Confession

I'll go head and admit it; I'm pretty proud of myself today.

I got back in Oxford last night, with my car absolutely loaded with stuff, and my fridge completely empty. But no more.

I came home from the grocery today with no fewer than 11 different kinds of produce: salad, bananas, tangerines, an avocado, a mango, green peppers, zucchini, squash, onions, sweet potatoes, and a russet.

I've made my meal plan for this week, there is absolutely no junk food in the house. And tonight? Craving pizza after organizing my schoolwork, setting up my desk so I'll actually use it, putting together a bookshelf (this makes three, now, and I need a fourth), I didn't order a pizza. I made an omelet out of all those fresh veggies I bought.

And tomorrow? Inauguration day. It's gonna be a good week.

Confession

I ate an ENTIRE medium pepperoni pizza for dinner, along with almost a liter of Diet Coke, and half a thing of CinnaStix. What the hell? Am I trying to kill myself?

I'm not trying to sound self-defeating, but seriously, what was up with my eating ALL of that food? I think it has a lot to do with my feeling pretty bummed out the past couple of days. I am soooo grateful I took a weekend off to be with Dustin, but I've been struggling to keep up with my work this week (I'm miserably behind). I've been skipping the "pink pill" week of my BC, which I know isn't supposed to change anything (considering that the 'period' you have on pink pill week isn't even a true period), but I swear, I'm PMSing. And also, I miss Dustin. A lot. In fact, I'll venture into pathetic-land and say that I'm miserable without him here with me. I can't believe we have to struggle through another 15 months of this mess. Seriously, I've never been glad for time to go by so quickly, but the sooner we all get to December 2009, the better.

Self-pity diatribe ceased.

You Better Not Pout, You Better Not Cry!

I love Christmas. I'm with Shanna on this one. I can't help it! I listen to Christmas music sporadically throughout the year. The ENTIRE year. I don't know what's wrong with me.

Funny story. I started working at Hallmark the summer before my sophomore year in college. I know everyone makes fun of Hallmark for producing mass sentimentalist sap, I know; I used to be one of them. When I started there in July (right before their huge yearly ornament debut) all my friends and family made fun of me for working in a store so often frequented by overly hormonal women and men looking for last minute gifts for their girlfriends and wives. I think it took only a month for my coworkers to dub me "The Scrooge." And I was. I worked at Hallmark for just short of 4 years, and I hated every Christmas and Easter and Valentine's Day (Oh, Valentine's Day, How I Still Loathe Thee!) I had to suffer through. Then, a year a half ago, I started dating this guy:

And my hatred for Christmas dissolved away into a big soppy love mess on the floor. Seriously. It was, and still is, completely pathetic and goopy and sugarysweetieloviebunchie of me. I can't help it. Something about being in love with the best guy in the universe does that to me. (See? I told you something about him makes me completely bonkers.)

So, imagine my delight when I started seeing festive little badges for Chubby Chick's Christmas Challenge! They look like this----->

And as I looked over the Challenge, which is oh-so-adorably-decorated, I really considered adding my name to the list of participants. I really did! But then I remembered how I not-so-gracefully kept forgetting to check into ThinkingThin's Summer Challenge (I'm so sorry!), and I realized that official group challenges are probably not the best for me. Personal goals? Oh yeah. I think it's the remembering to check in that gets me. I so rarely remember to weigh-in regularly that the organization factor (and it's totally necessary for challenges) gets me every time.

So here's what I'm doing. I'm supporting all the cool people at Chubby Chick's Christmas Challenge in full on Christmas spirit. And I'm following along on my own, when I remember to weigh-in. My Goal? 15 lbs lost by Christmas. There are 15 weeks left until then, so it's not completely undoable. Based on my weight loss trends, a pound a week is high for me (I usually lose about a half-pound in a week), but why not shoot for the Christmas Star Tree Topper here? If I lose 15 pounds by Christmas, that will put me at 30 pounds lost for the year, which is pretty good, in my book (but yeah, there's been a total gap in my weight loss this year!!!). When I make my goal (not if, not IF!), I'm going to look super-fab in all those early-early-morning Christmas pictures. I'm determined. And totally listening to Christmas music right now.

I have no idea how this happened...

But I'm down almost 6 and a half pounds since I weighed in last. I'd love to say I've been doing everything right, but that's a lie, and you all would know it. I have a suspicion that the beautiful "197" won't last long (I'm serious, there has to be something wrong with my scale...), but I'm going to try to keep it around a few weeks more.

I've been struggling with my decision to not journal the foods and exercises I do. In the past, it's kept me on track when everything else has failed, and watching my progress in writing is gratifying, but I simply don't need another thing on my plate (har. har.) right now. I've got 3 discussion classes to lead, and three seminars of my own to do well in. I'm busy meeting new friends (finally!) and trying to learn my way around a new city. And also, I've got these stinkers running around the place now:

I have to spend time with these babies, right?

In the meantime, my pantry and fridge are stocked with healthy foods. My classes are scheduled so that I've got time to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner (which should really make my students like me a whole lot more...).

I still haven't quite gotten the whole gym time thing down yet. One thing at time, though, I wouldn't want to exhaust these two:


I adopted these two on Thursday. And so I don't have to keep calling them 'these two,' I'd like to come up with some names for, well, these two. Help!

Week 8 Weigh In (and Friday Night Excitement!)

Okay, the weigh-in first. Due to some serious lack of motivation last week, I didn't weigh in. This week accounts for both last week's losses and this week's. I'm down to 197.6, a total of 13.4 pounds lost. I'm truly surprised by this, because I've been really slacking. For week 7, I wrote down a total of 3 days. 3. I've had cookies and brownies for lunch and breakfast several times. And last night, I had a Blue Moon, and 2 1/2 glasses of champagne.

The reason for the champagne? I got into Ole Miss' Masters of English program! They couldn't give me any financial aid just yet, but I'm supposed to wait until later in the semester to find out if any will open up. Even if it doesn't, the tuition is fairly cheap (even for out-of-state) and it's definitely do-able. I just need to figure out if I want to do it. It's amazing what you think you're ready for, and then once the possibility opens up, the gravity of your decision kicks you in the gills. Going to Ole Miss would be a huge move for me--my family and friends and boyfriend would be 8 hours and a drive across Alabama away. I'd be committing myself to at least 2 more years of thesis writing. I've been a ball of nerves since last night when I read the letter. I've got a big decision ahead of me, and I would really appreciate any thoughts / prayers / karma / energy you guys could send my way. At this point, I could go either way with my decision and I don't know which way is the right way. This is making me want lemon-peppercorn french fries.

After I got the acceptance, I called my mom, thinking I sounded totally chill, and told her that Dustin and I would be stopping by for a bit. "Sure," she said, "we'll be here." She opened the door, we sat on the couch, and I told her and my dad I had something to tell them. My mom didn't look the least bit surprised, and once I told her I got in, she looked even less surprised and brought out the bottle of champagne she'd had on ice since she got of the phone with me. How do mothers do that?