In Which I Get New Pants

These past couple of weeks have been insane with nursing school (last week was aka Hell Week), but I've maintained weight (for the most part, save for Halloween weekend, might have binged a little with my best friend being in town from Indiana), even though I haven't lost any.

I'm okay with this.

More than that, I was told by a friend (read: several friends) that my pants were getting too baggy, especially in the butt area. Now I really don't have much ass to spare and I really haven't wanted to lose it there, but whatev. Taking their words to heart, I did a thing that most women enjoy but I do not.

I went shopping.

I hate the mall. I hate shopping, unless it's for someone else or if I'm buying groceries because we all know how much I like to eat. I hate the sounds of the mall, hate the people who come up to me, wanting me to try their hand lotions or buy a cover for my craptastic cell phone. I hate dressing rooms, I hate thumbing through the plus sizes, I hate salespeople.

So with great trepidation, I walked into a store in which I will not name. I immediately walked to the plus size, then remembered that I'm not plus sized anymore before moseying over to the women's section (I swear, I only stopped at the kid's section for a little bit. My daughter needed a new shirt). So I automatically grabbed my normal size and headed to the dressing room.

They fell off.

Cheered a wee bit, I went for the next size down.

They fell off too.

Getting really excited, I tried the next size down.

They were baggy.

At this point, I was ecstatic. Dropping off the pants and tossing the shirt I'd found for the lovely one somewhere, I headed to one of those stores that has the music pounding so loud that you can't hear anything and the bags with the half-naked men on them...the one I haven't visited since having children.

When I walked in, I was half-afraid one of the teenagers working there was going to ask me what I thought I was doing there, but they just greeted me with a wave and went back to texting on their phone that's way better than mine. <--can you tell that I'm really trying to get my husband to buy me a new phone?

After grabbing a size that I haven't seen since I was eighteen, I headed to the dressing room and pulled them up, praying that I would be able to actually button them without having to suck it in too much.

OH MY GOD, they fit. I'm in a pant size that is HALF of what I was wearing 3 years ago when I started losing weight.

Happiness ensues.

In Which My Wii Fit Tells Me I'm Epic

I bought the Wii Fit awhile back...and I mean awhile. I always mean to use it, but...yeah. So since I know I've lost weight, I figured I'd go wipe the dust off the balance board and see what it told me.

Since last October, I've lost 43 pounds. This makes me happy. It also told me that I've squeaked out of the "overweight" category and am teetering on the edge of a normal BMI.



I think the game wept with happiness when it changed me from the fat Mii to the normal looking one. I did a little too.

In Which I Cry In Happiness

Let's face it. I have an almost two year old son. His favorite pastimes include eating Reese's Puffs cereal ("ball cereal"--that's a whole other story that I'm going to have to clear up when he gets older. I don't want him to think it's okay to eat balls for breakfast), trashing the house, tormenting his sister and taking baths. While in the bath, his goal is to get as much water as possible out of the bathtub and onto the bathroom floor.

Alas, my digital scale was a fatality in the carnage that was leftover after one of his tsunamis.

I've been too broke to get a new one, because let's face it, it's not like I'm getting paid to do these clinicals, which really blows because I'm essentially doing the nurse's work. Let's just say that when I'm a nurse, I'll love having nursing students with me.

Anywho, so after dropping the kids off at school, I headed to Wal-Mart (aka Hell-Mart) and searched the store for a scale. Of course, my local Hell-Mart is in the middle of a remodel and the scales are no longer where they used to be. I spent fifteen minutes in the freaking store trying to find the aisle that held the bane of my existence. I finally found it in the Automotive section (WTF?!) and proceeded to be astonished by the cost of scales.

THIRTY FIVE DOLLARS FOR A FLIPPING PIECE OF CRAP SCALE?!?!?!

You've gotta be kidding me.

After pawing through the poorly marked scales, I finally found one that didn't measure my BMI and record all my weights, because let's face it, I don't really wanna know. So I get up to the register and of course, it doesn't have a scan tag on it. I waited at customer service for ten minutes so they could find another scale with a UPC on it. Grr.

So I finally get home with my scale and impulse buy of cherry chapstick, and I do the ritual of taking off all the clothes, emptying the bladder of those few precious ounces and step on the new scale of wicked. Look down and...

177.4 pounds!!!!

Oh, happy day! This means that I have lost 23 pounds (give or take) in the past seven weeks! I'm sure that I can thank the side effects of Prozac and Ativan for my weight loss (for some strange reason I got the rare weight loss compared to the more common weight gain of the meds) but I think I can give myself a pat on the back too. I mean, I've dieted, I've suffered through the SlimFast shakes in the morning, been doing the vegetarian diet for five days and not cheated once even though there is bacon in the fridge, and drank enough water to keep a camel hydrated for two years. I've fought the elliptical and treadmill every day. I think I can rejoice from this.

It's just hard not to celebrate with a Bud Light Lime and Chinese food...

In Which I Say "HOLY CRAP!"

Holy shitnuggets, Batman!

I started this weight loss program one month ago, and while I decided I'd do a weekly weigh-in so I wouldn't stress myself out too much, I'd kind of gone lax on it. So when I woke up today on the dreaded weigh in day, I padded into the master bathroom where the digital scale stands. Normally I cower from it. I try to not look at it, pretend it isn't there. But today, that scale was going down.

I did everything I could to make sure that I had lost weight. I did ten jumping jacks. I took off all my clothes. I made sure I didn't have to poop. Finally, I realized that I had to get on the damn scale or I was going to be late for clinical, a huge no-no in the life of a nursing student.

I stepped on the scale, eyes closed, pleading with God and any other deity that was watching that I had at least lost SOME weight. Finally, I realized that I had to look down because this scale was not going to read itself.

I lost FIFTEEN pounds! Amazing! I'm so stoked. I happy danced on the scale. It was awkward and ungraceful, and after I was done I looked around to make sure that my husband hadn't seen me, which fortunately he hadn't.

WOOT!