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.

I got a new phone too!

I got up to 200 followers somehow, and that's awesome. If I could lose pounds as successfully as I gain followers, I'd be one hot bitch right about now. Unfortunately that ain't the way it works, but it's still awesome that so many people care about my story and show up to read it even when it drags ass like it has been lately. Sorry about the draggin, but stick with me, kids! Things will get better.

As for now, I have this stupid whatever is going around. Doc said it's just a sinus infection but it's still pretty sucky. I feel like a phlegm factory and I realized that it's impossible to hide your triple chins in a coughing fit. The coughing is the worst! Plus I hate the way it sounds, all dry and hacky. I need a sexier cough sound.

The doctor told me to stay home from work on Thursday and that sounded like some advice I could get behind. But I ended up going to like 3 Targets instead and then going to the movies. We went to see that MJ movie. It was pretty good, but hard for me to enjoy because of these drunk assholes sitting like 3 rows behind us. They were having like a swear-off match turned up to 11 and they would not fucking shut up EVER. Look, I'm not gonna be all preachy about people swearing because...well, yeah...but like, turn it down, you assholes. Then the one chick is like reading the subtitles out LOUD and singing along but with the wrong words and at all the wrong times and just being drunk and annoying.

I really wanted to get up and just be like CAN YOU SHUT YOUR DRUNK FUCKING MOUTH AND WATCH THE MOVIE?? But I ain't do that. First of all, because I have class and grace, like a modern day Grace Kelly, see? And secondly because I am a giant coward and I fear getting my ass kicked above all other fears in life, even ghosts! Yeah, I'm a pussy and I freely admit it. I mean, look at me, I'm soft! This body is not tuned for fighting, it's tuned for hugs and biting sarcasm. Plus God forbid, someone calls me a fat bitch in a room full of people and I have to down a bottle of Vicodin POST-HASTE.

So we just left for a later showing and I tattled to the manager. I doubt they did anything, but I can at least take comfort in the fact that all the other people in the movie are as pussy-ish as me since no one else said/did anything either. Drunk people are my biggest gripe about living in Las Vegas. I understand people come here to have a good time, but there are about 40,000 places where that kinda behavior is acceptable in this town, and about 4 where it isn't. One of the four obviously being a goddamn movie theater. I can only afford to go to the movies like once a fucking year these days, and it seems like there's always some beligerent jerk there to make sure it won't be worth the money.

Also, why are you THAT drunk at 4pm on a fucking Thursday? Something is wrong here. We all have our vices but fuck off, man. You don't pay ten bucks to watch me eat, so I don't wanna pay ten bucks to watch you be drunk.

Rant over.

Speaking of rants, pity has garnered me yet another prize in life! Fat Daddy is giving me his seat belt extender to take on my trip home in ONLY 3 WEEKS! (holy shit!) I'm excited about not having to ask for one, because it always takes a little of the wind outta my sails, you know? Plus then I'll send it off to someone to destroy when I get back. It's called Paying it Forward, I think Kevin Spacey invented it. Thanks, FD, you're A-OK in my book, sir.

The Guns of Navarone

I'm kinda bummed now that Halloween is officially over. It's my favorite holiday and today I had to take down all my spooky cubicle decorations and send it back to bleaksville. It looks so boring and regular now! Hate it. Oh well, only 362 more days to go.

Halloween was really fun this year. I went out and had a good time and saw a good band and made some new friends and it was just good all over. We did the kiddie handing out candy thing for a while, then headed out to our trivia bar to see my favorite local band Darby O'Gill and the Little People.

(in their Batman gear...)

People at the bar were really receptive to my $2 costume. Apparently alcoholics really love Arby's. It garnered me many drunken high fives and it was nice to have people pointing and laughing at something other than my fatness for a change. If only everyday could be Halloween!

Fast forward about four hours and I am the only sober one left trying to corrall this motliest of crews into cabs or my backseat. It was a mess but worth it. I wonder if people look at me being rolled out of a Golden Corrall the same way I look at drunk people stumbling out of bars and into their cars. My guess is probably. Stupid honey butter rolls!

Speaking of drunkasses, this boyfriend of mine decided to puke alllll over the passenger side of my car on the way home. We were minutes away from home, it was a real heartbreaker! I think few things are as demeaning as having to sit in your own waste, be it poop or vomit, so I'm glad it was a short trip. It was all 0 to 60 on the pukemobile though. He went from "I don't feel so good" to "nah, i'll be okay" to "projectile vomitting" in the span of about 10 seconds. Gross, dude.

It was also like some weird comedy of errors because I was pulled over on the side of the road trying to get his ass outta the car and everytime I would unlock the door, he would lock it again thinking he was unlocking it, then getting all frustrated because he's holding in about 6 gallons of puke and we're playing red light-green light with the fucking lock switch. Very annoying. He swung the door open just in time to release a neon rainbow of Fat Tire all over my poor door panel.

I woke him up early the next day to clean the shit, because I literally couldn't. Everytime my fingers touch puke, I'm like Superfly TNT, dig? Yeah, puke begets puke and I can't deal, so he Resolved and Fabreezed the shit outta my car and I still get in there everytime like I'm trying to sniff out a bomb because if even the slightest hint remains, the car is pretty much unusable. So far...so good-ish.

As for November, I'm supposed to kick ass this month so Pow Pow MFers.

Today woulda been my mom's 69th birthday. Sure wish she was still around. It's been almost eight years but I still miss her every day. Makes me sad. Happy Birthday, Mom!

But after today...more kicking ass.

Shut up and work...

30 more people got fired at my job today. Panic sets in and brings with it a bucket of fun-sized candy bars, minus the fun. To be fair, I only had 3, which is a far cry from days of yore when a whole bag trembled in fear when it saw my big ass pass by. Three I can deal with. I'm just stressed and everyone's all paranoid and annoying. "Say, did you hear about Ol' Whatserface?" "yeah, I heard...we all heard. Stop talking about it!" It's like working in some war-torn nation. Everyday you know there's gonna be another casualty, you just hope it's no one you know or care about. And of course you hope it's not you. Having no insurance would suck.

The 300s still remain elusive. I know I'm only one good colonic away from them but there's no point in cheating to get there. It'll happen soon enough. Eyes on the prize and all that business, you know?

Straight outta Compton...

Yeah yeah, I know.

I been having some dang hard times lately, you guys.

I broke my back. Well, not really. But it feels like it! It sucks. I move around in a very elderly fashion making the "OW MY BACK!" face about every 4 steps. Very annoying during this Halloween shopping season. I went to the doctor and she sent me to get an x-ray which was an altogether awkward and humiliating experience involving two hot x-ray techs and a hospital gown that wasn't even close. Seriously. I mean, not...even...close.

Two days later, I get this message on my voicemail..."Hi this is blah-blah from Dr. BlahBlah's office and we got your test results back. Normal results. Okay, thanks, bye." Ugh. Doubleyou-tee-eff. Now I just assume they thought I was faking to get pills, which I didn't even TAKE, mind you. No mention of a follow-up or referral or MRI or anything that might actually be helpful. So annoying. This doctor is really starting to get on my nerves. I realize she's a doctor and her station in life is significantly more important that just a lowly phone jockey like me, but she won't respond to emails or messages I send. I always have to go in. And that's a giant pain in the ass when she works the same hours I do and she could easily just pick up a phone and call in a referral for me. I'm thinking of just finding a new doctor. Which is another pain in the ass. Everything is annoying!

Work is stressful. I'm happy to have my job. I'm grateful to be working during these awful economic times. But man, stress. It sucks because I actually do like my job. I mean the customers get annoying at times and it does make me hate old people, but other than that, it's the best job I've ever had. But it just feels scary. It feels like any given day could be your last or like I could drive up tomorrow and the gates could be locked up and I'd be screwed. It's just tension and pins and needles and walking on eggshells every day. Working at a bank is always kinda scary cause they just switch owners like kids trading baseball cards, but it's even worse when times are hard, and well...times are freaking hard. I'm just hoping for the best and trying to keep my head down and not rock any boats.

You know, despite the back and the work stress, I've actually been doing remarkably well on the dieting front. I'm weird because I'm like the opposite of most weight loss bloggers. When I'm doing terrible, I can blog every day about all the random crap going on in my life. But when I'm doing well, being on plan, I feel boring and can't decide what to blog about. "Today I ate some lettuce...the world is a vampire. The end." Although I agree that would make an awesome blog, it's just not me. I am a rambler and I need to ramble on. Incessantly. About dumb shit.

So I saw a 3 at the beginning of my weight for the first time in a while, but it ended up being a fluke. Curses! The next morning I was up 4 pounds, so I think it was just my scale messing with my emotions. But...I'm still headed in the right direction, and that's good. I'm going home for a few days in early December and if I can lose a few before then, that'd just be swell. I don't want the Southwest lady giving me another lecture about their seating policy. YEAH, I GET IT, THANKS. The armrest goes down, can't charge me twice. Sorry, rules is rules, Southwest.

Sorry this is such a boring post, but hey, at least I blogged. Beggars can't be choosers, dudes.

Also, how've you been?