I adjusted the small strand of pearls at my neck, then made sure the screw-backs of my cultured pearl earrings were screwed tight enough against my ears. I patted my neatly coiffed chignon, smoothed the print fabric of my shirtwaist dress, then draped a color-coordinated cardigan over my shoulders. My nylon stockings were secure in the garters that hung from my girdle and I wore plain black pumps on my feet. Satisfied that I gracefully embodied the 1950s ideal of conformity and domesticity I moved to my ironing board, which I’d set up near the window so I could glance out at the goings on in my ideal, Desperate Housewives-like cul-de-sac. It was dark outside but the streetlights made it light enough for me to see figures and houses. That made me happy.
I looked at the large laundry basket of black socks that I’d meticulously darned and smiled, glad that I was such a good, dutiful wife for my husband. One by one I ironed the socks until they were smooth and had a perfect crease down the middle, pausing to admire my work every so often. It made my heart glad to know how happy Mike would be when he saw the better-than-new socks neatly aligned in his drawer.
I nearly shivered with anticipation because I knew that once I completed my wifely task I would be able to indulge in the tantalizing five-pound box of chocolate bonbons as my reward for being a perfect wife. I squinted at the ironing board as I mused about the assorted bonbon fillings. I hoped that there would be some with nuts and caramel. If not, I could always call a neighborhood meeting and trade bonbons with the other women on my block. They could have all the vanilla crème and the raspberry jelly-filled ones. But the ironing must come first.
My sewing room needed more illumination but I didn’t want a bright, glaring light ruining the soothing atmosphere. So I plugged in the toaster and smiled at the warm orange glow that threw just enough light for me to complete my ironing task. I filled the electric coffee percolator with water from the bathtub and let the bubbling pops and drips become just the right music for my happy ironing task.
That’s when I glanced out the window and saw someone sinister.
He was a big, lumbering man with a small, childlike head perched atop his voluminous tweed overcoat. Evil incarnate. My eyes widened with fear because something inside told me he was on his way to our house to do God knows what. My instincts said robbery and murder. With a gasp I remembered that I’d left the front door open so the Jehovah’s Witnesses, magazine salesmen, and cookie-selling Girl Scouts could easily put their literature and oatmeal cookies with peanut butter filling on the small table just inside the door.
Icy fear gripped me in its tentacles as I thought about my husband. Oh dear God, he was sound asleep on the recliner in front of the TV! I had to save him. It was up to me to rescue him from possible torture and certain death! I looked at my dress and wished I’d worn my Wonder Woman outfit instead. I hoped my cardigan sweater would make a convincing substitute for a super heroine cape.
The bad man was now downstairs in my living room. I could smell him, feel him, hear the barely audible sound of maniacal laughter seeping out with each of his ragged breaths. I was pretty sure the bastard was eating up all my Girl Scout cookies too. A quick searching glance around the sewing room had my eyes alighting on the perfect weapon. The black socks! Of course! They were the one thing sure to strike fear into the wretched heart of the evil intruder.
After sending up a silent prayer of thanks for my arsenal of black socks, and grabbing a bottle of clear nail polish just in case my nylons got runs in them, I grabbed an armful of socks and charged ahead, galloping down the stairs and bellowing out a bloodcurdling war cry as I fiercely pitched pairs of neatly ironed, balled up socks at the menacing figure.
“Mwuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh. Mmmwah. Mwoooooh.”
At first I was deeply chagrined that my war cry sounded more like the muffled call of a sick cow. But then I realized my fears were unfounded because my eerie, warbling, ghostly utterance would surely have the intruder quaking in his brown wingtips and he’d leave my poor sleeping unsuspecting husband, the Girl Scout cookies, and my chocolate bonbons alone.
Still lobbing socks at the malevolent prowler I called out for Mike to alert him. “Mmmmmwwwwaaahhhhhkkkkk!”
Damn. There was something wrong with my screaming mechanism. Intense fear had somehow stifled it, rendering it into nothing more than a quavering wail, almost as if I had socks stuffed in my mouth. Of course! That was it! I had socks stuffed in my mouth to moisten them for ironing and had forgotten about it.
Dragging sock after sock out of my mouth and throwing them at the bad man I kept trying to scream, to alert my husband, the neighbors, the Girl Scouts, the Jehovah’s Witnesses, anyone who could come to our aid.
“Mmmwah. Mwoooooh Mwuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!”
My heart leapt into my throat as the evil intruder clasped my shoulder and shook me.
“Susan. Honey, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
The combined sound of my own ailing bellow and my husband’s voice had me waking with a start. My eyes popped open and when I saw Mike’s sleepy, foggy, dazed expression I was so happy I almost cried. “Oh, Michael, you’re safe! He didn’t get you. I was trying to scare the bad man away with your black socks so he wouldn’t kill you and steal all your video games.”
“That sick cow cry of yours must have done it,” he said, kissing my forehead. “You’re my hero. I’m forever in your debt, sweetheart.” Then his head hit the pillow and he was snoring again before I could draw my next breath.
Of course at that point, heart racing a mile a minute, I realized I’d been dreaming and that I’d actually made those muffled attempts at screaming out loud. I glanced at the alarm clock. Four a.m. Just thinking of how I must have sounded and remembering the way I’d barreled down the stairs, throwing those socks as if they were grenades, made me laugh. Over the next half hour I couldn’t stop giggling each time the image of the alternate me floated across my mind. Each sporadic giggle had my husband groaning and frowning as he slept.
I don’t have nightmares often, and when I do I’m never a weak, frail, powerless victim. I’m usually aggressively trying to overcome whatever menace is at hand. But one thing remains consistent. I can’t scream in my dreams. That’s the one area in which I feel vulnerable. At that very moment when I know I should be screaming at the top of my lungs, all that comes out is an eerie, muffled, drawn-out noise that wouldn’t scare away a bunny rabbit. And I usually find myself waking up in the middle of one of those wails and rolling my eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.
What about you? When you’re having a bad dream are you able to scream in it? Or do you sound more like a lovelorn cow? Do you snap out of the dream and wake up when you realize you were making the sound out loud?
Inch by inch, pound by pound...
Friday, November 13, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
A Time for Celebration: Milestone Birthday plus Progress Photos!
November 5 is a very special day for me--a true celebration of life. I invite you to join me.
When people receive birthday congrats as they age you’ll often hear them say something like, “Yeah, well I guess it’s better than the alternative.” I think many people of a certain age (and that age could be 30 just as easily as 80) feel that life--and youth--have passed them by, and now there’s nothing to do but mope around and wait for the grim reaper to come collect them.
That’s really sad.
One of my all time favorite quotes comes from Rosalind Russell playing the role of Mame Dennis in the wonderfully quirky movie Auntie Mame, a 1958 film based on the novel by Patrick Dennis. You’ve probably heard the quote. She said: "Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death!"
I love that line because it’s just how I feel about life. Life is what we make it. I’ve made mine into one hell of a fabulous journey--a marvelous feast--and I’m not talking about food and calories (although they’ve certainly played a significant part as well).
I remember being four-years-old and looking forward to my fifth birthday so I could be one of the “big kids”. It was my first milestone birthday. I’m celebrating another fabulous milestone birthday today. I’m sixty! Yes, 60, the Big Six-Oh! Believe me when I tell you that I’m not anywhere near finished with life yet. Hell, this baby boomer has enough enthusiasm, drive, determination and exciting projects planned to keep me busy for several more decades.
Many women my age work hard to keep their age a secret, and they spend a lot of time worrying about losing their youthful appearance, so you may think it’s weird for me to disclose my age, much less be so gleeful about it. For me, there’s a damn good reason I’m so happy to turn 60: I escaped my childhood. I made it out alive and lived to tell about it. I not only survived, I thrived.
You see, I grew up in a strongly dysfunctional family riddled with clinical depression, mental illness, alcoholism, harsh abuse, suicide (my sister), hypochondria, and much more. Back in those days such topics were strictly taboo. I never told anyone about what went on inside our home, not my friends, other relatives, teachers, no one. I was ashamed, embarrassed and scared. I found comfort and solace in food.
As a kid I lived in a constant state of stress and fear and swore to myself that when I grew up I’d be entirely different than my parents and the other disturbed, dysfunctional people in my family. I’d celebrate life. I’d be kind and compassionate, understanding, loving, forgiving, nurturing, encouraging, supportive and I’d make sure to include plenty of laughter each day. I’m happy to say that I’ve lived true to my word and have broken the generational cycle of physical and emotional abuse. My husband (also a product of a strongly dysfunctional family), daughter and I have an enviably close, happy, laugh-filled, loving relationship that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
I’m not saying I fully escaped the craziness that galloped through my family. Oh hell no. All you need to do is look at the title of my blog to guess that. LOL But my personal craziness has manifested itself more in quirky eccentricities, and weight issues like compulsive overeating and food addiction, rather than the darker mental issues that gripped my parents, sister and other family members. If you’re battling ongoing weight problems, then you know it’s no picnic, and certainly heartbreaking at times, but it’s something that can have a happy, successful outcome as long as we persevere. You CAN beat the addiction, the compulsion, the craziness. I know.
No matter how awful and painful childhood may have been for some people, it’s entirely possible to break free, stop the destructive cycle of negativity, and be happy, successful, fulfilled adults. It’s up to us to decide to live our lives differently than our parents--to take responsibility for our lives and our choices. Blaming everything that’s wrong in our lives on the fact that we were unloved or abused as kids is purely toxic, unproductive thinking that leads to ongoing failure and despair. Life is far too short and precious to spend it making excuses for ourselves, or blaming present circumstances on unhappy memories of long ago. Life is for living--for celebrating!
My parents (who divorced when I was 12) never celebrated life. They were both miserable, unhappy people. Laughter was a true rarity in our home. My mother was just 57 when she died of cancer. My father was only 58 when his alcoholism finally killed him. My troubled younger sister was just in her 30s when she took her own life.
I’ve outlived them all. It’s a strange, almost surreal feeling.
I can tell you that getting through my 57th and my 58th year (the ages my parents were when they died) was a little spooky, especially considering I was battling an aggressive autoimmune disease during that time that decimated my health. I was scared shitless as my spine began to fuse, robbing me of flexibility and range of motion while I shrank 3 1/2-inches in height. As silly as it sounds, I admit to secretly wondering then if my mother and father might be scheming to “take me home” to be with them. Yikes! “Go away!” I said to the purely imagined specters floating around me. “There’s no fucking way I’m ready to go, you hear?!” I set about doing everything I could to improve my health. It felt mighty good to reach 59. And it feels even better to reach 60. I see each and every day as a gift that’s not to be wasted.
The decade of my 50s was chock full of serious health challenges, many amazing positive changes, and considerable growth, both personally and professionally. The biggest roadblock I encountered was the same one that has plagued me since I was young--dealing with the crazy woman inside me who wanted to keep me fat. Finally, this past year, I learned how to tame and stifle the crazy, insatiable wench. Who knew that it would take something radical, like a plant-based (vegan) diet, to accomplish that? My new way of eating also set me on a path of healing the AS (ankylosing spondylitis) that’s taken such a toll on me both physically and mentally. There are improvements every day. I vow that one day I’ll beat the AS and settle into permanent remission (preferably before I’m too damn old to realize it).
Yes indeed, today I’m celebrating my 60th birthday in a much leaner, healthier, fitter body. I’m healthier and thinner than I was 10 years ago. My future is bright, full of hope and promise and even greater happiness. Sure, I wish I’d done all this for myself when I was much younger, but it didn’t work out that way. I don’t dwell on regrets--they’re unproductive. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that getting lean, fit and healthy at 60 is any less delicious, satisfying and thrilling than doing it at 30. At 60 I have the self-esteem and confidence that had eluded me in my younger years. I’m old enough to know what I truly want and still young enough to make my dreams a reality. It’s a good age to be and I look forward to whatever this next decade brings me.
My wonderful husband has taken progress pictures of me along the way as I’ve lost weight. The latest were just a few days ago. When I saw the new photos and compared them to the previous ones, I downright giggled with delight because I think I look not only happier and healthier now than I did at the beginning of this year--I look younger too! I wanted to share them with you so you can see that, no matter what your age; no matter what your childhood was like; no matter how poor your health might be; no matter how frustrating yoyo dieting has been; no matter what problems you’re dealing with; you can make a wonderful, positive, healthy difference in your life. I’ve lost more than 75-pounds so far and I’m not finished yet--during my 60th year I’ll be reaching my weight goal. When I get there, trust me when I tell you you’ll hear the whooping and hollering all over the place--just like surround sound!
Here are my comparison photos:
Sure, my face is a little odd and twisty from the Bell’s palsy, and I can see some aging due to the ravages of the AS, but all in all, I think I look pretty damn good for a 60-year-old, if I do say so myself! :-D
And now for something completely different: On my birthday in 2005 my husband surprised me with something unintentionally hysterical. I mean really, truly funny. I wrote all about it on my Daisy Dexter Dobbs author blog. The post is titled My Husband the Closet Lesbian. If you’re in need of a good laugh, be sure to read it. It’s a gem.
Who else was born in 1949? Two of my favorite authors, Jennifer Crusie and the late Olivia Goldsmith were born that year. I’m in good company. Other well-known people born in 1949: Armand Assante; John Belushi; Tom Berenger; Jeff Bridges; Lois McMaster Bujold; Elvira; Erik Estrada; George Foreman; Gloria Gaynor; Richard Gere; Whoopi Goldberg; Billy Joel; Don Johnson; Andy Kaufman; Jessica Lange; Vicki Lawrence; Judith Light; Shelley Long; Gates McFadden; Bill Nighy; Bill O’Reilly; Wolfgang Puck; Michael Richards; Lionel Richie; Gene Simmons; Sissy Spacek; Brent Spiner; Rick Springfield; Bruce Springsteen; Meryl Streep; Ivana Trump; Twiggy; Sigourney Weaver.
I leave you with this thought today: Life is good. It’s a wonderful gift that’s far too short and precious not to enjoy. Set aside your troubles, your worries and your stress long enough each day to celebrate life--to grow and thrive and be joyful!
Woohoo! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!
When people receive birthday congrats as they age you’ll often hear them say something like, “Yeah, well I guess it’s better than the alternative.” I think many people of a certain age (and that age could be 30 just as easily as 80) feel that life--and youth--have passed them by, and now there’s nothing to do but mope around and wait for the grim reaper to come collect them.
That’s really sad.
One of my all time favorite quotes comes from Rosalind Russell playing the role of Mame Dennis in the wonderfully quirky movie Auntie Mame, a 1958 film based on the novel by Patrick Dennis. You’ve probably heard the quote. She said: "Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death!"
I love that line because it’s just how I feel about life. Life is what we make it. I’ve made mine into one hell of a fabulous journey--a marvelous feast--and I’m not talking about food and calories (although they’ve certainly played a significant part as well).
I remember being four-years-old and looking forward to my fifth birthday so I could be one of the “big kids”. It was my first milestone birthday. I’m celebrating another fabulous milestone birthday today. I’m sixty! Yes, 60, the Big Six-Oh! Believe me when I tell you that I’m not anywhere near finished with life yet. Hell, this baby boomer has enough enthusiasm, drive, determination and exciting projects planned to keep me busy for several more decades.
Many women my age work hard to keep their age a secret, and they spend a lot of time worrying about losing their youthful appearance, so you may think it’s weird for me to disclose my age, much less be so gleeful about it. For me, there’s a damn good reason I’m so happy to turn 60: I escaped my childhood. I made it out alive and lived to tell about it. I not only survived, I thrived.
You see, I grew up in a strongly dysfunctional family riddled with clinical depression, mental illness, alcoholism, harsh abuse, suicide (my sister), hypochondria, and much more. Back in those days such topics were strictly taboo. I never told anyone about what went on inside our home, not my friends, other relatives, teachers, no one. I was ashamed, embarrassed and scared. I found comfort and solace in food.
As a kid I lived in a constant state of stress and fear and swore to myself that when I grew up I’d be entirely different than my parents and the other disturbed, dysfunctional people in my family. I’d celebrate life. I’d be kind and compassionate, understanding, loving, forgiving, nurturing, encouraging, supportive and I’d make sure to include plenty of laughter each day. I’m happy to say that I’ve lived true to my word and have broken the generational cycle of physical and emotional abuse. My husband (also a product of a strongly dysfunctional family), daughter and I have an enviably close, happy, laugh-filled, loving relationship that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
I’m not saying I fully escaped the craziness that galloped through my family. Oh hell no. All you need to do is look at the title of my blog to guess that. LOL But my personal craziness has manifested itself more in quirky eccentricities, and weight issues like compulsive overeating and food addiction, rather than the darker mental issues that gripped my parents, sister and other family members. If you’re battling ongoing weight problems, then you know it’s no picnic, and certainly heartbreaking at times, but it’s something that can have a happy, successful outcome as long as we persevere. You CAN beat the addiction, the compulsion, the craziness. I know.
No matter how awful and painful childhood may have been for some people, it’s entirely possible to break free, stop the destructive cycle of negativity, and be happy, successful, fulfilled adults. It’s up to us to decide to live our lives differently than our parents--to take responsibility for our lives and our choices. Blaming everything that’s wrong in our lives on the fact that we were unloved or abused as kids is purely toxic, unproductive thinking that leads to ongoing failure and despair. Life is far too short and precious to spend it making excuses for ourselves, or blaming present circumstances on unhappy memories of long ago. Life is for living--for celebrating!
My parents (who divorced when I was 12) never celebrated life. They were both miserable, unhappy people. Laughter was a true rarity in our home. My mother was just 57 when she died of cancer. My father was only 58 when his alcoholism finally killed him. My troubled younger sister was just in her 30s when she took her own life.
I’ve outlived them all. It’s a strange, almost surreal feeling.
I can tell you that getting through my 57th and my 58th year (the ages my parents were when they died) was a little spooky, especially considering I was battling an aggressive autoimmune disease during that time that decimated my health. I was scared shitless as my spine began to fuse, robbing me of flexibility and range of motion while I shrank 3 1/2-inches in height. As silly as it sounds, I admit to secretly wondering then if my mother and father might be scheming to “take me home” to be with them. Yikes! “Go away!” I said to the purely imagined specters floating around me. “There’s no fucking way I’m ready to go, you hear?!” I set about doing everything I could to improve my health. It felt mighty good to reach 59. And it feels even better to reach 60. I see each and every day as a gift that’s not to be wasted.
The decade of my 50s was chock full of serious health challenges, many amazing positive changes, and considerable growth, both personally and professionally. The biggest roadblock I encountered was the same one that has plagued me since I was young--dealing with the crazy woman inside me who wanted to keep me fat. Finally, this past year, I learned how to tame and stifle the crazy, insatiable wench. Who knew that it would take something radical, like a plant-based (vegan) diet, to accomplish that? My new way of eating also set me on a path of healing the AS (ankylosing spondylitis) that’s taken such a toll on me both physically and mentally. There are improvements every day. I vow that one day I’ll beat the AS and settle into permanent remission (preferably before I’m too damn old to realize it).
Yes indeed, today I’m celebrating my 60th birthday in a much leaner, healthier, fitter body. I’m healthier and thinner than I was 10 years ago. My future is bright, full of hope and promise and even greater happiness. Sure, I wish I’d done all this for myself when I was much younger, but it didn’t work out that way. I don’t dwell on regrets--they’re unproductive. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that getting lean, fit and healthy at 60 is any less delicious, satisfying and thrilling than doing it at 30. At 60 I have the self-esteem and confidence that had eluded me in my younger years. I’m old enough to know what I truly want and still young enough to make my dreams a reality. It’s a good age to be and I look forward to whatever this next decade brings me.
My wonderful husband has taken progress pictures of me along the way as I’ve lost weight. The latest were just a few days ago. When I saw the new photos and compared them to the previous ones, I downright giggled with delight because I think I look not only happier and healthier now than I did at the beginning of this year--I look younger too! I wanted to share them with you so you can see that, no matter what your age; no matter what your childhood was like; no matter how poor your health might be; no matter how frustrating yoyo dieting has been; no matter what problems you’re dealing with; you can make a wonderful, positive, healthy difference in your life. I’ve lost more than 75-pounds so far and I’m not finished yet--during my 60th year I’ll be reaching my weight goal. When I get there, trust me when I tell you you’ll hear the whooping and hollering all over the place--just like surround sound!
Here are my comparison photos:
Sure, my face is a little odd and twisty from the Bell’s palsy, and I can see some aging due to the ravages of the AS, but all in all, I think I look pretty damn good for a 60-year-old, if I do say so myself! :-D
And now for something completely different: On my birthday in 2005 my husband surprised me with something unintentionally hysterical. I mean really, truly funny. I wrote all about it on my Daisy Dexter Dobbs author blog. The post is titled My Husband the Closet Lesbian. If you’re in need of a good laugh, be sure to read it. It’s a gem.
Who else was born in 1949? Two of my favorite authors, Jennifer Crusie and the late Olivia Goldsmith were born that year. I’m in good company. Other well-known people born in 1949: Armand Assante; John Belushi; Tom Berenger; Jeff Bridges; Lois McMaster Bujold; Elvira; Erik Estrada; George Foreman; Gloria Gaynor; Richard Gere; Whoopi Goldberg; Billy Joel; Don Johnson; Andy Kaufman; Jessica Lange; Vicki Lawrence; Judith Light; Shelley Long; Gates McFadden; Bill Nighy; Bill O’Reilly; Wolfgang Puck; Michael Richards; Lionel Richie; Gene Simmons; Sissy Spacek; Brent Spiner; Rick Springfield; Bruce Springsteen; Meryl Streep; Ivana Trump; Twiggy; Sigourney Weaver.
I leave you with this thought today: Life is good. It’s a wonderful gift that’s far too short and precious not to enjoy. Set aside your troubles, your worries and your stress long enough each day to celebrate life--to grow and thrive and be joyful!
Woohoo! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Beat Holiday Stress and Temptation with the Wonderful Healing Effects of Laughter!
With Halloween finished, the holiday season is upon us. That means lip-licking, fat-soaked, sugar-drenched, calorific temptation galore for the next couple of months. It also means some of you will have a hell of a time keeping your eating and drinking sane and balanced during that time. Holidays can be wonderful and magical, but they can also be stressful, especially for dieters. They can also be extremely taxing for people who’ll be getting together with negative or toxic friends and family members.
All that stress makes temptation much more difficult to resist. But resist we must! Lord knows the last thing we want is to begin the new year with a depressing weight gain.
Of all the things to indulge in this holiday season, I highly recommend one delicious goodie that won’t make you gain weight and will actually help to lessen the stressful effects of being bombarded by delectable edibles.
That wonderful, positive, calorie-free goodie is laughter. It colors your perception, so that while others see gloomy gray skies, you’ll be seeing blue skies and clouds with silver linings. Laughter helps give you the power to take yourself, holiday stress, and life in general less seriously. It unties the knots in your gut when some well-meaning friend or family member decides to criticize your diet--or to watch you like a hawk each time you put something in your mouth. Laughter gives you the ability to remain strong and face each challenge with a confident smile on your face. You’ll feel good about yourself--and nothing (and no one) can defeat that powerful, positive, happy feeling!
Think about it. When’s the last time you indulged in a rollicking bout of laughter? I don’t mean a few snickers, a couple of chuckles or a bit of polite laughter. I’m talking about the kind of laughter that rolls up from deep within the belly. The kind that makes you snort and has tears running down your face and makes you hurt real good inside.
Recently I came across a favorite old book (first published in the 1970s and still available today) that started me on a path of research years ago about the healing effects of laughter. It’s called Anatomy of an Illness as Perceived by the Patient, written by Norman Cousins. In it he describes how, after receiving a dire “incurable” diagnosis for a crippling illness, he took his health into his own hands.
To make a long story short, ignoring the gloom and doom prognosis, he checked himself out of the hospital and into in a motel where he did nothing but watch the funniest movies and read the funniest books, completely immersing himself in laughter. After a few months of intensive laughter therapy, he’d cured himself. He did the same years later after he suffered a massive heart attack. There’s quite a bit more to Cousins’ story, but that’s the gist of it. I have AS (ankylosing spondylitis), the same illness Cousins had, so you can see where I’d be especially interested in researching laughter therapy. I’ve been happily amazed at my findings--and I’d like to share them with you.
Over the decades numerous scientific studies have been done regarding the remarkable and often surprising power of laughter. It’s been discovered that laughter is a form of aerobic exercise that stimulates heart and blood circulation. Findings show that one minute of laughter is equivalent to ten minutes on the rowing machine. That’s significant! (Are you listening, dieters?)
Thinking about Botox or a facelift to get rid of those wrinkles? Before you go that route, you may want to know that laughter is anti-ageing. Facial muscles are toned by laughing contractions. Blood supply to the face is increased, causing a youthful flush effect. In addition, the increased blood supply nourishes the skin and makes it glow.
Are you single and looking for ways to attract the opposite sex? Keep in mind that people look younger, more attractive and more approachable when they laugh. Think about it. Aren’t you more naturally attracted to someone who’s laughing than someone who’s frowning or looks gloomy?
When you’re around laughter, you can’t help but be infected. Hearing or seeing others laugh makes you laugh and that makes them laugh even more and… Well, you get the idea. It’s the best kind of infection you can possibly get.
Feeling down or depressed? Stiff and achy? You need to build up your endorphins. Endorphins are substances formed in the body that naturally relieve pain. In fact, they have a similar chemical structure to morphine. They’re involved in controlling the body's response to stress, regulating contractions of the intestinal wall and determining mood. In other words, endorphins fight and reduce physical pain as well as depression.
And do you want to take a guess as to what increases endorphins? Yup. Laughter! It’s a bona fide stress buster. Vigorous exercise (you’ve heard of a “runner’s high”) can also do increase endorphins, as can orgasms, but that’s a whole different blog. :-)
My husband and I love watching humorous TV shows like AFV (America’s Funniest Home Videos), or reruns of Whose Line is it Anyway (an innovative and hilarious improv show), etc., because they always make us laugh and we always feel better afterwards. I love watching funny movies and reading comedic books too. As a fulltime writer, the primary reason I write mostly romantic comedy and humorous women’s fiction is that it keeps me feeling good as I work. It actually helps to reduce the pain and inflammation from my AS, which is pretty awesome.
When you find life getting in the way of feeling good--you know, things like bad news on TV and in the newspaper; bills piling up; arthritis acting up; kids driving you crazy; work making you bonkers; diet going to hell; etc., take a break for laughter. It’ll help. I promise.
I’ve included two short videos below of babies laughing. They’ve been around for a while so perhaps you’ve seen them before, but I challenge you not to smile while watching them anyway. Maybe they’ll even make you laugh. Watching these is a reminder of how naturally laughter comes to little children. What a shame we lose some of that marvelous spontaneity and sheer joy of life along life’s path. It’s not hopeless. With a little work we can recapture that magical youthful feeling, through frequent bouts of laughter.
As we embark upon the bustling, food-filled holiday season, why not take some time out for yourself and give yourself the very best holiday gift possible--the gift of rich, bubbly, exuberant, healing and downright magical laughter. And while you’re at it, how about giving the same gift to those you love? I promise it will make the next few months easier and more enjoyable for you and yours. :-D
All that stress makes temptation much more difficult to resist. But resist we must! Lord knows the last thing we want is to begin the new year with a depressing weight gain.
Of all the things to indulge in this holiday season, I highly recommend one delicious goodie that won’t make you gain weight and will actually help to lessen the stressful effects of being bombarded by delectable edibles.
That wonderful, positive, calorie-free goodie is laughter. It colors your perception, so that while others see gloomy gray skies, you’ll be seeing blue skies and clouds with silver linings. Laughter helps give you the power to take yourself, holiday stress, and life in general less seriously. It unties the knots in your gut when some well-meaning friend or family member decides to criticize your diet--or to watch you like a hawk each time you put something in your mouth. Laughter gives you the ability to remain strong and face each challenge with a confident smile on your face. You’ll feel good about yourself--and nothing (and no one) can defeat that powerful, positive, happy feeling!
Think about it. When’s the last time you indulged in a rollicking bout of laughter? I don’t mean a few snickers, a couple of chuckles or a bit of polite laughter. I’m talking about the kind of laughter that rolls up from deep within the belly. The kind that makes you snort and has tears running down your face and makes you hurt real good inside.
Recently I came across a favorite old book (first published in the 1970s and still available today) that started me on a path of research years ago about the healing effects of laughter. It’s called Anatomy of an Illness as Perceived by the Patient, written by Norman Cousins. In it he describes how, after receiving a dire “incurable” diagnosis for a crippling illness, he took his health into his own hands.
To make a long story short, ignoring the gloom and doom prognosis, he checked himself out of the hospital and into in a motel where he did nothing but watch the funniest movies and read the funniest books, completely immersing himself in laughter. After a few months of intensive laughter therapy, he’d cured himself. He did the same years later after he suffered a massive heart attack. There’s quite a bit more to Cousins’ story, but that’s the gist of it. I have AS (ankylosing spondylitis), the same illness Cousins had, so you can see where I’d be especially interested in researching laughter therapy. I’ve been happily amazed at my findings--and I’d like to share them with you.
Over the decades numerous scientific studies have been done regarding the remarkable and often surprising power of laughter. It’s been discovered that laughter is a form of aerobic exercise that stimulates heart and blood circulation. Findings show that one minute of laughter is equivalent to ten minutes on the rowing machine. That’s significant! (Are you listening, dieters?)
Thinking about Botox or a facelift to get rid of those wrinkles? Before you go that route, you may want to know that laughter is anti-ageing. Facial muscles are toned by laughing contractions. Blood supply to the face is increased, causing a youthful flush effect. In addition, the increased blood supply nourishes the skin and makes it glow.
Are you single and looking for ways to attract the opposite sex? Keep in mind that people look younger, more attractive and more approachable when they laugh. Think about it. Aren’t you more naturally attracted to someone who’s laughing than someone who’s frowning or looks gloomy?
When you’re around laughter, you can’t help but be infected. Hearing or seeing others laugh makes you laugh and that makes them laugh even more and… Well, you get the idea. It’s the best kind of infection you can possibly get.
Feeling down or depressed? Stiff and achy? You need to build up your endorphins. Endorphins are substances formed in the body that naturally relieve pain. In fact, they have a similar chemical structure to morphine. They’re involved in controlling the body's response to stress, regulating contractions of the intestinal wall and determining mood. In other words, endorphins fight and reduce physical pain as well as depression.
And do you want to take a guess as to what increases endorphins? Yup. Laughter! It’s a bona fide stress buster. Vigorous exercise (you’ve heard of a “runner’s high”) can also do increase endorphins, as can orgasms, but that’s a whole different blog. :-)
My husband and I love watching humorous TV shows like AFV (America’s Funniest Home Videos), or reruns of Whose Line is it Anyway (an innovative and hilarious improv show), etc., because they always make us laugh and we always feel better afterwards. I love watching funny movies and reading comedic books too. As a fulltime writer, the primary reason I write mostly romantic comedy and humorous women’s fiction is that it keeps me feeling good as I work. It actually helps to reduce the pain and inflammation from my AS, which is pretty awesome.
When you find life getting in the way of feeling good--you know, things like bad news on TV and in the newspaper; bills piling up; arthritis acting up; kids driving you crazy; work making you bonkers; diet going to hell; etc., take a break for laughter. It’ll help. I promise.
I’ve included two short videos below of babies laughing. They’ve been around for a while so perhaps you’ve seen them before, but I challenge you not to smile while watching them anyway. Maybe they’ll even make you laugh. Watching these is a reminder of how naturally laughter comes to little children. What a shame we lose some of that marvelous spontaneity and sheer joy of life along life’s path. It’s not hopeless. With a little work we can recapture that magical youthful feeling, through frequent bouts of laughter.
As we embark upon the bustling, food-filled holiday season, why not take some time out for yourself and give yourself the very best holiday gift possible--the gift of rich, bubbly, exuberant, healing and downright magical laughter. And while you’re at it, how about giving the same gift to those you love? I promise it will make the next few months easier and more enjoyable for you and yours. :-D
Friday, October 30, 2009
Susan’s Sick, Twisted, Vile and Disgusting Halloween Post
HAPPY HALLOWEEN! It’s time to gross all of you out with my bone-shuddering lack of good taste.
I wrote the first draft of this intentionally revolting Halloween poem in 1984 when I was the art director for a large Chicago-area library. I created a big colorful poster filled with pictures and posted it in a display case with Halloween-related books and decorations in the children’s department. The kids LOVED it. The staid library department heads? Eh, not so much.
No, I didn’t corrupt the library’s wide-eyed, innocent youths. You see, the original version of the poem was much tamer and less twisted. There were no naughty or truly distasteful words. But it was still gross because, hey, that’s what kids like.
Zoom ahead to 2000. I rewrote and lengthened the poem, then boosted the ick-factor and added animated pictures. The resulting Halloween masterpiece was given away as a freebie with the purchase of my novels during the month of October that year. That’s why the animated pictures below have “Daisy” instead of “Susan” on them (my pseudonym is Daisy Dexter Dobbs). After that, the animated poem became an annual feature on my author blog.
And now, my lucky friends, I’d like to share it with you.
“On Halloween I Think of You” is my admittedly warped idea of an affectionate note written by one witch to another on their favorite holiday.
So, will you find this nasty little poem to be a TRICK or TREAT? In any case, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Caution – really gross stuff ahead. Remember…you’ve been warned!
--Susan
On Halloween I Think of You
At last, All Hallows Eve is here!
A moment of silence while I shed a tear,
for tonight I cannot bear to be alone
as vultures pick the sinew from my bone.
Yes, on Halloween I think of you,
and lovely piles of doggie doo.
Of thimbles full of birdie piss,
and musty clouds of graveyard mist.
Sweet memories of you are brought to mind,
as on rotted carcasses I drool and dine.
Your putrid breath and rancid kiss
top the list of things I miss.
Like tasty little kitty guts,
and tender bits of roosters' nuts.
Or jars of pickled lizard toes,
and insides of a warthog's nose.
And never shall I e'er forget
the skunk-like fragrance of your sweat.
Or how the sight of you at night
causes children to shriek with fright.
Ah, such sweet memories--how they linger,
as I lick the rat droppings from my finger.
Into my life you ooze like an open sore,
making the pus drain to my very core.
I remember when we feasted on eye of newt
and you thought the wart on my nose was terribly cute.
Remember when we supped on bat-wing stew
and the spider legs became gelatinous goo?
Oh, the desserts we shared were beyond compare.
Mmm, sugared brains on a nest of matted hair.
Or toe-jam whipped into a mousse,
topped with green droppings from a goose.
But best of all the times we dined
was when we vomited into our wine.
Then we got giddy and opened kegs
of fermented juice from rotted eggs.
As I write these words I salivate
upon the skewered larva that rests on my plate.
In front of me sits a cauldron that boils
while I drop in roaches and watch them coil.
My mouth waters and I lick my lips with glee
as I add a vial of worm juice and a cup of pit-bull pee.
Oh how my taste buds squeal and scream
as I stir in maggots that I've whipped into cream.
I'll raise my cup in toast to you
while guzzling down my stinking brew.
And when this wretched note you see,
here's hoping that you'll think of me.
Happy Halloween!
Note: The photo of me above is from 1996 so it’s 13 years old. Of course, I haven’t aged a day since it was taken *cough* so I saw no reason to update it. My hair is no longer this particular shade of green and I rarely wear an eyeball for an earring these days--only when I’m writing paranormal stories. The spiders now occupy a cobweb swaddled wedge of space inside my head along with the throng of other fictional entities crawling around in there. --Susan
The Small Print: Words and animation © 1984-2009 Susan Bodendorfer/Daisy Dexter Dobbs
The Itsy-bitsy Print: This is a work of fiction (no, really). The characters, incidents and dialogues in this work are products of the author's sick and twisted imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental--and extremely unfortunate for any poor sorry sonuvabitch who sees him/herself in the poem.
I wrote the first draft of this intentionally revolting Halloween poem in 1984 when I was the art director for a large Chicago-area library. I created a big colorful poster filled with pictures and posted it in a display case with Halloween-related books and decorations in the children’s department. The kids LOVED it. The staid library department heads? Eh, not so much.
No, I didn’t corrupt the library’s wide-eyed, innocent youths. You see, the original version of the poem was much tamer and less twisted. There were no naughty or truly distasteful words. But it was still gross because, hey, that’s what kids like.
Zoom ahead to 2000. I rewrote and lengthened the poem, then boosted the ick-factor and added animated pictures. The resulting Halloween masterpiece was given away as a freebie with the purchase of my novels during the month of October that year. That’s why the animated pictures below have “Daisy” instead of “Susan” on them (my pseudonym is Daisy Dexter Dobbs). After that, the animated poem became an annual feature on my author blog.
And now, my lucky friends, I’d like to share it with you.
“On Halloween I Think of You” is my admittedly warped idea of an affectionate note written by one witch to another on their favorite holiday.
So, will you find this nasty little poem to be a TRICK or TREAT? In any case, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Caution – really gross stuff ahead. Remember…you’ve been warned!
--Susan
On Halloween I Think of You
At last, All Hallows Eve is here!
A moment of silence while I shed a tear,
for tonight I cannot bear to be alone
as vultures pick the sinew from my bone.
Yes, on Halloween I think of you,
and lovely piles of doggie doo.
Of thimbles full of birdie piss,
and musty clouds of graveyard mist.
Sweet memories of you are brought to mind,
as on rotted carcasses I drool and dine.
Your putrid breath and rancid kiss
top the list of things I miss.
Like tasty little kitty guts,
and tender bits of roosters' nuts.
Or jars of pickled lizard toes,
and insides of a warthog's nose.
And never shall I e'er forget
the skunk-like fragrance of your sweat.
Or how the sight of you at night
causes children to shriek with fright.
Ah, such sweet memories--how they linger,
as I lick the rat droppings from my finger.
Into my life you ooze like an open sore,
making the pus drain to my very core.
I remember when we feasted on eye of newt
and you thought the wart on my nose was terribly cute.
Remember when we supped on bat-wing stew
and the spider legs became gelatinous goo?
Oh, the desserts we shared were beyond compare.
Mmm, sugared brains on a nest of matted hair.
Or toe-jam whipped into a mousse,
topped with green droppings from a goose.
But best of all the times we dined
was when we vomited into our wine.
Then we got giddy and opened kegs
of fermented juice from rotted eggs.
As I write these words I salivate
upon the skewered larva that rests on my plate.
In front of me sits a cauldron that boils
while I drop in roaches and watch them coil.
My mouth waters and I lick my lips with glee
as I add a vial of worm juice and a cup of pit-bull pee.
Oh how my taste buds squeal and scream
as I stir in maggots that I've whipped into cream.
I'll raise my cup in toast to you
while guzzling down my stinking brew.
And when this wretched note you see,
here's hoping that you'll think of me.
Happy Halloween!
Note: The photo of me above is from 1996 so it’s 13 years old. Of course, I haven’t aged a day since it was taken *cough* so I saw no reason to update it. My hair is no longer this particular shade of green and I rarely wear an eyeball for an earring these days--only when I’m writing paranormal stories. The spiders now occupy a cobweb swaddled wedge of space inside my head along with the throng of other fictional entities crawling around in there. --Susan
The Small Print: Words and animation © 1984-2009 Susan Bodendorfer/Daisy Dexter Dobbs
The Itsy-bitsy Print: This is a work of fiction (no, really). The characters, incidents and dialogues in this work are products of the author's sick and twisted imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental--and extremely unfortunate for any poor sorry sonuvabitch who sees him/herself in the poem.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Let’s Talk About Urgent Toilet Dreams
By the title of this post you might get the idea that I’m going for a cheap laugh involving toilet humor. Well shame on you. I’m stunned and wounded by your supposition. I’m above that sort of thing.
**pausing to wait for menacing clap of thunder**
Anyway, I addressed this delicate subject a few years ago on my author blog and the reader response was amazing. Who knew that so many people were dealing with this particular issue? I’m betting that dieters probably have many more instances than non dieters.
Confused and wondering what the hell I’m talking about? Let me explain…
I’ve always had vivid dreams, so much so that some of my published novels and short stories have actually been based on my dreams. When I dream it’s in color. The dreams seem movie-length and have intricate plots and lots of characters, with me often playing the lead. They’re often realistic, sometimes flat-out ridiculous, occasionally filled with action, suspense and adventure, and only rarely are they frightening. I usually remember quite a bit and keep a dream journal at my nightstand to jot things down before I forget them.
I can assure you the type of dream I’m discussing today is not one that has inspired any of my romance novels.
Today’s post is a serious and profound one indeed. It tackles the very real concern and unique oddity of…(lowers voice to a whisper) urgent toilet dreams, hereinafter referred to as UTD. A delicate subject, indeed, but one that simply cannot be ignored--especially when you’re a dieter who guzzles down huge quantities of water each day.
I’m sure many of you have experienced this sort of dream wherein you’re frantically in search of an acceptable toilet because you really have to pee. Bad. UTDs usually occur when your bladder is full. Your subconscious is trying to send a message that you need to get your lazy, tired, fat ass up out of bed and go to the bathroom to relieve yourself. Sometimes, however, we don’t listen to those messages and are in danger of using the dream toilet--the toilet that isn’t really there. Big mistake.
In UTDs you might go from place to place, seeking a useable toilet only to find there are none. In public restrooms the stalls might all be full; or the toilets are flooded or dirty; or you ask directions but can’t find the bathroom; or you can’t get access for some reason; or everybody is staring at you; etc.
I imagine this would apply to females more than males, who can pee most anywhere they damn well please. Think about it:
“No urinal available? No big deal, I’ll just pee right here on the wall instead. Hmm, let’s see how many cracks in that wall I can hit if I aim real good… No toilet paper available? No problem, I’ll just give a little shake and shimmy and be on my way.”
Due to the intricacies of the female anatomy, it’s not the same for us womenfolk. We’re not designed to be one of the pee, shake and shimmy ilk.
I remember one night in particular, after I dropped off to sleep with a belly full of water sloshing around inside, made even worse by the couple pints of artisan craft beer I’d had with dinner earlier. I dreamed that the only toilet available was reserved for pregnant female prison inmates. When I pointed out that no one was using it and begged to use it just for a moment, a bitchy prison matron forcibly led me out of the area.
A sympathetic Aretha Franklin, who ran the prison’s chocolate candy kitchen, whispered to me about another toilet she knew about that I could use. I had a hard time concentrating on what she was telling me because I kept eyeing a giant cauldron of chocolate. I wanted to dive in and eat until I was sick. But I was afraid that the chocolate might be a direct passage to the electric chair. Aside from that, I certainly didn’t want to pee in the chocolate (a sacrilege indeed!).
Sensing my dilemma, Aretha gave me a chocolate bar instead and sent me on my way. Unfortunately, it was future chocolate, which wouldn’t be ripe and ready-to-eat until 2010. I put it on a chain and wore it like a necklace so it would be readily available when ripe.
In my shiny blue toy pedal Cadillac car on the tracks of Chicago’s subway, careful not to go on the third rail because I could get electrocuted if the car tipped over and I toppled out, I drove to the toilet spot Aretha told me about. Finally, I reached the destination, disappointed to discover that it was a deep hole in the kitchen floor of an old San Francisco mansion that I couldn’t access because it had been boarded up with plywood and nailed tight all around.
I searched for a crowbar but all I could find was the flimsy plastic battery-operated bug zapper my husband gave me (in real life) and that didn’t do much good. Besides, I was afraid that if I got it wet I’d electrocute myself. (For some reason I was unduly concerned with being fried in that dream.)
So I kept searching around the room which had now morphed from a mansion’s kitchen to the living room of a dilapidated cabin in the woods. I saw an axe and started hacking away only to have the axe turn into a long licorice whip. I munched on the licorice, glad that it was fat free, while trying to pry off the wood with my fingers, which were suddenly equipped with steel robot fingertips. That’s when I realized I could ask my great grandmother (who’s been dead for decades) to just kick in the wood with the heel of her orthopedic shoe.
That worked but then all her friends and neighbors, and all the kids in my 8th grade class, sat there watching me and I couldn’t pee in front of them. In fact, when I looked at the hole in the floor it reminded me of an icky outhouse and I didn’t want to go there. Plus I was afraid I’d fall in and it would get boarded up with me down there with nothing but my bar of future chocolate.
I ran deep into the forest. When I found a secluded spot behind some bushes, I remembered that I wasn’t a man and that if I tried to pee standing up, or even squatting, it would be running down my legs and get into my shoes and I’d get leaves and grass and ants stuck to my legs and then everybody at my booksigning would know that I’d just peed out in the woods and I’d be mortified.
Just before I got desperate enough to do it anyway I woke myself up and went to the real bathroom. I had to make sure I was really awake and that it wasn’t a dream-toilet trick before I went. Everything was a-okay after that.
Aside from having the wisdom to limit intake of liquids a couple of hours before bed, is there a deep moral or vitally important message regarding UTDs embedded in this pee-related post? (*insert sound of disbelieving laughter here*) Of course not. After all, this is The Crazy Woman’s blog, remember?
So how about you? Have you found yourself caught in the middle of UTDs too? Go ahead…relieve yourself and share your UTD stories here.
**pausing to wait for menacing clap of thunder**
Anyway, I addressed this delicate subject a few years ago on my author blog and the reader response was amazing. Who knew that so many people were dealing with this particular issue? I’m betting that dieters probably have many more instances than non dieters.
Confused and wondering what the hell I’m talking about? Let me explain…
I’ve always had vivid dreams, so much so that some of my published novels and short stories have actually been based on my dreams. When I dream it’s in color. The dreams seem movie-length and have intricate plots and lots of characters, with me often playing the lead. They’re often realistic, sometimes flat-out ridiculous, occasionally filled with action, suspense and adventure, and only rarely are they frightening. I usually remember quite a bit and keep a dream journal at my nightstand to jot things down before I forget them.
I can assure you the type of dream I’m discussing today is not one that has inspired any of my romance novels.
Today’s post is a serious and profound one indeed. It tackles the very real concern and unique oddity of…(lowers voice to a whisper) urgent toilet dreams, hereinafter referred to as UTD. A delicate subject, indeed, but one that simply cannot be ignored--especially when you’re a dieter who guzzles down huge quantities of water each day.
I’m sure many of you have experienced this sort of dream wherein you’re frantically in search of an acceptable toilet because you really have to pee. Bad. UTDs usually occur when your bladder is full. Your subconscious is trying to send a message that you need to get your lazy, tired, fat ass up out of bed and go to the bathroom to relieve yourself. Sometimes, however, we don’t listen to those messages and are in danger of using the dream toilet--the toilet that isn’t really there. Big mistake.
In UTDs you might go from place to place, seeking a useable toilet only to find there are none. In public restrooms the stalls might all be full; or the toilets are flooded or dirty; or you ask directions but can’t find the bathroom; or you can’t get access for some reason; or everybody is staring at you; etc.
I imagine this would apply to females more than males, who can pee most anywhere they damn well please. Think about it:
“No urinal available? No big deal, I’ll just pee right here on the wall instead. Hmm, let’s see how many cracks in that wall I can hit if I aim real good… No toilet paper available? No problem, I’ll just give a little shake and shimmy and be on my way.”
Due to the intricacies of the female anatomy, it’s not the same for us womenfolk. We’re not designed to be one of the pee, shake and shimmy ilk.
I remember one night in particular, after I dropped off to sleep with a belly full of water sloshing around inside, made even worse by the couple pints of artisan craft beer I’d had with dinner earlier. I dreamed that the only toilet available was reserved for pregnant female prison inmates. When I pointed out that no one was using it and begged to use it just for a moment, a bitchy prison matron forcibly led me out of the area.
A sympathetic Aretha Franklin, who ran the prison’s chocolate candy kitchen, whispered to me about another toilet she knew about that I could use. I had a hard time concentrating on what she was telling me because I kept eyeing a giant cauldron of chocolate. I wanted to dive in and eat until I was sick. But I was afraid that the chocolate might be a direct passage to the electric chair. Aside from that, I certainly didn’t want to pee in the chocolate (a sacrilege indeed!).
Sensing my dilemma, Aretha gave me a chocolate bar instead and sent me on my way. Unfortunately, it was future chocolate, which wouldn’t be ripe and ready-to-eat until 2010. I put it on a chain and wore it like a necklace so it would be readily available when ripe.
In my shiny blue toy pedal Cadillac car on the tracks of Chicago’s subway, careful not to go on the third rail because I could get electrocuted if the car tipped over and I toppled out, I drove to the toilet spot Aretha told me about. Finally, I reached the destination, disappointed to discover that it was a deep hole in the kitchen floor of an old San Francisco mansion that I couldn’t access because it had been boarded up with plywood and nailed tight all around.
I searched for a crowbar but all I could find was the flimsy plastic battery-operated bug zapper my husband gave me (in real life) and that didn’t do much good. Besides, I was afraid that if I got it wet I’d electrocute myself. (For some reason I was unduly concerned with being fried in that dream.)
So I kept searching around the room which had now morphed from a mansion’s kitchen to the living room of a dilapidated cabin in the woods. I saw an axe and started hacking away only to have the axe turn into a long licorice whip. I munched on the licorice, glad that it was fat free, while trying to pry off the wood with my fingers, which were suddenly equipped with steel robot fingertips. That’s when I realized I could ask my great grandmother (who’s been dead for decades) to just kick in the wood with the heel of her orthopedic shoe.
That worked but then all her friends and neighbors, and all the kids in my 8th grade class, sat there watching me and I couldn’t pee in front of them. In fact, when I looked at the hole in the floor it reminded me of an icky outhouse and I didn’t want to go there. Plus I was afraid I’d fall in and it would get boarded up with me down there with nothing but my bar of future chocolate.
I ran deep into the forest. When I found a secluded spot behind some bushes, I remembered that I wasn’t a man and that if I tried to pee standing up, or even squatting, it would be running down my legs and get into my shoes and I’d get leaves and grass and ants stuck to my legs and then everybody at my booksigning would know that I’d just peed out in the woods and I’d be mortified.
Just before I got desperate enough to do it anyway I woke myself up and went to the real bathroom. I had to make sure I was really awake and that it wasn’t a dream-toilet trick before I went. Everything was a-okay after that.
Aside from having the wisdom to limit intake of liquids a couple of hours before bed, is there a deep moral or vitally important message regarding UTDs embedded in this pee-related post? (*insert sound of disbelieving laughter here*) Of course not. After all, this is The Crazy Woman’s blog, remember?
So how about you? Have you found yourself caught in the middle of UTDs too? Go ahead…relieve yourself and share your UTD stories here.
Friday, October 23, 2009
If They Can Do It…
I love looking at before and after photos of successful dieters. They’re so inspiring. It’s not just their weight that’s changed in the after shots, but, clearly, the way they perceive themselves; feel about themselves; the way they carry themselves. They radiate confidence, happiness and a bright new sense of pride and achievement.
I not only get inspired, I also find myself getting a bit emotional and crying happy tears because I can truly understand, truly empathize with their sense of hard-earned, newfound happiness. One of my favorite parts of watching The Biggest Loser is seeing how the eliminated players look now. And then I love watching the finale episode where you get to see how different all the contestants look. I’m a happy, sniveling, teary mess by the end of that show.
If you look at the expressions and the eyes in the before pictures of formerly fat people, you’ll see a moment in time that captured some of the misery, the longing, the frustration they must have felt. I can imagine because I’ve been there too…many times. It’s overwhelming to be huge and beginning yet another diet, wondering if this time you’ll stick to it all the way to the finish--and then maintain the loss beyond that instead of regaining all the weight plus more.
I found this short (about 4 1-2 minutes) video on YouTube several months ago and just came across it again. It’s a collection of before and after still photos, like a slide show. It makes me smile every time I see it. I hope it does the same for you. I don’t know anything about the people in it, except for their weight loss success.
When you watch it, remember that these are regular, ordinary, everyday men and women, just like you and me. They don’t have super weight-loss powers. No one waved a magic wand over them. They didn’t take a magic pill and wake up thin. And they weren’t on a reality show like The Biggest Loser where their daily lives centered around diet, 6-8 hours of brutal exercise with their own personal trainer, and competitive weigh-ins for months on end. These ordinary people worked at it while going about their average daily lives. Day by day, pound by pound. Inch by inch. And they succeeded.
Now they probably love to have their photos taken, because they look fantastic. They probably love to catch a glimpse of themselves in store windows, because they’re not horrified at seeing an obese person staring back at them. They probably love trying on clothes because they can fit in regular sizes--and look damn good in just about anything they throw on. They probably love to get all fixed up and go somewhere--anywhere, because they don’t have to feel embarrassed about being the biggest person in the room. They’ve created brand new lean, fit and healthy lives for themselves.
If they can do it, so can we!
Just in case you can’t see the embedded video below, here’s a direct link to it on YouTube.
NOTE: The video has background music but no talking, so you can turn down the volume and still enjoy it without any sound in case you’re watching from work (not that any of you would ever dream of doing that - LOL).
Wasn’t that inspiring? Again, please remember that if they can do it…
I not only get inspired, I also find myself getting a bit emotional and crying happy tears because I can truly understand, truly empathize with their sense of hard-earned, newfound happiness. One of my favorite parts of watching The Biggest Loser is seeing how the eliminated players look now. And then I love watching the finale episode where you get to see how different all the contestants look. I’m a happy, sniveling, teary mess by the end of that show.
If you look at the expressions and the eyes in the before pictures of formerly fat people, you’ll see a moment in time that captured some of the misery, the longing, the frustration they must have felt. I can imagine because I’ve been there too…many times. It’s overwhelming to be huge and beginning yet another diet, wondering if this time you’ll stick to it all the way to the finish--and then maintain the loss beyond that instead of regaining all the weight plus more.
I found this short (about 4 1-2 minutes) video on YouTube several months ago and just came across it again. It’s a collection of before and after still photos, like a slide show. It makes me smile every time I see it. I hope it does the same for you. I don’t know anything about the people in it, except for their weight loss success.
When you watch it, remember that these are regular, ordinary, everyday men and women, just like you and me. They don’t have super weight-loss powers. No one waved a magic wand over them. They didn’t take a magic pill and wake up thin. And they weren’t on a reality show like The Biggest Loser where their daily lives centered around diet, 6-8 hours of brutal exercise with their own personal trainer, and competitive weigh-ins for months on end. These ordinary people worked at it while going about their average daily lives. Day by day, pound by pound. Inch by inch. And they succeeded.
Now they probably love to have their photos taken, because they look fantastic. They probably love to catch a glimpse of themselves in store windows, because they’re not horrified at seeing an obese person staring back at them. They probably love trying on clothes because they can fit in regular sizes--and look damn good in just about anything they throw on. They probably love to get all fixed up and go somewhere--anywhere, because they don’t have to feel embarrassed about being the biggest person in the room. They’ve created brand new lean, fit and healthy lives for themselves.
If they can do it, so can we!
Just in case you can’t see the embedded video below, here’s a direct link to it on YouTube.
NOTE: The video has background music but no talking, so you can turn down the volume and still enjoy it without any sound in case you’re watching from work (not that any of you would ever dream of doing that - LOL).
Wasn’t that inspiring? Again, please remember that if they can do it…
Monday, October 19, 2009
There’s Danger Ahead
In my last post I talked about all the wondrous, celebratory, joyous new feelings I’m experiencing after losing 75-pounds (with about 40 more to go).
What I didn’t talk about was the urgent warning message that’s surfacing.
It cautions “Beware, Susan. There’s danger ahead.”
The message is a vigilant reminder of how easily I could find myself fat and miserable again. It happens so murderously, heinously swift. It sneaks up on so quickly that there’s hardly enough time to enjoy new-found slenderness before the crazy woman inside me takes control again.
The thought of relapsing, backsliding, regaining all the weight again, makes me shudder. The way it happens is so subtle. So deceptive. So insidious. That’s why it’s unbelievably easy to fall into the trap. I know because it’s happened to me before, after every successful diet I’ve been on. I never, ever want to forget the past--what happened or how it happened. I know if I let my guard down, if I let myself become fooled, I’ll end up morbidly obese again. And I can’t--I WON’T--let that happen this time!
If you’ve been fat and have lost weight in the past, then perhaps you can relate with this: You look and feel so good that you find yourself reaching a point where you honestly think you’re cured. You really, truly believe (or maybe you just convince yourself that you believe) you’re no longer a food addict, no longer a compulsive overeater. Halleluiah! Voila! Healed! Cured! Thin for life! Able to eat whatever you please and be just like everyone else! Happy ever after! And so you happily, blissfully keep nibbling “bad foods” eating just a little here and there, certain you’ve got things under control. You’re so sure that you’re smarter and more powerful than the ominous addiction you think you’ve beaten.
Think again.
When we reach that point in our journeys, it’s imperative that we refuse to allow food addiction to take a foothold in our lives again. We must be wise enough to realize we may not be able to get rid of the addiction again--it gets more difficult each time. This time must be the final time we put our poor minds and bodies through the demanding rigors of obesity and weight loss. We must vow to love our bodies and be kind to them--taking the absolute best care of them with healthy, nourishing foods that will keep us lean, fit, healthy--and sane.
If you’re like me and have suffered the anguish of regaining weight after losing it, then you know you’re at risk of failing again. Try hard to remember what happens after you’ve lost weight and feel the first stirrings of craziness reemerging. You can tell you’re slipping, remember? There comes a point where you start to feel sick inside--emotionally, not physically--because a tiny part of you is aware that you’re heading for trouble. You’re secretly terrified you’ll regain the weight. It’s an awful feeling. Deep inside you know it’s happening again but you don’t want to admit it to yourself or to anyone else. For some horrifying reason you just keep on eating, finding it impossible to stop. In fact, at that point you don’t want to stop. It’s awful, terrible, so frightening. You feel like you’re about to drown, to fall off a cliff, to spiral back into fat hell--with very little hope of escape.
I so clearly remember the way it happened for me the last time I lost a lot of weight about eight years ago. I swear, that dreadful memory is ingrained in my cells. As the craziness returned, I could almost feel the wonderful, beautiful slender body I’d achieved slipping away from me, ready to be replaced by that hideous fat body suit I’d worn for so many years.
Just when all seemed so right, so perfect, the addiction once again made itself known. I’d start eating the refined carbs, the chocolate, the ice cream, the buttered bread, the greasy fast food and all the rest without incident, without weight gain. “I’m using moderation,” I’d tell myself, trying to justify what I was doing. I’d stop eating the leanest, healthiest foods in favor of foods that I knew damn well aren’t the best for me. Problem foods. Trigger foods. Foods that have never failed to seduce me to The Fat Side.
I won’t be doing that again. And I don’t want you to either.
Let’s make damn sure it doesn’t happen again, okay? We’ll make certain to keep aware, to avoid overconfidence or too much cockiness when we lose weight and start looking damn good and getting tons of compliments about our newly slender appearance. We’ll teach ourselves that we can have plenty of fun, good times and happiness without giving in to temptation. We need to learn that special events, celebratory occasions, holidays, vacations, can be just as enjoyable, if not more enjoyable, when they’re not centered around food. We can celebrate our wonderful weight loss victories and yet remain on guard at all times. Always. Without fail.
Lean, fit and healthy. Forever. It’s time. It’s the way we’re meant to be. I am embracing my fabulous, healthy new life and will never, ever let it get away from me again. I will celebrate my wisdom, my age and my experience by giving myself the incredible, marvelous gift of a permanently healthy new body.
No matter where you are in your weight loss journey, always be aware. Never forget that there’s danger ahead--lurking, hiding, just waiting to get you in its grip. Today and every day let’s pledge to remember the journey, the long hard road that brings us to living in bodies that no longer stand out in a crowd because of their hefty size. Let’s celebrate the wonderful fruits of our labor and snuff out the craziness of food addiction that lurks within, just waiting to take control again.
This time I’m going to make it. And I want each of you to make it too! We CAN do this!
There’s danger ahead. Always be ready for it. If you want lasting success; if you truly and sincerely desire to be lean, fit and healthy, then you’ll make it happen. Period. No excuses. No justifications. You’ll do whatever’s needed to transform your dream into a reality. You have the power. We all do. And no one can take that power away from us.
Have a GREAT, healthy, happy, successful week!
What I didn’t talk about was the urgent warning message that’s surfacing.
It cautions “Beware, Susan. There’s danger ahead.”
The message is a vigilant reminder of how easily I could find myself fat and miserable again. It happens so murderously, heinously swift. It sneaks up on so quickly that there’s hardly enough time to enjoy new-found slenderness before the crazy woman inside me takes control again.
The thought of relapsing, backsliding, regaining all the weight again, makes me shudder. The way it happens is so subtle. So deceptive. So insidious. That’s why it’s unbelievably easy to fall into the trap. I know because it’s happened to me before, after every successful diet I’ve been on. I never, ever want to forget the past--what happened or how it happened. I know if I let my guard down, if I let myself become fooled, I’ll end up morbidly obese again. And I can’t--I WON’T--let that happen this time!
If you’ve been fat and have lost weight in the past, then perhaps you can relate with this: You look and feel so good that you find yourself reaching a point where you honestly think you’re cured. You really, truly believe (or maybe you just convince yourself that you believe) you’re no longer a food addict, no longer a compulsive overeater. Halleluiah! Voila! Healed! Cured! Thin for life! Able to eat whatever you please and be just like everyone else! Happy ever after! And so you happily, blissfully keep nibbling “bad foods” eating just a little here and there, certain you’ve got things under control. You’re so sure that you’re smarter and more powerful than the ominous addiction you think you’ve beaten.
Think again.
When we reach that point in our journeys, it’s imperative that we refuse to allow food addiction to take a foothold in our lives again. We must be wise enough to realize we may not be able to get rid of the addiction again--it gets more difficult each time. This time must be the final time we put our poor minds and bodies through the demanding rigors of obesity and weight loss. We must vow to love our bodies and be kind to them--taking the absolute best care of them with healthy, nourishing foods that will keep us lean, fit, healthy--and sane.
If you’re like me and have suffered the anguish of regaining weight after losing it, then you know you’re at risk of failing again. Try hard to remember what happens after you’ve lost weight and feel the first stirrings of craziness reemerging. You can tell you’re slipping, remember? There comes a point where you start to feel sick inside--emotionally, not physically--because a tiny part of you is aware that you’re heading for trouble. You’re secretly terrified you’ll regain the weight. It’s an awful feeling. Deep inside you know it’s happening again but you don’t want to admit it to yourself or to anyone else. For some horrifying reason you just keep on eating, finding it impossible to stop. In fact, at that point you don’t want to stop. It’s awful, terrible, so frightening. You feel like you’re about to drown, to fall off a cliff, to spiral back into fat hell--with very little hope of escape.
I so clearly remember the way it happened for me the last time I lost a lot of weight about eight years ago. I swear, that dreadful memory is ingrained in my cells. As the craziness returned, I could almost feel the wonderful, beautiful slender body I’d achieved slipping away from me, ready to be replaced by that hideous fat body suit I’d worn for so many years.
Just when all seemed so right, so perfect, the addiction once again made itself known. I’d start eating the refined carbs, the chocolate, the ice cream, the buttered bread, the greasy fast food and all the rest without incident, without weight gain. “I’m using moderation,” I’d tell myself, trying to justify what I was doing. I’d stop eating the leanest, healthiest foods in favor of foods that I knew damn well aren’t the best for me. Problem foods. Trigger foods. Foods that have never failed to seduce me to The Fat Side.
I won’t be doing that again. And I don’t want you to either.
Let’s make damn sure it doesn’t happen again, okay? We’ll make certain to keep aware, to avoid overconfidence or too much cockiness when we lose weight and start looking damn good and getting tons of compliments about our newly slender appearance. We’ll teach ourselves that we can have plenty of fun, good times and happiness without giving in to temptation. We need to learn that special events, celebratory occasions, holidays, vacations, can be just as enjoyable, if not more enjoyable, when they’re not centered around food. We can celebrate our wonderful weight loss victories and yet remain on guard at all times. Always. Without fail.
Lean, fit and healthy. Forever. It’s time. It’s the way we’re meant to be. I am embracing my fabulous, healthy new life and will never, ever let it get away from me again. I will celebrate my wisdom, my age and my experience by giving myself the incredible, marvelous gift of a permanently healthy new body.
No matter where you are in your weight loss journey, always be aware. Never forget that there’s danger ahead--lurking, hiding, just waiting to get you in its grip. Today and every day let’s pledge to remember the journey, the long hard road that brings us to living in bodies that no longer stand out in a crowd because of their hefty size. Let’s celebrate the wonderful fruits of our labor and snuff out the craziness of food addiction that lurks within, just waiting to take control again.
This time I’m going to make it. And I want each of you to make it too! We CAN do this!
There’s danger ahead. Always be ready for it. If you want lasting success; if you truly and sincerely desire to be lean, fit and healthy, then you’ll make it happen. Period. No excuses. No justifications. You’ll do whatever’s needed to transform your dream into a reality. You have the power. We all do. And no one can take that power away from us.
Have a GREAT, healthy, happy, successful week!
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