Standing on the Edge of Me

I am profoundly sad today. As I write this I realize that other people will read it and that I'm letting them in on a secret that follows me around like the stink of death on a corpse.  Being raised by a narcissist and a child molester has skewed my ability to trust my own mind when I get like this.  I really want to spill my guts to someone. Anyone. But what if I'm just being dramatic, or what if it makes people realize how nuts I really am (say the voices)??  Then again, they say we're only as sick as our secrets.  Here goes.


The reunion.  What can I say.  It was a good time.  Sort of.  The party was for graduates of the public school I attended through the 8th grade.  My narcissist mother decided her children were too good for the public school from which she graduated so in a proxy do-over, she sent me to a private Catholic girls school in another town.  So I really didn't graduate with these kids.  All my memories are from grade school.  Hadn't see a single one since I left in the 8th grade.


It's a bit strange to see people you haven't see for 34 years. Some look so different there's no way to recognize them until they say their names.  Even then all you really see is that face from like 3rd grade or something.  I suppose worse yet is the ones who look well . . . . exactly the same. But that wasn't the hardest part. 


The hardest part was answering the same question over and over: how's your mom and dad?  How exactly do you explain to people why you have not a damn thing to do with either one and that the reason is because THEY are the evil ones, not me.  I mean c'mon what are the odds that both parents were supremely effed up sufficient to justify a child banishing them from her life??  


I'm always torn.  I have toyed with saying things like, "Oh I guess you didn't hear, we lost mother last year."  Or *shocked, quavering voice* "I thought everyone knew, he was killed in a horrible train accident."  I suppose I could just say "fine" and be done with it.  But there's some part of me that just won't allow that, because it means letting them off the hook for what they did.  Shouldn't people know that there are monsters lurking behind the mask of wonderful parent?  Some of the girls I hung out with back then knew my mother's secret side. Apparently she didn't think they mattered enough to hide her viciousness from them.  The truth is always the easiest, or so they say.  


But the thing with my dad.  Why the hell doesn't everyone already know about that one??  It would make it so much easier.  Maybe it was the isolated character of the small town I came from.  You know, where they don't read the "city" papers, just the local weekly rag.  That would explain it I guess.  By the time it hit the city papers, only my mother still lived in the city. I figured it served her right.  After all, if she'd been doing her job he might have been arrested in time to save us.  Of course she called to tell me all about it in her sickly gleeful narcissist way, full of fake horror and thrilled at having something salacious to share.  How long ago was that anyway?  Fifteen years or more?  Seems like yesterday.


But no one at the reunion knew about my father. One by one they kept asking. By mid-event I had a stock response ready.  I have no idea.  Apparently you haven't heard.  He's a convicted sex offender and I no longer have anything to do with him and haven't for nearly 20 years.  Thank god no one asked anything further after that.  I mean what the hell would you say??  Gee I'm really sorry to hear that, how fucked up are you from that??  Yeah.  Several days post-reunion I am feeling the wave of emotional pain that comes from speaking that awful truth once again.  Oh I spent a lot of years working on this one, believe me - and I consider myself in recovery.  It was still rough.  


The other strand of woe weaving its way through my head is the grief of having recently lost my lover.  It was 12 weeks ago that I filed for divorce from my lover of 39 years: food.  It dawns on me that the saying I've heard on YT and FB is so true - they banded my stomach not my brain.  In my twisted little addict mind, this game has been really fun but I'm done now and I'd like some cheese fries please.  And bring me some Ben & Jerry's while you're at it.  A couple as a matter of fact . . . Chunky Monkey and Cherry Garcia please.    And could we please put Kettle Chips back on the grocery list instead of Greek yogurt?  


Welcome to grief 101, where I get to come face to face with old demons in an epic battle of wills.  Will I move forward and make the right choices or cave and repeat the pattern for yet another year despite having spent $17,000 for a fix??


Stick around, it's gonna get interesting.

Stupid is Forever and There's No Cure for Moron REDUX

There is seemingly no end to the plague of stupidity out there in cyber-shopping world. I've decided to start posting examples in an effort to help others avoid the pitfalls of . . . oh for fuck's sake. . . . I'm posting them because they're fun to read and I need a good place to rant about them.  There, I said it.


OK.  So the item is a Snap-On pressure washer which is non-functional, being sold for parts.  Here is the cut-and-paste of the ACTUAL listing description:

Snap On 1750 PSI 120.6 BAR Electric Pressure Washer
Item condition:	For parts or not working

For parts or not working: An item that does not function as intended and is not fully operational. This includes items that are defective in ways that render them difficult to use, items that require service or repair, or items missing essential components. See the seller’s listing for full details.

This listing is for a

* (brand name removed)  Pressure Washer

Item works but with significant problems.

Being sold as not working for parts only. 

99¢ Starting Bid No Reserve

AS-IS NO REFUND

The Pressure washer works but there seems to be a leak when the pressure washer isn't Spraying. it flood the ground at the base of the unit. When the Spray handle is spraying the leak slows down and the spray handle leaks.

Listing includes * (brand name removed)  Pressure Washer, Pressure hose, and spray gun ONLY.

Pretty clear, eh??  

Oh, and about the capitalization, grammar and punctuation in the listing?  Not my writing, so yeah. 

So the buyer gets the item and emails me saying the thing doesn't work and is leaking all over the place.  Re-e-e-e-aaalllly. That's strange. You mean like it says in the description!?!  Wow, go figure.  Of course he opens a case: Item Not As Described.  REallY??  WTF!!

Yeah and here's the best part.  Ebay gives the guy his money back.  Yes ma'am!!  Now the good news is they don't deduct it from my account.  Any disputed transaction under a certain dollar amount is automatically refunded to the buyer with no negative impact to the seller.  Oh! So now eBay is r-e-w-a-r-d-i-n-g stupidity!!  You betcha, to the tune of $31.31. 

I guess when you're making billions of dollars a year it's easier just to hand morons their money back than to pay someone to sift through the details.  I mean how long would it take to read my listing and see that the item is being sold for parts, not working and then deny his claim.   Would it take any longer than just giving back the money?  But this makes eBay look like the good guy which is the way they want it - and leaves the seller looking like an ass.  I check the guy's feedback left for others meaning his other sellers.  The guy hands out negative feedback like candy at Halloween.  OK I'm screwed. 


Now if I could leave negative feedback I would believe me.  But eBay no longer allows a seller to leave negative feedback of any kind for any buyer.  Many unscrupulous buyers have figured this out and make a career of blackmailing sellers with negative feedback.  If you're always right, why not take full advantage huh?

Since I can't leave negative feedback, I've gotten pretty good at leaving smart ass comments next to my green plus sign:

• Buyer currently enrolled in "How to Read a Listing" 
• If you CAN'T READ, you shouldn't be on eBay!!
• A mind is a terrible thing to waste - SELLERS BEWARE!

Then there is the case of the woman who paid too much for a handbag.  Look, I know it's really fun to see just how much the high bidder's highest bid is, but the only real way to do that is to outbid them.  And if you do that you must HOPE and PRAY that they outbid you again.  Not so in this case, and the winner ends up having to pay $600 for her curiosity.  Mind you this is a bag by a designer that is seen on the Red Carpet on a regular basis.  Well worth $600 wouldn't you say?   

Of course, she waits way too long to pay, so I open an unpaid item case through eBay.  She finally pays and I ship the bag.  I create intricate interior packing that allows for the tassles to remain in free suspension, because if they get mushed up in shipping the bag isn't worth $600 anymore and I'd have to take a return or give her some money back - and I don't want that, so . . . .

Within two hours of receiving the bag, she emails me and requests to return the bag "because your listing says you take returns".  Now what my listing really says is: "All sales final unless item is significantly not as described."  In other words, If I have a brain fart or my peri-menopause has misplaced my brain while I'm listing an item and I forget to say something about a defect etc, then I will accept a return - within 3 business days of receipt of the item.  Folks, this bag was p-e-r-f-e-c-t-i-o-n, so no go on the return, babe.  After I politely point out my return policy to her, she suddenly, magically finds "a few loose beads" on the bag and opens a case with eBay.  

OK I'm really hard on eBay, I'll admit, and 95% of the time, I'm justified in that. Of course just when I think I'm totally screwed and this crazy b#$%h is gonna purposely damage the handgbag just so she can return it  . . . . you get the picture . . . . 

So just when I'm feeling like I'm gonna lose A-gain, Jason* from eBay's Top Seller Assistance Team beams heavenly golden light on my day and says:  "No way, that bag is perfect!  Your pictures show everything.  I also see that you had to open an unpaid item case with the buyer.  I think this is a clear case of buyer's remorse."   **insert strains of Handel's Messiah Halleluja Chorus here**

I have to admit, my first thought was:  OK they're just f-ing with me now.  Where's the catch?  

Nope it was legit.  I got an official email within minutes saying the case was decided in my favor and I didn't have to do anything more.  

Except, of course, I blocked Little Miss Buyer's Remorse.  I hope she enjoys her bag.

A Trip to WeeklyReaderville

Whenever it’s time to deal with a new level of recovery/self-improvement/growing-up, I revisit my childhood to try to identify the origins of my toxic behaviors.  Now, in direct opposition to my Roman Catholic upbringing, I believe that we are all born innocent, good, clean and holy.  Not a member of the “Original Sin Fan Club” sorry.  Not even a member of the Catholic Church any more either, but that’s a whole other blog. OK, so I sift through my childhood looking for things that may have planted ideas or beliefs in my mind that turned out badly.  Generally speaking these are things that may have been a huge help or kept me sane during childhood, but just aren’t working now that I’m an adult trying to live a successful grownup life. 

So the things I’m looking for on this trip are things related to my toxic relationship with food.  Not sure why but I started thinking about the books and record albums I loved as a child.  I started on Dick and Jane readers like most kids in the late 60’s.  No toxic food messages there.  Can you imagine?  

See Jane. 

See Jane sneak. 

See Jane hide food under her mattress. 

See Jane purge.

The Seven Dwarfs and Their Diamond Mine, an LP featuring the story of the Seven Dwarfs post-Snow-White-kisses-the-Prince.  It’s been a couple of years since Snow White married the Prince and moved into the castle, leaving the Dwarfs on their own again.  The story starts with them getting up and eating breakfast.  Aha!  *digging deeper* instead of porridge for breakfast, they eat soup!  There’s a lively little song, The Music in Your Soup – hmmm, nothing toxic about that. While on this particular street in Disneyland, I'm reintroduced to the cover of the album, something that I loved so much as a kid: the sparkling, richly colored gems spilling out of the mine carts.  My first real job was in a jewelry store.  Coincidence?  Maybe.  Moving on.  

The Tale of Peter Rabbit.  Hmmmm . . . . Peter is an overeater and disobedient to his mother’s instructions about Mr. McGregor’s garden.  He tears up his clothes and ends up sick from overeating.  The Disneyland record album Peter Cottontail features a similarly disobedient little rabbit (read: "mind of his own) who loves to eat clover, and the song Whistling Rabbit which I'm now gonna have stuck in my head for who knows how long.  ♪♫ I've got a whistling rabbit, It whistles when you grab it ♪ ♫ 
Not much there.  Moving on!

We Were Tired of Living in a House. Four kids, the cat and the dog are tired of living a traditional house, so they move to a tree, a raft, a cave and finally the seashore collecting and packing up things from each place. They soon discover problems with each new dwelling and move on to the next, finally moving back to their original house.   The 1969 version I had was illustrated in a basic black white taupe color scheme punctuated with red here and there.  Delightful to this day, I have vowed to read this to my grandchildren the next time they ask for a story.  OK – back to the hunt for truth . . . being tired of living in MY house was certainly true, but nothing about eating in there.  Moving on.

Alexander and the Magic Mouse. Known to me as Alexander and the MagicAL Mouse until years later when I found it on eBay, this is without a doubt my all time favorite childhood book.  The artwork is lovely, as is the story.  The Old Lady lives on the top of the hill with her animal friends: a bitchy Brindle London Squatting Cat, a Magical Mouse, Alexander – an Alligator from China who loves to admire his smile, and a Yak.  One afternoon during their daily tea time, the Magical Mouse announces that it’s going to rain for 30 days and 30 nights.  They begin gathering supplies for the impending deluge, specifically “flour and molasses and marmalade and strawberry jam and pickled watermelon and ginger tea.”    

Can I get rained in with them!?!    

The Old Lady realizes that the poor townsfolk don’t have a clue about how long the rain will last, so she makes her way down the hill to deliver the message.  When she sees that it’s too slippery, she enlists the help of the Yak who also returns because the bridge is washed out.  That leaves Alexander.

                                                                                                                                                                                           

Remember, Alexander is an a-l-l-i-g-a-t-o-r and people are afraid of alligators so the townspeople run from him even though he is smiling his most beautiful smile. “There are many people who cannot tell the difference between and alligator who is smiling and an alligator who is not smiling.” Finally a little boy speaks to him and delivers the note to the Mayor of the town. By the next morning the Old Lady can see that the townsfolk are sandbagging so she knows they got the message.  But where is Alexander?? 

Finally Alexander arrives home, but he is in terrible shape and very ill.  Everyone does their part to help him recover, but it’s not looking good for him – he doesn’t even smile!  In the middle of the night the Old Lady visits the Magical Mouse to ask her what can be done.  The Magical Mouse points to a white cake with pink sugar letters reading, “For Alexander”.  The Old Lady feeds the cake to Alexander, who recovers of course.  It’s a close call for the town as well, but the wave is stopped by the sandbags and they all live happily ever after.  Voila!  Here was the connection!!  When you’re sick – eat.  When you feel bad – eat!  When you’re bored – eat! 

Well now that would be a “story” in and of itself.  The truth is I didn’t develop my toxic relationship with food until several years later, around age nine.  To be honest, I’m not sure why I first had the idea to pick up the bottle of Aunt Jemima and gulp it down.  I’m not sure it even matters. 

The net gain of strolling around WeeklyReaderville was the positive connections I found.  Hold up the front cover of Alexander and the Magic Mouse in any room of my house, and the two look like they came out of the same color palette.  Goldensepiaoliveredandgreen.  And all the characters in the stories were nice . . . well . . . except for the Brindle London Squatting Cat, but you can’t have everything, right?  Thank the Weekly Reader Gods I had those books growing up. They provided a rich fantasy world for me to escape into, and an example of sanity, respect and caring that I didn’t get at home. 

Sometimes a childhood book is just a childhood book.

Where thou art, that is Home

Ever since I was about 16, I get what I call "house dreams".  They come just before I'm about to embark on a new path, one that will require a lot of difficult and painful emotional work.  The houses have been different over time. The one I got just before my first rehab was me walking through what was left of my house after a fire had swept through leaving only the studs and the foundation.

There was the one that kept recurring over the course of two decades. At first it was simple really, just a ladder that led up to the attic. But I couldn't get up the ladder for some reason.  In subsequent dreams I was able to get up the ladder only to find the entrance to the attic sealed up by a brick wall.  At some point the bricks were gone and then there was the issue of being too far away to see what was really in the attic.  It was like viewing it long distance. At some point the dreams progressed to me walking carefully around rotting floor boards to peep into small parts of the attic, but it was scary and I had to be so careful where I stepped for fear of falling.  Eventually I was able to walk around in the attic and realize that everything up there was old, dusty and useless.  There was nothing of interest in there and no mysteries to uncover. 

Another was a house that I had inherited full of furniture, antiques and collectibles of every kind.  Since I was going to live there I had to decide which items were useful and which ones needed to go. The burden of keeping all that furniture was so heavy.  It took up too much space and rendered several rooms in the house completely useless.  The rooms were in essence just storage for pieces I really didn't want and would never use.  I decided to get rid of all of it and start fresh with my own things.

This last one came in February or March of this year.  It was a different house than any of the others - stately and well-worn, but solid.  There was an old man helping me, showing me what I needed to do.  There were tons and tons of files in this room, you see, and they needed to be purged.  I would need to go through each file throwing out anything that wasn't useful anymore, arranging them so they flowed better.  I saw that it was a big job, but nothing I couldn't handle.  And there was something very satisfying about knowing that when I was finished, things would be easier and flow more smoothly.  When I woke, I knew that something big was coming.  That's the way it always is with those dreams.  It means something is coming.  A season.  Time to take on whatever is getting in my way.  A time to renew, revise and refresh my life.  Time to grow up yet again.  

Stupid is Forever and There's No Cure for Moron

So this morning I roll out of bed around 7:20 a.m. to check my eBay sites, starting with messages in my inbox. Checking messages first thing and often is a good idea for two reasons: 1) someone may be asking a "buying question" and you might be able to close the deal by answering their question, and 2) someone may have a problem with an item they already purchased. I check these messages a gozillion times a day, from about 7am to 11 pm, 7 days a week, including most holidays.  Really.  Ok, I admit I'm a geek and I live on the computer but that's the way I like it and it makes me good at what I do.  I have great feedback and rarely have problems.

Home > 

My eBay > 

Messages: Inbox

The first email is from a guy wondering "how hard is it to put this tent together."      


Ummmm . . . as opposed to . . .  


He later follows up that question with a request for the dimensions of the tent.  Which is clearly visible in photo number two.  And the photos enlarge to the size of the entire screen, which I pay extra for.  Ya know, my theory is this:  if you can't read and you can't look at pictures, you have no business being on ebay, let alone buying things there.  I politely and professionally direct him to photos 2-6 which clearly show the dimensions of the tent and several different angles of it fully assembled. Next!


The second one is from a lady wants to know if this 16" stand fan tilts straight up to the ceiling (as in parallel to the ceiling). Just between you and me, I have never in my life seen a STAND fan that points to the ceiling but I haven't seen everything, so I tell her it tilts up about 20° (which it does).  Later that day she thanks me for being "honest about it" . . . . really?  Next!


This one is from a guy who purchased a dehumidifier which we advertised as the unit only, in used but working condition, with no hoses, retail box or owner's manual.  The guy tells me that the pump doesn't work (which it won't without the hoses - duh) and it's missing a coupler where the hose attaches.  He wants his money back.  I open message number four which is a complaint case he filed through eBay because "the seller is not trying to help me with this issue."


FYI: All messages sent through the eBay system have a time stamp on them.  The guy's first message was sent at 3:30 a.m.  That's right . . . . A.M.  The complaint case was filed at 3:44 a.m.  A whopping 14 minutes later, in the middle of the freakin NIGHT and this moron thinks I should have been sitting there ready to answer him.  Keep in mind that the guy lives in PA so it's 2:30 and 2:44 a.m. for him - oh for fuck's sake!


My early and lengthy retail training tells me the customer is always right.  But my nearly 20 years of dealing with people in retail and my soon-to-be-50-peri-menopausal mind tells me that a moron is a moron and should be treated as such.  Now, for the record -  if the guy had waited until, say . . 8 am?  I would have emailed back and tried to work something out with him.  No problem, no hassle, customer wins.  But NOW I'm gonna follow the eBay policy to the letter which says that he has to pay to return the item to me before he can get a full refund including his original shipping.  


Please don't write me comments about how it's not fair because blah blah blah.  What's not fair is that this yayhoo has filed a case against me (which affects my seller standing regardless of whether the case was warranted or not - in this case NOT), frozen my funds for the purchase, and generally pissed me off.  I fire off my professional but terse response to the case informing Mr Dehumidifier Man that he will need to pay to return the item.  Next!


And it's only 7:45 a.m.  

How Did I Get Here?

I've struggled with eating since I was 9 years old.  That was the first time I consciously opened the refrigerator door with the sole intent of finding something inside that could ease my pain.  Ahhhh . . . Aunt Jemima straight out of the bottle.  Maraschino cherries . . . that'll do the trick. How do I know I was 9?  Because that's the same year my life became a living hell that lasted until I was 27 years old. 

My father had a major illness during this time, which included frequent hospitalizations over the course of a year and a half.  Since he was the sole breadwinner, it meant my mother had to go to work.  Since I was the oldest of three girls, I was expected to take over the "mom" responsibilities, including the cooking.  Nine year olds do not inherently know how to cook. Or do laundry.  Or do the dishes.  They can learn, but without training it's trial and error.  But these were my responsibilities now, and being a first-born child I was eager to please. 






Now might be a good time to mention that my mother has NPD.  (Narcissistic Personality Disorder)  Narcissistic mothers do not teach their daughters how to do things, they criticize, demean and instill fear. Regardless of what my father's true condition was, he was on the brink of death according to my mother.  And because of this we were going to end up starving and begging for food.  And we would be living on the streets.  Or going on Food Stamps (which we did for a time.)  And no one understood how hard this was for her.  With great melodrama she would relate our situation to anyone and everyone, claiming that she was willing do without in order to feed and care for her children it's just that she thought her adult life would be different since this was just like when she was a kid and they were so poor that they ate beans all the time because they didn't have money for meat and on, and on. . .  Take a moment to check out the link above and you'll get the picture. Sufficient to say, this was the beginning of my nightmare. Or maybe it's when I first realized I was living in the nightmare.  Either way, it's when I started feeling the nightmare. OK, so now I'm doing the cooking, but I have no idea how to cook. Hey, I'm nine.  Hamburger Helper had instructions on the box, so that's where I started. MMmmmmm Hamburger Helper, that warm, greasy, starchy, creamy combo of comfort food goodness.  Of course, I tasted as I went.  And tasted, and tasted.  It eased the anxiety I felt about our unstable situation and made me forget all the chaos that was my life for a short while.  Narcissistic Mother (heretofore known as NM) planned the menus so Hamburger Helper was eventually upgraded to "real" meals, such as cube steak with green beans and corn.  At nine, the concept of timing the cooking so that everything is ready at the same time is an impossibility.  So I would cook the meat first, then add the sides one at a time.  Everything was done, but by then the meat was cold.  Or I'd left it sitting in the grease, not knowing to remove it to a separate plate.  

This was met with criticism, ridicule, feigned disgust, complaints, and shaming.  At the dinner table we were picked at for making noises when we chewed or drank, not sitting up straight, holding our fork wrong, taking too large a serving, asking for a second helping, using fingers to put something on the fork because you aren't supposed to stab your food, ad nauseum.  Which increased the anxiety, which increased the "tasting" and the Aunt Jemima swills, which reinforced the new relationship with food as my best friend, my go to source for comfort.  

So by the time I was ten, I was chubby, not to mention I was the tallest girl in my 4th grade class.  Enter teasing, name-calling and pre-pubescent awkwardness mixed with increased hostility from NM. The cure??  You guessed it - eating.  School lunches were my new best friend and I always cleaned my own tray and anything anyone else didn't want too. School lunches were then, and are to this day comprised of food in name only. In reality they were cafeteria tray divisions of warm starch, sugar, and fat served by kind ladies with big bosoms and hair nets who reminded me of my grandmother.  (Grandma once remarked to me that I was just like her - I liked to eat when I got nervous.) 

By junior high I was looking for a way out that didn't involve eating since I now realized that fat girls didn't get attention from b-o-y-s.  I switched off my food addiction for a couple years while I developed a new one - you get the picture.  By my sophomore year I had reaped enough negative consequences from my "new" addiction that I returned to food for a time. By the summer before my junior year I switched back yet again, this time much wiser having learned the value of "the double life". It was in that summer of 1979 that I initiated my impressive repertoire of dieting experiences.  I think I went off the deep end a bit.  I can remember eating 6 frozen peas one day (for the whole day) and thinking "what if I gain weight?!"  I was 5'9" and weighed 135 lbs by the end of the summer. The benefits of showing up skinny on the first day of my junior year of high school lasted until I was 27 (ok I thought they were benefits at the time.) How did I keep it off that long?  Switching addictions, of course. Oh, and the laxatives.  Let's not forget the laxatives.  Because I never completely broke up with my food addiction - turned to it when the others were flagging for whatever reason - I had binge episodes that I knew would cause weight gain. Aaaaand we can't have that, now can we?  So what's the easy way out?   

This pattern lasted until I entered my first rehab at age 25, at which time I switched from substance abuse to my first love, eating.  I reasoned that taking laxatives was an addict behavior, but eating (binges) . . . not so much. 

I entered rehab at 154 lbs and by the time I left 28 days later I weighed 170.  By the time I entered my second rehab to deal with my sexual abuse issues (more about Dad later) I was around 180 lbs. Within 6 months of completing that treatment, I knew I needed to get away from my toxic family once and for all, so I moved 200 miles away.  I knew no one, and no one knew me.  Seemed like a nice way to start over, and turned out it was. The transplant took, and I met a wonderful man whom I married and built a life with.  The day we were married I weighed 195 lbs.  That was in 1993. Eighteen years later, I weighed 270-something lbs. Did I mention he's a saint and he loves me unconditionally?? I've tried Nutri-System, Atkins, Fen-Phen, the Cabbage Soup Diet, and The Zone to name a few.  All with excellent but temporary results with a re-gain plus each time.  But when the real issue is that food is used for comfort, or stuffing emotions, or for curing boredom, or for entertainment, no diet in the world will work.  Not for long anyway.  About 5 years ago, I swore I would never go on another diet again and I quit weighing.  When I quit smoking in November of last year, I ballooned to 311 lbs.  I knew I needed to seek help when I had difficulty doing things that most humans take for granted, such as rolling over in bed, tying my shoes, crossing my legs and . . . well . . . shall we say . . . accessing important locations while in the shower and restroom. 

*ahem* 

So I signed up for surgery to have the Allergan Lap-Band AP 14cc gastric band installed. My surgery was May 4, 2011. As of the date of this post I weigh 273 lbs - back to pre-quitting-smoking weight.  So now you know how I got fat. At least the short version of it.  Stick around and watch me shrink (physically) while I grow (emotionally).

Why Blog?

Several of my Facebook and YouTube friends have asked me if I have a blog.  The question surprised me frankly. My first thought was, "Why would I blog?" and "Who would want to read my blog?" followed closely by "What would I blog about?"  












Aaaahhh . . . from suggestion to conception.




Despite these still unanswered questions, I'm intrigued by the whole blog concept, so I've decided to give it a go.  With no guiding theme or specific focus, I plunge headlong into the blogoshpere.