“Well, who’s on YOUR celebrity Elevator List?” I asked my husband.  I expected to hear upon given the opportunity he would list Kate Upton, Angelina Jolie, or even Anna Kendrick.  

“Rebel Wilson.”
Well. Glad I lost all that “gross” fat then. Hahaha
Pass me a cheeseburger, I need to turn on my man!!!

Write it DownΒ 

I hate recording my food.  I feel like it makes me want to cheat instead of havin the opposite effect.  Which is just weird but I never claimed to be a “normal” person so – there ya go.  πŸ˜Š

But I have found a new trick that sometimes helps me from stuffing my face like a kid at an all-you-can-eat Cotton Candy Buffet (seriously. Why doesn’t that exist? Someone get on that.  Maybe Golden Corral. They already come close with their sundae bar.) I’ve found that if I eat a bit and then stop and write something : a blog, an email, a text, a cleverly worded Facebook post about my latest run-in with the cheese dept at Kroger – then I have a chance to decide if I really need that last fry, or nugget, or entire Hershey’s bar.  

This may look a bit rude when eating out with others as I’m definitely one to frown upon those who whip out their phone in lieu of table-side communication, so use this trick sparingly.  
Up next: Sweaty Underoob and Excess Skin and my ways of combating the “ew! What’s that smell?!” 😁

Still here!

The last few weeks have been stressful and my eating habits show it.  I have practically OD’d on Snickers with Almonds, had a brief, torrid affair with a can of spray cheese, and ate gourmet potato salad right from the over-priced container.  

Getting back on track, for me, is harder than staying on track.  I can convince myself since I’ve ready messed up and had a sugar-laden drink, then I might as well have the “bag fries” leftover from my kid’s happy meal.  But if I’ve  gone a week without too many “bad” foods then I will say “nope” and eat a few almonds instead.  

It makes no sense.  

But habits are hard to break, easy to acquire, and far easier to fall back into like Anakin to the Dark Side. Besides, I hear they have cookies.  πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚
My weight? 177.  I’m trying not to get down about it or to berate myself about carrying a few more pounds than I would like. But it’s hard.  Over-eaters, as a rule, don’t exactly boast smashing amounts of self-confidence and trying to tell a voice you can’t silence (your own) that they’re wrong – that’s nearly impossible.  

So I’m fighting the real fight, here, people. 

Weight Loss Surgery is a tool, not a cure. 

But I can do it.  I’ve lived through worse.  We all have.  And we can do it.  One Snickers-bar-denial at a time! 

Just Eat It

Tonight I went to a wedding with the family and, much to my surprise, the food was catered by an AWESOME woman who knows her way around a buffet table.  So when I found a roll, I had to try it.  Even though I knew it was on the “YOU SHALL NOT PASSSSSS!” List of gastric sleevers.  

But I had to have a little nibble.  

Just a bit. 

Or – more.  

My son, who’s five, took this picture of my illicit act on a baked good.   I felt so ashamed. Or I would have.  If the bread want so damn delicious.  

But did I eat the whole thing? Did I hunker down and start tossing bitter mints at any party goer who tried to separate me from my delicious bun, Hun? 

Nope.  I took my few bites, chewed them well, and then but down the awesome bread because as much as I loved it, I didn’t want to overkill the fun. Or puke on my bud’s gorgeous wedding gown.  

So – indulge a little when you can. A lot when you probably shouldn’t.  And a bit more when you can get away with it.  Live a little! But know your limits.  We can all gain weight back.  And sometimes that roll can be a gateway food to devouring a large pizza with both hands in the alley behind a Pizza Hut.  But mostly – it won’t hurt. Live a little.  


I always thought that skinny people always looked nice because of their pristine shirts and clothes.  They were not covered in stains from food because, well, they weren’t always trying to dance the dance of the multi-tasking eater.  Ya know, typing while eating.  Writing while eating. Eating while eating.  

So I just figured that if I ate less — I’d wear less. That my clothes would be as clean as a Tide-laundry goddess and my white shirts would last longer than one maiden voyage.  


Turns out that the main cause of dropping food on one’s self is usually—- one’s self.  

And that’s not going to change.  And seeing as how I’m pretty sure it’s hereditary (my dad can get food on him just by looking at it on the shelves in the grocery store) I’m pretty sure I’m destined to look like the floor of Golden Corral at any given moment.  
Changing your waistline will not make you an immediately graceful person – but your clothes may be slightly cheaper to replace. Which means you’ll have more money.  

For Shout Wipes and Tide Pens.  


Eat me. Β Or not.Β 

I cannot stress enough to those who are post-op to not “save the best for last.”

Just don’t do it.  

Those nice pants that you’re saving for a special occasion? 

Wear em.  

Those shiny shoes that should only come out in fair weather? 

Slap em on your feet and head out, rain or shine.  

And that last, perfect morsel of food? 

Eat it first.  Don’t save it.  Because it WILL end up abandoned like a cute puppy at a shelter – really awesome but no place to go.  So sad.  

  Look at this specimen.  It has a bit of corn, tomato, sour cream, lettuce, chicken, and a smidge of avocado.  It was my perfect feast for the eyes, soul, and was going to seal the fate of my Cheesecake Factory meal of yums.  But I couldn’t do it.  So I covered it with my napkin and cried a bit as the “body” was swept away from me by a young man with floppy hair and a sweet, sad smile. 
So don’t save things – LIVE IT UP! NO REGRETS! 




 Look! I’m out in NATURE! 

This was a rare event.  Even being smaller in size I’m still a sweaty, sweaty gal.  I could boast the thighs of BeyoncΓ© and the arms of Michelle Obama and I’d still be sweating through my trendy tank top and losing my glasses to a sheen of face-glisteners.  


Spanx, but no Spanx

“I have a closet full of shapers! You know, to hold it all in!” 

I hear that all the time from fellow sleevers  and weight loss achieving patients.  But — why? 

I can’t fathom wiggling into a shiny sucky-innie  flesh unitard just to “look better” or smoothing out my newly formed fleshy lumps. Mainly because I don’t like being uncomfortable and because the stuff reminds me of the grandma-enviable Compression Garments I have had to wear on my legs since puberty.  Why lose the weight if you’re just going to be wiggling around trying to keep your Spanx from rolling down like a condom on a flacid penis? 

What? Too much? Nope.  It’s true.  And LAWDCHEEZUS I’m still hot all the time so the idea of adding MORE layers to my already nuclear-meltdown-stage-body sets my freckles cheeks aflame.  

So to those of you who love the thrill of wrestling into your $50 sausage casing daily — good for you.  But I’ll be over with my bye-bye arms flapping and my excess skin blowing in the breeze.  

Just say no to Spanx! 


Slug Life!

Once you possess a post-op pouch and you’re actually able to eat some solid foods you will, eventually, Slime Yourself.  

Like a Slug.  But grosser. And out of a different end. 

Tonight I ate a piece of reheated thin-crust pizza and a small square of dark chocolate topped with sea salt.  It was delicious! 

Unfortunately, my pouch did not like it.  Maybe I ate too fast. Maybe I swallowed too soon and should’ve taken longer to chew up my tasty treasures.   Maybe I should’ve just had a piece of cheese.  No matter the case I found myself vomiting with such force my toes curled.  

Pizza and chocolate together and some slime to make things just a little more disgusting.  

No one is exactly sure what causes the “slime effect” but everyone I know who has had a GI procedure has been on the puking side of a slime ball.  It’s stringy.  It’s gross.  And it’s worse than the actual regurgitated food that just rocketed from your face.  

But – I have a secret tool that cuts through the slime.  

Water makes it stronger. 

Spitting makes it worse.  

And wiling your tongue with toilet paper just tastes gross.  

So- as soon as you can stop tossing your cookies or dry heaving – RUN to the sink and poor a small cup of Listerine.  The hard stuff.  The one that has more alcohol than a Zima.  Swish. Swish.  Gargle.  Spit.  

Repeat as needed to cut the slime. 

It’s like Ghostbusters in a bottle! 

You’re welcome.  πŸ˜€