Tag Archives: Weight Watchers

Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement…

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So that pretty much sums it up.

Marriage in 74 days.

This is written on our refrigerator white board, Hubby-to-Be started the countdown this past weekend (which I’m not going to lie, is one of the cutest things EVER. He came into the bedroom and demanded I look at the fridge and was so proud of himself.)

It has me in a minor panic.

When you get engaged a good two and a half years before you’re planning on actually tying the knot, it definitely seems like forever away from the day. And when you pick the venue and the flowers, DJ and photographer about two months after getting engaged, and more than a year and a half away from getting away, you feel like you have all this time.

And then it’s less than three months away and you realize it’s probably a good idea to pretend this is happening and get your shit together.

Luckily, although we are getting married in New York and are living in Florida, (and planning a wedding at home is just insane), we have a lot of great support at home and they are amazing.

But I’m still on the verge of a panic attack. (Well, not every day. But I can see to some extent why the Bridezilla nonsense happens).

It only occurred to me like three days ago I should probably figure out if the people I wanted to do my hair and makeup were available and willing. Luckily, they are. (Thank GOD!)

I still haven’t managed to figure out any of the music stuff. What do you play in the church? And sitting down and listing out all the stuff for the DJ… ugh, my blood pressure is rising just thinking about it. (This is coming from the bride that took three separate visits in order to register at Bed Bath & Beyond. The whole idea of asking for people to give you things was bizarre to me, even though it’s the norm. I was totally overwhelmed by the gadget wall and refused to do it until the last trip. I also didn’t want the consultants following me around because I felt pressured at first… like seriously? I clearly have issues. I did let them come, though, in the end they were helpful. Although I had to make a point of telling them to stop trying to get me to select bread makers and ice cream makers and the makers of all the random things I decided I would never make. They kept telling me I was the weirdest bride they’d ever worked with because usually they are more excited, and here I am, trying not to hyperventilate).

(hmmm, maybe I should have asked for the ice cream maker. I also never thought I’d be making jewelry and crafting, so who knows.)

And then the bridal store didn’t want to do Saturday fittings. Seriously? Tell me, are they under the impression the magical wedding fairy is paying for all this? Do they not realize people work? Also, I am 1200 miles away and we bought 13 dresses from you. Figure it out! You knew six months before my initial consultation I live out of state! (That advance notice was probably excessive. It’s the producer in me.)

And once I managed to get them to bring someone in for a Saturday fitting, now I worry that the dress won’t be altered appropriately. (I’m not tiny, but managed to shed a few pounds. Dress was originally sized for my bottom-heavy hips, and I’m smaller on top, and ugh.)

And everyone is always asking where our honeymoon is.

We don’t have one.

First, I’m taking off a week and a half just for the wedding because of the distance factor… so for a nice honeymoon, I’d be off for like 3 weeks… and let’s just say I like my job. (Although I must admit, they are really accommodating, that does seem a bit much. We’d rather spread our vacation out for a little reprieve later in the year).

And again… there’s no little honeymoon fairy. So we will just have something else to look forward to later in the year 🙂

I totally lost all momentum in this post. I forget where I was going here… SEE WHAT THIS DOES TO ME?!

I guess the key points are: Hubby-to-Be is being real cute about the wedding… Only 11.6 more pounds until my weight-loss goal (well… the attainable goal. What I originally wanted eventually became physically impossible without being sick)… planning an out-of-state wedding (not destination wedding, like full-blown Long Island-style deal)… and I clearly need to go to sleep.

Oh! That jewelry I mentioned? Like me on Facebook! https://www.facebook.com/renengadejewelsshop

I like sparkly things and I put them together.

(Don’t judge, I just started.)

I JUST ALMOST WENT BRIDEZILLA ON MY LAPTOP, YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW! This entire pointless post was just nearly deleted and I can. not. deal.

Anyone know why my laptop randomly selects things and deletes them and skips around while I type? I am going CRAZY! (well, crazier).

UGH.

By the way… what movie is the title from? 🙂

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Jingle all the way

Happy Holidays, Snarklets!

I hope you had a very Merry Christmas… I know here at the Snarkstead, it was eventful. We had a really nice day with family, though we really miss everyone at home and wish we could also celebrate with them.

I hosted my first Christmas dinner… and I didn’t make anyone sick and it was reasonably tasty! SUCCESS!

However… it may very well be my first and last roasted turkey. Seriously, there’s a reason it took me so many years to roast one (outside of the fact that we have so many amazing family members like my mom, who makes a great turkey and so why the hell should I mess with it?).

But no, the bigger issue is… why in the HELL do they leave all that mess inside the turkey? I don’t care what kind of “amazing” stuffing you make (I do NOT like stuffing… the consistency, ugh, everything, it makes me shudder, though I’m sure you personally make really tasty stuffing to those that do enjoy it), you do not need your turkey liver/heart to be in the damn bird. Can’t they do it so people buy it separately? You’re not even “supposed” to cook the stuffing inside the bird anymore, so why must that mess be in there?

Dear Butterball (& Publix and whomever else farms out these turkeys),

Please stop packaging your birds with the internal organs and gross necks inside. They. Are. Nasty. And, if you’re an inexperienced bird roaster (like me), and stupid enough to feel that you can defy the laws of physics and defrost the bird faster than all Googled sites recommend (like me), not only are they absolutely disgusting, they pose a much bigger problem. Frozen projectiles. You see, if the bird only appears to be defrosted because the breast meat is, but the inside of the bird is still frozen (like mine), and you decide it’s  a really good idea to run it under cool water (like me) and then CHIP AWAY AT THE ICE INSIDE (like me), the organs, and the unidentifiable liquid that’s not water, not exactly blood, and so it upsets me to try to even wonder what bodily fluid it could be, goes flying around the kitchen in ice form (You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!!). So as even the most casual of observers note, they actually pose a HUGE threat. They become a weapon, they spread salmonella unwittingly around the food prep area, and are just generally offensive. (Also, what do you do to the turkeys’ necks to make them so curved? Just a little to the left…  I’ve never seen a turkey’s neck look like that in the wild… actually… don’t answer that. I probably don’t want to know.) Then, I can’t actually touch them, because I’m gagging, so I not only have to use a paper towel to pick them up, but Hubby-to-Be is both annoyed and laughing hysterically because I’m wasting paper towels and so ridiculous he can’t even stand it (story of my life.)

So, please, stop. I was too young to get my grandmother’s recipes that would require such parts, and even if I hadn’t been, thinking about them is making my stomach hurt as it is. For those that do use those recipes, separate packaging would work well. They could still be a package deal, just that if you don’t want them, you don’t pick that package up. Work it out.

Sincerely,

A Decidedly Undomestic Future Wife

However, I made a FANTASTIC peppermint-chocolate cheesecake with chocolate ganache topping. That, plus the ridiculous amount of amazing cookies from my mother-in-law-to-be and the 75 chocolate truffles Renegade the dog “got me for Christmas” (yes, this is real and not an exaggeration) is the reason I nearly cried over my Weight Watchers weigh-in today. Only 12 weeks until White Dress Day and not only am I nowhere near my original weight loss goal, I am 14 lbs away from the one I set on a contingency basis when it became clear if I lost 35 lbs between now and then someone would likely hospitalize me (apparently several spin classes and a Pilates class thrown in for good measure doesn’t combat the 17 lbs of chocolate I ate this week. Who knew?!?)

By the way… the lyrics: “Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh”… what happened to the eight reindeer plus Rudolph?!?! Santa’s sleigh isn’t pulled by a HORSE!

Clearly, it’s time for bed.

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Catch me if you can

So I came across this today:

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/world/new-zealand-man-lovequest-sour-article-1.1545555

If you’re not interested in reading the whole article, let me sum it up for you:

-Man from New Zealand meets American girl in Hong Kong

-They hang out for one night, they go back to respective countries

-He becomes obsessed with her and solicits help from THOUSANDS of strangers on Facebook to find her

-This freaks her out, especially when she gets thousands of emails,  and she deletes her social media accounts

Okay, so now that you have the gist of things, let’s discuss.

Listen, I like a good romantic story just as much as the next person… but is he for real?

 You live across the world from each other, you met her for one night and couldn’t be bothered to get her last name, and then you put her picture on blast on the internet?

I don’t care if she DID leave him with a note that said “find me”, she was obviously drunk, and you, sir, are a stalker.

Not the good kind of stalker, either. I’ll admit… the whole working-in-a-newsroom means there’s some degree of stalking skills necessary to do well at your job. Hell, if he had had our newsroom behind him, between our assignment editors and our social media producer launching an investigation, he would have found this girl in five minutes flat.

Naturally, I realize most people don’t have these kinds of resources.

But you posted the “Help make me look extra creepy and become one of thousands stalking this poor girl” post on FACEBOOK.

Which means you clearly know how to use the website… and in theory, could have just done the same thing to find her yourself!

They obviously made the Graph Search feature for people like you, see: People named “katie” who live in Washington, District of Columbia.

I would have deleted my Facebook account, too, because there has to be something wrong with a single man who has other people chase a woman across the global inter-webs. That he doesn’t even really know. That is SCARY and is in no way acceptable.

Note: women want to feel loved and sexy and sought-after… Just FYI, there is a line between that… and feeling like you and 2,000 other people may or may not end up standing over us as we sleep wearing only a crooked smile, fondling a butcher knife.

I’m SURE there has to be a lovely (albeit slightly off) lady somewhere in New Zealand that would be an acceptable stand-in for Katie. And on the plus side, she would then also be located in your hemisphere.

Why you can’t be a normal social media user like me?

Sure, I “stalk” people on Facebook, but they’re people I know… who hasn’t stalked people they went to high school with? You know, into the wee hours of the morning… looking for just one person that makes you feel like you’ve made one or two good life decisions… I know I have to get up so early, but just one more person, little voice in my head… the next one is going to be the one! oh… no, she’s married… and they bought a house… and… and…

Sniffle. Tear.

Actually, it’s been quite some time since I’ve done that. (No, honestly. Truth.)

Instead, my new favorite Facebook pastime is looking at baby bump photos people post. (I swear, this really is less creepy than it sounds. I seriously re-wrote that sentence six times but realized at face value, there’s really no way I can say that without it sounding highly suspect, so you’re just going to have to bear with me for a minute, please.)

Hubby-to-Be stops being a to-Be in less than four months. He is under the impression if we do not have a baby relatively soon (the timeline on this is fuzzy, but in the next year or so) he will then immediately become too old to play with said baby. (He’s 30. I am not the only dramatic one in this relationship).

So I recently realized this whole baby thing, and you know, being pregnant with it, is in the near future. The plus side of this is, is that it’s inspired me to work on making some lifestyle changes to more healthy habits, like eating better, exercising regularly, drinking more water, hence the Weight Watchers and such. (Well, there’s the white dress, too.)

The down side is I am now slightly obsessed with exactly how my body will change during pregnancy, whether I will gain too much weight, and having a cute baby bump. THAT’S why I look at baby bump pictures… because I’m trying to guess what kind of bump I will have, and what it will look like.

I have issues.

I know when the time comes, I’ll just be thrilled to have a relatively easy, healthy pregnancy and a beautiful, healthy little one.

But for now…

Seriously, though, did you read the last paragraphs in the article??

“We found the girl … She is from DC, she’s not there at the moment, but she’s sorta taken all her public profiles (offline) for a little bit,” he wrote, according to the Herald.

McKee told the Herald he plans to reach out contact the girl “when things died down a little bit.”

STOP IT.

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Popping the blog cherry

So, this is happening. I have officially started a blog, which is something you’re clearly aware of if you’re reading this. I don’t really know who I am yet as a blogger, and I am apparently technology-stupid because I can barely figure out how to navigate and use WordPress, but hey, baby steps, right?

I have only been seriously thinking about writing for about 5 days now, and of course, when I finally come up with a name I only semi-hate, I can’t think of anything to say.

So I will tell you a story.

Last week, I had my first appointment with an orthopedic doctor. If you don’t know, I was in a car accident about three months ago. I was extremely lucky; escaped with a couple of herniated discs and my life.

Anyway, the point of this visit was basically to have another opinion on what my chiropractor has been doing for treatment, check on the MRIs I had done, etc. etc. (I promise I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of the discs in my spine, hang with me here.)

When the doctor finally came in, and I do mean finally, she was about 45 minutes late, citing a traffic accident on the major highway nearby. I was already annoyed at this point; not only did I just come from the SAME PLACE as she did with no traffic OR accident, even if there had been… hello!?! I’m a journalist. I get alerts on these types of things! Just tell me your kid missed the bus or some other very real, understandable hang-up, I’m not completely unreasonable… just mostly.

So I’m already pissed off. Then she proceeds to basically tell me she isn’t all that concerned about my issues, speak to me as though I am said child that missed the bus, and just generally condescend to me, criticizing pretty much everything I say.

I was THIS close to telling her off… but then something totally unexpected happened.

Just after she has me bend this way and that, walk around, poke at me a bit, she tells me that if I strengthen my core, it will help my lower back.

For some reason, even though this is a completely legit statement and one I’ve heard before, because I’m already in a pissy mood, I’m defensive and immediately feel the need to justify my physical stature (which is pretty much short and somewhat round, I’ve been referred to as think, curvy, etc.). So I say, “Well, I know I don’t look like it, but I do work out… I swim along with an adult swim team and I take strength classes, you can’t see my muscle but it’s really there somewhere.” (Seriously, it is!!)

And that’s when it happens.

She stops. And she stares at me. And says matter-of-factly, “You’re not fat. I think you look strong. Bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and just because you don’t look like what you see on TV and magazines doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you. So many people love you, that’s what really matters. Your body looks like it is supposed to, and if you keep working out, sure, it may change, but just keep doing what you’re doing. You need to stop.”

And then because I’m me, I start to cry.  (To be fair, I do cry over pretty much everything that elicits any kind of strong emotion. Mad, sad, happy, angry, frustrated… sigh.)

Which causes me to be even MORE annoyed, because I’m annoyed she has to go and say something pretty awesome when I was all intent on digging in my heels and disliking her.

The truth is… no one has ever said that to me before. I think in some ways, being told I looked strong, instead of pretty, or beautiful or anything else, was exactly what I needed to hear. Especially because she wasn’t the “tell-you-what-you-want-to-hear” type.

It made me think a little differently about some of my current goals in life. Yes, I want to lose weight. Yes, I want to look better– even great– in that white dress I have to put on in T-minus 15 weeks. Yes, I want to reach my Weight Watchers goals.

But I don’t want any of it unless I look– and feel– strong.

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