Boozie...fat, drunk and happy

back from vegas

I took two pictures with my camera, so there's nothing to share there.

Well, I officially really miss Nick again.  It was a little easier when he left at the end of May because I knew our Vegas trip was coming up shortly.  Now, I will not be with him again until August.  I cried so bad when I left the hotel yesterday morning that I actually hugged the taxi hailer-guy who stands out front of the hotel.  I am pathetic.

Our trip was very nice.  Nothing overly crazy.  We ate a lot of food, drank a lot, went to the pool, saw a show (as I like to call it, "circus....OLE!") and booked our wedding.

I am currently working on my Knot.com page and browsing bridal magazines because apparently I am an idiot because I don't know a damn thing about flowers.  Or decorations.  Or food.  Or music...

unveiling

This, despite the clever title, has nothing to do with the wedding (which we will be booking on Friday...hello reality).

When I started weight watchers on April 11, 2006, it was because I had bought a pair of white pants, that turned out to be too tight, to wear to Las Vegas the following month.  By the time the trip came around, not only could I fit into the pants, but they were too big.  I had to take them back and get a pair that was not one, but two sizes too big.  Since then, I have subtracted three more sizes.

My original goal was hard, but obtainable and I've stayed at my goal for over a year now.  The only thing is, my original goal, aside from an arbitrary number that I had not seen on a scale since approximately seventh grade, was to look good in clothes.  To be able to wear (almost) whatever I wanted and not have to worry if my gut was going to be hanging out, if my hips would fit, or if my flabby arms would look alright.

On April 11, 2008, I bought my first bikini.  Yes, my FIRST bikini.  As a fat kid, a fat teenager and a fat twenty-something, I would rather die than wear a bikini.  In fact, I only owned one tankini that showed off more than one inch of skin.  So, the day that the bikini arrived, I decided that my new goal would go from looking good in clothes (since a bikini is hardly considered clothes) to looking smoking hot in a bikini.

In that time, I've lost 5.8 pounds, one-half inch off of each arm, two inches in my waist, one and one-half inch off of my hips and two and one-half inches off of each of my thighs for a grand total of six and one-half inches.

I am DEATHLY afraid of being in public in the new bikini.  A friend told me to wear it around outside and do yard work in it.  I just can't bring myself to do yard work, though.  So, here, for the world to see, is me in all of my glory.  Be gentle.  Also, yes, I got sunburned yesterday--don't yell at me.

an empty pit

Nick just left.

I can live without him.  But I don't want to.

(We will be back together in 9 short days for a 5-day, 4-night trip to Las Vegas, so I should just shut up already.  Its the 60 days after that which will be tough.)

not-so-adorable neuroses

I am scared to be alone.  Not in the "I'll die a spinster!" kind of way, but in the "even a 4-year old would suffice to protect me against the boogie man!" kind of way.

I cannot sleep in a house alone, even with Sophie because she's as creeped out at the house noises as I am.

So, because I will have to spend quite a bit of time while my fiance is studying to become a big-time lawyer in a far-away state, I am quite nervous.

I made an appointment to see my doctor, who believes in alternative medicine over most other remedies, to see if I needed to get on some kind of mood-altering perscription.  I should also divulge that if he does not give me any sort of medication, I will go back to my old ways of drinking a bunch of cough syrup or taking Tylenol PM at 10pm.  The only problem is that I'm exhausted in the mornings.

My requirements for the magical pill is: allow me to go to sleep and not realize that I'm alone, allow me to wake up feeling refreshed, do not make me depressed, do not make me gain weight, and do not make me dependent on the pill.

That rules out cough syrup, Tylenol PM, bourbon, wine, sleeping pills and pot.

Anyone have any suggestions for just plain getting over the fear of being alone?  I probably should go to a psychiatrist, but that requires money and you, my internet friends are free!

wedding talk wednesday

I haven't really had any more nightmares about the wedding.  I did have a dream about wedding stuff last night, but I woke up and could only remember a few minor details mostly dealing with banging Nick.  So yeah, no nightmare.

Anyway, we've got appointments scheduled with a wedding planner at The Place that I want to have The Wedding and also with the reception/catering person at The Place that I want to have The Reception.  It feels really real now.  Like before I was just some tool going, "my boooooooooyfriend and I are going to get maaaaaarried..." and I would look at bridesmaids dresses thinking, "I should tell them to buy these dresses RIGHTHISSECONDOMG because they won't be around (or in style) when I get married!" but now I am like, "Okay, the last thing I want to do is look at bridesmaids dresses and can't you guys just use your best judgement but don't get anything that showcases your back-fat and make sure you don't get a halter because I want everyone to wear the same necklaces and don't get a strapless because MY DRESS is going to be strapless and make sure the length isn't short or long and also it has to be the same kind of fabric as my dress okay now I'm going to go lay down and eat cookies." 

I totally want to think about everything but I totally want to think about nothing AT THE SAME TIME but it cannot be done.

I got a wedding planning book (do not give me any grief because it was $0.36 + shipping from Amazon.com and it is worth at least twice that much) that has a handy checklist that goes from 18 months away to 1 day away.  I am very afraid that I will forget to do the stuff that's one week away.  Like, forget to tell the caterer that we have 98 instead of 100 people coming and then we get over charged at the pasta station. 

I also forced Nick to talk about where we're going to go on our honeymoon last night.  So far, we have ruled out Vietnam and Vatican City.

Clearly, we are way on top of our game.

send beers (or money, actually, yeah, send money)

I'm about to go give my mechanic more money than I'd like to give him.

And by "more money than I'd like to" I mean "an effing crap-ton".

Ugh.

Someone at my work is getting married to a woman that he met on Match.com (I know this because he also tried to date a friend of mine who had a profile on Match.com and she thought it was a joke and then when she called him out on it, he said he already had a girlfriend so she could forget about it anyway).

But the guy is one of the tools that titled his Match profile "<insert clever title here>". 

Does anyone think that's actually funny?

Oh, yeah, I guess his future wife fell for it.

hiding

A very good friend of mine got married this weekend (more on that later, as I am awaiting a picture taken that evening). 

This event, of course, involved a lot of drinking.

You may have noticed that I don't really drink all that much nowadays.  And its not because I'm too cool to tie one on here and there.  Nor is it because I think I am way more mature than my friends who do imbibe frequently.  Nor is it because I think I am an alcoholic.  Well, that last point could be debated, in all honesty.

Anyway, I don't really drink that much any more because of my weight.  If I drink they way I used to, I'd gain back every single god damn pound that I worked so hard to lose.  And as far as food exchanges go, I'd honestly rather eat a full-fat REAL chocolate chip cookie than drink 2 beers.  I also don't like losing 24 hours because of the drinking and then the recovery.  I really don't feel 100% back to normal yet.

So, near the end of the evening, after wearing my highest heels for the entire day (at that point, it was about 9 hours), I remarked to a friend about how my feet hurt.  He said, "Everyone else has their shoes off, you should just kick back and relax and have a good time."  I should also add, that while my feet did hurt terribly, I had not missed out on any fun by wearing the shoes as I was dancing pretty much the entire time.  Anyway, I said to this friend that I would not be taking the shoes off because I want to look good.  I want to look good for myself because then I feel good about myself.  I want to look good for Nick so he feels good about having such a hot chick by his side, which in turn makes me feel pretty damn confident about myself as well.

I guess that point was not well-received because I was told that I was hiding behind Nick and that I was not being my "old" self (younger, louder, fatter, extremely unhealthy, and unsure of myself).  This really struck a nerve with me because more than one person has said this since I have changed the majority of my eating and drinking habits.  It's very difficult to basically be put down for becoming the person you always should have been: healthy, fit, secure, and gorgeous.

Yes, I was hiding.  Behind a lot of things.  I was overweight and more self-conscious than anyone can ever imagine.  I over-compensated for that by being funny, drinking a lot, and hooking up with guys that wouldn't acknowledge me in public. 

I have not nor ever will hide behind Nick. 

Nick brought me out of hiding.

wedding: nightmare be thy name

The wedding is well over a year away and I have already had many, many nightmares about our special day (that sounds cheesey, I know).

In the past week, I have had the following bad dreams about the wedding:

1. I bought a dress in a size smaller than the size I wear now and then gained 20lbs.
2. I asked my sister's best friend to be a bridesmaid.  This doesn't sound that bad, but the girl is a complete air-head and in my dream, she completely destroys the bridal dressing room and then leaves to go smoke cigarettes while I am forced to pick up clothes, shoes, make-up, etc. while wearing my wedding dress and being yelled at by the wedding planner because the room has to be cleaned before the wedding starts.
3. I forget to buy a dress and realize this when I go to use the restroom in the bridal dressing room.
4. I have to marry Tinky Winky (a gay hasher, for those of you not in the know) to trick his parents into thinking he's not gay.
5. I ask the wedding planner to get me a beer to calm me down and end up waiting four hours (that's a real nightmare).
6. I realize that my mom and my sister have gone to BD's Mongolian BBQ approximately 10 minutes before the wedding is scheduled to start.

I emailed my mom about these "concerns" and she has reassured me with the following bit of knowledge that only married women can give:

"You're NUTS!!!!"

but she still said yes.

When I was 17 years old, I kicked my little sister in the meaty part of her hand.  The part of the hand that houses the thumb muscle.  The part of the hand that kind of looks like a chicken drumstick.  The part of the hand that probably has the most nerve endings in it.

I should also confess that I was wearing ice skates at the time.

And that I actually caught her hand with the toe pick.

She must have forgotten because she's gonna be in the wedding...either that or she has a penchant for my neuroses.

Speaking of neuroses, I bought a "wedding journal" the other day with STICK-ON TABS! and 3-D STICKERS! and then had a minor freak-out when I mis-counted the pages and could only label months 1 - 7 BUT I NEED TO HAVE 14 MONTHS TABBED BECAUSE THERE IS IMPORTANT THINGS I NEED TO WRITE IN MY JOURNAL RIGHT NOW!  Like, (I am not making this up) "I found some cool save-the-date postcards."

That totally merits an entire page in my wedding journal.

Oh, my poor poor sister.  She is thanking everything that is holy that I'll be about 2000 miles away shortly.