Rehearsal

*Note-- this was supposed to be posted in September-- but it still holds.

Yet another downfall to my weight loss is rehearsal. I am an actor and stage manager, so I'm at rehearsal every night. Now, if I was a responsible person, I would pack my dinner every night and NOT snack on the abundance of good junk at rehearsal.

One of the girls is a manager at the Regal cinema in town. She brought in a giant bag of popcorn... you know the yummy delicious kind that you can only get at a cinema? Well... you know. Also the director and I are soul mates, therefore everything she brings in, I love. Like candy corn. Candy corn always makes me sick, but I eat it anyway. Responsible, I know.

Also, the assistant director is also a kindred spirit, so she in turn brings goodies like white cheddar cheetos, sugarwafer cookies.

I gorge. I have no self control-- except yesterday and today. See post below.

On Your Feet, Soldier!

One of my number one issues with exercise is that I'm on my damn feet all day at work. If standing and walking around my room all day burned calories, I'd be a rail. When I do finally get home, I just want to sit on my couch and play with my cats. And although studies have shown that petting your animals relieves stress, it does very little in the way of burning fat.



Not to mention that my job is pretty emotionally stressful as well. I'm worn out at the end of a day, whether it was a good day or not. I have a hard time being a teacher who doesn't commit both physically and emotionally. This includes my raging temper for the unfair. But I shant go in that direction.



So-- what's the solution? Go right from work to the gym? Be more emotionally and physically absent at work? Quit and be an actor full-time? Le sigh.

Whining About PCOS

You know how I like to whine about things not being my fault... well. I have PCOS. Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. There are all kinds of annoying symptoms like skintags, insulin resistance (eventually causing diabetes), and bearded lady-ism. But the worst of all is the difficulty losing weight. This is brough on my the IR, I think. Lemme esplain:

1. Booty-do eats too much.

2. BD's body responds by pumping out insulin.

3. But... because BD's body is slightly resistant to insulin, blood sugar spikes and the body pumps out more insulin.

4. Insulin finally gets hold of the food, but because there's so much extra, it goes into over drive.

5. The extra insulin that's not attacking the food gets stored as fat in the body. (Did you know that? How is THAT fair!!)

6. The overdrive has also caused the blood sugar to drop back down really quickly, making BD think she's going to pass out and die if she doesn't eat A LOT of sugar ASAP.

Now most of the time I can make myself think, "Ok, you know what's going on in your body. Have a glucose tablet and wait it out." But other times, I eat everything in sight until I feel safe again. If you've never had low sugar, it's very hard to explain. The worst I've ever experienced was after my birthday last year. I didn't eat very much that night, but I drank a lot of liquor. Mmm... long island ice tea. I went home very drunk and cuddled my hubby into a nice sweet drunk sleep. I woke up about 2 hours later and I thought I was dying. I mean, I could barely walk, I was having a hard time breathing and I was crawling to the bathroom, thinking I was just drunk sick. But... I didn't puke. I just sat there trying to breath and moaning that I was dying. My beloved husband, having been through a sugar low of mine before found me a donut stick and a peach. It took about 10 minutes, but slowly I could feel my drunkenness returning.

I used to not eat breakfast because of the very steps above. I would eat and be so hungry only an hour or two later that I would be so annoyed. So if I don't eat in the morning, I can go all day without food. Now-- healthy people would say that's because my body is in "starvation mode" which only makes it horde the food that much more when I do eat.

Can't a bitch catch a damn break?!

The Mail Room

Here's a problem that all teachers who are working on their weight have to deal with:

The Mail Room.

You may be saying, "Mail makes you fat?" No, it's not the mail. It's the leftovers from every single event that end up there. The counters are currently covered with goodies from the meals last week. And it's never the nutritious stuff left over. Only the muffins, and cookies, and that amazing ginger bread/cake our office assistant makes. Oh gees... I'm like Pavlov's dog over here...

In any case, when you're a half-broke teacher, you want to take advantage of anything free, like food. My tuna can stay in the fridge for lunch tomorrow and I can pig out on pizza that the PTA brought it and save a few bucks.

It's also a matter of not wanting to hurt someone's feelings. Example: I don't really like this caramel cake that the same aforementioned office assistant makes, but I eat a piece every time. She's wonderful and I want her to feel appreciated, especially when she spends hours making home-made goodies for we ungrateful lot.

Fee Night was especially bad. Vocelli's pizza AND punchbowl cake. I kid you not when I say that I could have eaten the entire punchbowl. I did only have 1 serving the first night... but then the second night... I lost my control. Two helpings went down the hatch.

I'm surprised my Wii Fit Balance Board isn't yelling at me.

Nature vs. Nurture

I know I shouldn't get into a blame game, but really-- why can two people eat and do the same things and look totally different?! It's really f-ing annoying. I don't eat that much. I mean, really. I blame poor genetics. Let's take my cats for example.

Sophie, Mitch, and Apollo are from the same litter. They were born on the same day, to the same mother. The have all lived in the same house get the same amount of food and theoretically the same amount of exercise. Yet... Sophie is tiny. Mitch is lean and muscular. Apollo is a rollie-pollie ball of fur.

So-- what I'm saying is that though I may be lazy, there are plenty of skinny people who are, too. They just have more forgiving genes.

Usta-Could

I used to do a great job of hiding the booty-do in pictures and up until the past year, I was always shocked when I saw my reflection in a mirror. I have never really seen myself as fat. As a kid, I was the sexy one. When my 2 bffs and I got the necklaces that said "crazy" "sexy" "cool", I got to be Left-Eye... the sexy one. (RIP TLC) I got hit on in groceries stores and at gas stations by older guys and was always the one who was a shamelss flirt. I developed insanely early and got lots of attention as a result. I developed a blown-up sense of ego and have almost never been single. Like I said, I've been good at hiding my ridiculous girth until the past year.


When I was a junior at JMU, --GO DUKES!-- I hit 2-bills (I'm 5'3"). I decided for the first time in my life to actually diet. What's funny is that I always complained about "being fat" before that, too. I did SouthBeach and it was fine because I was working for the best bagel deli ever and had a pretty unending supply of fresh food. I would get up and go to work at 5am, Dee would make me a great breakfast, I'd snack on cheese and veggies all day, have lunch, then go to class and pretty much not eat if I wasn't at work. This was due to poverty more than anything else. I'm sure if you know Harrisonburg, you know how cheap and delicious the mac-n-cheese from Sharp Shopper can be when you're broke. In any case, I went home for Robin's baby shower, had a small piece of cake... then I was of the wagon.



I'm a quitter when it comes to me. When it comes to getting shit done for other, people I'm all about it, but when it comes to me. I'm out.

Fat

I'm fat. I'm coming to terms with it slowly but surely. I'm not a writer, but have commited myself to no longer being confused for pregnant by small children and find that trying to be clever in print makes me feel better.

If you are white, you probably are confused by the title of this blog.


Let me es-plain. I used to substitute teach for the alternative school in my county. I loved working at this school for some reason. It was probably because I adore places with incredibly strict rules. Rules like kids having uniforms and being kicked out if they curse. Kicked out-- as opposed to coddled by admin... but I digress. At this school, the kids were all challenging ones who fall into typical categories. Sixteen year old girls in the 7th grade, who developed too early and decided that sex or drugs were far better options than school. Girls who have greasy blonde hair twisted into braids, but somehow have the sense to apply to a school to not fail. Boys who not only drool over said girls but threaten to kill others for them. Boys who really can't take a test in the same room as others, but if given the chance WILL succeed. Again--- I digress. So I'm there subbing for a math teacher who the kids kept calling "booty-do." Curious, I inquired, "What does that mean?" The answer I received has defined my body image in the years since. "Duh, Ms. B. Her stomach stick out furda dan her booty do." (Please read that with the proper ghetto slang accent to understand the principle of "booty-do").

I am booty-do.