A couple of weeks ago, Smith decided it was time to add something to my diet and exercise routine: a fat-burning supplement. As someone who's struggled with weight for more than two decades, I was really skeptical. However, I do trust Smith, and at this point I'm always willing to try something new. I started taking the stuff per his instructions. Whether or not my "purple crack" is actually melting away fat, I can't say. What I can tell you is that it gives me a lot of energy, makes me sweat even more than usual, and has helped to curb my appetite. Over the last couple of days, though, I've encountered a less than pleasant side-effect.
I STINK.
Now, I know everyone stinks a little in their own special way (pheromones, right?) and thanks to the modern convenience of deodorant/antiperspirant, we rarely notice each other's funk. But I'm not talking about a casual your-Degree's-not-really-cutting-it-today smell. I'm talking about foul, old gym bag, meat-sweat, holy HELL that just PONGS, straight up, STINK.
I pride myself on being one of those people who always smells yummy -- not perfumey, so much, but a faint mix of Gain, soap, and the occasional essential oil. So this stinky business? Not making me really happy right now. Smith's explanation is that I've started burning off older fat that's full of junk (or my favorite word -- TOXINS) and the junk is making its way out of me via my armpits. "That's what you get for eating crap!" he said. Oh so comforting, Smith.
I'm hoping that this stinky phase passes quickly. In the meantime, if you have any coupons for Degree, send 'em my way, okay?
Showing posts with label WTF?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WTF?. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Dreamlife of Angels
As of this week, I'll be doing all of my writing here at FvF. Three Days in October has slowly but surely become a photo blog, and I'm fine with that. It's easier to track my writing if it's all in one place, anyway.
So this morning, I'm going to share with you another of my bizarre dreams. As usual, it was extremely vivid, but this time instead of jotting notes and doodles in my sketchbook, I typed out a synopsis using the Notes app on my iPhone. My original typed notes, complete with spelling and typographical errors:
"Dreamed I was married to an older German man, an artist who did photographs/performance art. Wolfgang massage instructor/helmut newton type. He made me take pregnancy tests that were inconclusive. I peed everywhere and water was getting sprayed from a hole in the wall where he wa drilling into a pipe. He had art scene friends at our house and I hated it. I went to smith and his wife's and Pete was there, he had a lamborghini. He was vacuuming. I had to leave Kid and groceries and childhood dog nappy because my husband (now Hubs) wanted me home. Pete came with me. There was a fire truck at my house and I stole the horn from it. The firemen thought it was my car. I yelled that it drives like a Cadillac. I went inside my house and tried to take another pregnancy test but couldn't. In another part I was at an ob gyn office waiting to be seen,I talked to the receptionist about tortilla chips. The clock was moving in an odd way. I was nervous about time because smith and his wife had come home while I was at their house and I wanted to go back there. While I was at their house and they came home smith asked to hug me and said something about wanting a certain type of hug with hearts together. Trying to get back there or to the doctors office I got lost and ended up at a mall with a kids shoe store, as I went to leave the mall a bunch of black girls were on my jeep and I had to get them off. I was telling them they should be glad to work for their boss, an older black lady. In another part I was driving thru a neighborhood and almost hit a little car with two ladies in it. That was right before Iade the turn that got me lost, to the mall. The whole time I just had the feeling that I had to get back to smith and his wife's house no matter what. And I didn't have my phone. I kept thinking it was going to be too late."
That's a doozy, eh? I'm amazed that I typed that much, half asleep at 1:30AM.
The characters are pretty interesting -- Wolfgang, for example, was a German man who taught a Lomi-Lomi massage class I attended. Helmut Newton, if you don't already know, was an amazing photographer (one of my favorites). Pete is Smith's wife's brother, whom I've only met once. Smith loves to tease me and tell me that I'm secretly in love with Pete. I remember that the medical receptionist looked and talked like one of the girls from nail school, and I think the black girls on the Jeep and their "boss" are probably my other classmates and my instructor. The two ladies in the car? I have no idea. I do remember now that one of them looked a little like Reba McIntyre.
There's a few plot points that make sense, and the rest is kind of nonsense. The art scenesters, well, I've always loathed them. Pregnancy tests? Water everywhere? Not sure about that. I'm sure Freud would have something to say about it.
Lambo Pete vacuuming Smith's house is just too hilarious for words. I'm checking on Smith's dog while he and his wife are out of town, and I had actually considered running the vacuum for them while they're gone (for some reason, here in Virginia, dust just multiplies everywhere whether you're home or not). So the thought of Pete beating me to the punch gives me a chuckle.
Let's see, what else...
Getting lost and feeling panicky about time is a pretty common theme in my dreams. I hate getting lost and being late, so of course those anxieties would manifest in my dreams. Same goes for the overwhelming urge to get back to wherever Kid was, somewhere safe.
The part with the fire truck is hilarious to me, only because it sounds exactly like something I'd do while drunk.
Oh! And the hug thing! Another of my massage instructors, Johnny Storm, always made a big deal about hugging so that your hearts line up. Basically, when you go in to hug somebody, you should move your head to the right, and your heart will be closer to the huggee's heart. I've always liked the thought of it, whether it's anatomically accurate or not. I think I told Smith's dad (very much a hugger) about it when I met him (or maybe he already knew about it?) so I suppose it makes sense that it would manifest in a dream as having something to do with Smith.
The only other thing I remember really clearly was Wolfgang/Helmut's "art." He was kind of a performance artist but also a photographer. The impression I got was that he would stage these happenings and someone would photograph them, and then he'd display the photographs. He did weird things, like shave women and let the hair fall all over him, or throw paint on people. I remember thinking that the work was really pretentious and that I hated having all his cronies in the house, worshiping him.
So yeah, weird dreams yet again. I'll be puzzling over this one for a while. Maybe I'll get another installment tonight? Hmm...
So this morning, I'm going to share with you another of my bizarre dreams. As usual, it was extremely vivid, but this time instead of jotting notes and doodles in my sketchbook, I typed out a synopsis using the Notes app on my iPhone. My original typed notes, complete with spelling and typographical errors:
"Dreamed I was married to an older German man, an artist who did photographs/performance art. Wolfgang massage instructor/helmut newton type. He made me take pregnancy tests that were inconclusive. I peed everywhere and water was getting sprayed from a hole in the wall where he wa drilling into a pipe. He had art scene friends at our house and I hated it. I went to smith and his wife's and Pete was there, he had a lamborghini. He was vacuuming. I had to leave Kid and groceries and childhood dog nappy because my husband (now Hubs) wanted me home. Pete came with me. There was a fire truck at my house and I stole the horn from it. The firemen thought it was my car. I yelled that it drives like a Cadillac. I went inside my house and tried to take another pregnancy test but couldn't. In another part I was at an ob gyn office waiting to be seen,I talked to the receptionist about tortilla chips. The clock was moving in an odd way. I was nervous about time because smith and his wife had come home while I was at their house and I wanted to go back there. While I was at their house and they came home smith asked to hug me and said something about wanting a certain type of hug with hearts together. Trying to get back there or to the doctors office I got lost and ended up at a mall with a kids shoe store, as I went to leave the mall a bunch of black girls were on my jeep and I had to get them off. I was telling them they should be glad to work for their boss, an older black lady. In another part I was driving thru a neighborhood and almost hit a little car with two ladies in it. That was right before Iade the turn that got me lost, to the mall. The whole time I just had the feeling that I had to get back to smith and his wife's house no matter what. And I didn't have my phone. I kept thinking it was going to be too late."
That's a doozy, eh? I'm amazed that I typed that much, half asleep at 1:30AM.
The characters are pretty interesting -- Wolfgang, for example, was a German man who taught a Lomi-Lomi massage class I attended. Helmut Newton, if you don't already know, was an amazing photographer (one of my favorites). Pete is Smith's wife's brother, whom I've only met once. Smith loves to tease me and tell me that I'm secretly in love with Pete. I remember that the medical receptionist looked and talked like one of the girls from nail school, and I think the black girls on the Jeep and their "boss" are probably my other classmates and my instructor. The two ladies in the car? I have no idea. I do remember now that one of them looked a little like Reba McIntyre.
There's a few plot points that make sense, and the rest is kind of nonsense. The art scenesters, well, I've always loathed them. Pregnancy tests? Water everywhere? Not sure about that. I'm sure Freud would have something to say about it.
Lambo Pete vacuuming Smith's house is just too hilarious for words. I'm checking on Smith's dog while he and his wife are out of town, and I had actually considered running the vacuum for them while they're gone (for some reason, here in Virginia, dust just multiplies everywhere whether you're home or not). So the thought of Pete beating me to the punch gives me a chuckle.
Let's see, what else...
Getting lost and feeling panicky about time is a pretty common theme in my dreams. I hate getting lost and being late, so of course those anxieties would manifest in my dreams. Same goes for the overwhelming urge to get back to wherever Kid was, somewhere safe.
The part with the fire truck is hilarious to me, only because it sounds exactly like something I'd do while drunk.
Oh! And the hug thing! Another of my massage instructors, Johnny Storm, always made a big deal about hugging so that your hearts line up. Basically, when you go in to hug somebody, you should move your head to the right, and your heart will be closer to the huggee's heart. I've always liked the thought of it, whether it's anatomically accurate or not. I think I told Smith's dad (very much a hugger) about it when I met him (or maybe he already knew about it?) so I suppose it makes sense that it would manifest in a dream as having something to do with Smith.
The only other thing I remember really clearly was Wolfgang/Helmut's "art." He was kind of a performance artist but also a photographer. The impression I got was that he would stage these happenings and someone would photograph them, and then he'd display the photographs. He did weird things, like shave women and let the hair fall all over him, or throw paint on people. I remember thinking that the work was really pretentious and that I hated having all his cronies in the house, worshiping him.
So yeah, weird dreams yet again. I'll be puzzling over this one for a while. Maybe I'll get another installment tonight? Hmm...
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
D-Day
I started noticing lately that my bras were getting very uncomfortable -- pinchy, straps falling down, and some double-boobing. (You know, when a bra doesn't fit right, the cup pinches across your boob and sort of cleaves it into two mini-boobs?) I attributed this to a few factors:
1. I buy cheap bras. I usually don't spend more than ten bucks on one.
2. I've lost a few pounds.
3. The bras I have are old, and (I know, horror of horrors) I PUT THEM IN THE WASHING MACHINE.
I mentioned this to my mom when we went shopping together on Saturday, so as we were walking through Dillard's, she suggested that I get a fitting done. Man, did I ever get a shock in that dressing room. No, the very nice salesgirl (and I do mean girl, I think she was about 17) did not grab my tatas, or shriek in horror when she saw what havoc babies wreak on formerly NICE tatas. No, my friends. The shock? My size. These things here? *points to chest* These "yard dogs"? THEY'VE GOTTEN BIGGER.
I sent a frantic text to my husband telling him my new size. His reply (and I'm not even making this up): "Yay! Boobies!" I laughed right as the salesgirl came back in the dressing room. She looked at me like I was nuts. I said, "I'm sorry. My inner 13 year old is just really excited about having officially big boobs."
So now here I sit, tatas comfortably cradled in the largest brassiere I've ever worn. It's extremely comfortable, but I'm a little scared that it might be mistaken for some sort of padding used to protect canteloupes during shipping.
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