Tag Archives: pants

Suck ’em Up Panties and Masochists

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Every big girl has a pair… or in my case, two.

I am referring to the suck ’em up panties… I wear them not just because they’re a little slimming, but all to smooth out my “silhouette”… or whatever. Regardless of the case, they became an addiction for me, something that made me feel just a little bit better about myself.

I can’t remember any time in my adult life when I didn’t have a pair. I’ve worn them everywhere. My second date with Boyfriend I remember jumping ten feet everytime he touched me for fear, he’d notice the heavy duty under pinnings.

I’ve worn suck’em up panties to the gym, to work, to da club, to the buffet. I have even considered wearing them to the beach but discarded the idea for fear of waterlogged panties dragging me into the sea.

Since I started the challenge 3 weeks ago, I have worn my suck’em up panties approximately 4 times. At first because I was so sore and slow from those first gym workouts that I didn’t want an extra layer between me and getting to the bathroom. Now that my “number” is out there for the world to see, courtesy of Orlando Magic TV, I’ve realized, I have nothing to hide anymore. In some ways it’s liberating to be released from the spandex, but also scary. The pressure is on, and I am having a hard time seeing results.

I’ve spoken to Trainer from Hell (as I’ve renamed my trainer) about this, and she assures me that eventually the work will pay off. I guess I just keep waiting to wake up and be a completely different looking person, and that’s not the case. It’s still hard to accept that this is a journey, not a quick fix destination. I am literally reminding myself of this daily – it’s almost become an affirmation.

Hell Trainer is really good at reminding me of that fact, and helping me keep my morning eating habits in check. I called her a sadist last week based on my theory that trainers essentially get paid to torture people. She laughed and accepted it as a compliment. She’s clearly disturbed, but an important part of Team Sunburnt Peach that helps keep the whole campaign running.

And this IS a campaign – a campaign for a new way of living and thinking about my health. I could never do this effectively alone, I’m a desperately social creature that needs to have people around me. 🙂 It’s true – and embracing that fact has made it easier to handle the outpouring of support I’ve received, from the sincerely absurd to the hilariously overzealous. Team Sunburnt Peach helps me keep my sense of humor and is also the people to whom I’m accountable to, win or lose. Team Sunburnt Peach includes everyone reading this post.

Every campaign has it’s bumps in the road. Two weeks ago I went all out and re-vamped my eating habits, then got frustrated when things didn’t just turn around immediately. I drove myself crazy last week checking the scale constantly to see if I’d lost anything, getting excited when the scale went down and then slumping into a depression when the weight went up a pound or two, and accepting defeat when one of the other guys had lsot 10 pounds already.

This week I decided to focus on me and keep my blinders on, and my view straight ahead at my goal – to  lose the pounds. Still, they slip off every once and a while, and all I see are people succeeding faster at they’re goal, and I start to wonder, what am I doing wrong??

One of the trainers suggested that I not keep focusing on the numbers, but remember that I am doing all the right things, and the weight will come off. She said that one of the biggest ways to tell a difference is seeing it in my clothes.

Tonight while I was picking out what to wear tomorrow, I came across one of my many Closet Enemies: a pair of black pants that I’ve never been able to wear because I couldn’t zip them up. For grins and giggles I just thought I’d try them on. If anything, I thought, how far up I’m able to zip them up (or not) is a good gauge of where I’m going.

Um. how about I zipped those pants ALL THE WAY UP?? Whacka waaa?? I ZIPPED THEM UP!!!!! UP! I AM GOING TO WEAR THEM TOMORROW!

What can I say? I cried. I zipped up those pants and stood there in shock and frickin’ teared up in my closet, staring at myself in the evil enemy pants… that actually kinda made my butt look GOOD.

I am finally starting to see results! Well maybe I don’t, but my pants do. It’s a tiny step but one more pair of pants in my closet that I don’t see as an enemy.

And I wasn’t even wearing my suck’em up panties. Imagine that.

No Shame

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A few months back I woke up in my room, looked across at my bookshelf and thought “I am 32 years old… why the HELL do I still have stuffed winnie the poohs in my room?? What am I, like 10 years old??? I had the vintage pooh, Christmas Pooh, Valentine’s Day Pooh, not to mention my raggedy old pooh that i sleep with.

How shameful. Those things have been up there for ages. It took way too long for me to have some shame and put them away in a box.

What does it mean to have no shame? Sadly there are lots of things I do on a regular basis to be embarrassed about, and the Winnie the Poohs were at the very very bottom of the list. This is a list topped by:

  • True and honest fear of clowns
  • My favorite thing to do when I get home is take off my pants
  • I take the crusts off my bread – this includes sandwiches, croissants, rolls, etc. Hamburger and hot dog buns are included.
  • When I used to work at a hotel I’d dance in the elevator in between floors
  • I use my boobs to get better bartender service at clubs
  • Sticking q-tips into my ears and turning them eeeever so slowly makes my eyes roll up into the back of my head.
  • I have thrown up behind a rainbow-colored trash can at a gay bar. (not IN the trash can, behind it. so not cute)
  • Very few things in life beat a Saturday night in bed watching Britcoms on PBS
  • I read Jane Austen because I think it’s fun
  • I’m obsessed with the Travelocity Gnome… to the point that I took my gnome with me on my cruise and posted gnome vacation pics on Facebook.
  • I proudly claim my own farts
  • my favorite meal is brunch – what other meal allows for mimosas and tater tots??
  • i question the I.Q. of anyone that uses “your” and “you’re” incorrectly (isn’t that awful?). Sometimes I question it out loud, followed by a query of whether
  • Yesterday when walking into Lowe’s with Casey the Roomie I told him “My bunghole itches”… within earshot of the greeter. Did I care? Nope.

I could go on and on. The upshot is that I don’t care if ANYONE knows any of those things. It’s stuff that’s simply part of who I am and I have no shame about any of it. Some of it makes me literally laugh out loud. Some of it I don’t even realize is happening until there’s a pile of sandwich crusts next  to me in the lunch room
with a coworker staring at me and my lunch like I’m a circus freak.
The point is, my shame tolerance is fairly considerable most of the time. Yet as I was sitting in my room alone and eyeing the stuffed animals I was embarrassed. So I found a box and packed them all up. They’re on a shelf in my closet, on the off chance that I do eventually get married and have kids and want to share my Winnie the Pooh weirdness with my offspring. Until then, there’s only room for one stuffed animal in my room…
 How could I give him up?  He’s like boy friend AND he never hogs the covers. 🙂

Bathroom Behavior

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Gotta Go!!!

(warning: if talking about peeing makes you uncomfortable, don’t read this post!!)

Wanna knnow how you can tell if a girl is drunk at a club? When she passes out on the bathroom floor, or is walking on it in her BARE FEET. I’ve seen this happen! Sooo not cute. There’s not enough vokda cranberries in the WORLD to get me to that point. My bathroom routine and love affair with toilet seat covers is way too firmly entrenched for those kind of shenanigans. Just thinking about the club bathroom floor is enough to send me running for the jumbo-sized bottle of hand sanitizer at Costco.

Conversely, there’s a sweet sense of relief in having some personal bathroom time in MY bathroom and not in a public place. I do my best to never “break the seal” while out drinking. Even on a non-cocktail kinda day I’m usually scurrying from the garage into the house with my knees pressed together because I’ve had to pee for over an hour and didn’t want to do it at work. Peeing at work is, for me at least, a process.

Peeing at Work:

Step 1 – Hold it in for at least 45 minutes before I acknowledge that I have to go.

Step 2 – Wriggle in my chair for another 15 minutes

Step 3 – Dash to the bathroom (with as much dignity and grace as can be expected after                               holding it for an hour) and try not to do the “pee pee dance” down the hall on my way                   there

Step 4 – Select a stall.

Step 5 – Check to make sure commode doesn’t have anything in it or ON it.

Step 6 – Confirm that the water in the commode is not moving (thus signifying that the seat                      had been recently vacated and cirucmventing the chance of experience another’s                          buttheat)

Step 7 – Pull out 2 toilet seat covers. One to wipe the seat down and the other to sit on.

Step 8 – Handle business.

Step 9 – Flush. Confirm flushing completion.

Step 10 – Wash hands.

Step 11 – Use wrist to pull down lever on paper towel dispenser. Dry hands with paper towel.

Step 12 – Use same paper towel to open bathroom door, then toss paper towel into trash can.

Step 13 – Return to desk, avoiding eye contact with anyone that might have seen me booking it                  to the bathroom doing the pee pee dance.

Step 14 – Repeat steps 1 – 13 in approximately 2 hours.

Surely you can understand why I’d want to shave off some of these steps by just going at home.

I can’t be the only person that’s like this…right?? I realize that everyone has their own bizarre bathroom behavior. I just always hope that it at the very least involves steps 10. I’ve been in the bathroom before with people that don’t practice step 10, which serves to further entrench my habits (and proclivity for hand sanitizer in every handbag I own) even more.

I tend to pay attention to those people and memorize their feet (since that’s the only part I can see under the stall) so that I’ll know them when I see them outside the bathroom and stay away from the non-step-tenners.

Weird bathroom behavior: maybe. Club bathroom floor free? Most definitely!

Pantsless

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Just got home from a long day at work and I immediately took off my pants. I have to say, taking off my pants is my favorite thing to do when I get home from work. Following at close second is running to the bathroom to pee. It’s even better when no one else is home: I can walk into the kitchen pantsless and fix myself a cold glass of water and not
have to worry that I’ll turn around and see some guest of my roommate’s sleeping on the couch and try to tiptoe past him with my shirt yanked down over my butt, hoping he doesn’t wake until after i’ve scurried into my room.

Oy! So hot today!! A great pantsless day! Once a GA State Patrolman friend of mine said “I’m sweatin’ more than a whore sitting in church on 4th of July Sunday” … I bet the patrolman and the ho would sweat less if they were pantsless. Just sayin.

Ahhh the pantsless life 🙂 gonna go fix myself a glass of water before anyone come home!

Sometimes…

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Sometimes I am so thankful that Susie Miranda, my little slice of Honda heaven, is a 4 cylinder work of art instead of a 6-cylinder behemoth of a motor vehicle that, if it got into a fight with a Dodge Ram, would win. That sweet little 4 cylinder is frequently what stops me from going Tawanda on my fellow drivers when they pull the typical Florida drivers stunts.

Ok, for anyone that has never seen Fried Green tomatoes (i.e. people that are not from the South or gay), “Tawanda” was the alter-ego of Kathy Bates’s good girl housewife character. When she finally breaks the rules, goes batshit, and starts haphazardly ramming her Buick into the tiny Fiat of two valley girls that stole her parking spot, she screams “Tawanda!!!!!!”

When I lived in Georgia I remember this story about a dude that would get so mad in commuter traffic that every night he would bake a 5-pound bag of potatoes so that he could throw them at people in traffic the next day.

Now tell me you’ve never thought of doing that when you’re barreling down the road on the way to work at like 70 miles an hour and some ass-hat pulls out of his subdivision in front of you doing like 35 MILES AN HOUR and you look in your rear view mirror and realize that no one’s behind you so if he’s waited like FIVE SECONDS then he wouldn’t have had to pull out in front of you, thereby ruining it for everyone.

This usually aggravates me even more at the end of a work day gone horribly wrong, when all i can think of is hurrying up and getting home, taking off my pants, removing my contacts, getting a bath and reading Jane Austen while wearing my coke bottle glasses and plaid pajama pants.

Anyone that stands between me and my wonderful pantsless evening is asking for a beatdown and deserves a baked potato.

Just sayin’.