Rescue Pounds

Wanted: Good, loving home for four pounds.

I have enjoyed bringing them into the world, raising them, nurturing them, carrying them close to my heart (they love to nestle right into my belly—so sweet!), but I no longer have the energy to keep them. Plus, I already have so many pounds to take care of already—these lumpy little sweeties need someone with fewer pounds of their own so they can get the attention they so desperately crave.

I know there has to be somewhere out there for them, but I must say, it won’t be easy parting with the little buggers.

Truth be known, I’ve been trying to find a better home for them for years, but they refuse to stay anywhere I leave them. I’ve walked for miles and miles and miles to find them a good place, yet they STILL manage to track me down and cuddle right back on to the Buddha belly they love so much. I’ve tried leaving them at a lovely Pilates studio, the Dalplex pool, Point Pleasant Park—they just don’t seem to be happy anywhere else but with me! (And who could blame them—am I right?)

But I know there must be a forever home out there that is willing to rescue these darling ones. I’ll be honest with you, they do take up a bit of space and they love to be fed lots of rich, fatty food. But the return is worth it—I mean, is there anything better than cozying up to a few extra pounds in the winter? And, it’s soooo delightful when they line up around your waist, end-to-end: it looks like—I don’t know—like the top of a muffin! Or a life preserver ring! ADORABLE!

I’ve thought long and hard about this and I feel this is my last resort. I can’t stress enough how much I love my little poundies, so I only want them to go to a home where they will be appreciated for how special they are. These aren’t work pounds or show pounds (although everyone will definitely see them—they don’t like to hide!), so that perfect someone needs to be willing to lounge around on the couch with them, or bring them right to the table and hand-feed them the delectable goodies they so love. I guarantee if you do these two things alone, they will love you for LIFE!

(I may be kidding myself but I think if I can find a good home—or homes even—for these fellas that it might be easier to start finding homes for the rest of their siblings. My selfish goal is to be an empty nester—oooh, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet! I get chilly just thinking about it...)

I can deliver them to you as soon as you like—let me know where and when I’ll be there lickety-split.

Right after I finish this snack.

Thanks—you won’t be disappointed!

The Monthly Airing of Grievances

So my mood’s been up and down like a whore’s drawers* for the past 48 hours. I just ate barbeque chips for breakfast and had half a tub of PC Loads of Chocolaty Carmel Treats Ice Cream for a 2 am snack. (Yah, I know I spell it differently every time I write it. Got a problem with that?) I have been up for three hours, spent about five minutes with spouse and have allowed the word “divorce” to enter my brainspace approximately 67 times.

Diagnosis?

HA! Like I have to tell you.

In keeping with being a living, breathing cliché for a few days, I will now proceed to rant.

Along with the usual happy days histrionics, I also have the shakes and hallucinations thanks to my Blackberry DTs. Yes, my BB took a Dantean tumble and no longer calls (pun intended) the land of the living home. Bell Aliant has been most helpful in solving the problem. (That particular device is called SARCASM in case you don’t recognize it or have never been a Bell Aliant customer.) I really can’t talk more about it without running the risk of adding many buckles to my fall fashion statement (who says no white after Labour Day?). Suffice it to say, if you have a spare BB you’re not using, please holla.

Now, our old computer is slow. I get that. But I loathe when I get the “This program is not responding, wait or end now?” message, and I press “end now,” and then it runs an hourglass for twenty minutes before shutting down. I’m sorry, but what part of “end NOW” did you not understand, mofo?

I move on to shiny new (less than one-year-old) computer. Start to open things and then get the WHITE SCREEN OF DEATH. WTF? Have I dropped into José Saramago world or something? Who has a white screen of death? Blue, yes. Black, yes. White? NO! Argh.

I restart and pray the new computer hasn’t followed my Blackberry to its final reward. In the meantime, I revisit the old computer, press a button and—just so I know the entire universe has not gone completely pearshaped—BLACK SCREEN OF DEATH. Seriously.

EPIC ELECTRONIC FAIL.

That’s sooo enough for today.

Happy Effin’ Festivus everyone. I’m off to enjoy the PC Loads of Chocolatey Carmel Treats Ice Cream course of my breakfast.
                                                                                      
* Props to my friend’s dad Bill, who used to shout this at us as we pounded up and down the stairs of their house.

Chocolate chip pancakes are absolutely disgusting...

... and it only took me three of them to figure that out, all by myself. I am literally sitting here making gag faces as I choke down the third.

What’s that? Just don’t eat it? Pfft. CLEARLY we haven’t met.

So, I’m dieting. Or rather, trying to get to a weight that is 30‒40 pounds (or even 3‒4) below the biggest I’ve ever been, INCLUDING WHEN I WAS PREGNANT. Yes, I weigh more now than I did while I was pregnant and carrying an excess 30 pounds of amniotic fluid. Seriously.

Those who have had kids, remember that nice round bellyful of baby? I loved that.

Oddly enough, an extra 30 pounds of—oh, I don’t know, let’s take a wild stab here—chocolate chip pancakes, sausage, syrup and PC Loads of Chocolately Caramel Treats Ice Cream (real name, btw) don’t have quite the same effect on the old physique. You still get the itchy underbelly and stretch marks, but it’s all lumpy and disgusting instead of smooth and lifegiving. (If my belly emitted a “Helloooooooooo” in a cartoony English accent, it would look like a chubby Bryan Adams talking. You know what I’m sayin’.)

Back in the day, I was a stick person. I ate like a pothead on a bender and never gained much weight. I was a buck‒oh‒five soaking wet when I headed for university.

Ahhh, Beaver Foods. (Which was the name of our cafeteria food provider, not code for some exciting university-sexuality-experimentation adventure.)

      All-you-care-to-eat three times daily

  +  Obscene amounts of alcohol

  +  Not having to walk three miles to someone else’s house to smoke because you can smoke in  your own room *

  =  The Frosh 15

Now granted, that extra 15 pounds worked well for me as I was relatively scrawny. The extra 20-30-40-50, etc.? Not so pretty.

Now I have engaged my sister in a weight challenge: 20 pounds before Christmas.**

And I’m winning—I’ve gained three already!

What’s that? I’m supposed to lose them? Ah crap.  

What’s a girl who hates exercise and loves food to do? Well, I do have a great idea that should make me skinny AND rich—I’ll fill you in on that later. In the mean time, I’m open to suggestions. (And please, no “Eat less and move more” garbage. I’m fat, not developmentally delayed.)  

I’ll keep you posted on our progress as we head toward the holidays. Weigh-in is tomorrow!

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*     Yes, I’m so old that I predate several “no smoking” policies—at least we couldn’t smoke in class like in my mother’s era. (Sorry Mom, I think my hard-earned #coughdrunkenfiestacough# psychology degree would refer to that as deflection or distraction or transference or “Look over there! Chippendales!” or something.

**    A note about my efforts at weight loss: I think we should all be happy and healthy and comfortable with our bodies. I am not a fanatic dieter (obviously) or even a lukewarm exerciser (shocking). I don’t do unhealthy fad diets. I have done Weight Watchers before with great success (lost 25 pounds). I don’t want to be super skinny. Or even skinny. But the BMI jumped up recently and bitch-slapped me across the mouth with an obese label. Not overweight, mind you—obese. Plus I’m getting old, so I think it’s time to stop dickin’ around here and do something that will help ensure I’ll be here for the major events in my daughter’s life. First goal: Overweight. (How messed up is that?) Second goal: At risk. Final goal: Just a squeak inside the normal BMI limit. I’m not looking for much here people.