F**king Diet!

The original title for this entry was completely inappropriate.  I changed it.  You're welcome.

Day 2 on my weird and wonky diet, and I'm not loving it.  If you have no clue what I'm talking about, see my previous entry "Reject Your Tummy to Dominate".  I got up early, and did my cardio for 10 minutes, drank my damn water and ate an apple for breakfast.  The good news was on the scale, though.  121.8 pounds!  Woot!  Lunch was my downfall, though.  I was thinkin' Arby's.  Next thing you know, there's a ham and swiss melt in my mouth, and I'm elbow deep in curly fries.  "I'm thinkin' Arby's" translates to "I'm chewin' Arby's" with terrifying speed.  Slip-ups are bound to happen, though, am I right?  (Say yes)  I mean, it's only day 2, but what am I?  A monk?  Self-deprivation is not how I roll.  I've had not another drop of water, but this Sprite is tasty.  And there may or may not be a little vodka in it....  Don't judge.  It's been a very hard day.  So, the moral of the story is today isn't over yet.  I can squeeze in a little more cardio and some weights.  Also, tomorrow is a new day and so on and so on.  Keep rooting for me, readers!

XOXO and stuff!

Reject Your Tummy to Dominate! (Engrish Muffin Tops)

In the spirit of self improvement (and probable mid-life crisis setting in), I've decided that getting fit is in order.  Not just thinner, but healthier.  You know, eating better, frying less *tear*, and exercising more.  I found a diet in a really weird book I got for free on Craigslist, and I'm going to try it - well halfass it anyway, and I'll blog my progress as I go.  Blogress, if you will.  First order of business, no alcohol.  Noooo!!!!!  (Picture me falling down a long, dark, sober tunnel here, ala Alice.)

Goodbye, cabernet!  Goodbye, martini!  Goodbye!

Next, drink lots of water.  Like too much water - 8 ounces upon waking and seven more cups throughout the day.  Also, eat like a shit ton of grapefruit and apples, and have a big breakfast everyday, but not with bacon and stuff.  Exercise for an hour a day, even if it's just a brisk walk, and eat whatever you want in the whole entire world - as long as you consume a giant salad first with only lemon juice for dressing.  And no, and I mean NO artificial sweeteners or refined sugar.  The book says to sweeten everything with natural sugar cane juice.  I'm wondering if I can count rum in this...  Naturally sweetened oatmeal?  Sure!  NO fast food, and no food marketed as "diet."  Processed foods are purple minions in yellow minion clothes, people.  They are BAD, and I don't have to be on a diet to tell you this.

I am become McMinion!!!

  Actually, all of this does seem quite common sense.  Not enjoyable, but sensible.  Good thing I like grapefruit.  Like some people of a certain religious affiliation, however, I am picking and choosing which parts of this book I want to follow.  There are things in this diet that seem too extreme (think colon hydrotherapy and juice fasts), and I just refuse.

High colonic?  Ain't nobody got time fo dat!

Right now, I weigh 123.4 pounds at 5'4", and I've been stuck here for almost a year.  I'll post my measurements as soon as I find the tape measure so I can be realistic about the whole affair.  Also, I am a mother of three, the most beautiful children ever to have existed, so there's that.  But my youngest is 6, so I'm thinking the whole pregnancy weight thing might be sorta played out by now.  Not all that overweight, I know, but I have a very small frame, and I've always enjoyed being tiny.  Even though people are often very mean to you when you're thin, but that's a blog for another time.  Although I'm not big enough for Discovery Channel to notice, I would like to trim, tone and lose some inches.  My muffin top is in full bloom, and I want to be strong enough to not struggle with my heavy ass dive gear. (Half again your body weight is no joke, y'all.)

Dammit, delicious muffin top!

Today, I got up at 6:10, drank my damn water, did 10 minutes of stupid cardio, ate some crappy cereal with no sugar for breakfast, drank some more damn water, showered and went to work.  For lunch, I'll be enjoying some tomato soup - and damn water.  After work, it's exercise with high reps, low weights and probably some more damn water.  Dinner will be fried chocolate, because I totally deserve it.  But only after I eat my goliath salad.  If attitude is everything, I may be screwed, but if I can be bitchy while still getting results, bring it.

Loveyoumeanit!

Extra, extra!  I found the most awesome article to help you if you are also inspired to lose your muffin top.  The best part?  It's written all in Engrish!  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  Here's the link:  http://www.ihomeremedy.net/how-to-get-rid-of-muffin-top-7-easy-steps/

Namaste, y'all!

What I've learned:  Just as you can find yourself on a downward spiral, you can also place yourself on an upward spiral.  Both are self perpetuating, but the upward spiral can be a little tougher to find and hop on.  They take more umph.  Downward spirals are a tricky wicket and super easy to slip into.  That's not all I've learned in my (ahem) 36 years here on earth, of course, but it seems to be my latest lesson.  (I've also learned that the human head weighs 8 pounds.  Thank you, cute little boy on Jerry McGuire.  More fun, but less relevant.)  The last few years of my life have been spent on one of these downward spirals.  It was a pretty-from-the-outside spiral, but one headed down nonetheless.  I won't go into details (please and thank you), but this seems to fit:

"You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. 

Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked. 

A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin! 

Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? 

How much can you lose? How much can you win?"

Dr. Seuss

I'd bet most of us have been here.  What got me around to unslumping my slump was first realizing that I was even in that place (not always easy from the inside) and then doing something that scared the everloving shit outta me - my scuba certification.  When I accomplished that, it was my first real grasp on the elusive upward spiral.  Since then, my self-destructive tendencies have been falling away.  In fact, when I look at it that way, it's probably a lot like what happens when people find God or Jesus or Scientology or yoga or whatever.  Water is my religion?  Not quite but almost.  

Everywhere I look, there is something telling us how to be better, do better, get better.  If you don't believe me, wander on into a Barnes and Noble.  Their self-help section is huh-yuge!  And isn't that what we're all striving for, y'all?  A better us?

So wish me luck on this journey.  I hope I can achieve the life I want and inspire others to do the same along the way.  I'll keep ya posted.

Namaste and stuff!

Welcome, freaks!

Hell-freaking-lo, China!  Imagine my surprise when I pulled up my stats, and second in readership to the US?  China!  At the risk of sounding completely ignorant (and I know I do very often), I didn't know people in China got uncensored access to the internet so they could read my nonsense.  I must be absolutely no threat to any government anywhere.  See, I'm ignorant.  Now I feel bad, but not bad enough to stop talking, obviously.  China, I hope I didn't just alienate y'all.  I think you're fabulous!  Please keep reading.

Honestly, I'm happy that I have such a wide and diverse audience.  Germany, you're all pretty much my cousins, so welcome!  Australia, you spend a lot of time in the water AND you're mostly just totally hot.  I'm always happy to get a read from down under.  Same to you, New Zealand.  Plus you have kiwi birds and an awesome government, so kudos all around!  Eastern Europe, just keep being sultry and sexy beyond explanation.  Mmmm..........  Russia, Jordan, Brazil,  you're all on different continents, but I love you just as much.  Malaysia, you bring it like whoa!

I know I've left some out.  Blame it on the wine.  I'm just damned happy to have you all here, regardless of how you arrived.  You might of searched for my name directly (creeper, we broke UP, ok?), or maybe you searched for "naked gay columbian blog" (yes, I'm talking to all three of  you), but the bottom line is, I'm glad you're here.

Welcome, freaks!

Naked Is Best - A Short Story

Tonight I was changing clothes to get in the hot tub.  Omfg.  Really?  Now I must adon special attire to enjoy warm water properly?

Last night, I slept in my standard mom-army issue pajamas - boxers and a hopefully-not-too-stained tee.  This morning, I changed into something more appropriate to take my kids to the bus stop before school - yoga pants and a t-shirt with fewer stains.  You have to look nice at the bus stop, see?  Then I showered and broke out the big guns.  I had to look professional for work so it was pants, blazer, heels (I almost wrote "hells" instead of "heels" there.  Paging Dr. Freud!), the works.  It was HOT today in Florida, and humid like a mutha, so as soon as I got home, hello sundress and flip flops!  And now we're caught up to present, so yes, I'm writing a blog in a swimsuit.  Going into the hot tub soon.  Why?  I mean why the swimsuit, not why the hot tub.  Hot tubs are nice on sore muscles after long days.  What did a swimsuit ever do for anyone?  The moral of the story, my friends, is that nudists seem to have stumbled onto some wisdom.

Waving Goodbye...

True story!

"Excuse me, ma'am.  I think this belongs to you."  That's what the giant wave said as it giggled and proceeded to hand me my ass.  Like a broken washing machine stuck on a maniacal spin cycle.  "Here'syourasshere'syourasshere'syourasshere'syour..."  This is how it happened...

I've been super stressed out about work lately.  My life is a constant pressure, but I usually take it well.  My sister-in-law says I have Zen coming out my pores.  Not these days.  I feel driven and stuck, so I'm basically like a redneck truck mudding beyond its skill level.  I thought, "Oh, goodness, I should go diving.  That's so peaceful, I can center again."  So my sweet, sub-aquatic hubs and I headed for the beach for a shore dive.  We had our fantastic family watch the kids and headed out for H2O unknown.  Got to the beach, suited all up and headed for the waves.  That's when things got out. of. control.  I headed in ok, but when we descended, visibility was zero.  That means I couldn't see my foot.  I couldn't see my hand.  I couldn't see some random something that actually hit my face.  My imagination says "shark," my intellect says "seaweed."  Potato, potahto.  I quickly surfaced and decided to head in.  I was just fine until I got to the breakers.  The waves were big, and I could NOT get out of the water.  

I was trying to get out of a wave like this.  Really.

First, let's put this in perspective.  There is clumsy me, weighing all of about 120 lbs.  Add to this a 40 lb. tank, 8 lb. BCD (buoyancy compensator), and all the rest of my dive gear that I'm not weighing out for you.  If  you're curious, dear George, that's what Google is for.  I was knocked on my back like a 90-year-old land tortoise, and I could not stand up and move forward.  Sweet, aquatic hubs was screaming at me to quit panicking and stop taking out my regulator (the breathey thingy, for all my many non-dive friends).  "Just stand up and go!  Keep breathing!"  I'm glad he told me all that, because clearly, breathing and getting up were not on my agenda!  I was in no mood to squabble, but I hadn't been taking my regulator out.  I was struggling to put it back every time the psychotic rinse cycle knocked it out.  Fucking waves.  So I took my air out to tell him so, and to go fuck himself until he could drag me somewhere dry.  That's when a really BIG wave hit, and I got a nice big reminder of why you keep your regulator in.  That's your air, friend.  That's how you don't die.  Surprisingly, through all this I was calm.  I was getting beaten to death slowly in the pounding surf, but I had air for at least another half hour.  I had only been trapped and spinning for maybe ten minutes?  You can only lose so much blood due to shell cuts during that time, so I was going to survive.  Probably.  My husband split to the shore to lose his gear and come back for me about the time I decided to ditch my own gear.  Beautifully, that's pretty much the same time I heard a deep, disembodied voice from the heavens.  "Release your BC..."  No, it wasn't God or Poseidon.  It was the totally cute life guard.  He helped me finish shucking my heavy ass gear and scram to the top of the beach (also known as hauling my waterlogged nonsense) - where there was a margarita and a psychotherapist waiting for me, because that's totally what I needed.  Except there wasn't.  There was a crab and a crowd of passively interested bystanders.  Glad they were there.  I could be pinched, pitied and disregarded quickly.

Holy hell, lady!  Just stand up and go!
Ain't nobody got time for that!

To sum it up, I didn't die (obviously), but it scared me.  I won't be shore diving again.  Ever.  And while it wasn't the Zen I was seeking, a terrifying experience like that will give you new perspective.  You're sitting on the beach, alone, crying like bad poetry.  Blood is running down both legs, and there are seashells in your knees, elbows and part of your face.  You might wind up on YouTube soon.  And you thought work was tough?  I feel better now.

How I Went From Chicken of the Sea to Real Life Mermaid

You shoulda seen the armoire.

Let's start with some unrelated catching up first, shall we?  For starters, I apparently sleepwalk.  With a vengeance.  My bedroom furniture has a great fight story to tell about how it kicked my ass like Chris Brown.  Take that, bitch!  

Yay for my kinda lack of black eye!

Whatever.  I totally won.  The good news is, my armoire has learned a valuable lesson in tangling with the unconscious, and I have recovered nicely.  I mean, it's never a good idea to get physical with your bedroom furniture, but it worked out ok.

That's me on my paddle board.
Look out, river!

In other news, I got to go paddle boarding.  That was a freakin' lot of work.  It's like Surfing met Canoeing, and they had the most difficult baby possible.  It was fun, I'll admit, but it's not for the faint of heart.  Or arm muscle.  I didn't fall off my board, but by the end of my hour rental, I was definitely thinking it would be easier to fall off and swim back, if not for the sting rays and jelly fish.  

So now for the meat of my story:

Yeah.... Remember back when I said I was gonna get scuba certified (click here for a quick refresher) and then I totally didn't?

Guess what!!!

I finally took the course, and got scuba certified.  I was terrified beyond all belief (think panic attacks complete with tears and hyperventilating - even in the hot tub, sometimes in the shower.  Don't judge me.), but at the end of the day, I rocked it like whoa!  

Here I am - coming OUT of the lake because *gasp* I didn't drown!

My only regret?  That it took me this long to grow a pair and do it. I hate that I waited so long.  I'm really good underwater, and I absolutely cannot wait to go again.  I've decided that scuba is a great equalizer.  Down there, there is no hurry, no wait, no competition, and everyone looks the same amount of beautiful in their scuba mask (see above photo).  It's the ultimate zen.  Plus it's just plain beautiful.  It's sort of like floating through Finding Nemo, only the fish come right up to you.  They're as curious about me as I am about them, and that's incredibly cool.  I've been sky diving and bungee jumping (Is it gonna sound awful if I add Rocky Mountain climbing here?  Yep.), and I've never experienced anything like this.  All that said, I don't think I could ever talk anyone into it, as much as I would love to.  I wish everyone could see and experience it, but I don't want to turn into "that" person either.  I've dealt with "that' person, listened to all their stories, reasons and platitudes.  All it ever got them was a big, fat "fuck you very much."  No, scuba, like religion, should be a personal thing.  I can't talk you into it, but if you decide to dive, will you come with me?

Mad props here to Keith at JnD Scuba.  He totally put up with my disorganized ass when I had no business in the water, and he was smart enough to scream at me to swim as I was trying to apologize for almost drowning.  I owe many successful future dives to him, I'm sure.  Gwen was my patient mermaid who got me through the nightmare of water up my nose and salt in my eyes, and showed me the right way to wash my hair on the dive boat.  Captains don't like to get wet, it seems.  Also, a big shout out to The Black Pearl dive boat in Ft. Lauderdale for making my certification dive rock.  Sorry, dive master Andrew, for almost grabbing your nuts when I was coming up the ladder.  Twice.  Getting back on the boat after a dive is difficult and a bit panic-making, and I'm a little bit embarrassed for my grabs, but desperate times and desperate measures and all that.  I'm sure you understand.  And thank you to my husband for planting the seed and never letting me give up on myself.  Ok, I feel like I should swim off stage with my mermaid grammy now.