I’ve been trying a couple of different topics, a couple of different approaches, made a list, actually did some work, all in an attempt to think of something to write here. This is my weight loss blog. I owe my domestic and international readership wit and insight regarding my weight loss adventure.
I got nothin’.
On Spark this morning, I really pushed myself and played enough games to earn the points that put me over the top and on to Level 5. There were no cartoon fireworks as there are if I win at Spider Solitaire. I didn’t get a Sparkgoodie. Just up to Level 5 and 1500 more Sparkpoints needed to get to Level 6.
My good Spark friend Crazywoman10, told me to take my measurements in order to have more data available to evaluate my progress. So I did that and those details are private.  I decided to take my diet tracking one step further and this morning, dressed in my underwear, I asked Brigid (the 12 year old) to take a “before” picture of me. I wasn’t wearing particularly revealing underwear, it just looked like a black two piece bathing suit with a fat woman in it. Brigid looked at me as though I had asked her to photograph me with a goat and something with batteries from Madam Giggles’ Whack Shack. I told Brigid it was for my “Before” picture, my “before I lose all the weight I’m going to lose” picture. Brigid, with a sneer of distaste on her face said, “Well, you’re still posting a picture of yourself in underwear.” Yeah, guess what smart ass? No, I’m not. The photo that she finally took will not be posted unless there is a rockingly hot “After” photo to go with it. “Before” photos suck by themselves. “Before” photos are simply photographs of someone who is fat, ugly, hairy, blotchy, whatever but they are no good to anyone without really good “After” photos. For now, I have the “Before” photo….it’s not pretty, but it’s an outstanding “Before” photo.

When I first wrote this, it had just snowed. As a born and bred Oregonian, I believe it is part of my physiological make-up to flip out like a 9-year-old whenever rumors of snow in the Portland metro area pop up.  At night I stare out the window, squinting to see if there’s a flake or two falling, hoping and praying for school to be closed. And typically, we get nothing. Christmas of 2008, Portland had a snowstorm that effectively shut down the city for 10 days. We had 18 inches of snow! That’s highly unusual here but it was so pretty and if we had been better prepared, like had a Christmas tree, it would have been perfect. That sort of storm has hit NW Oregon twice in my lifetime. The first time was 1968 or ’69. I may vaguely remember that first storm or I’ve seen photos and heard stories so I think it’s a memory. My dad built my brother and me a little snow hill to slide down. It was just a little hill but we were only toddlers at the time.  Instead of buying a disk or sled, my parents put us (not at the same time) in the O’Connor family salad bowl and we slid down the hill in that. It is an acrylic, green tinted shallow bowl with leaves and sparkles in the acrylic. I now have it in my garden planted with succulents.

That story reminds me of an incident that took place about 10 years ago when my girls were little. One night after a bottle of chardonnay, I was looking at their Little Tykes plastic slide and thought, “that looks like fun.” I climbed on the slide with youthful exuberance and apparently no center of balance at all and tipped over, me with the slide attached, tipped over.  While I was smaller then than I am now, I was firmly wedged into the slide on the floor on my side, drunk in the basement. I recall having to wrestle myself out of the slide, standing up, straightening up my person, putting the slide upright, looking around to make sure no one but the dog was witness to this humiliating stunt and vowing to keep this little mishap to myself. I don’t do things like that anymore, although that may only be due to the fact that I don’t have plastic slides around anymore.

Stupid Stories About Me

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