Twenty five grams.

That’s how many net carbs were in that stupid, fuggin’ Bosc pear. Twenty five big ones. Count ‘em..Two-Five…Twenty plus five…vingt cinq in French…veinticinco in Spanish…Son of a b&*^^% in Christal-eze. It figures.

So, yeah…that blew me out of the water. But today and yesterdays food counts were fine. This will probably sound insane, but, I think my band is getting tighter. I know, I know… that’s nuts…but seriously…I couldn’t finish dinner  and it was only three ounces of meatloaf and half a cup of greens.  I used all the tools: small luncheon plate, small fork, placing the fork down in between pea sized bites. Surprisingly, my stomach felt full at about the half way mark. Taking meds as a precautionary measure to better gauge my belly validated that fact. That amount of food hasn’t filled me since I was fourteen, recovering from mono and pleurisy. I am not complaining, trust me. It’s just perplexing. With dinner being over and my little, tiny coffee maker brewing, my stomach feels fuller by the minute. It’s actually becoming a little uncomfortable. How freakin’ bizarre is this?  My surgery was September 22, 2010 . There have been serious issues with restriction the entire way through. So, why NOW is it suddenly giving me typical results? Seriously, if any of you out there know why, I would love to know (use the email option in the floating side “Follow Me” button or leave a comment). Meanwhile, we’ll be some Googling mo’ fo’s here at my house. Happy Googlin’ mo’ fo’s, though.

I want this T-Shirt from Cafe Press!

Today was misty and overcast, as it has been for days now. It didn’t look like Bare and me were going to get our walk in because the rain would spit occasionally. I eyeballed the evil treadmill mocking me from the corner of the living room, all folded up  like a cobra waiting to strike.  He hates me and I hate him. We have to work together so we put up with each other. But, when no ones looking we give each other the finger and mouth “Screw you”  and smile. He’s an assh….err…a jerk. Deciding that a treadmill walk would have to be done was not fun.

But at four pm I still wanted to give the walk a shot, so stuffing a protesting and aggravated Lizz into her Chucks, we hooked Bare up to his harness and started trudging. “Which way to you want to go, kid?” I asked her. “I don’t care” came the monotone response. I thought ”Freakin’ kid…you would think I’m making her build a pyramid in a loin cloth with nothing more than oxen and some planks of wood.” . Last week she had given up on our bike ride three blocks into it. Claiming to be winded (we all have asthma but so far she’s the only one who hasn’t been diagnosed. I guess that’s next.) and that her bike, having gears, was more difficult than my cruiser, she was sullen and annoyed.

Deciding to try to find the bike path and the dirt road that connects to it and ran parallel behind my little cull de sac, she actually perked up. “Walking is fine! It’s that riding stuff, it really tires me out.” I shrugged. I don’t care what she does as long as its physical, gets her moving and she was away from electronics. Short of purse snatching, anything physical was cool.

Swinging the compact umbrella and listening to her music (so much for being away from electronics), we walked around the street and found the dirt road. It was actually more like a very wide path with divots and puddles that had formed where dirt bikes had worn away the sandy, brown earth. Letting Bare off the leash we trudged along only speaking occasionally, interested in our own experiences as we explored the area. At one point, after one of the horse farms, I think I recognized the small wooded patch behind out house and neighborhood. We had walked two point seven miles (2.7), when all was said and done. Not bad at all, though I did have to coach her along the last quarter “Almost there, honey. You did great, honey…Come onnnnnnnn, you can do it” as she all but crawled along asking for water. But she did it. Her skinny little legs are sore, but she did it. Tylenol the wonder drug fixed that right up.

The State of My Union

• Mood: Content
• Whats my body doing?: Behaving wonderfully, almost like a normal one.
• Whats on my mind?: Ha! Stupid treadmill. Who’s your Mommy? Say it!
• Band Restriction: Awesome
• Eating: Wonderful
• Water: 7 glasses
• Net Carbs: 18.5 gr.
• Exercise: 2.7 miles, baby.

When we came home and no one was looking, I smiled, gave the treadmill the finger and said “Ha. Screw you.“

I owned you.