A New Hope.

First thing's first, I wanna say a big ol' wet sloppy happy birthday to my bestest pal Dina! I feel like I've known her my whole life, even though it's really been less than a year. Without getting all lezzy here, I'll just say that it's nice to have someone I can confide in with ALLLLL my dirt, who understands and doesn't try to make me feel like the worst person on Earth. We've both gone through some pretty shitty stuff (especially lately) and it really makes me appreciate having a true blue friend who will listen to me curse for an hour on the phone when necessary. Happy birthday, pal. Enjoy the booze.

Moving on...I went to the doctor again yesterday. They finally gave me the stupid boot, but it came with bad news in the form of six weeks of physical therapy. Grr. He told me still not to walk on it until the PT gives me the all clear, so that sucks. I'm all scooted out, dudes.

In hindsight, I dunno what I was expecting. I haven't really put any weight on my foot in like almost two months now and I was just thinking they were gonna gimme the boot and I was gonna go all Lady Gaga and I'M A FREE BITCH out the door and shit. Not so much, apparently. So I still have at least six more weeks of bullshit before it looks like I can finally put this whole ordeal behind me.

After the dr, I decided it was time to stop putting it off and go get some groceries so I can stop having an excuse to eat fast food every nite. We went to Sam's and I braved my long-time greatest fear The Motorized Cart in order to get shit handled. Those carts are awful. They could be sleeker, I'll say that. A fat person that beeps in reverse...it's like a Carlos Mencia joke waiting to happen...again. (that's funny cause he's a joke stealer...try to keep up, people.)

I got a lot of shitty looks. I mean, I get that I'm fat and in a cart but can you not see this giant Moon Boot on my foot over here or WHAT? It makes me wanna carry around a giant blinking red arrow that points to my foot so they can be like "ohhhh, okay, so she's NOT just being a lazy fatass...ok, my bad." People and their goddamn judgemental faces.

Plus my cart was all full of healthy shit, so gimme a break! Man, I hate people.

You guys, I have been going through some crazy shit lately. Not even including the whole foot thing, my whole life basically fell apart then somehow magically glued itself back together in like the last six days. A rollercoaster of emotion, to say the least. One thing to come out of it though is some weird fixation on hope for the future and like a truckload of motivation. I would like to run with it and make my life great, so I'm going to try that. I feel strangely happy most of the day for the first time in what seems like...well, ever...and I dunno...maybe I'm fooling myself, but if I am, I would like to at least ride this wave of foolishness to a way smaller pant size.

Wish me luck?

Bye dudez.

Smells like caramel.

Man, being on a diet while being stuck in bed most of the day SUCKS. Alls I do is lay there thinking about where the hidden food in my house is. That Snickers in the liquor cabinet. That chocolate orange I bought for Jeff that's still in his stocking still hanging on the living room wall because we don't have a chimney. That bag of dark chocolate Doves that I bought in Halloween Clearance and stuck in the freezer by justifying to myself that "if you only eat one a day, that's not so bad!" Yeah right.

Food hoarding came to me honestly since my mom was a mega superstar at it. As a fat little tyke, all I had to do was ram my stubby little hand down into the bottom of my mom's giant purse to hit a sugary payload. At the very least, there would be the "emergency" roll of lifesavers that was meant to save her life in case her blood sugar went too low. But to me, it just meant mom always had candy. Her stash of Whitmans or chocolate-covered cherries in her closet...her bag of cherry sours in her sock drawer...or even the chick-o-stick hiding in the recliner side pocket. This habit certainly didn't start with me...NOT that it's any excuse. My mom isn't exactly the person I wanna model my healthy habits after. I sure do love her, but healthy, she was not.

I was talking to Dina (remember her??) the other day about how my job offers 28 days of in-house rehabilitation if necessary. If only I could afford to take 28 days off! Taking off 3 weeks for my foot nearly made me homeless, so adding a month to it isn't really an option. I'm only now getting to the stage in my life where I realize my struggles with food are more than just "hey, I like food, lay off!" It IS an addiction. No normal person lays in bed wondering if it's worth limping 40 steps on a broken foot to steal someone else's christmas chocolate.

Still, I struggle with the notion. It makes me feel weak. Hi, my name is Tricia and I really like cake. No, I mean really. (Altogether now: HI TRICIA.)

I always thought I could turn it off. I remember a specific incident from my childhood pretty vividly when I think about how far I let myself go. My mom and I were at KFC (shocker) on a Sunday morning after church. A rather large lady walked in and started ordering food. I remember staring at her, which now I realize was a shitty thing to do, but at the time I think I was just summing it up. My mom must have seen me staring because when I got back to the table, she said "that could be you one day, you know?" Pfft. I very matter-of-factly told her, through the wisdom of all my eight years on earth so far, that i would NEVER let it get that far, and that I had every intention of getting thin as a teenager like my sisters did. Here I sit probably a good 50 pounds heavier than that lady was that day and wondering why even the torture of a fat adolescence was never enough to make me stop.

I know it's easy when you're doing well to say "Just do it. Stop whining and just do it." I say it myself when I'm reading blogs while I'm tearing ass. I don't know why that little switch in my brain hasn't flipped yet. The one that says "hey, do you wanna die today? If not, then let's do this..." Maybe it's buried under a pile of Almond Joys or something.

I wish it would just fucking flip already. But like my dad always says, "wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one gets full faster." In case you're wondering, it's the shit hand. All my good intentions are the shittiest diet ever so I guess I should just figure out what I'm gonna do and fucking do it.

I ate a Twix bar as I wrote this post...can you smell the hypocrisy? Also, that chocolate orange didn't stand a chance.

P.S. If you're gonna comment, don't try to go all tough-love on me. It only reminds me of my dad and makes me kinda hate you. I can hate myself enough for both of us, thank you very kindly.

Just outta curiosity...

Where in the world is Chuck?? I haven't seen that dude in forever. I miss his rubbery aroma.

Big Trish...

If you know me at all, you know I'm not much of a reader. I guess I figure why read when I'm already paying so much for cable TV and internet? Also, books are expensive and getting a library card in this town is a ridiculous hassle. Plus, libraries are for squares.

I have a lazy brain. It wasn't always like this. When i was just a tot, I couldn't wait to soak up all that fancy book learnin' and get my knowledge on. Then around high school time, I made some friends and my brain slowly morphed into a lazy lump. Good thing I got in a fair amount during those first 13 years because I still know enough to get by. My therapist told me I have ADHD but like every freaking person I know with a therapist says they have ADHD so I still think it's a myth fabricated by shrinks to make lazy people be okay with themselves so they'll keep shelling out the clams for the feel-good excuses.

Wait, i had a point I was trying to make here...dang ADHD. Anywho, oh yeah, I mostly only like two kinda books:

-Books written by stand-up comics

-Books written by Chuck Palahniuk

My brain don't wanna deal with no one else's drivel. I can read blogs all day long but there's just something about all those words and pages all stacked up against me that makes me mostly hate books. Short attention span, no doubt due to my ADHD.

The last 5 books I've read, in order...are:

5. Rant - Chuck Palahniuk

4. Private Parts - Howard Stern (counts as a standup...and this was a re-read because Jeff left it in the bathroom.)

3. Choke - Chuck Palahniuk (re-read after I watched the movie...)

2. Too Fat to Fish - Artie Lange

and the book I'm reading now: 1. Chocolate, Please - Lisa Lampinelli.

I bought the LL book because I was tired of all the music on my iPod so I wanted something to read on the plane ride to Texas. I paid RETAIL ($24.99) for the dang thing which pretty much goes against all my rules as a raging cheapskate. Somehow, airports stupify me into spending a lot of money on shit. A $6 latte and my $25 book before i even got to the security gate!

I like Lisa Lampinelli okay, and I do agree with the fact that for some reason black dudes really do love fat white girls. I just know, okay? I thought it would be a comical little read about sex and cake and whatnot, so I was down. But then I'm reading and I'm like learning shit from it. It upset my lazy brain to be laughing one minute then having to think about shit the next. Dammit!

Turns out her fatness is a lot like my fatness. Never really into the drugs or alcohol, but the food beast plagued he all through life, just like me. Then I read this paragraph...

Logging on to my computer that night before lights-out, i noticed an email from an acquaintance with the somber subject line "Frank D'Amico died June 1st." I quickly opened the email and read that Frank - big Frank - had died in LA the day before. You remember Big Frank - the four-hundred pound guy from the beginning of the book , the one who was connected to a fork? reading about his death, the jokes weren't quite as funny anymore. The only thing I could think about as I finished reading the email were katy's words from the meeting earlier that night: "You are not JUST an overeater...You DESERVE to be here and to help yourself...you'll be dead in five years. But either way, the result is death."

For Frank, the ex-boyfriend with whom I had the greatest times and still have the fondest memories, his "five years" were up. Frank had died from complications from diabetes, a disease he fought most of his adult life. He would be missed by hundreds of people who loved his quick wit, phenomenal storytelling ability and good heart. But the point wouldn't be missed by me. This was a sign. I DID deserve to work on myself, and I would...

I started thinking about my own "five years." I've been lazily taking care of my own diabetes for at least the last five years. I take my insulin but what good is it when I still eat like shit and continue to let the numbers run wild. I don't wanna be the somber lesson that makes my friends get their life in check. I wanna get my own damn life in check.

I made my three-store grocery list tonight and Jeff reluctantly agreed to take care of it. I won't be the next Big Frank. Best $24.99 I ever spent.

You want some cheese with that whine?

Two posts in one day? i dunno what you guys did to deserve this, but you best start repenting before I'm forced to blog again.

So...I'm bummed. I thought the dr was going to rid me of my need for a gimp scooter by giving me that walking boot thing. One torture device to another, but a downgrade, for sure. Alas, he gave me three more weeks of being a crip, much to my shagrin. It's not his fault, he just wants me to heal properly before I start putting 400 pounds of mass on my poor size 10. And he probably didn't deserve the elementary-style tantrum that I made him endure. I guess it's hard for me to be respectful to him because even though he's a surgeon, he's like 12. Well, he looks like he is. Plus he looks like Kumar. So he's talking to me about bones and cartilage and whatnot and in my head, I'm all "mmm, white castle...." It's not that cool.

I dunno, I just wanted my damn boot. Up with Boots, Down with Scoots!So here's the story of the airport. It was already a real miserable day. My nephew told me he didn't have to be at school until 9:30 so he went to have breakfast with me and my sisters. Turns out school started at like 7:something and the teacher had already called my brother and SIL looking for my missing nephew. My brother and my sisters are like sworn mortal enemies so when I saw his truck whip into the parking lot, I already knew some bad shit was about to go down. He came in and grabbed the kid without talking to anyone and took off. He spent the rest of the day ignoring me TO THE EXTREME. Wouldn't answer my calls and then he like drove off when I went to his job. He made it out to be some deep plot about how I stole the kid so my sisters could see them, which is so not what happened. But either way, it meant I was on my own to find a ride to the airport.

Nothing strikes fear into my dad's heart like saying "They're gonna stop showing Gunsmoke on Encore: Westerns, dad." OR "Hey dad, i need you to take me to the airport." I mean, it was like i was asking for his one good kidney. He finally manned up and decided he could do it. So we get there and I get outta the truck and I'm trying to arrange my suitcases in such a way that I can actually carry them and I feel something giant nudging against my ass. This is when i turn around and see that my own father is hitting me with his goddamn truck. Totally oblivious too.

I try to get the eff outta the way so I don't get a tire running up my asscrack...but being fat, and admittedly, a little slow, my foot didn't make it out in time and he rolled over it. So because i missed my next step due to a truck being on my foot, I also fell down...hard. I mean, I slammed into the fucking ground. Hard enough to knock the air out of me. So I try to get up and I make it to my knees before i realize what the hell really just happened. It's around this time my dad finally stops and gets out to see what all the hubbub is aboot.

He didn't even know he did it! He thought i just fell...(yet another fall to add to that previous post). He's all "Tricia! What are you doing??" All I can do is stare daggers and try to catch my breath. This car full of people saw the whole thing transpire and came over to help me. This one lady's like "YOU JUST RAN OVER THIS GIRL, SHOULD YOU EVEN BE DRIVING??" Internally I chuckle but I'm in pain, people! So I was like "...that's my dad." Which she then "oh...gosh"ed. Man, this coulda been my big payoff but it had to be my broke ass dad behind the wheel. :P

Anyway, everyone tried to get me to stay and go to the emergency room, but I was all EFFFFFF THAT. I didn't wanna spend even one more shitty minute in this town and i just wanted to get home where no one thinks I kidnapped their kid and no dads are trying to run me over. THEN my flight got delayed, of course.

Seven hours later, we land in vegas and my foot is like...dead. I had to get the wheelchair people to come get me because I couldn't even walk up the ramp from the airplane by this time. It was all "Um, my dad ran over my foot, can i get a wheelchair please?" Sigh. Then they send like the OLDEST lady alive to come wheel my fat ass around. I see her approaching me with a wheelchair and it looked like she needed to be IN it, not using it to push around some fattie with a hurt paw. It was like my destiny to be tortured by geriatrics that day because she had to call for "backup". Mortified. Seriously.

Finally some other old lady shows up and they combine their elderly forces to heft me up the ramp. I can honestly say that being wheeled through a crowded airport in a too-small wheelchair being navigated by the Elderly Coalition was NOT my finest hour, but I was still appreciative for the ride. I gave them ten bucks each for the lift, because i figured that might cover all the Icy Hot they'd need to be able to get to sleep that night. Then again, maybe i should have gone for 20 each.

Jeff finally gets me to an ER and I have to explain the story to like the 50th person that nite. They give me a splint and some Lortabs and I call my boss to say "guess what? I'm not gonna be around for a while." That went over real well at 3am on a Wednesday morning, but what could I do?

I had surgery about 3 weeks ago and now here we are, just me, my scooter, and lots of Advils.

Figures I would be gone for like MONTHS then come back and spend the whole time whining about my foot. You guys know I have a super low pain tolerance so i'm pretty sure everyone in my life just wishes I would STFU about it already, but this foot was made for whinin', and that's just what I'll do. Y'know?

Oh yeah, here's my gross foot.

It was way grosser today because it was all bright pink and swollen. Sucks, man. I used to pride myself on the fact that at least my feet weren't that fat, and now it's all swollen and gross. The doctor said it should go down some, but that it'll always be "a little fatter" (<---his words) because of the plate and screws and junk in it. Personally I don't think that makes sense, so as soon as this is all done with, I'm going on a fucking foot diet.

That's it for now. Sorry so long, but it is lonely being stuck in my room all night while Jeff watches gay porn on the HDTV in the living room. At least Biggest Loser starts tonite, weeeeee.

Alright, talk to ya later. Hope you're all doing well. Say hi, I miss you guys!

Fancy seeing you here...

Well hello there.

I'm at work, but I have to leave in about an hour to get a line of stitches taken out of my foot. Which is broken. Because it got run over. By my dad. At the airport.

To say that it was the shittiest vacation ever would be like saying I have "a little bit of a weight problem."

Speaking of weight, I did finally get well into the 390s before I left for vacation exactly one month ago from today. Pretty sure it's gone back up though seeing as how literally every meal I've had for the last 30 days has come courtesy of a greasy brown paper bag. You can only eat so many grilled chicken sandwiches before you give up on even trying to be healthy. For three days, I tried eating only grapefruits. Not to diet, just because they were the only thing I wanted. My stomach didn't agree.

It sucks and I'm miserable and my pants are tight which makes me more miserable. And I still can't put weight on the foot. I always knew I was like one significant injury away from starring in my own Discovery Health Channel documentary, so I guess I'm lucky it was just the foot because it could have been WAY worse. Still, 400 pounds and crutches do not mix. That lasted about 40 seconds before I was like "um, look, I can't do this. I'm too big and I have no upper body strength so what are my options?" Turns out my option was this crazy ass gimp scooter called a knee walker. It's super embarrassing and needless to say, I don't try to go anywhere I'm not forced to be with this thing. Even getting from my apartment to my car leaves me all exhausted and outta breath. My advice is to not get a leg/foot injury while being severely out of shape.

So obviously this should be motivating me to really get my health in check. And mentally, it is. But in the actual living breathing sense of life kinda way, I'm too full of excuses right now to get it going. I can't walk or exercise, so that's out. I can't stand long enough to cook up something healthy. And trying to explain to Jeff that our weekly groceries come from three different grocery stores is a lesson in futility. It's a bummer because even the simplest things take forever to do (um, showering...) and everything leaves me super tired. It's annoying, for sure.

Anyway, hmm. I'm gonna try to start blogging regularly again, at least. I honestly don't get to the computer much, and it's too hard to blog on my phone because of fatso fingers double-keying everything. I do have some pictures from home and one of my GROSS Frankenfoot (which you already saw if you follow me on FaceBook, hint hint.), so I'll try to get those posted sometime this week. I miss you guys and it's encouraging reading about everyone getting it into gear for the new year and all. Still can't comment most of your blogs from work, don't know why, but I'm reading, so that's something.

Okay, time to get de-stitchified. Hope it doesn't hurt too much! Adios.