2014 Year of the Angry Pony

2014 will be the year of the horse, according to the Chinese zodiac.  I have decided to take that as a sign that this is the year for Angry Pony.  I've had one hell of a year in 2013 physically and mentally and I think I might have even had a few true growth moments.  I'm tired of cycles that repeat and, I think, at age 42, I may have figured a couple of things out.  I read through some of my blogs from last year at this time and also throughout the year.  What a ride it has been.

After reading through a lot of this stuff, I would like to first and foremost say, I am thankful I did not die from my surgery complications (I was so scared!).  I am thankful it has been just over 11 months since the last time I crapped my pants and that I can, once again, fart with confidence, if the need arises. I am thankful that, while I have not reached my weight-loss goal, I have made progress and experienced a few moments of joy that I have not before experienced.  I had my first Victoria Secret experience and shared that with my sister. It was a fun day and now my boobs know heights they could only have dreamed about before. I went into a store that I deemed as a "normal people store" and purchased my first pair of "normal people" jeans. I will always have a fondness for Eddie Bauer, as a result.  I am able to slide into booths and be comfortable when I go out to eat.  I put on a dress that I wore at my heaviest and it is too big to wear now.  Silly little stuff, when you consider all that life throws at us every day.  And, the most important thing I am thankful for, is that I have an amazing support system of friends through it all.  No matter how much I bitch or share my insecurities, there you are, supporting me.  Amazing feeling. 

It has also been a year full of self-doubting, negative thoughts, feeling inadequate and being hard on myself. This is my biggest struggle.  I often hear The Rug Doctor's voice, "be kind to yourself."  And then, Bitchy Pony tells her to shut up.  I've spent a lifetime of feeling trapped.  A lifetime of taking care of others and putting them first.  A lifetime of knowing that no matter what I do, I cannot lose weight or change the cycle.  A lifetime of "it works for everyone else, except me."  I am my own worst enemy, no argument there. I am the biggest road block.  I fight everything subconsciously.  Why?  I don't know, that is what Therapy Thursday is for, I guess.  It's probably, just a lifetime of embedded negative thinking, I guess, and I have to change that.  That's right, something else I have to do. Pisses me off.  Seriously.  I'm so tired of having to fix everything for everyone, even myself.  I want someone to take care of me for once.  I want it to be easy for me, for once. I deserve it.  I earned it.  Well, guess what? The universe doesn't give a shit what I want. 

I am reminded of when I was in my early 20's, living at home at the old farm house.  Our neighbor, Mama Safeway, was always trying to instill her "Mom" wisdom in me.  I would be sad about not having a boyfriend, or my job or life and wanting someone to make my life special.  She would say, "Honey, you have to make your own life  special.  If you want your birthday to be special, YOU plan it.  You take charge of your life, don't wait for someone else to make it so."  I always listened and thought to myself, "she doesn't get it. I'm not going to settle, I'm going to find someone amazing.  I deserve it."  And you know what, I did find someone amazing, eventually, but he doesn't have the romantic-planning-your-day-to-make-it-special gene.  For my birthday, six months after we met, he gave me a big flashlight and a My Little Pony.  Practical (for feeding the ponies at night) and sweet.  That is who he is, practical and sweet.  He feeds the ponies for me when I get home late.  He texts me that he loves me and that the sunrise pales in comparison to how beautiful I am.  He tells me he loves me 100 times a day.  But he isn't a planner.  I've been fighting this and been angry about it and trying to force him to be the planner guy.  Well, he isn't and I'm making myself crazy over something I can't control. And, in the scheme of things, what is my problem anyway? I know women that would give anything to have a guy like that.  Get over yourself, Pony!

Back to Mama Safeway, as it turns out she wasn't full of shit, after all.  I just wasn't ready to hear it. Why do I have to fight everything?  Why can't I just accept it all, take a deep breath, put my big girl panties on and get some shit handled? Life isn't fair.  Life isn't about easy street.  Life isn't about what you've earned or deserve.  Life is just what it is. And sometimes it bites. And sometimes, on occasion, it's pretty amazing.  Bottom line, I have to do this (the Ponies aren't happy about it either, but they are mostly on board).

So, based on all the drama and struggle and soul-searching in 2012-2013, the Pony, at age 42, is succumbing to the reality that this whole life extravaganza is up to her.  The Pony is letting go of all that negative shit (saying it, but know that I still have a pony voice inside fighting it) and moving forward.  In 2014 I am going to use my yoga pants for good instead of evil.  I am going to actually DO yoga in them (maybe even today...but don't rush me).  I am going to find a way to afford sessions with Ass Kicker once a week and I am going to get to the gym 3-5 times a week.  I am going to let go of the comfort of food and the idea that I need more than I do. I'm going to start believing that I can lose weight instead of listening to all the reasons why I can't.  I'm going to try and understand that it will not happen as fast for me as it does for everyone else and be okay with that (I'm not really going to be okay with that, but I have to at least say that for therapeutic purposes).  I'm going to be all up in my husbands business about getting his physical health in order.  I love that stubborn dirt bag and he doesn't get to run his body into the ground.  Come with me or get the fuck out of the way. 

And negative people, or people that think they can control me with guilt, I am done with you. It's time to think about what is best for Will and I.  I can't make everyone else happy and I am no longer going to try (this is a hard one, because I do care).

This is the year of the Angry Pony. I have a goal journal.  I'm going to use it.  I'm moving forward and letting go of baggage that is holding me back (this is the plan, I expect detours on this road, that is where the Rug Doctor comes in).

If things progress as they should, I anticipate the following blogs will need to be written:

• Why My Ass Hurts - Falling off the Elliptical
• Stuck in Downward Dog Position for 3 Hours
• Arm-skin, Can I Have a Round of Applause
• The Day My Thighs Slapped My Face
• Who's the Slut in the Mini Skirt with Saggy Skin?
• My Abs! I Found My Abs!

And then, maybe in 2015:

• Plastic Surgery: Where'd My Skin Go?

I've spent a lifetime of waiting for that "A-ha!" moment.  That moment that all fat people seem to hit that makes them change.  That moment that forever changes them.  It happens to everyone on The Biggest Loser, or Extreme Weight-loss Make-Over.  Everyone says, "when it becomes important enough to you, you will make the change."  Well, going into 2014, I say, that's all BULLSHIT.  It's always been important and "waiting" for that moment hasn't done a damn bit of good.  This blog isn't a "moment."  This is a gradual change and me choosing to say, "I got this."  Now, I just have to fully believe it.

Stay tuned in 2014...it's the year of Angry Pony.  
Next stop: Little. Black. Dress.

December 2013

September 2010

The Power of the Pajamas

Recently, I was digging around on Amazon.com and came across some pink, plush pajamas that had a pony on the butt of them.  They had footies and a hood.  It was a pink onesie and it was fantastic.  I knew at that moment that I must possess this item.  My future comfort and happiness depended on it.  They were kind of expensive, but the website was having a sale and then Amazon was giving an additional percent off.  It was like it was meant to be.  I told Will about them.  He said, "get 'em!"  I was like, "no, I can't justify spending money on myself now...but they do look amazing..."  Will encouraged me, "just do it."  And so, I did.

Fast forward, two weeks later.  It's freaking cold outside, I'm tired.  I feel like I've been rode hard and put away wet.  I walk through the door and Will had been to the post office.  There was the box holding my future happiness inside.  I took them upstairs and pulled them out.  They were so soft...so pink.  They looked just like that outfit that the Ralphie kid wears in the movie A Christmas Story.  No bunny ears, but same color.  They were amazing.  I said a little prayer that they would fit.  I would be devastated if they were too small.  I slid my feet into the footie part...omg, they even had little gripper things on the bottom of the footies! Saftey AND comfort! Squeeee!  I pulled them on with ease, they are actually a little big.  I rubbed my hands all over them.  It was magically soft.  I mean, I was one rainbow and one unicorn short of a freaking out of body experience.  I zipped them up and showed Will.  He laughed hysterically and we did the obligatory photo shoot so that all of Facebook could see what a child I am.  The reviews were kind of all over.  The general consensus is that my gangsta pajamas were not seducing anyone and that I would likely never have sex again.

Well, I don't care what anyone says, I love them.  I sat on the couch and continued to self discover how amazing the pj's were.  The hood, the pockets, the feet that will zip on or off...and then I realized there are holes in the wrist of the sleeves for your thumbs to fit through to keep your hands warm.  Are you freaking kidding me?  These babies are practically James Bond cool.  I soon realized that the couch was not a sufficient area to test drive these, so I went upstairs, just to stretch out for a short time.  What happened next would forever change my life.

It wasn't long and the warmth and comfort of the pajamas lulled me into a state of relaxation I have never before known.  I was laying on my stomach, sprawled on the bed.  I never lay on my stomach, but this position was magically comfortable.  So comfortable, I fell into a sleep that was neither truly asleep nor truly awake.  I was aware, but unaware at the same time.  Will called to me from downstairs, "Baby, are you gonna come down and take your make-up off and get ready for bed, or are you staying up there?"  I managed to get my lips to move and muffled into the bed, "yeah, I'll come in a minute."  That was a lie, the pajamas weren't going to allow this.  I looked at my arm and willed it to move.  It would not.  I was completely unable to move and the pajamas were completely calling the shots.  Will again yelled upstairs, "Baby, come on."  I muffled back, semi-conscious, "I can't move."  Will came upstairs and tried to get me to move.  I could not.  I would not.  The pajamas would not allow it. I was in a trance of relaxation and the pajamas didn't want me disturbed.  I feared the pajamas might hurt Will if he continued his assault on me.  I was finally able to roll over, only because the pajamas allowed it, but I could not sit up.  Will came back over and pulled me up.  He started laughing at me.  My hair was a mess, my mascara was all over my eyes, I was a hot mess.  I was a hot mess that was half out of it.  Will said, "Wait, I need your picture."  At this point, all I know is that I was comfortable and now I have been disturbed.  Go ahead, take the damn picture.  He is holding his camera, giggling and I am going on and on about my pajamas and how I was happy before and that he didn't understand the power of the pajamas.

I finally made it downstairs.  I had to take the pajamas off.  They are great to lounge in, but you can't sleep in them.  I mean you can, obviously, but not under fleece sheets.  My God, if I attempted that, Will would have woke up to nothing but the smell of bacon and my skin burnt into the bed.  Will says when I wear them that my skin becomes molten lava.  Hey, I didn't get these things to lounge on the beach, I bought them to stay warm and they work amazingly well.  Like magic.  Like nothing I have ever experienced before.  They are a gift from God and proof that He loves me and wants me to be happy...in plush pink pajamas.  Anyway, once the pajamas were off, I was sure I would freeze to death, so...cold...freezing.  I put my pj's over the railing and I couldn't help but feel as if I was betraying them.  I could sense they were beckoning to me, they wanted us to be together again.  I wanted it, too.  Our love was special and it was true. No one else would ever understand it.

The next morning, I wake up and walk past the pj's, petting them affectionately, wishing we could stay in bed together all day.  It was not to be.  I sat down at the computer and opened my Facebook.  The first thing I see, staring back at me, is my face, my messy hair, my mascara smeared eyes and the crazed baby-talk of a mad woman possessed by the power of the pajamas.  Holy shit.  I was shocked, then mad, then amused, then humiliated.  Sweet Maryanne, this thing has gone viral.  Facebook is lighting up with people laughing.  I go to work and people are like, "hey, nice pajamas."  Then, the full force of it all hit me.  I was walking down an aisle and Ugly Sweater Girl says, "Hey, I know we aren't friends on FB, but one of my friends posted a video of a girl in pink pajamas and she kind of looked like you and she had the same name...was that you?"  I sheepishly said, "yeah, it may have been."  Ugly Sweater Girl leaned in, "I gotta ask, was alcohol involved?"  The smart thing would to have been to say, "yes, yes it was."  Instead, I admitted, "No, I was just really tired.  Sadly, it doesn't take alcohol to get that kind of a performance out of me."  That is fantastic, my co-workers think I'm a drunk.  Note to self, gut-punch Will when I get home. Sassy Pants said to me, "Wow, that is a side of you I have never seen.  Usually, you are threatening to kick everyone's ass and keep the order around here.  That girl...she was kinda whiny.  I can see why Will snatched you right up." Then, later that afternoon, another instant message, "So, my friend just shared that video, I don't know how she got it, I didn't share it with her."  The damn thing has been shared all over.

Of all the things I could be remembered for: My over-sharing about Pranx, my boob rants, my 50 Shades of over-sharing, crapping my pants after surgery, my guts exploding, saggy boobs, my loathing of people that drive motor homes, my inability to handle alcohol...nope it's gonna be these beloved pink pajamas.  Fantastic.  I guess it's okay.  I mean, people do want to know where to get them.  I could end up being a spokes person for CafePress.com.  Maybe not. They probably don't want the crazy pj lady on their website.  I'm kind of an acquired taste, I think.

If you haven't seen it yet, go ahead.  Watch it.  Mock it. Laugh. I think if a person can't laugh at their own self from time to time, that is sad.  Life is full of funny shit.  Some of it, self -inflicted.  I'm proof.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BIYL8DtGrw&feature=youtu.be

It will only be available until someone writes something mean and pisses me off, and then I will probably take it down, so amuse yourself while you can.

Death of an FCD

I woke up this morning neither mad, nor happy.  Just went through the motions of the morning.  Pee, feed ponies, take shower, make shake, put on make-up, do hair, make lunch, have wardrobe crisis, leave for work.  Pretty basic.

My day progressed pretty normal. Four Feet of Fury scheduled a meeting for us at the time I usually go to the gym, so I guess today I will not go.  Which is okay.  I've been going four times a week and I'm pretty proud of myself for that.  I've discovered kick-boxing and that I actually like it.  Who knew? I've made some other changes to my lifestyle and I'm trying to be more patient.  I know, sounds like a load of crap, but one day at a time, people.  Anyway, I was confident in my choice not to go to the gym, but after the meeting with FFF, I started to feel sluggish and tired.  I wanted chocolate.  I wanted to go to the vending machine and self medicate.  I was strong, however, and I did not.  People were starting to make me crazy, though.  Crazy, hungry and now cranky?  I just leveled up.  Like, if I was playing Bejeweled or something, I would have just got a buttload of points.

As I was sitting at my desk, I noticed my FCD kept rolling up.  Now that I've lost a little weight, it doesn't fit like it used to, so now it is rolling to the middle of my belly.  This is not attractive in the dress I am wearing today.  It was making me angry.  At one point I had my dress completely pulled up in the front yanking at my FCD.  I looked around to see if anyone was catching the show.  No one was, but I decided I probably needed to reign this wardrobe adventure in.  Just then, the light over my desk started to flicker.  Well, that's relaxing.  Crazy, hungry, cranky and now I'm being tortured by florescent hell.  FFF walks up and says, "What's wrong?"  I said, "I hate people, I'm angry inside and my FCD is rolling up."  She looked confused, "I can tell your angry. What's an FCD?"  I explained to her that it was a fat controlling device. Her eyes got big and she said, "how does that work...?"  I was the one confused now.  I said, "Well, it's like Spanx, you know, girdle like?"  She laughs, "OHHHH, I thought you had like a machine or something working your stomach."  I laughed, but then thought, you know, I should get some electricity built into my FCD's and then my abs could be getting a workout while I'm holding it in...I think I have actually seen devices you wear that shock you.  I've been wasting time just  trying to harness it, I should have been working it! Damn it.

I continued about my day, trying to be less angry.  It wasn't working.  Valerina came over with her Taco Time, seducing me with her mexi fries, or potato tots or whatever the frick they are called, but I'll tell you what, they were calling ME.  I ate two and then looked at Valerina as my FCD rolled up again.  I said, "I've had it, I'm taking my scissors and I'm going into the bathroom."  Valerina said, "Well, okay then."  And just like that, I went to the ladies room, wait...that's a lie, there are no ladies in there, I headed over to the poop shack.  No one was in there, the coast was clear.  I chose the big stall.  I needed room to work.  I reached down in between my boobs.  I stopped.  I considered the price of these damn FCD's.  I considered the way my belly would look if I did it.  I considered how things would move as I walked around.  I considered what it would look like when I sat down.  And then, it happened, the Angry Pony inside me said, "you know what, Fuck it, I want to be comfortable!"  I reached down and cut it from my belly all the way to the top. I felt giddy inside.  A moment of remorse and the a new feeling of empowerment. Then, I reached over and cut the strap on my left arm, then on my right arm.  I pulled it free and threw it on the floor. My belly felt AMAZING! My boobs sagged a little, since that FCD was providing a little lift action, but thanks to the padding in a Victoria Secret bra, I was able to maintain a sense of order.  At least I can count on Vickie. Anyway, I contemplated leaving the FCD there on the floor.  It would be in good company. Other people's underwear, feminine products and feces had graced those floors.  No, it deserved a proper burial. I picked it up and carried it out and shoved it into the depth of the garbage can.  I looked in the mirror.  You really couldn't even tell I took it off.  I looked pretty much the same.  Hmmm, that's weird.  I felt a little naked and could feel my belly against the fabric of my dress.  I washed my hands, gave a full length look in the mirror, then a side ways look and decided, I was owning it as I left.

As I was leaving the poop shack and walking down the hall, I heard a whistle behind me.  I ignored it.  Then I heard it again.  I turned to see Sassy Pants giving me a grin from the break area.  Yep, this unleashed belly is really getting the ladies hot.  I made the right choice.

I spent the rest of the day with my blood flow working normally in the cells of my mid-section.  Internal organs...You.  Are.  Welcome.  I'm not saying I'll never wear another one, especially since I have several at home, but for today, in the fight of Angry Pony vs. Pranx...Angry Pony wins.