Empty Drawers

I was folding clothes the other day - a thankless task, honestly (however, folding 1 load of laundry burns approximately the same calories as walking a little more than half a mile... that's JUST the folding, not the lugging about of laundry baskets, loading or unloading the washer, etc) and I was thinking "damn, I have a lot of clothes." Then I was folding up a postage-sized pair of underwear. "And they're all tiny."

Truth be told, it takes me longer to fold the laundry now than it used to. What was a full laundry basket two years ago contained six or seven shirts, twelve or fourteen pairs of undies, a few bras, a couple towels and two or three pairs of pants. (If you're gathering from this that I wore the same shirt several times, you'd be correct. I didn't have that many things that fit, nor were flattering... Also, I was probably depressed. The problem with depression is that sometimes you don't know you're in it until you're not... but the symptoms: I rarely left the house, I usually wore the same baggy housedress five or six days in a row - can you say YUCK with me? I know you can! - were all there... it's only NOW that I'm realizing HOW MUCH better my life is...) And my laundry basket was FULL.

These days, a full laundry basket contains 4 - 5 pairs of pants, two pairs of sweat pants, 10 tank tops, 5 t-shirts or blouses, a skirt, one sundress, 17 pairs of undies, 4 bras, 2 sports bras, 2 sports shirts, my Victoria Secrets bathrobe, 2 or 3 sweaters, 18 pairs of socks (I simply cannot BEAR to wear the same socks I worked out in...), four bath towels, 2 gym towels, and my sweat jacket.

I haven't gotten a new laundry basket.

My clothes are just TINY.

On the left side of that photo is one of my cami-bra tops from Express. (I currently have 9 of these things and I still want the espresso brown one, and a few more of the patterned ones.) It's a medium. I tried on the smalls the last time I was there, and while it fit, it also displayed some of the stubborn back fat. Plus the shelf-bra inside it was a LEETLE TIGHT. So, still mediums. I'm ok with that. On the right side of the photo is one of my racer-back tops from Torrid. Right before I started losing weight, I discovered Torrid, and I still recommend them for the plus sized line that actually looks good. Also, their stores are neat, with nice wide aisles (ever wonder why Lane Bryant has to pack their clothes in so tight that you feel like you're going to knock over a display?) and really nice changing rooms. Anyway, I had a number of those tank tops. Size 4XL. That's an XXXXL, just in case you were wondering. (If we wanted to be Roman, it'd be an IVL. That looks better.)

I have an ENTIRE DRAWER of clothes dedicated to activity. Sports bras, yoga pants, sweat pants (I almost called them sweat slacks, except there is NOTHING slack about them... they are Tight as All Hell. I actually have to zip them down my legs... on the plus side, a contractor today from Chesapeake Sidings actually leaned out the window of his truck and yelled 'Nice gams, lady!'... by the way, who the HELL says 'gams' these days?") workout shirts - including my 100 pushups tank because it now has huge sweat stains around the neck and under the arms and is too ratty to wear out in public - sweat bands for my hair, two swim suits (one of them is even a bikini and I look GOOD in it... I am only dismayed that I managed to snag it just at the end of the season and didn't actually get to wear it out to the beach.) and the towels that I take to the gym with me to wipe the sweat off.

And despite this.... I still have two... count them! TWO empty drawers in my dresser.

You know, a size IVL sweater folded up takes up half an entire drawer by itself. I have four sweaters now, folded neatly, in half of one drawer.

So... I have empty space.

Guess I should buy more clothes, aye?

Jeans

As if I needed more reasons to hate my body, I got two pieces of information this week that in turns disgust and amuse me.

First, I apparently have no ass.

Second, my thighs aren't big enough.

I went jeans shopping this past week with my friend Leslie. Shopping with Leslie is nothing like shopping with my other girlfriends. While my other girlfriends tend to tell me things are cute, Leslie spent most of her time criticizing. Not so much criticizing me, exactly, but the quality of the clothing, the fit, the color, the prices. She blames this on having a very picky father who insisted on absolutely the best, followed by years of being married to someone who - while he himself might not have had tons of cash, was at least the spoiled child of people with a lot of cash.

So... she's fussy about clothing.

And while I'm an apple, Leslie is a pear. (Well, a pear with an enormous chest.) I don't have a waist, so to speak. And I have absolutely no butt whatsoever. Any jeans that closed around my middle were baggy in the butt.

I had, actually, never noticed this. For me, what's always been more important about jeans fit was how well they reduced the look of my protruding stomach. One of the big problems I've had with my appearance, post weight-loss, is that I don't look thin. I am weighing in around 129-131 pounds (first thing in the morning) and yet I look like a smaller fat person.

"Well, that's unattractive," says Leslie, as I walk out of the fitting room in a pair of Old Navy sweetheart jeans. They're a size 4. SIZE. 4. Damnit.

"What is?" I turn around in the mirror.

"Your jeans... you bag in the butt. And believe me, in jeans, that's the place where you never, ever want to be baggy."

"What are you talking about?" The jeans were pretty damn snug, actually. They fit tight over my stomach and yet didn't spill muffin over the top.

Leslie walked over to the mirror and turned me until I could look at my butt. "Here."

She was right. Just under where my ass would be (if I had one) were a series of creases. I tried on another pair of jeans. And another. And we went to two more shops.

They all do it. Every. Single pair of jeans. Including the ones I was wearing.

I finally ended up getting two pairs of 4s at TJ Maxx anyway... they still bag in the butt, and yet it doesn't seem like there's anything I can do about it. If the jeans fit in the butt, I can't snap them closed (or if I can suck it in hard enough to zip them up, I get terrible muffin top.)

I'd feel even worse about this if it weren't for one consoling factor. Leslie's jeans might be stretched tight across her butt and thighs, but they gap terribly in the waist. No one ever has to wonder what kind of undies she's wearing...

So, I'm not unique, even if I am the only apple in my group of friends. At least my jeans are comfortable, rather than being stretched here and there, and making me worried that someone's going to feel tempted to drop an ice cube down the back of my pants.

Jeans are just Not Made for Women.

On the other hand, there's nothing I can do about my thighs. I already walk so much as to be ridiculous, and having lost 85 pounds, my thighs are measuring in around 18.5 inches at the moment. When I started the whole weight loss thing, my thighs were 27 inches around. I think I'll go ahead and stay in the higher risk category, ok? Ok.

Vanity, thy name is Weight Loss

Thursday, I gathered together with a bunch of my girlfriends (all of us are on Weight Watchers... I'm such a trend-setter... Not entirely true, Leigh was doing Weight Watcher's before any of us, but she'd gotten to lifetime, then had a bunch of Real Life fall on her head and she quit, regained some of the weight, etc etc. Anyway... Thomas and I started Weight Watchers in January '08, Jeanne picked it up... April of that year? Carol in October... and I'm not quite sure when Leigh went back, but she's back at her goal weight... in our group of friends, we've relocated something like over 300 pounds...) There I go with those long asides again... sheesh! Anyway, the four of us (me, Jeanne, Carol, and Leigh) went clothes shopping at some of the trendy little shops up in Newtown.

Actually most of the shops there aren't terribly trendy, they just look trendy when behind the brick and class look of Newtown.

Carol's high school reunion is coming up soon and she needed a dress. I was in dire need of a few more pairs of shorts to get me through the summer, because honestly, three pairs wasn't cutting it, particularly when two of those pairs were bright pink and bright blue. There's only so many times I can wear the same clothes in a row before someone notices. Jeanne was short a few pairs of work-pants, and could have used another pair of jeans. I don't know if Leigh needed anything particular (she was a last minute addition because we didn't know earlier if she was going to get the time off from work) but wanted to hang out anyway.

We hit Anne Taylor first, where I immediately pounced on the saleslady. "I need your help," says I. I was wearing those grey-brown and white flowered pants that I got from Old Navy a few weeks back and a black top. The two items of clothing didn't clash, exactly, but it was the only top I had that even remotely went with the pants. "I need a top to go with these."

She took me around the shop and we looked at tops. (As a note, clothing salesladies are almost inevitably thrilled about weight loss... they can smell a commission a mile away and nothing says "new clothes" like 85 pounds gone...) We looked at various neutral shades, most of which were "not quite..." We looked at several different white shirts which they either didn't have my size or were too floofy for me. (I just don't tend to look good - in my opinon - in those 'romantic, feminine' styles. Probably because if I have too much froof on a shirt, I'll end up fidgeting with it. Or I won't iron it.) And then we found the perfect top. It was a white tank with some brown-grey crochet lacing around the collar. The lacing was almost the exact same shade as the background on my pants. Seriously, they looked like they were made to go together, it was that perfect.

After we found the Perfect Shirt, she insisted on showing me a bunch of other shirts, pants, shorts, skirts, dresses... anything she could think of that I might possibly buy (I did mention that salespeople can smell a commission, right?) and I ended up picking up a black and white flowered sundress. I probably wouldn't have gotten it - it looked in danger of falling right off my chest - until Leigh came up behind me and adjusted the straps. I hadn't actually realized the straps were adjustable.

Then we crossed the road to Lane Bryant, where Carol discovered to her glee, they had absolutely nothing that fit her right anymore. Their lowest size is a 14/16 and all the 14/16 dresses were just too big. We found one pantsuit/jumpsuit thing that looked really good on her, but she was going to need like $20 worth of tailoring to make it fit. (The hem of the pants part needed to come up a good 2 inches, and the elastic around the bust was going to need to be replaced with some elastic that actually had a good grip. The top looked great, but was threatening to fall down the instant she took a too-bouncy step.) She did still fit in their jeans from there, so she got a pair of those, and (I think) a wooden chunky bracelet.

Jeane, on the other hand, who hates jeans... tried on a few pairs of the Lane Bryant jeans, and declared them terrible. I'm not sure they are, but they certainly are confusing. The sizes are all wonked - they retooled the sizes so that they start at 1, which is equalish to your size 14 in other stores, and go up from there - and then they come in three color-cuts. Red, blue, and yellow. (Not that the jeans are anything but blue and dark blue, but red is like extra butt and thighs, yellow is for extra tummy, etc.) So, while I think the jeans are quite excellent, you do sort of have to try on a red one, blue two, and yellow three, frequently, before you figure out what your size combo is. If you're not happy wearing jeans in the first place, the style-size-cut thing can be a bit intimidating. When I first bought pairs of the new styles (I only ever actually bought one pair, since I was on my way out of Lane Bryant shops just as the new jeans were coming in) I had a saleslady assist me with what sizes and cut she thought I should be in.

We left there and headed over to Old Navy, where I managed to score a sale or two. Technically, just one sale, but since I bought two pairs of shorts... I have figured out the 4/6 thing. Some of my shorts are 6s and some are 4s, and I couldn't figure out for a while WHY I could wear a 4 in some styles and not in others. It turns out that it's where the waist lays. If it's a high-waisted piece (ie, the snap fastens over or around my navel) I can wear a size 4. If the snap goes 1 inch below my navel (mid-waist) or around my hips (low waist) then I need a 6. It's not that I can't fasten a size four at a mid or lower, but I muffin-top over them. Yuck. I'm still working on tightening up my abs, but I may never get any better than this.

Carol and Jeane were both very excited to realize that they could, actually, shop at Old Navy. (Unlike me, where I spent a while in the Lane Bryant sort of nostaligically fondling the clothing that was never going to fit me again... I know a lot of prior fat girls bid a cheerful fair-the-well to Lane Bryant, but I always felt... comfortable there. For me, being in a fancy boutique is intimidating. Lane Bryant feels like home...) Jeane found a few pairs of pants, Carol got a very cute top and some tanks, and some very nice water bottles. (Which reminds me, YOU got a DEAL, girlfriend. I saw those exact same water bottles in Target on Friday for $17 a piece!!)

After that (we did shop til we dropped!) we headed down the street to J Jills, which was going out of buiness. Prices were marked down, down, down, and then 70% off after that!

Which meant I picked up a pair of silk pants ($6), a linen jacket ($9) and a really nice wool-cotten blend sweater ($11). If I'd bought them not on sale... the three items would have run me over $300. Nice.

We were all so enabling each other to spend money...

Seriously.

"Oh, that looks SO CUTE! You MUST buy it!"

I'm quite sure the saleswomen in the various shops were delighted to see us. I know I spent at least $100 total, the others similiar amounts or more...

You know, when I used to go shopping, it was this rapid, horrible event.

Run into the store, pick one or two things that weren't horribly colored. Often I didn't even try them on in the shop. Honestly. I would rather deal with the hassle of taking something back for an exchange than risk crying myself sick in the dressing room. (Also, I hated taking off my clothes in front of three mirrors. I mean, seriously. With bad lightening. So not like I ever looked good, but did we really need to go through all that?)

Now I go into the dressing room with anywhere between 8 and 10 items, try on a bunch of stuff, come out of the dressing room to look at it, solicit opinions, feel how it moves when I move, etc. We spent all afternoon trying on clothes.

And honestly, I couldn't have imagined a better afternoon.

Sushi. Shopping. Chocolate.

Fantastic.

(As a note, despite not tracking and massively eating out all week while Jeane was in town, I apparently managed to get in enough activity points - the children's museam especially was a LOT of activity!! - I managed to drop weight this week... down 1.6. I'm back to less than 5 pounds til goal...)

Wax On, Wax Off

Waxing Lady: So this is your first time getting body wax?
Andy Stitzer: Yes. Yes it is.
Waxing Lady: Take off your shirt.
Andy Stitzer: Ok.
[Takes off his shirt revealing a very hairy torso]
Waxing Lady: [to whoever's outside] Oh, we gonna need more wax.
Cal: I'm staying. This is gonna be good.
Waxing Lady: and clear all my appointments in the afternoon.

40 Year Old Virgin

There are some days when I look around and I have no idea who these people are in my life. I'm not talking about friends; I'm talking about the woman who's wearing the size 8 jeans and who spends 15 minutes in the evening doing facial masks and the guy who is waxing his back.

Seriously.

When, really, did we become so vain?

My evening routine gets longer, it seems, every month. Right now I have a peach scrub facial wash, followed by a moisturizer. Once a week I do a 10-minute mask. I have moisturizer especially for my eyes. (That costs like $25 for this tiny little jar...) I have a lip mask and a lip balm that I use twice a day.

What happened to brushing my teeth and going to sleep?

My husband is wearing $70 designer jeans.

Huh?

He's also waxing his back.

Or, more exactly, I am waxing his back FOR HIM.

Now, the fact that my husband has hair on his back and chest has never particularly bothered me. It is what it is, and I don't worry about it... he's not furry enough to have that tuft that sticks out at the collar of his t-shirt, and really, that's all that's been important to me.

But, apparently, in addition to 1) not being able to swim very well, 2) not being able to see while swimming because my husband's eyesight is something scarily blind like 20/1000 and 3) being overweight, my husband has a phobia of the swimming pool brought about by the fact that he looks like he's got ursine ancestry.

So... we bought a wax kit and I have been learning the fine art of ripping someone's hair out by the roots.

Fun, fun.

Things to remember, if you try this at home:

- Pull the paper-strips off in the OPPOSITE direction of the hair growth. Otherwise, the hair (and wax) doesn't actually come off. And it's very painful.
- Do Not touch the wax. It's very, very sticky.
- The "after waxing lotion" doesn't do anything. Use mineral oil to remove excess wax.
- Be very careful where you put the lid. In addition to being sticky, wax... oozes. Everywhere.

All jokes aside, the results have been... very nice.

I'm just finding it weird how... image conscious Thomas and I have become.

I used to get up in the morning, and if I bothered to get dressed at all, I'd throw on my house dress. But usually, I just pulled on an extra long t-shirt and schlepped around the house in that, until shortly before Thomas would get home from work, at which point I'd toss on a bra, pair of shorts, use deodorant, and rake a comb through my hair. (Sometimes. Sometimes I skipped the hair-combing bit.)

My wardrobe consisted of a few dozen 3X t-shirts, whatever jeans I could find that fit, and step-in shoes. (Seriously, until last year, I didn't own more than three or four pairs of socks...)

These days, I have tops and coordinating sweaters. I have a pair of tights that are the same color as one of my shirts and a blue sweater dress. I have earrings and chunky bracelets that were bought specifically to match one of my outfits. I have three pairs of high heels that I wear regularly, very expensive running shoes, and a pair of step-ins that I often forget I have, since I'm too busy wearing my high-heeled boots.

My whole life has changed in ways that didn't seem important at the time, but lately have become noticeable as to how much has changed. Instead of leveling three alts to 80, I spent 3 hours at the gym per week. Instead of watching movies all day on Sunday, I walk seven miles. I went to the gym this morning at 6:30am because I won't be able to get in later today, and instead of resenting being awake that early, I more resented the fact that I could only spend 25 minutes in the gym, instead of my usual 90.

Strange.

(Now, if only all these changes were adding up... my weight loss has been stagnant for the last three weeks. gained .2, maintained, lost .2. Gyah!)

Eight is Enough

Aside from my wedding dress (in which I looked liked a silk and seed-pearl wrapped marshmallow) I have never owned clothing more expensive than the stuff I am wearing today.

I am wearing a teal blue silk overshirt ($59.99), a nude cami top ($19.50), and skinny-leg pair of Mia jeans ($69.50) with a pair of black wingtip-style heels ($29.95). I'm also wearing a belt ($12.99). It's not a belt I have any need for, mind you. My jeans are new, and a size 8. There's no way I need a belt to hold my pants up. I'm wearing a tiny, patent leather belt around my shirt. As a decoration.

I am wearing a $200 outfit.

I didn't even spend that much money on a prom dress. (In high school, I was required to buy my own prom dresses out of a $15 a week allowance that also had to cover my school lunches, books, and outtings. I hit the sale racks for prom dresses... I think I spent a grand total of $25 for my senior prom gown.)

Last year, I wouldn't even have looked at a silk shirt. I used to sweat, constantly, even in air-conditioned rooms when I wasn't doing anything. A silk shirt would have been a waste of money. Not to mention the fact that I don't think they make silk shirts in an XXXL.

My ass is crammed into a pair of skinny-legged, $70 jeans. Sized 8. You know, two weeks ago when I got my first pair of 8's, I was... trying to talk myself down of them, you know. Oh, well, of course it's a size 8. I got them at TJ Maxx, and you know, that's a discount store, so regardless of what the tag says, they're probably not a size 8. And you know, they're a relaxed fit.

But these are size 8 from Express. Express. Which carries size 0. Where the sales-staff are all no larger than 4s. Who talk about "Oh, well, these sweaters are sized a little small. I mean, usually I wear an XS, but for this cardigan, I needed a small...." (I shit you not, my favorite sales girl said that two weeks ago when I bought a lovely paint-splatter patterned sweater in a Large... there are realms left in the skinny fashion industry in which I daresay I will never be more than a casual explorer. If nothing else, I still have boobs.)

And what, you might ask, am I doing in a $200 outfit?

I've been asking myself the same question.

I have. No. Earthly. Clue.

Sometimes I think I have a weird sort of reverse fat-girl vision. I know a lot of women have problems realizing just how big they've gotten. I remember talking with a friend back when she started Weight Watchers and she said to me, "I used to comfort myself with this idea; that at least I wasn't a hundred pounds overweight. And then I got on the scale." Turns out, when she wasn't paying attention, she had gotten to that arbitrary line of what was acceptable and what wasn't. (For her. Those lines are different for everyone.)

I have the opposite problem.

I can't see myself as thin. Or even normal. I still look in the mirror and see fat expanding in all directions.

I keep trying to find excuses about why I should be able to fit into a size 8 pair of pants. (See my above rationalization about the pair I got at TJ Maxx...)

I've lost 70 pounds. I'm (according to the Wii Fit; which has become my cross to bear, and yes, I still jump on the damn thing every morning.. and I might add, I had a discussion with Thomas yesterday about how much 20oz of water weighs, and could I legitimately blame that on a 1 pound weight gain? The answer to that is, YES. A 20 ounce bottle of water weighs ~1.3 POUNDS. So if I drank a whole 20oz bottle right before jumping on the scale, yes, the scale's going to pick that up...) about 5 pounds away from being a normal weight for my height. (On the high edge of normal, admittedly, but a BMI of 25 is "normal". The Wii says I weighed 146 this morning. To get to a BMI of 25, I need to weigh 141.)

I keep waiting for that lightbulb moment...

Really... you'd think eight would be enough.