All Bitches Are Not Alike or lessons we can learn from the dog show

It's red carpet season and while I'm not huge fan of awards shows I LOVE love love Fashion Police on E! with Joan Rivers, Kelley Osbourne, and the other two that no one really cares about. Yes, I love the snarky things they say and how Joan has an awesome habit of saying just exactly what it is that I am thinking. But what I most love is that Fashion Police never picks on women for their size. They celebrate the fact that every woman is different.
Yes, they say that so and so should have pulled on a pair of Spanx under that tight satin dress, but Spanx aren't exclusive to the big girls. And they often comment how certain dresses, while beautiful, do not complement an actresses body type. They recognize that Christina Hendricks cannot wear the same dress that Jane Lynch can wear. And Jane Lynch can't wear a dress that Sandra Bullock can wear. And so on. The judges on Fashion Police judge actresses and their respective fashions can't be judged against each other but only against their selves.
Seems like I've heard this theory before.
Oh yeah. At the dog show. Being a dog loving family, we always watch the Westminster Kennel Club dog show when it's on. And someone will always say something like, "Yeah, but that Lab is way cuter than the terrier!"
Perhaps, but that's not the way it works. A terrier cannot be a Lab. And that is just the way it is. There is an ancient Chinese proverb (isn't there always?) that says that one cannot fault a pig for not having the neck of a giraffe.
Are you getting it? I can't have the body of the girl that works out at the gym with me and she cannot have the body of the girl at the coffee shop. And while my body will never look like Cameron Diaz's no matter how hard I work at it, I can work to make it a better version of my own body.
Who knew Joan Rivers and a bunch of bitches had so much wisdom?

You're Not the Boss of Me!

I finally had to say that to my scale. It was a long time coming, but in the end it was totally worth it. You see, for so long I was a slave to what that number said every morning. The number on a little plastic box that I bought at Wal Mart for less than $50 determined how my day would go.
Stupid, I know. But, evidently, not that uncommon. I was reading a post by Jules over at Big Girl Bombshell (one of my favorite bloggers BTW) and it got me to thinking about my own hate/hate relationship with the scale. It's just a number, right?
Well, yes and no. Yes it is just a number, but it's also what that number represents. All too often all I saw on the face of my scale was shame, disappointment, and failure. How could I let it get this bad? Why am I so fat? Why can't I lose the weight? What's wrong with me?
Turns out, nothing is wrong with me after all. I just didn't have the right tools. And that's all a scale is, you know, a tool. When I first realized that it was mind blowing. What a concept. The scale is just another tool in my weight loss arsenal. No different really than my calorie counter or my workout DVDs. Crazy.
So I stopped caring so much about the number. Sure I still weigh myself every morning. I know they say not to do that or you'll drive yourself crazy. But now I use the number on the scale as more of a guideline. It doesn't rule my life. I can objectively look at it and say, "oh you're up a pound. now what are you going to do to get going back in the right direction?" or "look at that down 2 pounds, must've been doing something right."
"How about we don't let the box of rats ruin our lives?" (if you don't know what that's from, well then, sorry.) And that's all that scale is, a little box of rats. I know, it's a pretty poor metaphor, but come on, it's early.
I have chosen not to let the scale rule/ruin my life. I am looking forward to the day when I reach my goal weight and feel comfortable weighing myself once a month to keep on track. I can't wait until I can feel happy living within a five pound "zone" instead of tracking every pound. But until then I will not obsess over every up and down on the scale. Instead I will use those readings as guides to what my next move should be.

Pounds vs. Inches

Today was weigh-in day. I've worked really really hard for the past few weeks trying to prepare for this day. Ate all my vegis, drank all my water, did all my exercises (and then some). And for what? That scale is a bitch!
I've actually been feeling pretty good about my body lately. My waist has been way trimmer and my arms, well, lets just say you better get your tickets. Tickets? To the gun show, baby. OK, totally lame, I know. But I've done enough triceps rows and lateral lifts and weighted punches to equal rowing around the world. So shut up!
I even got into those infamous white pants on Mother's Day. I didn't just get into them - I rocked them. They weren't at all tight and they kissed my curves in all the right places.
And, Ta-Da! I had lost almost 6.5 inches (3.5 from my waist) in two months. So, I should be feeling pretty good about myself right now? And I do. But what's the rub?
I had actually GAINED almost one pound in the same time frame. Yes, I know it's just a pound, but still. I'm trying to lose not gain. And yes, I know that the way my clothes fit and how my body looks is WAAAAY more important than any number on a scale. But, Jesus F-ing Chocolate Covered Christ On A Pogo Stick!!! I've worked really hard and I want those numbers going south, damn it.
I guess that short of going on a lettuce and water diet, I'm going to have to get serious here. Maybe a three day cleanse is in order or who knows what. The next weigh in is going to be different if I can help it. I wonder how much hair weighs? I'm due for a hair cut.