall down and leave you exposed.

Draping a blanket over you and your baby is not going to suffocate the little angel. The kid's head may get a little sweaty, but he'll live. One lady was saying that she didn't want to cover up because she likes to make eye contact with her baby while he nurses. Okay, fine. More power to ya. But that doesn't mean you have to have your blouse tucked up under your frickin' armpits. I mean, seriously. Leave one jug under wraps, and pull your shirt down enough to cover the exposed one and still be able to see your kid.

It's not rocket science, honey. Yeah, you have the right to nurse your baby anywhere you want to. But the rest of us have the right to not have to look into your headlights while you're doing it. Seriously.

More Weight Issues

Yeah. I'm still losing weight, and I am not happy about it. I look like a frickin' skeleton. I can count my ribs,can see each of my vertebrae in detail, and my hip bones jut out like nobody's business. And the loose skin draped over the bones ain't helping matters, either. Yuck.

I have now lost 104 lbs, and the more I lose the more each pound counts. I mean, when you weigh over two hundred pounds losing five pounds doesn't make much of a difference. When you weigh under 140, even two or three pounds can really change the way you look.

I hate it when people tell me I'm too thin. Too thin is as unattractive as too fat. How the hell did I end up on the other end of the frickin' spectrum???

Here's the kicker: I don't know how the hell to stop it. What am I supposed to do, frickin' gorge myself all day long until I start gaining weight again? Start cooking with bacon fat?

As you know from previous posts, I don't particularly like to eat anymore. It's not really a conscious thing... it's just not something I'm fixated on anymore. I really do eat, and I do eat until I feel full. I even snack, which I'm not really supposed to do. I'm getting the calories in when I think about it, even though I only do it because I have to eat to live. So what is wrong with my body??? Why can't I maintain my weight???

I know what you're thinking. You're sitting there saying that I am way too fixated on my weight. Damn straight I am. I am what other post-ops refer to as a "scale whore." I weigh myself daily, sometimes more than once a day. I keep careful track of my weight loss on an Excel spreadsheet, complete with a line graph.

Here's the thing: can you really blame me? I mean, this is a whole new ballgame for me. I was huge for so many years, and never thought I would be at a normal weight again. Yet here I am. I still feel like it's all a dream, and that I'm going to wake up one morning to find that I'm still fat and sick. This year has knocked me for a loop in every way: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I'm waiting for the wheels to stop spinning, for things to even out, and for the day when this life feels normal, instead of feeling like it's changing every frickin' day.

Just do me one huge favor: next time you see me, lie and say I look great. Tell me I'm too thin and I may have to hurt you. Bad. Like stab you with my hip bones or something.

My surgi-versary

One year ago today I had my gastric bypass surgery and got a new lease on life.

One year ago today I weighed well over two hundred pounds. I had diabetes, heart problems, acid reflux disease, and fibromyalgia. I was on a myriad of medications, had to stick my fingers four times a day to check my blood sugar, was in constant pain, always exhausted, and could barely carry out the functions of daily life.

One year ago today my self-esteem was at an all-time low. I felt fat and ugly. I was ashamed of how I looked and ashamed of the lack of self-control that led to my weight problems. I didn't feel I had much to offer, and didn't think I deserved to be loved. I felt like a waste of space. My health problems added to my lack of confidence, because I couldn't do the things I wanted to do or needed to do because of my lack of energy, my pain, and the decline of my neurological functions.

Today I am at a normal weight for the first time in eighteen years. I can exercise, walk, run, dance, and do all the things I couldn't do a year ago. I am not tied down to my medicine cabinet, and now only take two medications for my neuro issues. My diabetes is gone, my heart is normal, I no longer have to worry that acid is burning a hole through my esophagus, and my fibromyalgia flare-ups are minor and few.

Today I can see myself as a woman who has a lot to offer to the world. I am deserving of love and respect. I am a better mother and a better friend than I was a year ago.

This year has not been easy. I've struggled with getting used to the lifestyle change that gastric bypass requires. I've struggled with my changing body image. I struggle with addiction transferrences. Some of my relationships have changed, and not all for the better. I've struggled with the need to redefine myself in this new, healthy body, and there have been times when I've lost sight of who I am and what I want out of life. I've taken risks I wouldn't have taken a year ago, and not all of them have been healthy or wise choices.

I've learned a few things this year. I've learned that there is much more to me than my appearance. I've learned that I cannot fix everything, and that there are some things and some people I just need to let go of. I have learned to love in a way I never knew I could. I've learned to be honest about my needs, wants and feelings, both with others and with myself. I've learned to take chances in life, because I could miss out on something wonderful if I am too afraid to try. I've learned that there can be strength in vulnerability. I've learned that I am on the threshold of something great, and that I have what it takes to step over that threshold with a new honesty and boldness.

I have lost some significant things because of the changes in me, but I have gained so much. Even though this first year after gastric bypass has been more difficult and more intense than I ever could have imagined, I would do it all again in a heartbeat. I have been given a rare opportunity to reinvent myself as a healthy, attractive, normal woman. I am a new creature, and my life can be whatever I am willing to make of it.

So wish me a happy surgi-versary, celebrate this new life with me, and keep trying to guess what I'm going to do next. Today the world is my oyster, baby.

Some sweet biffs

My friend Sherry sent me this video. It's not people biffing it on the ice, but it is people falling, so it's still funny. Click on the thumbnail to watch it.



Here's another one.



I think some of these people get totally hurt, which makes it even better.

Last Night

So, the Karaoke Finals were last night. I woke up with a nasty hangover this morning, so I know I had fun.

I didn't win anything, but I had an absolute blast... and really, that was all that mattered. I sang Welcome to the Jungle by Guns 'n' Roses... it's one of my favorite songs. When I do it I strut around the bar a couple of times, sing to the guys, and do a little dancin'. My husband said it was very sexy... like a striptease without the clothes coming off. My friend could see the judges from where he was sitting, and he said that one of the male judges kinda shook out the collar of his shirt while I was singing, ya know, like he was getting hot or something. Unfortunately, his wife was sitting next to him and also was one of the judges, and my friend said he could tell she didn't like me at all. But she looked like a shriveled, bitter bitch, so I didn't care. This one guy walked past me on his way to the bathroom and goes, "Ooooh, thank you, baby!" Funny.

There's this one hispanic dude that hangs out at Big Louie's all the time, and he's always giving me the eye. His English is not real great, so he doesn't say too much. I was talking to one of the girls, and he comes up and gives me a hug. I guess that was okay. But then.... he totally grabbed my ass. Seriously. The girl I was talking to goes, "No! No! Muy mal!" (No! No! Very bad!) And I'm pushing him away going, "No Mas! No Mas!" (No more! No more!) Holy frickin' crap, dude! Do Not Frickin' Touch Me! EVER! My husband sat there shooting daggers at him the rest of the night.

Okay, maybe I sorta had it comin'. I mean, I know my performance was a little provocative. Okay, maybe more than a little. But come on! Several guys came up and wanted to hug me, and I know it wasn't just to be nice. Of course they all wanted a giddy little thrill... I mean, guys are guys. I can't say I hate the attention, because it is flattering to know that men find me attractive. Hugs I can handle, requests for my phone number can be easily deflected, compliments are very nice, but ass-grabbing is a definite no-no. A DEFINITE no-no.

The Monster Mash guy was there, totally in costume as expected. He didn't win anything either. My sister and brother-in-law came up, and Monster Mash came over to say hi. My brother-in-law is probably close to seven feet tall... he is HUGE. Monster Mash comes maybe up to my shoulder, and I'm only 5' 4". I wish my brother-in-law had stood up to say hi to Monster Mash... the poor little guy probably would've ended up staring straight into his crotch.

There was this kinda creepy guy up there... he was wearing a black t-shirt with this huge cross necklace. He seemed like he'd be a child molester or something. Just gave off a weird, yucky vibe all night. And he was up there with this one chick... the first time I saw her, I honestly couldn't tell if she was a man or a woman. She has a total mustache and a unibrow. I think she might be working on growing a goatee, too. The creepy guy went over to try to pick up this one hot chick, and after about thirty minutes the bearded lady got pissed and kinda yelled at him. It was fun to watch. Another weird guy that is up there a lot lately has bleached blond hair and the most orange skin I've ever seen. He looks like a frickin' Oompa Loompa. He seriously needs to lay off the tan in a can. My husband says he stares at us, but I've never seen it.

My favorite bartender gave me a gift last night: a magnet that says something like, "If you can't say anything nice about someone, I want to hear it!", and a cigarette case that says, "Damn right I keep score!" Both have ladies from the 50's on the front... too cool. She is such a sweetheart.

I love Big Louie's. Awesome bartenders, interesting regulars, lots of great people-watching and high drama, and one of the only places I know where you can smoke inside.

The only sucky thing is that now my sweet leather coat totally smells like smoke.

I'm procrastinating on writing a paper that's due tomorrow night. I was supposed to read a book and write a literature review, and I haven't even finished the frickin' book. I am a master at putting things off until the absolute last minute... I'm always late to parties, events, church, etc, and I usually finish my papers about thirty minutes before I have to leave for school. I'm not sure why I always do this to myself... maybe it fulfills my own sick need for a little extra drama. Who knows?

Anyway, I'm glad the karaoke contest is done. Now I can go back to goofing around and really enjoying my Sunday Nights at the Church of Big Louie's.

Oh...My...GOD!!!!

So, I was up at the bar last night (shut up), and you will not believe who I saw!

The bartender alerts us to these two ladies sitting across the bar, and tells us that the chick in the white is talking nonstop, and the poor girl in the red can't get a word in edgewise. I took note, but didn't think too hard about it.

Suddenly, the girl in the red who can't get a word in edgewise is standing next to me, and she turns out to be one of my best friends from high school! What a frickin' trip.

This girl and I cried on each other's shoulders over various break-ups and mean girls (wow... and now I AM a mean girl), I was at her wedding, was one of the first non-family members to hold her new baby, and she was the one who drove me to the doctor's office when I found out I was knocked up with my twins. I think she was the first non-family member to hold my babies, too. We were super close... told each other practically everything.

She moved to 'Sconi about 10 or 11 years ago, and we lost touch. I really missed her. Apparently, she's back in the Twin Cities for good.

It was awesome to see her, and at my neighborhood hangout no less! We exchanged phone numbers, and I can't wait to get together with her to catch up.

The weird thing is that I was just thinking about her last week. I was thinking about my 20 year class reunion coming up next summer, and thinking that the only way I would go is if I went with one of my girlfriends. I found myself really wishing that I'd stayed in touch with this particular friend, because we both hated high school so much, and her sense of humor is as mean as mine, so I know we'd have fun. And then I saw her at frickin' Big Louie's. Sa-weet for me.

There was some weird stuff going on at the bar last night. There was this drunk couple across the bar, and the woman was totally bawling... I'm talking Ugly Crying. Nose running, eyes puffy, gasping for breath, the works. The guy was slurring his words something awful, and he was giving her these playful punches in the arm... not a smart thing to do with a crying chick. It was high drama for a while... fun to watch.

Then we come to find out that this one regular who comes up and plays pulltabs with his wife all the time, plus they fight constantly while they gamble, is sitting a ways down the bar and has just walked out on his wife. Holy crap. He's crying, and the pulltab lady is sitting with him, trying to make him feel better, I guess. Then, a little later, we notice that the pulltab lady has moved on to the drunk couple with the crying chick at the end of the bar, and she's encouraging them to play some pulltabs, like that's going to solve their problems or something. The funny thing was, it did seem to help. I mean, at first the chick was still kinda crying while opening pulltabs, but then she merely looked disgruntled, and then she actually seemed to get a little happier. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

Tonight are the Big Karaoke Finals. It should be pretty fun... I hear it's gonna be packed, which maybe makes me a little nervous, but all in all it should be a good time. My sister's coming up, plus a couple good friends, and even a lady I haven't met in person yet. I've been looking forward to meeting her, though. We met through a message board for people who have had bariatric surgery, and we've been emailing... she seems pretty cool. And she likes reading my blog, so that alone makes her super cool. I'm excited to hear all the other finalists perform tonight. There are some really good singers. Oh, and that one guy who does the frickin' Monster Mash. Can't wait. I'll tell ya all about it tomorrow.

Yesterday I got this kickass leather coat I've had my eye on, along with a pair of pink leather gloves. These gloves... when I first laid eyes on them I had a total out-of-body experience. I knew I had to possess these gloves no matter what. Lemme tell you, they feel as good as they look, and the fact that they are in my signature color is a magnificent bonus. The coat is black, goes about to my knees, and is very fitted. I feel pretty damned cool in it. It's so totally awesome to actually have a figure to fit a coat around for the first time... never thought the day would come.

Well, I gotta feed the fam before I head up to the bar. Wish me luck tonight.

Aerosmith, Baby!

Yeah, that's right... I'm gonna see Aerosmith at the Target Center in December. I so cannot wait.

Even though Steven Tyler is old enough to be my dad and seems to be a few fries short of a Happy Meal, there is something decidedly sexy about him. I know some people are freaked out by the huge mouth and lips... I'll admit, they make him look a little like a muppet... but for some reason I kinda like 'em. I would imagine he's a pretty great kisser, if he can avoid swallowing the chick's whole head.

My husband is taking me to the concert. I'm not completely sure why, because I don't even think he really likes me right now. And he hates Aerosmith, in fact, he calls them "Aerocrap." I have a girlfriend who would've gone with me instead, but my husband said no go. For reasons I can't entirely go into here, he doesn't trust me any farther than he can throw me. A small part of it is that he's witnessed one too many guys hitting on me at the bar... but that was before I got my wedding rings resized. Now, as long as I'm wearing my bling, most guys have enough common sense to keep their distance. Ya know, one hundred pounds ago he wouldn't have given a crap if men hit on me... but then I looked like Jabba the frickin' Hut, so no men ever did.

Our 17 year old son wanted to go with me, but I told him to just trust me when I say that a teenaged boy does NOT want to be caught dead at an Aerosmith concert with his mom, and especially not when that mom lusts after Steven Tyler. He goes, "Why? Will you be dancing around? Singing? Drinking? Smoking? Flashing?" I go, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, and possibly." (I wouldn't really flash anyone... even I have my standards... I just wanted to gross my kid out.) He just rolls his eyes and goes, "Well, you have fun embarrassing Dad, then." I assured him that I will.

Break out the extra-grande tube of chapstick, Steven baby... here I come.

Hmmmmmmm....

Another thing that happened at Big Louie's last night...

Let me start by saying that one of the things I love about this place is the bartenders. I have a couple favorites, but they're all pretty cool, and they all know how to make a Southern Hospitality, which pleases me.

My absolute favorite is this young girl who is just a sweetie. Cute, bubbly, likes to talk, always interesting. Plus, she's the only bartender who gives me the extra booze from my Southern Hospitality in a little silver shaker. It's basically two drinks for the price of one. No wonder I get drunker when she's behind the bar. I went out drinking with her and a couple other bartenders from there one night... it was a total blast.

Anyhow, last night she was telling me about this magnet she saw that said, "Maybe I WANT to look cheap!" She asked if I would like to have one. Okay, being one who always analyzes conversations for nuances and hidden meanings, I go, "Why? Do I look cheap?" She said no, but now I'm a little paranoid.

I mean, sure I like to flash a little cleavage here and there, and maybe some of my jeans are a little... shall we say, "fitted." But I really hope I don't come off as cheap or slutty!

So now I'm looking in the mirror, totally paranoid that I look like a hootchie. Maybe too much eyeliner? Lipstick maybe a little too pink? Sweater too tight? I didn't think so yesterday, and I don't look any different today, but.... the MAGNET thing.

My girlfriends would tell me, right? Well, maybe not... they had no problem telling me that I drank too much last summer, and they have no problem giving me crap for picking up the smoking habit again, but last night I found out that they all pretty much thought I was too thin and needed to gain weight but never said a word about it until I told them I thought I'd lost a few pounds too many. Hmmm....

Maybe the truth will come out if I sit down with them and go, "I'm thinking I've been looking a little slutty lately..."

The thing is, even if they agreed, I'm not sure I could do the "suburban mom look" again... that look was me one hundred pounds ago because larger women really have no other choice, but it is sooooo not me now. I can finally wear really cute clothes that my 17 year old daughter is dying to borrow and, dammit, I'm gonna wear 'em!

Okay... maybe I WANT to look cheap.

The Master Food Critic Speaks

Well, I'm not really a master food critic... but I know what I like, and I know what I don't like. Last night I had something that was kinda rude.

So, I'm up at Big Louie's (surprise surprise) with my husband, and we decide to try these new Big Louie Bites off the appetizer menu. They're deep-fried steak bites. We've heard a few people say they're really good, so even though the thought of deep-frying perfectly good steak seemed like a tragedy to me, we ordered them. I was less than impressed with them, lemme tell ya.

Okay. First of all, they look disgusting. Like little dried cat turds. Second, the bites are super small, like not even a whole bite, not even for me. You cut a piece of meat that small and toss it in the deep fryer, and it's gonna come out less than tender. There were a couple nice-sized chunks, but most of them were these miniscule, rubbery fiascos. Third, we tried the teriyaki and ranch sauces for dipping. Take note of this: steak and ranch dressing are not a winning combination, no way no how. The teriyaki was okay, but left much to be desired.

I actually felt guilty eating them. My dad was a steak connoisseur, and I just know he was turning over in his grave last night while I was eating these crappy deep-fried steak bites. I mean, this was a man who believed that even salt and pepper destroys the flavor of a really good steak. A-1 and Heinz 57 were not allowed anywhere near the table on Steak Saturdays at our house, and you couldn't even say the word "ketchup" in the presence of the steak.

So, yeah... moral of the story: Big Louie Bites, well... they bite.

Brilliant strategist or control freak?

You be the judge.

A couple of people recently said that it is impossible to win an argument with me. As ridiculous as that may sound, it just may be true. I'm not bragging or anything... I'm just sayin'.

The stated reason for my undefeated status is that I usually come at an argument from my opponent's position. I figure out what the other person's stance is, hit it before they have a chance to do it themselves, and then state my case. In doing so, I render any attempt the other person makes to take a stand seem redundant and irrelevant.

Okay... I guess I do resort to what may be seen as dirty fighting when the stakes are high. I totally admit that. However, it appears to be second nature for me. Not that I'm making excuses, mind you... I'm just sayin'.

So my question is this: Is this a result of my freakish need to somehow control every situation and maintain the upper hand, or is it a result of my naturally analytical, strategically-inclined thought process? Or could it be a little of both?

Here are some other questions that follow: If I do in fact fight this way, is it undesirable? Do I need to release my intensity, back down, and, in essence, roll over and show my opponent my belly? (If you took that in a sexual way, you're a perv.) If I do just letitgo, am I somehow denying my true nature and becoming something I was never intended to be? Or, if I choose to continue trying to remain one step ahead of the game, am I dooming myself to a lonely life, surrounded by people who either can't or no longer wish to try to stand up to me? And is it really possible for me to choose at all?

Which leads me to ask this: Is this post starting to remind you of that scene in The Princess Bride where the little smart guy goes on and on while trying to decide which cup of wine contains the iocaine poison, and in the end he drops dead anyway because both cups are poisoned?

Man, my head hurts... I think I broke something. If you were looking to pick a fight with me, now would be a good time... you would definitely have the advantage.

Do I look like a magnet to you???

Well, I am. I am an unfortunate magnet for Things That Won't Shut Up.

Yes, there's the one at my school. But he wasn't my first.

My first Thing was this stupid lady at church who always managed to say something offensive or upsetting. Nine years ago, a few months after my mom died in a car accident, she came up to me, at the Christmas pageant no less, and all she wanted to talk about was the horrible, tragic, painful way my mother died. I started to cry, but she didn't catch the hint. Then, when I was massively pregnant with my third kid, she basically told me I looked like crap. I believe her exact words were "tired and bloated." If I hadn't been so tired and bloated, I would've kicked her ass right there in front of the baptistry.

The next Thing in my life was another church lady. I used to take care of this sweet little disabled boy, and he got sick and died. I saw Thing 2 at the pharmacy, and she started asking me all kinds of inappropriate questions about this kid and about how he died. Like wanting to know if he was a "vegetable" and crap. I wanted to deck her, but I was massively preggo with kid number four. I did manage, through clenched teeth, to let her know that she was being completely insensitive and ignorant.

Then there was the Thing who felt it necessary to loudly state that the morbidly obese man sitting in the row in front of her at Cub Scouts smelled "like rotting flesh."

Today I ended up sitting next to a completely new Thing at a funeral. This lady just would not shut up, and every single thing she said was insensitive and inappropriate, and of course she didn't have the decency to even whisper. Crap like, "If she had a daughter, why isn't she here? Does she know her mother is dead?" Or, "Oooooh boy. I hate it when they shut the coffin before the service. The family will never see her face again. She's all alone in that dark box." Holy crap, you stupid bitch! SHUT THE FRICK UP!!!!! Don't you see that people are shooting crusty looks your way left and right? For God's sake, shut up!!!

I ask you, why am I a magnet for these people??? They seem to gravitate toward me wherever I go. I always end up sitting next to a stranger who has verbal diarrhea, or someone I've just met gloms onto me and starts spewing inane chatter. What have I ever done to deserve such a crappy fate???

Oh yeah... wait... don't answer that.

'Tis the season

Well, almost.

Now, I'm not talking about Christmas. I am, however, talking about something that brings me almost as much joy: Icy Sidewalk Season.

If you know me, you know that seeing people fall on the ice makes me happy in the most perverted sense of the word. I think I blogged a bit about people who biff it on the ice last summer, when the weather was warm and balmy and I was longing to see a good, painful winter wipeout.

It's almost time, people. So get out your high heels, slippery-soled loafers, whatever you wear in the name of fashion that makes it necessary to take careful, mincing steps on icy sidewalks and driveways. After the first good freezing rain, I want you to put those shoes on and run with abandon down the iciest sidewalk you can find. Trust me, I will be there watching for you. I have a spidey-sense for these kinds of things.

You will biff it. Oh yes my friend, you will go down hard. If I'm really lucky, and I often am, you will slide at least another four feet on your back before you come to a complete stop. And I will laugh my ass off until I hyperventilate and pass out. It will be magnificent. So, do we have a date?

I know what you're thinking: this woman is insane, sadistic, and just plain mean-spirited. Guilty as charged, on all counts. I also know that I may be totally jinxing myself for a big biff of my own. Like my sister did with throwing up.

One day when we were teenagers, out of the blue, my sister goes, "Sweet! I haven't barfed in this house!" That was huge, because we'd lived there for about eight years. And, frankly, it pissed me off because I'd just barfed earlier that day and it was my own damn fault. (Long story... something involving a down-filled pillow, a large pillowcase, and a Jackass-like stunt I'd conjured up.) Anyhow, the very next day I awakened to the sound of my sister puking her guts out with stomach flu. I was so very, very happy. She'd totally jinxed herself with her arrogant boasting.

Several years later, when she was married and living in CowTown USA, We were on the phone and she told me she'd been puking all day. I go, "You didn't happen to say anything like 'Sweet! I haven't barfed in this house!' in the last few days, did you?" Get this: SHE TOTALLY DID. The first time wasn't enough to teach her a valuable lesson about personal jinxes... she went and jinxed herself again. Priceless.

I know that some of you out there are praying for the jinx effect to take place in my life in regard to my love of seeing people fall down. I fully accept this, and I forgive you. Because you are the ones I want to see biff it the most.