Fatty Fatty Two-by-Four

At first, I blamed it on the road. As in, being on the road. Not in an uber cool Kerouac kind of way. More of a semi-depressing Death of a Salesman way. Maybe something in between. I never thought I would need a Skymiles number, much less be applying enough flights to it to qualify for, like, discounts. But since April, I've found myself in Tennessee, Nevada, Utah, Alabama, D.C., Texas, Colorado and next month, Florida. Not to mention road trips - hello, live from Savannah.

The point is that it's easy to discount the calories consumed on the road - in airport terminals and from little snack bags on planes and from drive thrus and gas stations and in hotel rooms and at client dinners where you feel justified in ordering three drinks, half a cow and a piece of chocolate cake. Honestly, there's no such thing as real food when you're traveling. There is only the packaged, preserved and mass-produced or the food-coma-inducing indulgently rich fare.

After criss-crossing the country, it's little wonder that I started putting on pounds on pace with my frequent flyer miles. I'm working on the Mile High and Mile Wide Club.

But travel isn't totally to blame. Back at home, I've shunned my kitchen in favor of the Chick-fil-A not a mile from my house. I lunch, I brunch, I dine with friends - and every two or three meals, I make a restrained choice. The hummus plate. And then I counter that with how I deserve dessert in light of my reduced calorie meal. Brilliant. On top of that, I've made no attempts to prevent my egregious snacking habits, keeping cookies and chips and the like in the pantry. Nicking Gummi Bears from the dollar bin at Kroger and selecting movie-watching snacks to reward myself for choosing the Red Box over the actual pricey theater.

A few recent pictures, taken from the most unflattering side view, revealed my alarmingly inflated form. The unbecomingly rounding belly. The fleshy arms. The fat that's starting to gather around my face. I've assumed an overall doughy appearance - paunchy, soft, decadent. Pokable.

I probably weigh as much now as I ever have - I'm rather afraid of the scales, too horrified to know what I've done to myself. And as much as there's vanity, and believe me, there is, because, I'm being honest here. But there's also a great deal of shame in having let it go this far. The shame of failing to possess the willpower to shut my mouth. The shame of letting the depression about life to creep up on me and fuel this sorry sad appetite for destruction. Food won't make me happy - and whatever joy I normally take in eating good food is just perverted by this abuse. Even as I finished off the Double Stuf Oreos the other night, I wanted to cry. Because all that creamy goodness was headed straight for my already dimpled thighs. And because, well, I know better. I know I don't want to be on this one-way street to The Biggest Loser.

It's so much easier to remain prostrate under mounds of calories. To consume my feelings rather than deal with them. To viciously hate every new bulge while masochistically stuffing my face. But underneath all those calories and all that dissatisfaction, there's a part of me that is starting to claw against that soft fatty self and demand that we put an end to this.

So I finished the bag of Gummi Bears. And the Double Stuf Oreos. I bought some carrots. I bought some hummus. I'm keeping apples in the fridge. I'm on the road right now...I had McDonald's, and I know tomorrow is going to be some sort of artery-blowing dinner affair. I'm not going to make any ultimatums - no promises to myself that I can't keep. I'm not going to start some crash diet where I deny myself sugar and carbs and joy. But I am going to try to unshackle myself from helplessness...from cutting myself so much slack that I don't even participate in the choice. I'm going to reconnect that line between my mouth and my brain that The Sadsies unplugged.

And let's be honest: I want to be slimmer. I want my clothes to fit. I want to be more attractive for all the superficial reasons, to be one of the beautiful people. But as much as that, I want to respect myself enough not to let the heaviness in my heart be the heaviness on my hips.

Image via Christopher Boffoli's Disparity series

Principles

Last night, my friend Tommy treated me to a belated birthday dinner.

Waitress: Do you want to see the dessert menu?

(Tommy looks at me inquiringly.)

Me: Um, yes. I'm fat, not dead.

Another Perfect Weekend on a Mountaintop

We All Scream for Ice Cream

Where Ya Been?

* Driving around town with a combination of saran wrap, masking tap and garbage bags covering my window

* Coordinating, with careful precision and much switch-a-roo of vehicles, the replacement of the window

* Taking pictures

* Worrying through Dillon's trip to the emergency room after a fall

* Being introduced by Anna to free, highly addictive, mindless online games

* Helping Mom take care of the Ranger cat's teeth

* Trying not to read/see/overhear Sex & the City spoilers

* Having two suspicious moles removed from my back and getting a 76th diagnosis on the persistent itchy rash

* Pondering the reality that Usher's new song (which features Young Jeezy) is really called "Love in This Club" and the lyrics do actually say, "I want to make love in this club" and "I'll be like your medicine, you'll take every dose of me." Plus there's the invitation to do it in the club bathroom. Romantical. I thought it was spoof the first time I heard it.

* Drinking beer with management Friday afternoon at 3 during BITF (Beer in the Fridge)

* "Graduating" from leadership class - a bit sad, actually

* Talking to STGD about seeing him this weekend at the lake

* Babysitting the Dilly Monster

* Keeping Anna company after a particularly trying week

* Forgetting to email people

* Getting stuck reading a book I can't seem to finish

* Eating Italian Cream Cake

* Making to-do lists

* Waiting for the Dems to pick a candidate already

* Not blogging. Oops.

If You're Going to San Francisco...

* Be ready to pay with cash (SF is a town without credit)

* Wear comfortable shoes

* Read the map scale carefully ("a few blocks that way" can be deceiving)

* Beware of THE FOG

* Good luck finding Hayes Valley

* Know that "hills" is an understatement (particularly the Russian ones)

* Do not eat at Lori's Diner (to be regretted the next morning by all parties)

* Wear your elastic pants to Ghirardelli Square

* Pack an extra memory card for the 385 photos you will take

* Get scared by The Bushman

* Check out the Get Offs at the Hemlock Tavern (only if you have industrial strength ear plugs)

* Try not to get killed by the rabid cyclists

* Skip Shakespeare's Gardn [sic] at Golden Gate Park. Jenn's description is far more satisfying than the actual garden.

* Contemplate that the Japanese Tea Garden is worth seeing but maybe not $4 worth seeing and how you would've been much less disappointed if you'd only had to pay $2.

* Avoid the cable car with the scary herky-jerky driver

* See the sea lions

* Prepare yourself for smells ranging from garbage to urine to beer to homeless people to dirty bay water to unidentifiable odors that you'd rather not even contemplate what they actually are.

* Buy art from Eduardo Gustav on Fisherman's Wharf

* Meet up with old friends

* Spend too much money

* Flirt with the European boys on the pier

* Get chills in isolation #13 at Alcatraz

* Giggle on the giggle hallway in the Powell Hotel

* Be prepared to be very, very, very sad when you have to leave

Hump Day Listmania

* I discovered today that our dear intern is an avid S&TC fan and she is willing to include me in her viewing party for the big screen debut if I can't see it with one of my long-time S&TC gals.

* I am working on a skit. Yes, a skit.

* Today was my boss' birthday, so we took his freshman year high school yearbook picture, blew it up to 11 x 17 and created a Warhol wall in the colors of the Mountain Dew label - his drink o' choice - on the outside of the cubes.

* I'm reading a book I don't particularly like but feel compelled to finish anyway.

* One of my clients was reported on by the university's student-run television news program. It wasn't a particularly favorable story, but the dramatic hard-nosed journalism attempt by these fluffy girls is hi-larious.

* Still eating Skittles.

* The Dillman cometh this weekend.

* Is Ashlee Simpson pregnant? Do I care? (Okay...maybe a little...idle curiosity...)

Things on My Mind Other Than That

* Am three days behind putting my time in at work.

* Volunteered to help with a non-profit fundraising event, and I am doing waaaay more than I planned. Daily I'm getting e-mails asking, "Can you handle this too?"

* A Client has asked to meet with my boss. Instead of me. Behind my back. Am now getting an ulcer because I know this is The Client Who Does Not Love Me So Much. (Am I fired?)

* Performance review: next Wednesday

* Having to pack for another weekend at Anna's. Subsequent guilt about complaining about having to pack.

* Another client in total crisis. Have been at work early, late and during lunch this week. Contributing to ulceration.

* My Skittles addiction is back.

* Have to get up at 4:45 tomorrow morning in order to drive to Atlanta, beat the traffic and be at the office in time for a v. important meeting. (see "Client in total crisis")

* The CD player in here keeps hanging up and spinning and spinning in silence and then abruptly restarting and startling the crap out of me.

* Alarming statistics on the volume left in Georgia's landfills - about twenty years, fyi.

* Man having baby.

* No blog til Sunday.

Sweetness!

When I realized the nature of the challenge on tonight's ep of Project Runway, I had to concur with Christian: "Oh, great. We're going to make sh*t out of candy." I'm always leery of the challenges that involve edibles or flowers or garbage (remember that?). The designers tend to get frustrated about the poor materials and it shows on the runway.

But tonight, the designers totally surprised me. With just five minutes to gather materials from the Hershey's store in Times Square, the designers came up with some pretty scrumptious garments. How brills was that skirt and corset top Jillian made out of Twizzlers? I was so impressed. And Rami's dress looked delicious - that shiny plastic with the paper skirt. So well made. And I concur with the judges that it fit the model impeccably. I give Michael Kors credit for recognizing the restraint that Chris showed - and I give Chris credit for not going totally Macy's Thanksgiving Day with this challenge.

And then there was Elisa...I kind of want to root for her in all her airy-fairyness, but, well, as Christian said, "And the sleeves? They looked like swimmies that you would go swimming with. That dress was a hot mess." I believe Kors referred to the sleeves as silver shower caps. And Heidi Klum called it a sad brown dress. (See how sad her model looks wearing it??) Truly, she wanted to send a deconstructed Gretel down the runway and out walked bad bridesmaid circa 1998.

Sweet Pea? Oh, dear, Sweet Pea. She's always running around in desperation. Flustered and down-to-the-wire. What was she thinking gluing pottery to that dress. Yelch. I'm glad she didn't get auffed, though. I love her soundbytes.

Victorya's ruffled mess, which she deemed an Ice Princess gown...well, I'm not even sure that Tonya Harding would be caught with the lead pipe on the ice in that dress. And the weird walk? How great was Zac Posen's face when the model turned the corner? It was stiff and distracting and didn't help the ruffled dress one bit. What did help was Michael Kors euphoric shout, "She works at Dairy Queen!"

And while I agree that Rami's garment and Jillian's were the front runners, I confess I truly loved Christian's. I love his snark, his sass, his hair and his style.

Also, Ricky didn't cry this week. But don't worry, kids. It appears that his runway meltdown is a-comin'. As predicted.

Auf wiedersehen. I'm out.

The Merry Malaise

Christmas time is here. Happiness and cheer. Or not so much. I don't mean to sound so Scroogish. It's just that the holiday season is turning into the holiday sadness, such as

* Total annoyance with the Secret Santa game at work - the complex logistics, the forced clue-dropping, having to make dip for the big "reveal" party. Yelch.

* Inability to shop. At all. I finally gave in last night and dropped a load at Amazon just to get some of it done.

* Counting down the days until Christmas...is over.

* Irritation at the onslaught of Christmas commercials with the Rockwell-esque and Courier & Ives Christmas scenes that don't exist but that I somehow feel like they should.

* Repulsion over the excess...the recent tour of a very big home with very expensive furniture, art, decor...millions invested in it all...for a family of three.

* The anticipation for the childlike wonder to flicker and flare inside me somewhere...and the simultaneous knowing that I'm waiting in vain

* Telling Mom every day that I'll help her finish decorating the Christmas tree...and not doing it

* Investigating the box of goodies from FudgeyNut that Dad brought home and thinking about devouring the whole lot in a fit of depressed binge-eating

* Having to call the doctor, ask for more of The Medicine, because, well, bah humbug

Fall, Festivals and Funnel Cake

This past weekend, I traveled to the western North Carolina mountains to take in a couple of festivals synonymous with the onset of autumn. Eva grew up in that part of the state, and we had the pleasure of starting the day with breakfast at her parents' house on Old Spanish Oak Mountain with this spectacular view of Grandfather Mountain from the back porch. (Grandfather is partly obscured by the clouds here, but it truly does look like the profile of an old man, as though he lay down and went to sleep among the ridges.)

We started our festival trek at Valle Crucis, an arts and crafts fair replete with mountain music (bluegrass!), homemade goodies (apple butter!) and a petting zoo (alpacas!). I couldn't get photos that did it justice, but Valle Crucis is a beautiful valley nestled among ranges of gently rolling hills. It's surrounded on all four sides, and this weekend, it was cloaked in the colors of peak fall weekend in the mountains: gilded in yellow, vibrant orange, russet and blood red. Perhaps my film camera captured it better, but I know my digital just couldn't absorb the colors.

The fair itself was charming with all its folksy art - a genre I'm pretty familiar with, as it's very popular in my hometown, but this art was from the mountains and so had a different flavor to it. A lot of interesting metal work, found object art and wood carving. Some of it wonderful and well-crafted - and some of it was a little scary. I chose an unusual biscuit jar from a Boone potter that was glazed in black and white and bore a hand carved mural and poetry on it. I wanted one of these beautiful natural wood bowls, but they are ridiculously expensive. So I took a photo instead.

We couldn't have asked for more beautiful weather - sunny and crisp with just enough chill to make you grateful for your coat and smile that autumn had chased away the oppressive summer heat. And the smell was marvelous - damp dew, grass, woodsmoke and mountain air. It was invigorating.

We drove out of Valle Crucis and through the mountains, past what Eva's dad claims is the most photographed farm in the state of North Carolina perched on a wide expanse of green between two towering peaks. I, unfortunately, was concentrating on not letting the winding mountain road get to me and did not join the legions of photographers who have captured its likeness. We made our way to Banner Elk, closer to Eva's hometown, for the Woolly Worm Festival. What, you ask, is a woolly worm? I don't believe we have them in Georgia, but they look like crawling pipe cleaners. They have 13 segments of brown and black. And at the Woolly Worm Festival, these creatures are raced (yes, raced) up a 3-foot length of string. After 1,400 worms raced, the winning worm, Armstrong, was used to predict the winter weather. His segmented body bore 4 black segments, 4 brown segments and 5 black segments - so look for a severe onset to winter followed by a mild period and then out with an arctic blast. Oh, and by the way, the whole concept of the Woolly Worm Festival was dreamed up by two guys who were high.

The Woolly Worm Festival offered all sorts of culture, from the folk music to the colorful array of people in attendance. I was lucky enough to procure a hot-out-of-the-fryer funnel cake and Mom selected some delicious apple beignets - deelish. Justin and Eva let Dillon have some funnel cake, and, well, folks, he's from the South - he liked it. But not quite as much as he liked the little maracas Eva purchased from the Cherokee Indian pan flutist.

And so we ended our day of festivals - with sunburn, indigestion and a very happy little boy.

That's Impressive

Bug: head full of hair, running, stair-climbing, desperately cute pronunciation of the word "Elmo"

Pene-lo: patience with teething Bug, heartburn from N. Lo., heatwave, licking dog, house guest

Storm: great streams of forked lightning criss-crossing the sky, buckets of water pouring down

Becoming Jane: James McAvoy in breeches and Hessians

Becoming Jane Ashley: copious tears (and snot, I am sorry to report)

Bowling alley: hotter than the 7th circle of hell, no A/C

Bowling prowess: unbelievable skill followed by spectacular decline

Bowling alley food: angry resurgence of acid indigestion

South Carolina temperature: 106 degrees, heat index unknown

John Mayer: 12 hours on repeat - Continuum, Heavier Things, Room for Squares, Inside Wants Out

Mel: tan from Dominican Republic, free movie passes, insanely ambitious teaching schedule

Office: reconfigured

Boss: surprised by sudden reappearance of Ashley

Sweet & Savory: Cinnamon raisin French toast (J. Lo.'s generosity in picking up my tab)

Military Cutoff: construction nightmare

Old friends: still wonderful

Leaving: Part Four - Going Back

The Return Trip: Observations & Experiences

* It is an entirely different trip when driving east first and west second. Either way, it is still a long, long drive.

* Coldstone Creamery's cake batter ice cream is sinfully good.

* Downtown Wilmywood is still there - I saw it, walked its streets, smelled its river.

* There is nothing like the dark theater, Coke Icees, and a good friend on either side to pass a rainy Saturday.

* I do not wish to see the movie Joshua, as the preview nearly made me cry with fear.

* Waitress is so wonderful and funny and heartbreaking that I can't stop thinking about it.

* I did not look at my office, as I know it is no longer mine. I did help myself to a complimentary Diet Coke and Skittles from the conference room table.

* The emergence of K. Lo.'s personality is extraordinarily entertaining, between the use of the Red Robin crayon box as a cell phone and her constant parade of dance moves. Bonus moment was hearing her say "yum" when fed potato soup.

* STGD's porch is a good thing with its ferns and flower boxes and the creak of the porch swing and a beer in hand and Lenny looking for lizards and the breeze and the rain. And us laughing. Always laughing.

* Weirdly, it has not rained here or there since I left. Last night, it poured both places.

* Uninterrupted girl time to discuss hair (cuts, color, and styling tips), fashion, boys, and life in general is very important to the soul.

* Mel's cat Oliver has something urgent to say. I only wish I knew what it was.

* It is a bittersweet reminder how good it is to have friends to share a meal, a movie, a magazine, a moment.

* My Southern accent is baaaack.

* Grace Street is occupied now but mine in my heart.

* Still some ghosts lurking in Wilmywood.

* Thanks to Mel, Penelope, STGD, and The Boss for kind and insightful life advice. (And to Mel for letting me crash...)

* Nothing could stop the tears as the riverfront disappeared in the sideview mirror crossing the bridge out of town.

I Feel Irrationally Angry Because Of...

...Fergie's voice...and Muppet face...

...the Burger King commercial with the fat man who pretends to be Spongebob Nopants...

...the fact that a show called "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader" can be a phenomenon in this country...

...being almost 28 and getting breakouts...enough already...

...ridiculous media spin...

...running out of Skittles again...

Dear Lowe's Food:

I was going to say thank you for taking the giant bags of Skittles off the two-for-five-dollars sale. When I noticed the absence of the yellow sales tag, I thought for sure I'd be saved from myself. My need to taste the rainbow has recently spiraled out of control. Unfortunately, your non-sale price is only five cents more. I bought two bags anyway. Please, for the love of my pants, increase the price to something I can't justify - like $10 a bag.

Thanks ever so much.
Skittleholics Anonymous

List of Items Preventing Weight Loss

* Remaining 26 Starbursts on the coffee table

* Vase filled with Dove Milk Chocolate squares (also on the coffe table)

* The couch

* Two unopened cans of Pringles (Regular & Salt & Vinegar)

* Sort of stale Chex Mix that I plan to crisp in the oven

* Pint of Haagen Daz Strawberry Ice Cream in the freezer

* Cable TV

* Almost-finished bag of Tostitos Scoops

* Buy-one-get-one-free Nestle Quik Chocolate & Strawberry Milk

* 17 beers leftover from this weekend

* Bag of Snack Size Oreos

* 2 unopened bags of cookies that I forgot to offer guests this weekend (Fudge Stripes and Chips Ahoy!)

* Seemingly unlimited supply of Hershey's Miniatures at the office

* Sam's-size container of Atomic Fireballs in the conference room

* Kudzu (who sets a very bad example of general laziness)

Will hereby commit to taking at least one walk this weekend (not including walk from couch to bathroom or couch to fridge). Otherwise will have to start buying elastic-waist pants so that I will stop outgrowing sizes at current pace.

On the Placement of Ohio

I'm wondering who I might petition about the placement of the state of Ohio. I know some Ohioans enjoy the proximity to Canada, but, if it were closer to, say, North Carolina, there would be the allure of the beach and the mountains. Everybody loves the beach and the mountains. And, as evidenced by the past weekend, some very important things are being prevented by the distance between these two states. For example:

* There is less modge-podging going on. And frankly, the world needs more thinly spread glue over pictures of Mr. Big and Dwight Schrute cut out of magazines.

* Improptu live concerts of "Me & Bobby McGee" and "Rockin' the Suburbs" are at an all time low.

* Krispy Kreme consumption is limited to late night, end-of-trip runs.

* The discovery of the wine cubes available at Target might have been prolonged even further.

* Less money is put into the North Carolina economy during shopping trips that involve buying accessories and clothes "just because" and I might never have purchased that great green tunic shirt.

* Not as many people know the joy of Old Time Pottery - where you can purchase a small bamboo rug, four drinking glasses, a hamburger flipper, two 6 x 8 pieces of art and a kitchen timer shaped like a chicken all for the bargain price of $18.75.

* Opportunities for great films such as "Justin Recounts a Bar Fight" and "Tom & Dave Talk Anchorman" go unrealized every day.

In conclusion, if I had a million dollars, I'd move Ohio.

Nesquik-licious

Every once in awhile, I encounter one of those products that I enjoyed as a child and decide to trip down memory lane and recapture the magic. More often than not, I find that my childhood memory of something is usually better than the real thing. But I've found an exception to the rule.

I rediscovered Nestle Nesquick Strawberry Milk while at Disney World back in October. As a kid, I drank the chocolate counterpart to this on a day to day basis under the name "Choc-Choc." On occasion, my brother and I would branch out and drink the strawberry. I picked it up on whim in one of the food courts at Disney and it was delicious! But that was after a long day in the amusement park, and I'm pretty sure that lighter fluid would've been delicious. I saw it again in the grocery store last night and had to have it. Verdict: the bunny still satisfies.

Great Balls of Fire

According to the official website, the Atomic Fireball was invented in 1954 by Nello Ferrara, son of Salvatore Ferrara, founder of Ferrara Pan candies. (Lemonheads! Cherryheads! Boston Baked Beans!) The Atomic Fireball starts as a single grain of sugar that is "panned" over a two week period until it is the right size, then flavored, colored and packaged. About 15 million are eaten each week worldwide. And thanks to the cravings of the pregnant lady in the office, who went to four stores and bought five pounds, I'm eating about 10 percent of those. Seriously. I'm pretty sure I'm working toward an atomic hole in my stomach.