Saturday was date night with the hubby! The date started off with a bang and kind of fizzled out, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Let me add a disclaimer before we begin, that I am feeling particularly long-winded today, so indulge me please 🙂
First let me update you on the progression of my “lifestyle change”, because somehow by not calling it a diet, it’s supposed to sound better, work better and last forever. I’m not fooled, but I’ll play along. I should clarify that I did start the journey toward the new me on January 1st, and I initially lost 10 lbs the first 8 weeks of the year. By the time I hit March though, I was backsliding fast. I gained 7 lbs back in just two weeks, which hardly seems fair since it took me 2 months to lose it, but apparently that’s how the fat fairies work. Bitches. After foraging around in the pantry or fridge for food, I’ve been known to joke that I’m “eating my feelings”. Which is a pretty accurate description of why I eat most of the time. I eat when I’m bored, when I’m angry, when I’m sad, etc. And without getting into it, this has been a very emotional year for me thus far, and I am juggling tons of feelings which haven’t left me in the best place for taking care of myself, but hopefully I’ve turned a corner, because the last two weeks, I’ve lost 5 lbs of the 7 lbs I gained from the 10 lbs I initially lost. Are you following along? Math was never my strong suit. I worked out 5 days last week, which is my best week yet, and hit all of my goals. Yay me! The only problem I really encountered was in trying to figure out what to wear when I worked out. I’m not nearly brave enough to put on a sports bra and shorts, and I’m pretty sure the world isn’t ready for that either. I usually end up throwing on some t-shirt and long pants that also serve as pajamas. Not exactly inspiring, but it covers me and does the job I guess. My real issue however, is my underwear. I recently purchased new bras and panties, because I thought just because I’m overweight doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least try to feel pretty. Plus, I suffered quite a blow when I walked in on one of my 90-year-old resident’s and she was standing in her bra and panties, and I’ll be damned if they weren’t the same panties I had on at that very moment. It was mortifying, and I was paranoid for the rest of the day that I was going to die in those panties, and I’d never forgive myself. I can be a little dark, yes. So, I purchased new panties, and they are so much better but when I work out they present a bit of a problem. We’ve already discussed how much I hate walking the neighborhood and how I’m convinced everyone is watching me and making jokes. Well, I’m walking along trying to focus on my breathing and putting one foot in front of the other, when it begins. The top of my underwear begins to roll down, just a teensy bit at a time. I try to pretend I’m scratching, and pull them back up, but my efforts are fruitless. I don’t want to draw more attention to myself by reaching down into my pants and yanking them back up, plus it might look pervy. With every block, they roll down another inch until they are uncomfortably settled underneath my belly. I really need the support, and now I feel like I’m just jiggling and jumbling all over the place. The only positive thing is that I’m so focused on how uncomfortable my underwear feels that I don’t even notice I’ve arrived at home and survived another workout.
Anyway, back to date night. My husband and I both read The Hunger Games. I’d already seen the movie with my sister and I loved it! I decided to treat him to the movie, and I certainly didn’t mind seeing it twice. I purchased tickets at the fancy theater, which is overly priced to the point of ridiculous, but once you’ve seen a movie this way, it’s really hard to go back to the local Cinemark. Our seats are together with a table in between, and it is set up in such a way that you actually feel you are the only one in the theater. You get a waiter who will bring you anything you want in the way of beverages and food. You can get anything from candy served in martini shaped glasses to champagne beverages to truffle fries to Angus beef sliders. We indulged in steak nachos, truffle fries and beer. They also brought us complimentary popcorn. The best part is the chair. It’s huge and soft and comfy, and it reclines with a foot rest and everything! You even get a blanket and pillow. I didn’t know if I should nap or eat! It’s a movie-goers paradise. Hubby really enjoyed the movie as well, so it was a win all the way around.
Now comes dinner….
There was one place that I was really eager to try, but when I mentioned it, I was shot down quickly. Apparently, the restaurant appeared to “girly”. I’m not sure what that means, or how a restaurant can be appear too feminine, but whatever. My husband loves beer, and after reading a book on beer, he’s decided he is somewhat of an expert. Believe me, he can tell you lots of things about beer you never even knew you wanted to know and probably didn’t. I decide The Flying Saucer would be a good place to park our posterior’s for a while. I quickly lose enthusiasm when I read that they allow smoking inside, and then we can’t find parking. I’m now envisioning a smoke-filled crowded bar in which you have to compete in a sort of hunger game yourself to get fed and watered. We finally park and walk up to the bar, and I can literally see the smoke pouring out of the windows, and my footsteps slow to a crawl before stopping. My husband has already asked me 10 times (according to him) if I want to go someplace different, but after being shot down for my girly choice, I am determined to find something “manly” to please him. I finally determine, I’m just not in the mood for The Flying Saucer. So then I have this brilliant idea that we should go for sushi. Hubby loves sushi, I know a place close by that came recommended, it will be brilliant!
As it turns out, I really do not like sushi. To my credit, I did try. We arrive at the restaurant (I’ll leave the name blank because I’m a little embarrassed by certain events that occurred while we dined there). My husband immediately feels whelmed because apparently buying pre-made sushi at Kroger is not the same thing as ordering it at a bona-fide sushi restaurant. I’ve been with my sister before so I know a little about ordering, and I suggest something to him which at first he poo-poo’s but then he ends up ordering it anyway and loving it (further proof that he should always listen to me!). I order Salmon, because I’m thinking I like Salmon and don’t really consider it sushi. It never occurred to me that it would come out raw. Which might seem pretty stupid since it’s a sushi restaurant and by definition I should have known better. I was just going to order the chicken teriyaki, but then the waiter teased me with the special “King Salmon” and my mouth watered and I was sold! They bring it out and it’s….raw. Like not cooked at all, and sitting on a bed of coleslaw. This brings me to the next big issue, I don’t know how to use chopsticks, and silverware was not provided. I probably could have asked, but I can be stubborn, and I was determined to do this the right way! Besides, hubby made it look easy. I, on the other hand, looked like a crab with a fork thrust in each claw. Hubby never stopped laughing long enough to help me. I finally used my fingers and tore off a small piece of the Salmon. I decided it wasn’t that bad, and I could handle this! Hubby suggested I dip the salmon in a bit of soy sauce, so I did. I somehow manage to pop the piece into my mouth using equal parts chopsticks and fingers. I sink my teeth into it, and immediately my mouth fills with water and I think…
It must have been written all over my face because husband looked at me with alarm, frantically reminding me to chew and swallow. I pick up my napkin, and raise it quickly to my mouth. I then flashback to this smoothie drink my daughter bought me a few days before from a place called The Fat Straw. I didn’t think you could screw up a smoothie, but this smoothie made me sick for two days. It had these things called bubbles in it, which looked like blueberries, so you are fooled into thinking, oh isn’t that lovely, until you bite into them and chew and chew and chew and they are all rubbery and omg…just the thought makes me gag and throw up a bit in my mouth. I have a very sensitive stomach and admittedly I am a very picky eater (something my father always insisted I would outgrow, but it would appear not so much…). Hubby is looking very stressed and forces out between gritted teeth that I better not even think about spitting out the food. I felt like a toddler being scolded by my dad, but two things were certain:
1) the food would be spit out
2) the food would be vomit the food out
I took the napkin and quite daintily spit the food into the napkin and folded it gently into my lap. Husband asked me if I swallowed, and I was tempted to lie, but again my face gave me away.
“No you didn’t”. He gasps, mortified. I smile while pushing the chair next to me into the table, and hiding the napkin in the seat so the waiter won’t find it until well after we’ve left. I couldn’t even find comfort in the plum wine I ordered because I didn’t like that either. So I sucked down my tea and watched my husband poke all the food down his throat, moaning and enthusing on how wonderfully delicious everything tasted. Thank goodness I wasn’t that hungry, or I might have stabbed him with my chopstick. At the end of the meal, they brought pineapples, something I actually do like very much, but husband salivated all over my piece so I was force to give it up to him as well. He claims he asked nicely and I graciously accepted, but I mean really what choice did I have. I just wanted to get out of there before my chewed up raw salmon was discovered in the napkin of shame.
Afterwards we were supposed to meet up for some birthday drinks with friends, but I was exhausted and I think hubby was a bit embarrassed to be with me at this point, so we went home and went to bed.
Next time, we are going to the “girly” restaurant…he owes me.