One year ago today….

I walked into the gym to meet my personal trainer. My very first.

Ten years of putting myself last ended that day. I was terrified. I was embarrassed. I was fat.  I was ashamed.

Jesse greeted me with a warm smile that felt like a hug. He made me feel welcome. He made me feel encouraged. He made me feel I could do this.

And I did. We did. Together.

He took me through a 15 minute workout. When it was done I asked for more. When that was done I asked for more. Jesse was beaming. “You are a warrior!”

That day, I found my inner athlete.

Me.

An athlete!!

Jesse taught me how to eat. When to eat. What to eat. WHy to eat. He taught me how to work out. How to run. How to lift. How to stretch. How to breathe. How to push myself.  We started slowly. Modified pushups. Just a few. Maybe some sit ups. Just a few. How about we just walk at a fast pace for 1 minute?

One year later and I am dead lifting 185lbs. Squatting 175. I can do full push ups. I can hold myself in a side plank on one arm with the other arm and other leg raised in the air. I can run for miles. Uphill. Sit ups? Please. GIve me a weight to hold and make me do 300. At a time.

I learned mixed martial arts. I became a fighter.  I learned burlesque. I will became a dancer.

The exercise was the easy part. THe diet? Not so much. I struggled. I still struggle. Food is life. Food is passion. I’m a hedonist. I hate denying myself pleasure. I just learned how to find joy in healthy food. How to make my favorite dishes and modify them. How to eat veggies. How to love eating veggies.Oh how I hated veggies. Now if I go a few meals without them, I get cravings. For veggies.

I also learned how to indulge. Responsibly.

Finally, I learned that if I miss a workout, it isn’t the end of my body. I won’t wake up 300 pounds again. If I eat a bacon cheeseburger, I’m not a bad person. For dinner I’ll just have steamed fish. And I’ll only do that once per week. One cheat meal. And it’s ok.

I have 30 pounds to go. Honestly, I’d be ok staying at this weight. It’s the smallest I’ve been in… wow. A long damn time. I love the clothes. I love the looks. I love the life I am living. But I know I can do more. I also know struggling with PCOS makes this a tougher challenge. I’ve come to terms with that. I’m not a normal girl. I do fight medical issues. But I’ll win. It will just take me a bit longer.

Jesse- thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me. I know I’m a wackadoodle client. But you’ve changed my life. I look forward to the next year and those final 30 pounds going away forever.

Before- meet after.

I matter.

At my heaviest. Almost 300lbs                        30 left to go!

The tats are gettin bigger. The clothes are gettin smaller. The heels are gettin taller. Baby I’m a baller.

Lost you at baller, didn’t I? Too much?

Thinking my new look was too much were the ladies at the shi shi poo poo jewelry store I went to today. The one in the Neighborhood of the Exaggerated Syllables.  “I’m loooking for a pressssent for my dauuuughter.  It’s her birrrrthday on Saaaaaaturday.” Why do snotty rich people drawww out their worrrds?  We get it. You have money. You have nowhere to go, nothing to do. I’m in a hurry. Speed up the cadence, bitch!

I walked into the store and professionally dyed blonde heads turned. Botoxed brows tried to furrow. Dyed to match lemon haired demon spawn openly gawked. Shut yo mouth before you catch a fly, child! Didn’t your mama teach you any manners or was she too busy schtupping her trainer on the tennis court to care?

Stereotyping is fun!

I KNOW my look doesn’t fit in that world. I KNOW I stand out. I KNOW if you’re covered in a big ass dragon or spider tattoo with a double nose piercing and a shirt that says you like to break people’s faces that perhaps, just perhaps, it might get some looks. Maybe even looks in askance. It may even frighten/fascinate small overindulged children. I get it. But day-um! I was NOT prepared for how powerful that felt!!

Scaring rich people is fun!

Loved loved loved that in this yupscale boutique I found a jeweled spider hair clip with matching spider earrings and an adorable pinup red polka dot bow clutch. Who knew?  Who knew there’d be Just Jaden finds in a land where everyone talks slowly and looks like everyone else? “All white people look alike.” Nah, just the rich ones. Seriously, the world doesn’t need another blonde in a white polo and pink palm tree dotted capri pants. Someone has sex with that.

Being crass for the sake of an easy laugh is fun!

Eh, we all judge each other based on looks. We’re people. It’s what we do.

I just believe I look a hell of a lot more interesting than the Generics. My life is a hell of a lot more interesting. I know this because people who are content don’t waste their time gawking and whispering and attempting to raise their eyebrows at people they don’t understand. They don’t have to. They’re too busy enjoying the experience.

The other day I walked into the room wearing a one of my pinup getups with new shaded in dragon sleeve on display and my six year old looked me up and down and said, “You actually look good when you make an effort.”

Why thank you, first born daughter.

Then she squinted her eyes at my tattoo and sighed, “I wish I had normal parents.”

WHA WHA WHAAAT???

Oh Boo. You break my wittle heart.

NORMAL parents? Honey, I have news for you. Everyone has wackadoodle parents. We just wear our crazy on the outside. At least Matt and I are honest about our eccentric lifestyle. Nothin’s goin on here that the other doesn’t know about. Or approve of. We be happy. Very happy. The kids are loved. The bills are paid. The house is filled with laughter and love. And sometimes glow stick raves for the six and under crowd. Except no one is dancing harder than the middle aged parents.

Boo’s first grade teacher tried to explain how her father stocked their swimming pool with fish over the winter and by the next summer they had a pool filled with rotting fish. And squirrels. Suddenly we’re not so crazy, are we Miss Boo?

Our marriage not conventional. Our look is not conventional. Our parenting style is not conventional. After all the crap years we’ve experienced, it’s about damn time we had some fun. You don’t have to approve or even understand. It may not be your choice in life but it doesn’t have to be. It’s ours.

No, we are not normal.

We’re happy.

Dinner conversation between my six year old Miss Boo, Juna from CHina, Avie the flower child, and myself. Matt wasn’t home yet.

Miss Boo:  Juna. I don’t get it.  You’re brown.

Juna: I’m yight brown!

Miss Boo: Yeah, yeah. You’re light brown. We get it. We KNOW. I just can’t figure this out. You’re brown. But you’re not black. And you’re not Chinese. Because Chinese people aren’t brown.

Juna: I’m CHINESE!! I’m CHINESE!!

Miss Boo: No. Not really. Cuz you’re brown.

Avie: I’m a cupcake. With icing!

Juna: I’m CHINESE! I’m CHINESE!!!

Miss Boo: Actually, I don’t think you are. You’re brown. So, I’m not really sure what you are.

Juna: I AM CHINESE!!!

Avie: And I have a cherry on top of my head! I’m a cupcake with a cherry on top of my head!

Me: Boo-  Juna is from China. She’s Chinese. She has gorgeous skin. Now let’s move on!

Miss Boo: Maybe…

Avie:  I really wish I was food. I don’t want to be a person. I want to be a cupcake. With lots of icing! I’m sooooo sweet!!