31 days, no excuses…

Fembot's Factory — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 23:28:31 +0000

Thanks to this blog and this blog, I’m gonna do a variation of this 31-day challenge for October (which starts tomorrow, HOLLA!).

Here’s the rundown:

Day 1: Self portrait – share basics/make an intro.
Day 2: Someone you adore – 5 reasons why
Day 3: Something you bought today
Day 4: A representation of your day – what do you do?
Day 5: What’s in your bag? Or something you can’t leave the house without
Day 6: Your humble abode
Day 7: Something you ate today
Day 8: Something you dislike
Day 9: A place you went today
Day 10: TV show you’re currently addicted to
Day 11: Your family pet(s) – if you don’t have one, take a picture of anything
Day 12: What’s in your fridge
Day 13: The town/city you reside
Day 14: Something you craved today
Day 15: A stranger and why you chose them
Day 16: Your closet
Day 17: A representation of the you no one really knows
Day 18: Something you collect
Day 19: Favorite part of yourself and why
Day 20: A hobby you have
Day 21: Your parents
Day 22: Your room as it is right now
Day 23: Go some where you’ve never been & take a picture
Day 24: Something you find funny
Day 25: Self portrait myspace-esque
Day 26: Where you go to relax/get away
Day 27: Something that gives you purpose
Day 28: A before & after shot of anything
Day 29: An action shot
Day 30: Another self portrait
Day 31: Something that always makes you smile

If you can’t get in the habit on your own, why not let someone help a sister out?

Oh, I’ll let you know how that whole pedicure thing goes and if I come out unscathed.

Pedicures, jealousy, and why I need a hobby

Fembot's Factory — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 23:26:48 +0000

At 25-years-old it’s likely surprising that I’ve never had a pedicure. Not even before my wedding. You see, my land skis are ticklish as-all-get-out. Just the thought of someone thinking of touching my feet makes me want to kick them in the face.

I used to be ticklish all over–my legs, certain parts of my back, etc. But then I learned how glorious a professional massage is, and I got over that shit right quick. I love, love, love a massage, but forget getting anywhere near my tootsies, it aint gonna happen. Ok, it did happen once–the masseuse promised me that I’d enjoy it (wrong) and I told her I did (lie). Never again, I know myself.

But my toetalons need some TLC, so tomorrow I’m getting a mani/pedi for the first time in a quarter of a century.

I might also be going because I’ve become really obsessive about my appearance lately. I’m in an uncharacteristically jealous frame of mind, and have been for the past three or four weeks. I keep thinking I should get a self-help book on how to get rid of the green-eyed monkey on my back, but then I get sidetracked comparing myself to thinner, prettier women I’m friends with on Facebook.

And then there’s my need for a hobby. I’ve never really had a hobby and I can never think of anything I’d want to spend time working on repeatedly, so the search continues. Whenever I get in one of these depressing spells I always toy with the idea of graduate school because I want to go back (in theory).

Skintastic

Fembot's Factory — Thu, 23 Sep 2010 20:45:18 +0000

I’ve been lucky in that my skin is relatively clear. As I get older it’s getting drier and flakier, but nothing that moisturizer and a love of picking can’t (temporarily) fix. There are far greater dermatological woes out there, but still I complain inwardly.

I won’t tell you how much money I’ve invested in cosmetics/skincare over the years (don’t want to know), but I will tell you my Sephora VIB balance is in the 600s. When Husbot asked me, “Is it a dollar for every point?” I replied, “Yes, but I haven’t cashed out in a few years.” Lie. More like months.

This stuff kind of works, for now. I’m always on the search for H.G. (Holy Grail) beauty finds, but I’m also fickle and not brand loyal.

Blonde Glambition

Fembot's Factory — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 23:13:59 +0000

I like to think more than do. On Sundays I fantasize about laying my clothes out for the week, but that’s never happened. I buy pieces I adore in the store, and then never wear them. I ponder accessories, but can’t pull the trigger when push comes to shove.

In my mind I’m glamorous perfection but in reality I’m more hobolicious.

It’s fun to think of what you could be, what you could look like, the kind of style you’d have “if only.” If only I was 10 pounds lighter, if only my skin was clear, if only my chest wasn’t so big, if only I had time to groom myself like I imagine I would if money and social responsibility weren’t considerations.

It’s also dangerous as hell because you get caught up in what you want to be and not who you are. Like my parents warned, time goes by so quickly. I know that in decades to come I’ll realize that my 25th year was wasted on someone who couldn’t appreciate her strength and beauty because it didn’t measure up to some false belief in perfection. I wonder if I can change that now and avoid the regret that so often comes with wisdom and age.

It’s always worth reminding myself (and you) that, “Your life has already started. You will never get this time back, this day, this moment, this week – they are all gone. If you want to waste the time you have left waiting[...]that’s your option. But if that’s how you’ve been living – aren’t you tired of that? You DO have a choice, a choice nobody can ever take away from you – you can live an amazing life right now.“ Ragen Chastain

I choose amazing. Who’s with me?

No rest for the weight-y

Fembot's Factory — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 17:28:10 +0000

On Saturday the Husbot and I took the long hike we’d planned for–10.5 miles through the Santa Cruz Mountains. The hike is considered strenuous, and they estimate that it takes six hours to complete. We finished in about four-and-a-half, though our pace slowed down to a snail’s for the last mile. I’m not gonna lie, my toes felt like raw meat in a dull grinder. No bueno. We got home, showered, and rushed out the door so we could meet our friends at…BINGO!

That’s right, we played bingo. Nay, we *paid* to play 27 games of mind-numbing, dauber dashing, full-force bingo. And then we go drunk afterward. Though we didn’t win anything (not one of the eight of us even got close) we had a lot of fun. I don’t need to play bingo for the next five years.

Sunday was spent with our family, not doing a whole lot of anything.

I haven’t weighed myself again since last Tuesday. I should have weighed myself this morning but I felt a little bloated. I’m scared to get back on the scale because even though I’m sure my calorie exertion is higher than the intake, what if I don’t see a loss? What if I see a disheartening loss of ounces? What if I’m down four pounds today, and up two tomorrow? It’s a cruel game to play with myself.

I know a lot of people are proponents of throwing out the scale and using your clothes to tell you what’s up. My problem is that I own a lot of stretch jeans, so while I can tell a difference in how my pants fit, my perception is skewed because of the elastine/spandex/polystretchanol.

We’re going on a Caribbean vacation in a few weeks. I really wanted to be 10lbs down by the time we left, but I’m not sure that’s gonna happen. Whether or not it actually does will not hamper my vacation, I swear. (But knowing I’m gonna be in a bathing suit/shorts/or *gasp* tanktop has my insides churning up an afternoon defright.)

All the single ladies

Fembot's Factory — Fri, 26 Mar 2010 20:51:07 +0000

Tonight I’m a single lady. The Husbot is going to watch a Japanese film with his parents and eat deep dish pizza. I decided to pass.

It’s so much easier for me to eat sensibly when I’m alone. I don’t feel pressure from anyone to eat what they want me to, how much they want me to, and how often they want me to. I realize that’s probably was I was so much thinner in college–I just ate when I wanted, and what I wanted, without having to coordinate with anyone else. But that’s not my life anymore, now I’m married.

Yesterday was a pretty good eating day, and again I’m glad I saved up some calories to enjoy at night. I was seriously *starving* when I got home. I know that’s the M.O. of a diet, but I’m not on a diet, I’m just watching what I eat. And I’m trying to eat more mindfully.

Remember how I said I felt pressure to eat at work? Tonight we’re having an anniversary celebration of sorts and there’s going to be snacks and cake. Will I have any? Maybe. A piece of cake will probably pass through my lips. But since I’m alone tonight for dinner I know the cake won’t set me off course too badly.

I got a new shipment of clothes I ordered for myself after my birthday a few weeks ago. Fecking Gap, they taunt me with their 15/20/30% off sales and I CAN’T RESIST. I’m actually pretty happy with all of the things that I got, sans a tank top or two. Everything I don’t want will be returned tonight, along with some birthday gift stragglers.

I bought a pair of size 6jeans when I did the online haul, and attempted to put them on last night. They fit, but they’re tight as hell. I wore them to work today to loosen them up a little bit, but I’m not gonna lie, they’re digging into my hips right now. Oiy, to think I was once wearing a size 4Long at Gap, and now these 6s are practically cutting off my circulation. Size doesn’t matter when you’re comfortable with it, but when you’re not it’s really upsetting. God, that sounds superficial.

I haven’t weighed myself yet, which is weird for me. Sometimes I like to weigh myself because it helps to see small losses, even if they’re only water-weight ounces. It keeps me motivated. But Aunt Flo is visiting and I just don’t have the resolve in me to see any kind of situational gain, menstrual bloat or not.

Day Two(hundred and fifty-seven thousand)

Fembot's Factory — Thu, 25 Mar 2010 23:50:53 +0000

I managed to escape my parents’ house last night without totally stuffing myself and ruining the day. They get so worried when I don’t eat, so I decided to eat *everything* but just not a lot of it. It still managed to add up when I put it in my food journal, so I’m glad I’d gone lighter during the day.

Today I really wanted a Jamba Juice at lunch, but I realized I was just thirsty. If I had the Jamba as my main meal, without drinking something else, let’s just say it would have been a very calorie-heavy thirst quencher.

I listened to Bethanny Frankel’s “Naturally Thin-whatever” audio book last week. Her main advice can be boiled down into the following:

Your diet’s like a bank account
Taste everything, eat nothing
You can have it all, just not all at once

It really does seem simple enough to follow those rules, but other than just thinking about how they make sense, I can’t say I’ve really put them into practice.

The other thing I’m trying to work on is to stop eating when I’m not hungry. If I don’t get frozen yogurt because I’m full, it doesn’t mean I can never have it ever again. This is hard.

The freshman 20

Fembot's Factory — Wed, 24 Mar 2010 21:02:58 +0000

At 25-years old I’m far from a collegiate freshman. What I am is a newlywed who’s 10 elbees heavier than she was on her wedding day, which was only five months ago.

Before I started dating my now-husband I was damn-near 20 pounds thinner than I am today. Was I happier? In many ways no, because I was single and obsessed with myself. But in certain ways, namely with my appearance, hell yes I was.

I’m a tall woman, over 5’10”, and I’m not considered overweight by BMI standards. But what about my standards? By them, I’ve crossed a line.

The culprit, I believe, is my new job. In mid-February I started at a social gaming company that’s run a lot like a start-up. Three days a week they bring in catered food, which includes Chinese, pizza, garlic bread, and BBQ. It’s heaven and hell all rolled into one.

I’ve overindulged, to be sure. My pants are tighter than they’ve been in the past five years and it’s getting to me. I’ve worked really hard to get down and stay down at a “happy weight” and now I’m throwing it all away.

Part of it’s because my coworkers are all tiny, and they eat whatever they want whenever they want, with seemingly no affect on their waistlines. Granted, I don’t know how they eat when they’re at home, or what kind of rigorous exercise they may or may not be engaged in, but still, it seems…unfair.

I’m afraid that if I don’t eat the catered lunch (which apparently has many thousands of calories hidden in it) my coworkers will feel like I’m not being part of the team. And on Monday and Friday when we fend for ourselves, I don’t want to constantly say no to going out to lunch.

But what’s more important? My body, self image, and keeping my current wardrobe? Or pleasing a bunch of people I met a month-and-a-half ago? It seems like an easy choice to make, but I’m a pleaser and I want them to like me.

So here’s the bottom line: I’m going to lose 20 lbs this year. It’s March 24, 2010. That means I’m 12 weeks into the 52 that make up a year. So in 40 weeks I’ve got to average 0.5 pounds of weight loss a week. Am I going to be satisfied with that? Probably not. I’d like to lose 20lbs by tomorrow, but unless I cut my leg off at the knee, that seems a little out of reach.