I bought a set of scales yesterday. For the past year, I've been weighing myself once a week at my parents' house. Now, it was time to get my own set. Since I was a teenager, I had a fear of the scales. It was so bad that I didn't get on a set of scales for years. I don't even know how many years. I wasn't like those folks on the Biggest Loser (which is one of my favorite shows, by the way), so I didn't need to get on those stupid scales. I exercised for crying out loud, it couldn't be that bad, right? Right? Then one day...

I was working out in our gym at work, and I felt really good about my 30 minutes on the elliptical. I FELT like I had lost a little weight, so it couldn't be that bad. Let's see what they say, I thought. Um, wow, I wonder if these scales are broken. No worries. There's another set right over there. They'll be right. I'm sure there's something wrong with the first set-whoa. Are you kidding me?? What.The.Hell. I had a bigger problem than I thought. This HAD to be fixed.

Thus, began the weekly weigh-in. Once a week, at my parents' house. I still had enough of a fear of them that I didn't want them in MY house. But slowly, that fear became determination, and the scales became a tool that I needed to succeed in my weight loss journey. Now I have my own, and I'm anxiously awaiting Wednesday which will mark the beginning of my love/hate relationship with my scales. I will weigh in and if I've broken the plateau, I will love them. If I'm still at the same weight or if, God help me, I gain, then I'll try my best not to throw them out of the window. :o)

I bought a set of scales today which is a big step for me, but with joining the challenge of at the Sisterhood of the Shrinking Jeans (go check 'em out!), I thought it just made more sense than having to drive to my parents' every week. So I was all set to talk about how both excited and frightened I am about having scales in my house (I think they're staring at me even right now), and my brother went and ruined it.

Without going into details, let's just say that my relationship with my brother is strained. Since we were teenagers, we have fought a lot, but last year I thought we were really trying become closer since my brother now has a kid. Then a few months ago it all went to hell. I really don't want to go into the details of that horrible night, but let's just say that my brother should feel extremely lucky that I am even talking to him at this point because I honestly haven't forgiven him yet for what he did, and I really don't know when that forgiveness will come. Really, the ONLY reason I'm talking to him is so that I can still see my nephew. It's just like every time we're around each other, he finds something (intentional or not) to make me feel like a complete failure at life. For example: I recently admitted to my family that I'm no longer sure if I want children. Please don't get me wrong. I love kids. I'm good with them. I'm just not sure I want one. And because I've said that, you'd think that I threw all of my knowledge about kids out of the window. Hello!!!! I've changed more diapers, and fed more babies more bottles than my brother has. I even took care of 15 month old twins every day, 8-10 hours a day for 4 months when I was in college. I think I know what to do. And ok, I know it's his kid. I get it. I really do, but you don't have to treat me like I know nothing. So you know what? I'm not a failure at life. In fact, I think I've done a heck of a job in my life thus far. Just because it isn't how he would have done things means nothing to me. If all of our lives were exactly the same, the world would be extremely boring, wouldn't it? So, I refuse to let him make me feel like crap because I'm forever single or because I'm childless or because he makes more money than I do. Whatever, dude.

As a few of you know, I tend to hold things in until I'm ready to explode, so the fact that I didn't today is major (it's a personal goal for 2009). And having said all of that...whew...I feel much better now.

A couple of good things about today: Got a great big hug from my nephew, and I got a new cute coffee mug!! I love getting new coffee mugs!

As I sit here on this Saturday night, I can’t help but notice that ALL of my animals are either quiet or sleeping. All of them. This is a rare happening in my house. I’m afraid to move because I know if I do, the calm will be no more. Thing that stinks about that is that I really have to go to the bathroom. I honestly could start a whole separate blog about them, but for now this will do. So, let me introduce you to The Zoo (really didn’t mean to make that rhyme. I swear.).

Neville: Neville is a cinnamon pearl white-face cockatiel and the baby of all of my animals at 2. He’s also the only male in the house. The thing I love about Neville is that he’s probably the sweetest bird I have ever met and he’s in love with my mom. When she comes into the room he whistles and calls and tells us what a “pretty bird” he is. The one thing that I could do without when it comes to Neville is when he mocks the dog toys. When he goes into squeak mode, it’s “squeak, squeak, squeak” for what seems to be an hour at a time.

Kelci: At 4, my black sable German Shepherd is my baby. I’ve had her since she was 7 weeks old. She was only 6 lbs the day I brought her home and sick. I nursed her back to health and now, 59 lbs later, she likes to be by my side ALL THE TIME. Yes, yes, this is cute and all, but give a girl a break. There are some things I need to do without the help of an escort. That said, it amuses me that she’s learned to open the screen door, turn on the water faucet, and un-latch the backyard gate. Sometimes when I talk to her, I half expect her to answer me back. She’s also my walking buddy. We both love it.

Bayleigh: Now, I love my 6 year old tri-color Cocker Spaniel. I really do. However, I will never own another Cocker Spaniel ever again. To those of you who love the breed, I’m sorry. I swear to you she’s ADHD. And while she’s calmed down a lot, she has still made it her life mission to sniff down the entire house every night. I get tired just watching her. My favorite thing about her though is that she gives actual hugs. She’ll come over and rest her head on your shoulder. I know, right?

Cagney: Cagney is my Congo African Grey Parrot. A co-worker made the decision that she could no longer care for Cagney and knew that I loved animals and there ya go. I’m not quite sure how old she is, but my guess is around 10. She has the vocabulary and emotions of a two year old. I really think she only likes me because she doesn’t have a choice. If she had the chance, I know she’d take Kelci’s nose off. And while she’s completely mean, she cracks me up (she just burped). I find myself sometimes watching her instead of the TV. However, there are times that she will scream, and I know she does this just to piss me off.

Charlotte: Charlotte is my dog, but lives with my parents. See previous and future posts on Charlotte. She’s way too special to get just a few lines.

So now you know why I’m amazed that the house is so quiet right now. But I’m afraid I can no longer hold it and must go to the bathroom. So here we go….

Oh wow, two posts in a week? Jeez. But, something someone said to me today got me thinking. And those of you who know me, KNOW that sometimes can be a dangerous thing. Just sayin. :o)

A girl at work complimented me today on my weight loss. It blows my mind that I'm still getting compliments. And the question, "were you trying to lose weight" amuses me. First of all, I've not been out of work and I don't look sick, so yes, I've been trying to lose weight. But I guess that the issue of weight loss can be a touchy subject, so instead of saying "here's your sign", I just smile, nod, and thank them for the compliment. (Note: in the past I would probably have not taken the compliment well and would shyly nod or something, but now I proudly say, "Yes, I have lost a lot of weight". I've worked hard dangit.) Anyway, so then she asks me was it hard to lose the weight. I have trouble with this question because part of me wants to scream, yes it's hard, I've worked my ass off. But honestly, once you have all of the puzzle pieces in front of you and you figure out what works for you, it isn't hard at all.

Now, is it tedious? Can be. Is it a struggle? Sometimes. But it isn't hard. No seriously. It isn't. So, if you want to know my secret, here it is: there is no secret! It's "calories in" versus "calories out". That's it. Simple math, right? Now, for those of you that are thinking what a headache counting calories would be, you're right. At first, it stinks. I had to first figure out how many calories a day I was eating. Once I had that, I figured out my BMR (Basal Metabolic Rate: this basically is how many calories you burn in a day if you just sit and do nothing), then I set my calorie limit that would sustain me, but create a deficit. So, basically what this means is that I can have anything I want as long as I stay within that limit. Additionally, I made the choice to cut out as many processed foods as possible. This gives my body the right kinds of foods to fuel my body for working out. Which is the next part. I created (with the help of my fitness hero #1), an exercise plan that I could follow no matter what my schedule is. If there are days/weeks that I can allow for more exercise, awesome, if not, then that's cool too. Also, I started strength training. For years and years, all I could think was cardio, cardio, cardio. Which is fine, but strength training builds muscle which in turn boosts your metabolism. Once I put all of these puzzle pieces together, the weight started to melt off. And eventually I learned how many calories things have in them, and really don't have to journal how much I eat. (I will spot check myself every so often.)

Of course that's the short of it. There are dozens of details that I could talk about all day. But I won't (unless you want to know). And if some of you think that it sounds familar, it's basically what they do with the contestants on the Biggest Loser. The key is to figure out how many calories are right for you (but NEVER go below 1200!). Or really, the key is to figure out what method works for you. If it's Weight Watchers, great! If it's another program, great! The point is to remember a diet isn't something that you go on and come off, your diet is how you eat (thank you, Bob).

First, let me say, for those who are interested, I will continue my story on Charlotte soon.

So, thanks to some newfound online friends (girls, you know who you are!), I’ve decided to come back to the blog. It’s not like I quit writing on purpose…it’s just been a rough few months. That said, HELLO 2009! I am so glad you are here. And good-bye 2008...how I won’t miss you. You sucked. (Sorry, but you did.)

Well most of it did anyway. It rocked in the fact that I am down 53 lbs (yep, you read that right) AND I managed to maintain during the holidays. I can’t tell you how stoked I am. This holiday season I found that I could enjoy all of my favorites (even dark beer), and not go crazy with it. If I wanted a slice of cake or drink a pint of Winter Lager, dangit, I was going to have it, and that’s ok.

Which brings me to what I have decided to talk about in this post. Learning to not deprive myself of my favorites, but to not go too crazy was a harder thing that I thought. The thing is, I am not a binge eater. I never have been, but during the holidays I probably would go a little crazy because, after all, “it’s the holidays”! This holiday season, I decided I needed a break from being militant with diet and exercise because of personal reasons and because I have hit the dreaded plateau. That’s right a plateau. For weeks and weeks I’ve been stuck at 53 lbs lost and I have 23 to go! And as fabulous as losing 53 lbs is, I hate plateaus. Seriously. I hate them more than the new Knight Rider. But I know that this is my body’s way of thinking it’s starving. If feels like it needs to hang onto those 23 lbs. It’s your body’s instinct to do this. That’s why losing 30 lbs or less is a whole different ball game than losing 50 or more. So, the answer to the problem (I hope), was a break. I exercised only two days a week and for the most part stayed within my calorie allowance, but if I wanted one of those homemade cookies that my grandmother made, well I had two. I just didn’t have five. Christmas Day, I ate whatever I wanted. And I enjoyed my New Year’s. Ok, confession: New Year‘s I went a little insane with food and drink, but it was my first New Year’s out of the house in years. And due to womanly reasons, I cannot be held responsible for my calorie intake on New Year's. :) My point is that going a LITTLE crazy is ok. It really is. So, if you’re in a plateau or just feel like you need a break, take it. Just be mindful and don’t go too crazy. My body, my mind, and my soul needed that month or so off.

Now, that said, it is a whole new year. A whole new ball game. And it’s time to refocus, put down the dark beer (and switch to lite. Dudes, I‘m not completely giving up beer. It‘s not going to happen.), pick up the clean, healthy foods, exercise my arse off, and lose these stubborn 23 lbs. I know it’s going to be a battle, but hopefully for now my body realizes that I’m not trying to starve it. I’m going to get this body in the best shape it has ever been in. I’ve promised myself that. So, 2009, welcome! It’s gonna be a good year.

Later that day, as my younger brother and I were buying supplies for our new family member, we named her Charlotte. My family was big into basketball and this was a tribute to the old Charlotte Hornets NBA team. Boy, was this exciting! We had a puppy, and for the first week, Charlotte and I both regretted our decisions. To Charlotte, I was that awful woman who kept putting her in that dreadful crate at night. To me, Charlotte was the reason I was losing sleep. But I was determined that crate training would work, and eventually thing got better. She was such an active and happy dog. So eager to please, but with a mischievous streak. I remember one day coming home from work...I opened the front door and found four hours of Charlotte's work. See, we had decided to give her a little bit of freedom, and because of our mistake, Charlotte had a grand time. When I opened the front door, the first thing I saw was my prom shoes...both laying in a chewed up heap not far from the door. Next, I found a pair of my gym socks (where she found them, I couldn't tell you) lying down the hall and starting a path to my bedroom. A couple of stuffed animals later, I found my puppy underneath my bed, and I swear to you she smiled at me. Eventually, I got her trained, and the worst thing we would come home to was her lying on your pillow. The one thing we had a hard time of doing was keeping her from jumping. We knew it wasn't good for her back, but it seemed like the harder we tried, the more she would jump (the breed is a stubborn one as some of you know, I'm sure). We kept her weight down, except for one time for a bit when she was fed french fries everyday at lunch. I'm sure my brother knows nothing about it, right Clay??

Despite our best efforts, Charlotte began to have back troubles. She'd go through these spells, and we'd be on rounds of an anti-inflammatory which worked wonders. And as she grew older, she was increasingly becoming my mom's dog. I lived at home through college, so I saw her everyday and helped with her care, but she attached herself to my mom nonetheless. Still, I knew all major decisions for Charlotte were left on my shoulders.

"Charlotte's paralyzed." My mother's panic-stricken voice over the phone will forever ring through my mind. As I rushed from work to get to the vet's office all I could think was, would this be the day I would have to decide to put my beloved 6-year old dachshund down? I knew that ultimately the decision was mine...

Before I continue further with the most horrible day of Charlotte's life, let me give you a little background. I finally convinced my dad to let me have a dog. It took me 18 years, but I did it. His only requirements: it had to be a small dog. So, after extensive research, we settled on a miniature dachshund, and we went through the ads in the paper. We called, and the breeder said that she had three females left. So, off my mom and I took, driving thirty minutes to pick out my first dog. The last thing I expected was that she would pick me. The breeder opened the door to the "doggie room" and out bound three of the smallest butterballs I have ever seen. Two of them ran right past me as if to say, "eh" and boy were they all over the place. I watched them for a second, then turned my head to my feet and there she sat...sniffing and licking my toes. She then looked up at me as if to say, "well here I am. Aren't you going to pick me up so we can go home?'

I obliged. Picked her up, sniffed her puppy breath and said, "I'll take this one." As we paid, the breeder made it a point to emphasize how none of her dogs had ever had any back problems. Boy, were we relieved of that as we set along our merry way.