Don’t be jealous

weight loss

I admit it, I’m a bit of a hermit.  Sure, I go out once or twice a week, but it’s totally normal for my friends to only see me once a month or so.  Most of them just stalk me through social media, and love me anyway.

Lately I’ve been making the rounds and keep getting told how amazing I look.  *Brushes shoulders off* thanks peeps.  But even more than that, friends are reaching out to me privately to find out what I’m doing to see such great success.

Just this past week I’ve had five different people text or message me asking how I’m doing it.

I think sometimes regardless of how much we know about how to be successful in our weight loss and fitness efforts, it helps to have someone who is doing it tell you the things you already know.

So I tell them.  I’m eating healthy.  Lots of protein and veggies at every meal.  Healthy fats, starchy veggies for carbs.  I eat a lot.  I don’t drink.  I’m very active.  I lift weights every day.  I rarely eat junk food, and if I do it’s as a special treat and in moderation.

Basically, I do all the things we all know to do but always find reasons why not to.

Yesterday when talking with one awesome friend who recently popped out a  human from her vagina (ok actually she had a C-section, but really, it’s the growing the human part that’s hell on the body), she told me:

I’m super jealous.

Boy do I get that.  Before I started seeing my own success I remember trolling Instagram on #transformationtuesday and looking at all the amazing before and after pictures.  I remember wishing desperately that was me.  I would get angry with myself for not being strong enough to get there.  In some of my worst moments I would wish I was actually fatter and completely inactive so that I could do something “easy” like just walking around the block to lose weight.

Yes, I was that stupid.

But let’s face it, we’re all our own worst enemies.  And for a long time, I was mine.

My advice to my friend?

Don’t be jealous.  Do something about it and be your own success story.


I don’t have all the answers.  And lord knows half the time I still don’t know what I’m doing.  But I’m doing something, and you can too.

So readers, if you’re seeing success let me know.  I LOVE LOVE LOVE hearing from you.  And if you’re struggling, lay it out there for me as well.  I will totally break out my pom pons for you.

“Thick and sexy” is something you should really only ever say about a milkshake

I could not make this stuff up if I tried.

We have a few regular spots where we hang out on Friday nights, and with my usual group of people they always involve places the guys can play pool.

A few weeks back, we were early on in our drinking and bar hopping merriment, and decided to stop at a place that isn’t on the regular list, but has some pretty great tables.  I’m flexible, and as long as they have Whiskey, I’m easy to please.

Within five minutes of walking in the door, we realize we’re not exactly in the classy part of town.  But as I was there with hubs and another dude, I figured not much could go wrong.  We ordered drinks, got a table, and the guys started their smack talking for the night.

A few minutes later, a girl who was obviously on something other than what the bartender was pouring stumbled over to our table asking to bum a cigarette.  At least I think that’s what she asked.  She may have also been asking for a shampoo or a chimpanzee, but either way, I don’t smoke and had none of the above on me.

For some reason, I was trying to be nice to this stranger who just wouldn’t LEAVE ME ALONE.  Hubs came to the rescue a moment later at which point she says:

“Girl, you so THICK and SEXY I’m gonna steal you from your man.”

Uh, what?

My initial response was, “I’m never eating again.”

But after conferring with friends who are a little better with the slang than I, I discovered it was a compliment.

So really, my response should have been:

“Thanks.  I squat.”

After which I think it would have been totally socially acceptable to chase her off with the chalked up end of a pool cue.

Ah people.  Always good for a laugh.

Please don’t send me into a fit of blind rage


My momma taught me how to take a compliment.  Now mind you, I haven’t always been the best at it, but I like to think that when someone says something nice about me I smile sincerely and accept their praise just like a “lady” should.

Regardless of what my mom tried to teach me at a young age, as I got older I realized how irritating it was to tell a girlfriend that they looked great only to have them come back with some stupid nonsense about how they’ve gained 10 pounds and their hair is a mess.

Just. Say. Thank you.

Really, it’s not that hard.  I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t mean it, so don’t make me feel stupid for being nice to you.

So I try not to ever put anyone in that position.  If they think that I look like a pile of hotness and are brave enough to tell me, I thank them.  And depending on who it is, I might skip away gleefully that they even noticed that I had actually bothered to brush my hair AND my teeth on the same day.

All of that said, there is one “compliment” that I flat out can not stand.

This “compliment” will send me into a blind rage that mimics the fury of a tiny hungry baby plus t-rex trying to pick up something off the ground with his wittle baby arms all smashed together.  It makes me angrier than when my husband withholds sex.  Or when I’m not allowed to drink.

This is ANGRY people.  A-N-G-R-Y.

Have I built it up enough?  Are you dying to know?  The so-called “compliment” is this:

“You’re not a bad looking girl.”

You might be surprised how many times I’ve heard this.  I wish I could stereotype who-the-fuck says that kind of thing, but sadly, it seems to be prevalent across every demographic of the male population.  I’ve got it from the old toothless bastards wearing denim overalls in public.  I’ve received it from men who were attractive enough that I actually considered dating them.  The garbage man, the dude that repaved my drive way, a swim instructor I once had, and countless others have felt the need to compliment me by telling me I’m “not bad looking.”

For any of my millions of followers (ok, so there’s 200 of you and I love you as if you were millions) who don’t get it, let me explain.

I can handle cat calls.  I can handle whistles or honks as I’m running or riding.  I can even handle skeezy men at bars attempting to grope me before I break off their fingers.  These men are at least trying to show appreciation for how attractive I AM… not how unattractive I’m not.

So I’m not bad looking.  So what?  Doesn’t mean I’m good looking.  I could be not bad looking, but instead grotesque and hideous and oh-my-god-are-you-contagious?

I could be not bad looking because holy-shit-you-can’t-even-look-directly-at-me-without-your-retinas-burining-out-of-your-head.

I could very well also be not bad looking as I am actually quite attractive and damn it if you’re not trying to hump my leg while you’re standing here talking to me.

If the latter is the case, go with the attractive part.  It leaves little to the imagination, and is actually a nice thing to say.

You’ll get a genuine smile and a thank you, even if I’m at the same time feeling around in my handbag for my .22 just in case.

But if you find me hideous and are just trying to think of something to say because you can’t possibly keep your mouth shut, keep your mouth shut.  I really do carry a .22, and even T-rex could figure out how to get his puny arms into my purse if  properly enraged.