This Means War!

This evening my parents, who happened to be in town, stopped by for a few minutes. While here I showed them the picture of The Ex and his new lady. They were as amazed as I to see the changes he's made. But then, they said the unthinkable. The worst thing they could have ever said. The thing that made my heart drop and my palms itch. They said, are you ready for it?

They said it looks like he's lost weight.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

It's not that he didn't need to, because honey, he made me look fit AND trim. It's not because it's healthier for him and will lead to a longer, happier life. It's bad because, because...sniff sniff...I've gained weight since he dumped me. Like a lot. Like a small child. Like a sack of potatoes on steroids.

So, never to be one-upped, this means war. And not with him, because he's not in my life anymore and could look like Richard Simmonds for all I care. (hee hee) But it's war with myself, my emotional eating, and with those pesky fat cells who have grown so comfortable on my person.

It's war with the fact that Christmas is coming, and all the deliciousness that comes with it.

It's war with the fact that I now know how simple it is to make chocolate-dipped potato chips, and I have the makings for a ginormous batch in my kitchen. Right. Now.

It's war with laziness, not wanting to get out in the cold to travel those long, long 4 blocks to the gym.

It's war with giving up because I'm going to die fat and alone anyway. (That's my fallback excuse.)

It's also war with resisting temptation, both with food and looking at The Ex's Facebook page to see if he's posted a new pic. Again not that I care, just that I don't want him to win.

In other news, John Deere and I attended my Sunday School class party last Saturday. He behaved himself marvelously, got to talk shop with a few other farmers, talked about hunting with a few others, and stayed even though I could tell he'd rather have left before I got involved in a game of trivia (always dangerous!) This Friday he's attending my Church staff dinner with me. Such a trooper.

Audit this!

This past week the counseling agency I work for had it's triennial audit for accreditation. So a clinician from Florida spent three exciting days in my town looking at files, interviewing clients, and perusing our policy and procedure manuals. At the end he gave us a report of his findings. While it wasn't horrible and most of the mistakes were easily correctable, the fact that someone, whose job it is to find your mistakes, is even in the building lends an air of stress and foreboding.

I got to spend almost all of Tuesday with him and a bit of Thursday. By that point I had had my fill of having my short-comings pointed out. There were a few times my blood pressure spiked, and a few times I had to fight back tears. He was not being mean or even condescending, but I put a lot of effort into my job, and to have someone criticize what I do and tell me I need to work harder when I already don't have the time or resources to do what I do, well, it just frustrates me.

Oh a brighter note, John Deere not only called on his regimented Thursday night, he also stopped by for a few hours. When I told him about my week, he did offer to go rough up the auditor, but I didn't think it necessary. He agreed to accompany me to my Sunday School class Christmas party tomorrow night. I just hope he adheres to the dress code!

Also this week I discovered, via the wonders of Facebook, that The Ex has a new woman. Or at least his profile picture is of him a some little.....ahem.....a lovely lady. My first thought was "Well good for him." That was quickly followed by "I hope she enjoys my ring." I have never wished him harm, but there is a small place deep inside Huff that is vicious and vindictive, hoping that he was wallowing in misery and lamenting the day he sent me away. And maybe he did. For a day or two. Then he got over me, colored his hair, trimmed his beard (he has dimples, who knew!) and reinstated that Match.com profile he swore to me he deleted. (I did see him on there recently, right before I deleted mine. Again.)

There was a lot of drama in my boring little life this week. I'm glad it's over. On to another busy week with two dress rehearsals, two concerts, one more church Christmas party John Deere is attending with me, and two work Christmas luncheons. If I make it out alive and not 20 pounds heavier, I'll be one happy Huffy!

The Redneck and The Nerd

So he listens to Country and I listen to Classical.

So he reads Outdoor Living and I read Agatha Christie.

So he tinkers with tractors and I tinker with the human psyche.

So he drinks Mt. Dew and I drink Trinidadian Coconut Coffee.

So he has never seen a Mel Brooks movie and I can quote them word for word.

So he shoots deer for fun and I cried like a little girl when I accidentally ran over a cat.

So he's never heard of NPR and my weekend isn't complete without "A Prairie Home Companion."

Does that mean we're too different?

To Infiniti and Beyond

This afternoon I felt like the biggest hypocrite on the planet. I led a group on worry and anxiety, relating how to plan worry time, postpone worry, and fix the problems that you can , thus alleviating much unnecessary worry. And yet although these sound like good ideas, I can personally guarantee you I could perfectly perform each step and still worry.

I asked the clients what they worry about. Money. The Future. If Medicaid will be around to pay for meds. What if I lose my home. What if my power of attorney dies before me. All great topics for worry. I encouraged them to not worry about the past, since you can't do anything about it anyway, and plan for the future, solving what problems you can, and researching and planning for those you can't.

What do I worry about? All of those things, plus stuff like: what if I fall and break my leg while I'm alone in the house and my doors are locked? What if I I live to be 112 and out-live all my family and friends? What if I lose my hearing and never get to listen to music again? What if I gain so much weight they have to cut a hole in my house to folk-lift me out?

A ha! To this problem, I have found another solution, and a whole passel of more worries!

I had been doing step aerobics two days per week, but my knees just can't stand it anymore. So, tonight I did it. I made the plunge. I joined another gym. And not the "beefcake" gym. No, the snobby, snooty, all the ladies there are pencil thin and wear designer work-out gear. Oh yeah, Huffy's about to invade their territory!

So now my worries consist of overwhelming feelings of inferiority, will I have to wait on a treadmill, and hoping no one is watching my fat jiggle as I walk. (Because we ALL know that is SO entertaining!)

But if nothing else, maybe I'll get back into the swing of exercising, possibly lose a few, and have a few stories to blog about. Yes, it's for you, my dear reader, that I am doing this.

And so my jeans don't constrict my breathing anymore.

See ya on the treadmill!

Come Skype with me...

You know, I've had this "new" laptop for almost a year, and have yet to Skype with anyone. I'm not even sure how. I've also not used the webcam save for a few playful pics using the tools to put a hat, beard and other cool accessories/backgrounds in the shot.

This morning I got my third (and last!) shot of Hepatitis B vaccine. I decided to get that particular vaccine before going to Haiti last summer, though it is much more likely I will contract Hep from work than a week spent in another country.

When I arrived at my office this morning, I couldn't get the door open. I offered to go back home, but after my boss pushed a pulled for a few minutes, he got the door open, fixed the latch, and welcomed me back to work. Dang, so close!

While walking down the hall at work I saw something fall off me, I kicked it, picked it up, and realized the button just fell off my pants. I put it in my pocket, knowing today was going to be just dandy!

I called the tire place, wanting to schedule the installation of my brand new tires for sometime this week. They said they could do it this afternoon. I no longer drive a huge skate, I grip the road. You hear me, GRRRRRRIP! Good thing too, with all the standing water I'll have to drive through to get to work tomorrow!

Community choir was actually kind of good tonight. Kind of. As an Alto I should know that the whole world bows to the Sopranos. But after all these years, it still ticks me off when the rest of the choir has to change what we're doing to the Sopranos can get their moment of glory. Or just get the note. They're not known for their ability to hear what isn't melody.

Buddy has had issues with fleas all summer, the worst I've seen him biting and scratching. I gave him his prescribed flea and tick dope, but I guess it didn't work. While I felt badly for him, I didn't do anything more for his flea situation. But now he's invited his little friends into the house. Now something MUST. BE. DONE. I itch as I type this.

I had to work both Saturday and Sunday this last weekend. While I appreciate the extra money (for my tire fund) I really didn't get a chance to just hang out at home. I need my down time. So now I'm a few bucks richer, but a few hours of sleep and a whole lot of book-reading/coffee drinking/bonding with Buddy hours deprived.

I did, however, manage to squeeze in a few hours with John Deere. He asked me what I want for Christmas. I didn't really give him an answer. I don't think he yet appreciates my sense of humor enough to pop off with "something shiny" and know I'm teasing. I don't know. What do you ask from someone you barely know? Any suggestions?

Huffy Thanksgiving

Hey you. Yes, you!

Don't you know it's Thanksgiving?

It's time to gather with family

and share in food and fellowship.

Get here however you can

and don't forget to give thanks before the meal.

It's allowed if you want to stuff yourself

but try not to eat like a

Be sure to eat lots of fiber

and also include an afternoon nap.

And if you don't want to join in all the Thanksgiving-y fun, then I only have one thing to say to you...

Have a happy, safe and blessed Thanksgiving everyone!

*I stole these pictures from all over the internet, so I can't really give them photographic copyright blah blah blah. I'm sorry if I stole your intellectual property. But thanks anyway!

Rules of the Road

When I was in high school, yea, those many, many years ago, we had something called Driver's Ed. We went to a semester long class, then had driver's training for something like 9 weeks. Then we got a permit that allowed us to drive with someone over 16. Then, on that blessed day when we turned 16, we got a real, genuine, driver's license. And we were official! No stopping us now! Cruising Main Street, here we come!

Now I know a lot of you are nodding your heads in agreement. You did too. But that was Fairfield. Apparently Olney doesn't have the same system. Maybe Olney didn't even have Driver's Ed. Maybe those poor, uneducated youth didn't even get the handy-dandy book called Rules of the Road. I sure did, and read mine. Cover to cover.

I've lived in Olney for 10 years now, and couldn't begin to count how many near-misses I have had with other motorists. (None my fault, naturally!) But I have noticed a blatant disregard for a large red, octagonal sign that merely suggests one stop. Luckily I am a defensive driver and when I see a car approaching an intersection at a high rate of speed, I slow down. I don't trust that idiot, ahem, other driver to actually stop. Or bicyclists who decide to totally disregard the Rule that says bikes are to follow the Rules of the Road, meaning you also ride with the flow of traffic, on the RIGHT side of the road, not down the middle, veering back and forth between lanes, or on the sidewalk.

4 way stops are a particularly sore spot with me. I avoid them if possible, but I must go through a large highway junction with a 4 way stop to get to work. I noticed this week the Stop sign was bent again, signifying yet another accident at this intersection. Why? It's a 4. Way. STOP! Why are there so many accidents here??? You stop. See if there are other vehicles. If not, proceed. If so, wait until they go. Sometimes there are more than one car and you all wait on the other, finally ending in a contest of who can wave the best for the other person to go. I've sat at this intersection many a time, allowing everyone to go before me. Hey, I'd rather arrive late than injured. My guess is that as there is a large amount of Semi traffic, cars try to sneak past a turning truck, only to get smacked when the approaching car is trying to do the same thing.

I witnessed an accident at this intersection a few years ago. I was coming down the hill, approaching the intersection and I noticed two cars, one driving north, the other driving east. I didn't  note which one got there first, they were both going to be gone by the time I got there. Or so I thought. As I was slowing the East-bound car T-boned the North-bound car. WHY?!? Did the dude assume the chick would stop? She was already half-way through the intersection! Was he high? Was he playing with his phone? I don't know. All I know was that it was freakin' cold that day and I had to stand outside giving assistance to the hysterical chick who had a 2-month old in the back, then give my statement to the butt-hole officer who arrived and made me feel like a moron. (He told me to proceed through the intersection, and when I did yelled at me and told me to turn around. Jerk face.)

Anyway, my simple lesson for today is : Stop means Stop. Yes you. It's not a suggestion. If you see my brake lights, it means that I'm going to stop. That doesn't mean you can pass me, honk at me, or ride my bumper. Speed limits are made for our safety. Yield means slow down and possibly stop, not speed up. One way means one way. Same for Do Not Enter.

It's not a hard thing. Just pay attention folks. Put down the cell phone, you're not that important. You know you're just gabbing to a friend anyway. Put down the Big Mac and pull over. Select your radio station before you put it in Drive. Discipline your kids when you reach your destination. And unless your dog also has a driver's license, don't have them in the driver's seat.

Fat Clothes

Some women have fat jeans and skinny jeans. Some women, me included, have fat wardrobes and, well, less-fat wardrobes. I couldn't possibly say that anything I've worn since 1981 could be classified as "Skinny!"

Tonight I gathered three garbage bags full of clothing I'm taking to a local consignment store. I could give them to the Salvation Army or Good Samaritan, but folks, I'm broke! A few bucks here and there...

Anywho, in gathering these bags of clothes I inspected each for stains, tears and size. I have everything form a size 14 to 24W. Some of the clothes are name brand, some Wal-Mart, and many I purchased from the same consignment store a few years ago. (Yes, I can remember where I get my clothes, even 4 years later. Please reference "Where's the Delete Key.")

As I saw cute shirts, comfy sweaters and swishy skirts, I had a sickening feeling for a couple of reasons. 1.) That's a heck of a lot of money I spent on all those clothes over the years, and some of them I know I only wore once or twice. 2.)Who really needs that many articles of clothing? People in Haiti are lucky to have one good shirt to wear to Church on Sunday. 3.) How the heck did I allow myself to gain all that weight back? (Throughout 2008 I lost about 80 pounds. And now it's back. With interest. Stupid, stupid, stupid.)

I had promised myself earlier this year that I was NOT buying any new clothes until I stopped gaining weight. I refuse to festoon this barge of a body any longer. Now that's not to say that I might get something necessary, like something Green so I can be in a dear friend's wedding in March, or cute boots if I catch them on sale :)

This is the worst time of year for a compulsive eater. As if it wasn't bad enough the rest of the year to stay away from food, the next 2 months are full of holiday dinners, office parties and people stuffing cookies and candy in my direction. At least my office is no longer across the hall from the kitchen at work. All day long I heard folks discussing the qualities of the cookies the copier company sent us, the chocolates the psychiatrist sent us, and the "better than sex" almond toffee the car dealership sent. Althought I really don't think the short walk down the hall will stop me from indulging a bit, I might feel guilty when I pass Kathy's office for the 17th time each morning.

From Attorney to Pig Farmer

I know you're not supposed to compare people. You're especially not supposed to compare yourself to others. But the most important may be to not compare the person you're currently dating to your ex. But how can you not? How can you not think, if only once and a while, "Well ________ never did that, said that, wore that, ate that."  What may be even scarier in when the current dude and the ex dude have similarities. Enter Twilight Zone music...doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo...

Similarities between The Ex and Set-up Dude (Hereafter known as John Deere.)
The Ex lived next door to his parents, so does John Deere.
The Ex played saxophone in elementary school, so did John Deere.
The Ex drives a Ford F-150, so does John Deere.
Both were involved in Future Farmers of America in High School.
Both attended Southern Illinois University, majoring in Agriculture.
Both waited until Date #3 to hold my hand. (awwwwwww)

Creepy, huh?

Now for the differences (obviously not all of them, that would take days to list. )
John Deere eats veggies. So far I've seen him eat broccoli and salad. The Ex never ate anything green.
John Deere opens the door for me. Every door, every time. The Ex only opened the door to his Vette, because I couldn't get the stupid thing to recognize my hand and pop open the door.
John Deere listens when I speak. And remembers. He asked me Saturday about something I said a month ago.
John Deere drinks sweet tea. The Ex didn't like tea. Freak.
John Deere doesn't start every sentence with "Mom said", "I was telling Mom", or "You gotta laugh." Nor does he end every sentence with "so..." That drove me nuts!
John Deere doesn't like ketchup. The Ex smothered all meat and potato matter with it.
John Deere reads his Bible. The Ex didn't even know where his was. (At his parent's house. Duh.)

I really am trying not to compare them They are two totally different men, thank goodness! I'm just trying to enjoy this season in my life, no expectations, no time limits, no games.

Let's just see where this goes.

Eternal Questions

Life is full of questions. Some monumental in importance, such as what is the meaning of life, or where is the nearest Starbucks? Others are trivial, like just what were me and Julio doing down by the school yard? Some questions have easy answers: yes, no. Others have no answer. Wait, they do have an answer, but we cannot comprehend it.

We humans think ourselves evolved, highly intelligent creatures.  When it comes down to it, we're just animals. Who can speak. And walk upright. And dress in snazzy clothes.

I've heard many people say "I'm going to ask God that when I get to Heaven." I used to also have a list of questions for God. I've come to realize that it's only in our Earthly form that we care about the answers. When we get to Heaven, we're not going to care about the questions anymore. We're going to be basking in God's glory for eternity. Let me tell you, when Huff gets her bask on, I'm not going to care why God made me the way I am. Sure, I'm a bit curious now, but it won't matter. Really, it doesn't matter now.

I wrote a blog a few weeks ago about the question Why. It was a response to the loss of a baby by a college friend. This week I'm responding to the question of why God would give a sweet little boy to a family, then take him away suddenly. I don't have the answer. God does, but He's not sharing secrets. Not now. Not yet.

Miffed

Oh, how quickly I go to the dark side. So my set-up dude did not call me tonight. Not that he said he would, just that he has for the past 3 weeks. I immediately replace disappointment for anger and assume he's not interested and is taking the weenie way out and just not speaking to me. Guys seem to get out of potential relationships in this manner these days. No one has a pair of cojones anymore. Sad.

I try not to be Huffy, to give him the benefit of the doubt. He's busy...well, it rained all day, so it's not like he was out in the fields. He lost my number...unless he also lost his phone, totally unacceptable. He's waiting for me to call...for a (previously assumed) gentleman who has opened every door for me every time, I don't think he's expecting a ballsy broad to ask him out.

I know me and I know the extent my ire can extend. If he does happen to call me tomorrow or whenever, I'm not sure if I'll be all sunlight and rainbows and pretend it's all fine, or rip him a new one. I would hope I wouldn't tie into him, as he has no way of knowing how I feel or what I'm thinking. Though he should.

I told you I was bad at this.

Inconceivable!

Movie Quote Quiz: "Let me speak. No, there is too much. Let me sum up."

That's what I intend to do.

Coupons are wonderful! I now get two Sunday papers delivered to my home, I check at least 3 websites for printable coupons, have "stacked" coupons, and am getting ready to price match at Wal-Mart. I am not stocking up like the folks from Extreme Couponing do, but I do have a nice little stash of shampoo, body wash, deodorant, and enough soup to last me all winter. I have yet to join a Coupon Club in real life or on the internet. I find my couponing to be a personal journey.

I have had two dates with my set-up dude. Last Saturday was much more comfortable than that dreaded first date. And he used a coupon with dinner! I was so impressed! He's totally not my type, if I really even have one, but sometimes that's the best match, someone different I would have never noticed in the first place.

I have bitten the proverbial bullet and made an appointment to speak with the coordinator of a local graduate school. Yes, I'm going back to college. Yikes! Masters in Counseling. I have to get my Master's. My job depends on it. Actually, I was supposed to have a Master's about 7 years ago, but my boss was kind enough to let me slide. Now the State is changing all the rules and requiring a Master's degree and licensing for just about everything I do. It will take me a few years, but this is the first step.

Even though nothing super-positive has happened, I feel good. Rare for The Huff. I guess I'm finally learning what I've been teaching my clients for years now: you can choose to be happy. I'm not delaying my happiness for when I lose 50 pounds, when I get out of debt, when I get a boyfriend. I choose to be happy now, overweight, in debt and single. It's ok.

Today I had to do orientation with two new hires at work. They were a little cold at first, but by the time I got done, they were both laughing. I walked out of that room thinking, I'm awesome! I had to talk about boring and off-putting topics (HIV/TB risk, abuse and neglect reporting, yay!) but managed to throw some humor in there. I'm just glad there are people in the world who get my sense of humor.

Last weekend my Mom, Aunt and I saw Don Williams in concert. I listened to his music on LP's and 8-track as a child. I've always enjoyed his deep, smooth voice. One song in particular has stuck with me this week. I've hummed it everyday as I drive to work. Take a listen below!

Dating Blunders

Dating. Yeah, I heard that collective groan from here! Let me share a few gems from my extensive (minimal) dating experiences.

OK, now for those of you who know me, you'll know that I did not date AT ALL in high school, like every other normal person on Earth. Nor College. Yes, I was the fat, shy nerd, the Unholy Trifecta of Loserdom! I was 28 when a guy finally grew a pair and asked me out.

Back when I was 23 (huh? Just read.) I met a guy over the Internet, back when the Internet was a relatively safe place and certain personals sites were free, or at least free if you knew how to get the guy's user name by saving his pic and then using the free instant messenger part... not that I ever did that. He lived in a nearby town, and we were never anything but friends. It may have been because of our first meeting.

On the way to meet him I promised myself I'd be safe, I'd be smart and I would NOT get into a car with him. So after we meet, shake hands and I jump into his Mustang (hey, it was a Mustang!) we go to another town for supper. The place was packed, so we had to sit near the bar. Loud is an understatement. So we ate not speaking, because there wasn't any way we could yell over the din. After dinner came the obligatory movie. I insisted on paying (independent much?) and he goes on into the theatre. I get to the door and the lights have already gone out. I can't find him! I wait for a second, hoping my eyes will adjust quickly, but no dice. I grope my way about 4 rows down and sit in the first seat I come to. Luckily, he's there, but 2 seats over. Now here's a dilemma: do I stay seated, or move? After pondering this question through the previews, I decide to hold firm. Later I'm glad of this decision, as we saw Lilo and Stitch, and I cried through the entire movie. Shut up, it's SAD!

We remained friends for a few years, then he met another chick online, she moved from Oregon, and they're now happily (I hope) married with a little girl.

Then there was my Redneck guy who blew cigarette smoke in my face after dinner. Never heard from him again. And the dude who said I had an anger issue. Screw him and the horse he rode in on! A hem, then there was Don, whom I met on eHarmony. He seemed like a great guy, until he emailed me a week before we met, and armed with his last name ran a background check on him, and found he had just gotten a divorce 2 weeks before we were matched online. Yikes! One meal at Applebees, and no phone call since. Not that I'm waiting. Jerk.

Then there was the Ex. Within the first 5 minutes I called him both Weird and Strange. (When I'm nervous my brain and tongue often lose communication.) That was shortly after hopping into his Corvette (yes, apparently I have a thing for guys with nice cars) and heading to a local Winery for dinner. I was trying to make a joke about not getting into cars with strange men, but said weird instead. Trying to correct myself just made things worse. But obviously this was not a deal breaker as dude did go on to ask me to marry him in later months. Then take it back. (enter expletive here)

Recently I had another first date. Again nerves were on overload, but other than interrogating the poor guy (just talk, darn you!) I don't recall doing anything overly stupid. I didn't call him names, sat right next to him in the movie theatre, and didn't spill anything on my white shirt. The only awkard moment was saying goodbye. It's not as easy as the movies portray. Are you supposed to kiss him goodnight on the first date? Just on the cheek? Shake his hand? Jump out of the truck and lock the door behind you? I don't know.

Do you have any dating advice? What are your horror stories? Do share!

Fat Girl Guidebook: Edition 3

The Fashion Police have been on patrol and it's time for more intervention, fat-girl style!

1. Muffin Tops. Unfortunately you don't even have to be a fat girl to achieve this little beauty. The first problem is your pants are too tight. The second problem is that you're getting low-cut pants that are bi-secting your butt into Upper and Lower regions, the Upper being the Muffin phenomenon. The third problem is that you pair this combo with a tight shirt that emphasizes the Muffin area. The fourth problem is that you think this looks good. The fifth problem is that there apparently isn't anyone in your world who has the chutzpa to tell you that you look ridiculous.

2. I said in the last Fat Girl post that I'd discuss Bra Size, but that may be too personal an argument. All I have to say is: Get Professionally Fitted! If you can't breathe, it's too small!

3. Plus Size Footwear. Yes, there is such a thing. I have found over the past few years a nice selection of Plus Size Socks, Plus Size Boots, and the famous Plus Size Pantyhose. Queen Size is so 1995.
At first I scoffed at the idea of Plus Size socks. But after paying better attention to the growing "Cankle" epidemic, I now see that it is needed. There is nothing more frustrating than buying a new pair of socks only to find they won't stay up your leg. And old-fashioned sock-garters are no longer an option. And Thank You to whoever invented Plus Size Knee Highs! I may have lost both legs at the knee by now if it weren't for you!

For my final thought, I'm considering a mentoring program for Fat Girls. If someone recently found herself in this area, or if she's been denying it for years, she needs a proper initiation into the Fat Girls Club. I attended a meeting yesterday and sat behind a, well, Fat Girl who needed a little help. Not only did she break a few of my cardinal Fat Girl rules (No clingy fabrics!) but she also needed basic make-up and hygiene assistance (Can we say dandruff shampoo?) If I had a mentoring program started, I could have introduced myself, given her my card, and given her the tools to access a network of other experienced Fat Girls to help guide her to greater self-confidence and a snazzy new hairstyle (Which she so desperately needed!)

*I do hope you, dear readers, can feel the sarcasm through your mouse. I know I am no Fashion Maven, nor do I think myself particularly fashionable. However, I do know what looks good and what makes me cringe, and will exercise my right to express my opinions freely.

Why?

Every toddler asks it repeatedly. Every adult asks it repeatedly.

Why me? Why now? Why not? Why, why why?

Say it enough, it doesn't even sound like a word anymore, but it is a very powerful word, though small in stature at only three letters.

I wonder if God ever regrets inventing the word or the notion of Why? Can you imagine how many times a day he hears that question? I know I feel frustration and maybe even a touch of indignation when someone asks me why, but can you fathom His feeling when someone asks: "Why was I even born? Why are you doing this to me? Why don't you listen to me? Why don't you love me anymore? Why don't you want me to have the desires of my heart?" Ever ask one of those? Uh huh, me too.

But we humans are a curious race. We like to ask questions that can't be answered, at least not easily. And we're not often satisfied with "You'll know by and by." The heck with that, I want to know NOW! Did I mention humans are also impatient?

But don't feel bad when you ask why, even Jesus asked it, when on the cross he asked why His father had forsaken Him. There are lessons we need to learn, plans we know nothing about, and a grander vision that we are not capable of seeing.

In times when one asks why, Jeremiah 29:11-13 comes to mind. ¹¹"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. ¹² Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. ¹³ You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

See, God loves you and wants good things for you. Just maybe not what we want or when we want it. I know this doesn't lessen the hurt, remove the doubt or give us the warm-fuzzies, but it's true. And someday we'll understand and know it was for our own good, because Father knows best.

And he called again...

Yes, I have a date. Or as I call it, a "meeting." Date implies romantic intent.

Part of me is doing the happy dance, uh huh, it's my birthday!

The other part of me is thinking "Oh crap, here we go again."

I'm not good at dating. I'm not flirty, nor am I a sparkling conversationalist. I live by my favorite line in Ever After: Don't speak unless you can improve upon the silence.

But since we're going for a "bite to eat" as he put it, I could also live by my second favorite line from that movie: "I'm only here for the food."

So He Called...

...and I wasn't home. This was Saturday. I called back, left a message. No call in return.

I've learned the man-time is not the same as woman-time.

Not that I'm impatient.

Not Huffy.

Dry Toes

A few weeks ago a church member mentioned to me that she had given my phone number to a young man she knows. Yeah, here we go. She had mentioned him to me a while back, like a week after the Ex dumped me, and I asked her to give me time. I guess the time has come.

This possibility of a stranger calling me has upset the delicate balance that I call safe. I have had blind dates in the past, two to be exact, and never heard from the guy again. Both times it was a good thing, but it hurts a gal's ego nonetheless.

Huff being Huff I did a little cyber-sleuthing and found this dude is divorced. Strike one. Why? I'm not sure. I have an Ex, he has an Ex, what's the difference? Well, I didn't live with mine, nor did I take his name. We had a few future plans, but nothing so substantial as a joint bank account or choosing baby names. (Ok, maybe I did, but that's another story.)  There's a different level of hurt involved also.

Another strike is my assumed lack of common interests. I'm guessing this guy is into hunting, fishing, 4-wheeler riding, Country music and the whole Redneck bit. I'm not. Again, assuming, and we all know what happens when one assumes...

Strike three? I don't know yet. I'll come up with one, give me time. I'm a master at the Reject-Before-You-Can-Be-Rejected defense mechanism. I could always rely on my old stand-by "he doesn't like fat chicks" excuse. There! No reason for him to call!

Now I know what you're thinking, didn't you say it was a few weeks ago, and he still hasn't called you? Why are you spazzing? Well, this matchmaker told me he had hurt himself at work, had surgery and wanted to be healed before he called. So he is considerate. Point for him. And he has a job. Another point.

This anxiety has also brought up a lot of memories of the Ex, like the first time we met, and pointers to myself of what to do/say, don't do/say. I never had to worry about NOT talking about the Ex before, since I'd never HAD an Ex before. Geez, throw in some lettuce in the teeth and I'm ready to make a great first impression!

I'll keep you, dear readers, informed. I'll need some pointers if I ever do decide to dip my toe into the dating pool. Just remember, I can't swim!

Should I walk backwards?

Twice in the past week I have been greeted from behind. Maybe it's because of my behind.

Let me explain...

For the past month a coworker and I have been walking twice per week, after work, at a local park. It's a nicely paved sidewalk, approximately 1.1 miles in length around the entire park. This park is along a well traveled street in my town, so passersby can see you.

Last week while walking I heard a honk and noticed an arm waving as a car passed by. I recognized the driver as a church member, and remarked to the coworker that I thought it strange the person knew me from behind. And today I had a fellow Sunday School member, also walking, approach from behind and say "Is that [Huffalina]?" Again, I thought it strange the back of my head is so recognizable.

Finally it occurred to me that most of the church sees my backside more than my front. As choir director, I have a small perch (a step about 3 feet square) where I lead the choir. It is on the outside of the choir loft, in full view of the entire congregation. (And let me tell you, it is a fat girl's nightmare! I've never been so concerned about VPL's in my life [that's Visible Panty Lines for you guys.]) And also scared of falling off my perch, possibly falling right through the floor down into the Children's Church area, squishing some blessed darling.

Last week I got my hair cut and colored (Big Red is back, baby!) and my lovely, talented and patient hair dresser took special care to make sure the back of my hair looks good, as she noted that most people don't have to care about the back of their hair, but because of leading the choir, I do. Isn't that sweet of her to think of that? I see a Christmas bonus in her future!

Also while walking this coworker and I are often passed by more serious and enthusiastic walkers, joggers and runners. We just let them pass, usually making the same excuse over and again, that she has cancer and I'm fat. I suggested we make T-shirts with that on them. We've yet to finalize what we're putting on the back. I'll be sure to post a pic if we ever get them made!

The Fat Girl Guidebook: Edition 2

As promised I will again take up the cause of the Fat Girl and educate those of you who aren't, and commiserate with those of you who are.

1. Turnstiles.
Honestly people, now that there is laser technology, do you really need a narrow gate with oddly placed bars to count admission? Even small people sometimes have to go through these sideways. And guys, tough luck on that one!

2. Toilet Stalls
I know someone who just reads this blog without knowing me thinks I'm totally obsessed about toilets. As this is my third blog post to involve toilets, you may be right. But today I'm just talking about the stalls. Have you ever tried to turn around in one of those? Heaven forbid you try to take off your coat!

Usually there is a hook, placed conveniently (for thieves) at the top of the door. Sometimes there is a shelf taking up valuable room along the wall. And sometimes you just have to hold your purse on your lap, changing hands and balancing it like a Chinese acrobat. Some stalls also feature not only width constraints, but also length. I'm not that tall, so my knees should NEVER touch the back of the door.

And the door? Usually it swings in. How inconvenient! There is not sufficient room to close the door with me in the way. Thus I have to straddle the toilet to shut the door, all the while the other ladies in line look at me as if to say "What are you doing in there? Get on with it already!"

And to use the handicap stall is frowned upon unless you're actually handicapped. Or no one else is using it. Or you claim your fat as a handicap! (I may have done this once. Or twice.) I recently found two restaurants where the handicap stall had its own sink in there. It was like a deluxe suite! But when you leave the stall and don't wash your hands where everyone else is, they think you're nasty, and claiming "It has its own sink!" only gets further stares of doubt and a small step back as you pass.

(I said handicap and I'm sticking with that term. I didn't feel like typing "differently abilitied" throughout the toilet stall description. If you're offended, just don't read my blog anymore!)

3. Airplane seats. Don't get me started! All I have to say is Fat Butt= No Fit. Pain. Lots and lots of pain. And the added embarrassment of asking the flight attendant for a seat belt extender. Yeah skinny people, didn't even know they had those, huh?

4. Fat Girl Math
Serving sizes are merely suggestions. And the half serving in the container is just lumped in with the last serving. Haven't you ever had a ginormous bowl of cereal because there wasn't enough left for one more full bowl, so you just poured it all in one? Oh, and two small pieces equal one, even if the smaller pieces are approximately 75% the size of the full one. Because 6 big tater wedges and 2 small shriveled ones do NOT equal 8, as the bag specifically directs.

And those diets where you can only eat one thing per day? Like today you eat cabbage and tomorrow you eat carrots? As Lula from the Stephanie Plum novel series* would say, I love those diets! Today one bucket of chicken, tomorrow one extra-large pizza.

*Written by Janet Evanovich, movie One for the Money releases January 2012

Coming up in future editions: muffin tops, bra size, and plus size footwear