365 Semi-Good Excuses.

First thing's first: Happy birthday to my blog! It was a whole year ago today that I made the switcheroo from Freewebs to Blogger. It's probably the only decision I made in the last year that came with NO regrets! A lot has been blogged over the last 365...let's take a moment to reminisce, shall we?

Am I having a stroke? Because my life is flashing before my eyes (and I smell burning hair...) Ah, those were some kinda good times. A lot has changed in just one small year. Some good stuff, some bad stuff and I now have metal in my foot. I tell you one thing that DIDN'T change though, and that's my weight. Bummer! I thought for sure I'd have made a significant dent in that 410er I started out with. Yet here she sits...typing...elipses. Oh well, no use crying over spilled buttercream frosting. Lick it up and let's move on...

To year two! Project Y2Trish starts today! Well, actually it started like a week ago, but for continuity's sake, let's just say today. You can play along at home too! Alls you gotta do is change the "Trish" part into your own name! Unless your name is Trish, in which case, skip that step and just move on to Phase 2.

The plan:

Phase 1: Create a name. DONE!

Phase 2: Little to No Cake (after Blog Birthday Cake. Kiddingggggg.)

Phase 3: Stop whining about your RoboFoot and go back to Physical Therapy.

Phase 4: Eat less. A lot less. And better stuff too!

Phase 5: When you can walk again, do some of that.

Phase 6: Lose weight.

Phase 7: Don't give up IF you don't lose enough.

Phase 8: Stop your goddamn crying and lose some weight!

Phase 9: Get some jeans that fit.

Phase 10: Get some more jeans that are a smaller size and then make them fit too. Repeat until at goal weight.

Sounds pretty simple, right? Come on, you guyz, we can DO ITTTTTT! I already made turkey/veggie chili today so like, this week is pretty much on LOCK, son. I can't really weigh-in because trying to stand still on the scale with this foot is kinda impossible. I'll do it when I can though. Then we'll start making like charts and shit and make this all scientific and whatnot. Some Next Generation type shit, if you will.

Alright, I'm only gonna say this once: I'm giving you people permission to be hard on me. If you see me blog-whining about whatever and saying how I failed AGAIN and posting pictures of bad things I ate, YOU HAVE PERMISSION to give me that "tough love" shit that I HATE HATE HATE. I need help. There, I said it.

That being said, I also need to get back into therapy. Hopefully with someone who isn't some psycho drill sargent who thinks that if she sighs and talks louder, it'll get into my head somehow. If any of you are in the Vegas area and know a good therapist who deals with eating disorders and a WHOLE handful of other miscellaneous issues, I would gladly take a referral.

K guys...year 2 will be better. More blogging, less pounds.

P.S. Come back tomorrow for my Bloggy Birthday Giveaway! Don't forget!

Beanpies.

It's Valentine's Day here at the ol' cubicle farm today which means lots of scary treats to try to avoid. I had a bagel. That's not so bad even if it is extra-carby. At least it doesn't have frosting. I have an ever-growing pile of candy building up as people pass by my desk this morning. So far nothing I can't live without....whew. Those chalky hearts and lots of lollipops. My new principle of "don't eat it just because it's there" will serve me well today.

Before I leave, I wanted to pass along the most baller-ass valentine ever invented to each of you. Heed its lesson well and have a great Valentine's Day, guyz. :)

Your dad and I had a Moon Landing in the locker room.

As you may or may not remember, I got a new phone a few months ago. It's a MyTouch with Google. I pretty much walked in to T-Mobile and reached for the first thing that said the word Google and plunked down a cool two hundred bones and left with it. Still reeling over not being able to get one at Wal-Mart for like 1/10th of the price, I decided to be pissed at the phone. It didn't last. I can't stay mad at you, baby. With your maroonish hue and ability to allow me access to FaceBook in any bathroom in the world, you made me love you. (I didn't wanna do it...)

Since that fateful day, I've become something I always hated: a phone addict. It's ALWAYS on me. Be it pocket or bra, it's always ON MY PERSON (hate that saying, btw). I'm constantly fucking with it, checking email, facebook, twitter...pretty much doing everything except calling people...(how primitive!) I'm that person vaguely listening to your story at lunch time while I FaceBook how "OMG, my co-worker is boring me to DEATH!" What an asshole.

It didn't take long for Jeff to realize that I was paying even LESS attention to his stories as usual and see that this phone is pushing a rather large wedge in our "relationship." Rather than remedy it, we decided he needed a new phone too. Two new phones means two new data plans, plus insurance on said expensive new phones. Which means our cell phone bill went from "whoa" to "LIKE WHOA MAN WTF!"

As a result, I had to give up my beloved UNLIMITED TEXTS for a lowly 400. (One for each pound?) It's hard! I finally have a phone where you don't have to hit a button 4 times to make a capital "S" and now I have these crippling limitations! It's gotten to a point where I judgementally read each text I get and think to myself "what a waste!" The worst is when someone sends a series of tiny texts that could have been like, one sentence if they weren't just hitting SEND with such reckless abandon.

Here's the thing: I think I lost a friend today. It started innocently enough at 11:16am with the text "What kind of frosting did Jeff's cake have? It's now my life goal to make that cake!" I replied back "cream cheese frosting" and thought it was done! I went to lunch and came back to 31 missed texts! Ranging from "do you think i should omit the chocolate chips?" to "okay, i'm putting it innnnnnnnn" followed 25 minutes later by "i'm taking it outtttttttttt!!" Dude. I love cake. If you know me, you know my love of cake. And if I'm being totally serious, there's little more than I'd love to do all day than to get status updates of people's various cake-making efforts...BUT...not by text, dammit!

I checked my balance and realized I have 97 texts left to last the remaining 17 days of this month! I decided to be proactive and delicately tell her to chillax on the updates. "hey man, i'm not trying to be a bitch, but i'm on limited texts. why not email me a storyline?? :)" I thought it was cute and a good alternative to saying "DUDE CUT THE SHIT!", but alas, now she's all pissed and hurt. People are too sensitive these days! It's not like you're updating me on your impending labor and delivery...it's a cake. And for ME of all people to downplay a cake, you know it's excessive.

It's horrible timing on my part because she's semi-dating the British dude from trivia and I am living vicariously through her and I need the DEEEEEEETS. Damn, I really shot myself in my foot this time. I guess the moral of this story is that it's worth the extra ten bucks a month (being added to an already rape-like amount) just to not be deemed the text nazi. Now I'll never know what it's like to kiss those tight thin british lips. Le sigh.

(No segue...)

Anyway, it's almost my blogiversary! Only a few more weeks. I'm planning a giveaway, but I will warn you now that it's not for the faint of heart. Or anyone who can't take a joke (scram!) OR anyone who hates the word shit. No asterisks allowed!

Hope you dudes are doing fine. This was like the Seinfeld of updates. Because it's about nothing, not because it's funny. I'll try harder soon.

P.S. My new favorite show is called Modern Family and if you're not already watching it, please do so you will understand what will probably be a series of Blog Titles for me. Thanks! <3

Does he LOOK like a BITCH?

Man, I am having a heck of a time getting any work done today. My brain's all crazy-times and IIIIIIII don't wanna work, I just wanna bang on this drum all dayyyyy and whatnot. Prolly cause I'm all hopped up on just about every OTC sinus medication available at walgreens AND...a big ol' antibiotic. That sucker is big. It's the cadillac of antibiotics, if such a thing were to actually exist.

You guys watch the SuperBowl last night? They should rename it the SuperDoritosandBudLightCommercialathon. Made me kinda miss those frogs. Remember those? That shit was big...there were t-shirts. I've said too much.

I noticed via several commercials that Denny's is bringing back the free Grand Slam for your birthday. Man, oh man, there is nothing I love more than getting something for nothing. Even if it's something I don't really want. Like a grand slam, for instance. It's still nice of them to offer, and what am I? Too good for a handout? Certainly not during these times of economic turmoil.

But I like birthday surprises! And Denny's is like that friend that buys your birthday gift months in advance and then gets all excited and can't stop dropping hints at what it is every time you see them but then you still have to act all surprised when you open it like "Whoa, a toaster! How'd you know??" I'm not that great of an actor, Denny's. Then like every time I pass by, Denny's is gonna be all "HEY IS IT YOUR BIRTHDAY??" and I'm gonna be like "No, not for another couple months, D." Then it's gonna be all "well...I can't wait for you to get your present! I think you're gonna love it! Hey, you still like eggs, doncha??" And I don't have the heart to say that I really don't like eggs that much and I think Denny's breakfast kinda sucks and I wish it was a free SuperBird instead. No eggs on that thing. I dunno...back off, Denny's.

Anyway, tonite is Jeff's birthday party and we're going to a place where I DO actually like the food and there's not an egg in sight. Nothing but the finest hot wings and pizza and homemade chips. But I'm sick. So aside from the fact that I am morbidly obese, another good reason not to splurge tonite is that everything pretty much tastes like snot. I don't have to eat a bunch of it just because it's there. Especially when I can't even taste it. So chillax, have a wing or two, then just enjoy the company, then go home. I feel like Vincent Vega trying to convince myself not to fuck Marsellis Wallace's wife right now. Hope she doesn't OD on the couch while I'm in here talking to myself...

This is crazy. I love you all.

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.