A Month of Estrogen Reflection

As promised I told you that I was going to deliver a reflection on my previous post A Month of Estrogen. First of all, if I have twenty people on average reading each post then I'd say at least fifteen people are saying, "Well, it's obvious why you didn't succeed, Abigail. You're not trying hard enough, and you're not taking it seriously." I imagine this group of people talking in an old school British accent while puffing on their pipe, squinting through their monocle, and twisting the end of their mustache. Six people would tune in and say, "Uhhh, isn't Insanity a nine week program, and you've been doing it for three months? Something is off there, Abigail. The program only works if you follow it exactly." These people are having this thought while doing one handed push-ups on parallell bars with weights strapped to their belt and an IV of protein going straight into their jugular. Seven people closed out the post because they accidentally clicked on the link. Two people had no comment but understood at least two days in the post. Thirteen people got drunk. A cat gave itself a cute little bath where it licks its paws and bathes her face...oh, that's so cute. But most importantly, one person had an epiphany. Okay, so I know that's more than twenty, but you should know my math skills are nonexistent. 

I am the one who had an epiphany. I was dead serious when I started this little journey of trying to get to a point where I didn't feel like The Thing, and you saw exactly how it went. Sure, it looks like I didn't succeed. I am about five pounds heavier, and on the weekends or this here Christmas break, I have no reason to put on makeup or a bra before noon if at all. My level of production is hibernating and I haven't worked out in almost three weeks. Unless you count snowboarding....pain, so much pain. But, if you remember, in my opening paragraph I was focusing on being comfortable with me when I'm around my husband. I am never comfortable with me. I hate my body right now and all the new bulges that it has gained. My once tone muscles are turning flabby like; I'm scared to get caught in a windstorm because my flab will get shoot out like a flying squirrel and wooosh, there I go. My clothes do not fit, they hurt. I get winded when I eat too fast. What is happening to me? How did I let myself get to this place?

When I first met my husband, I was at my all time thinnest. I pranced around in shorts and didn't feel the need to suck in my gut. I think I literally strutted when I was around him. I was feeling bad that he signed on for that girl and he got this girl. I feel like I owe it to him to be the girl he met, and the epiphany I had is that I am so much better than that girl, or at least that's how he makes me feel. When we first met, I was so uppity about the sides that I would let him see. Every girl is like that, though. We have those mornings where we literally look in the mirror and thank God for Cover Girl and John Frieda because without those, we'd scare young children. That was the side I was trying so hard to hide, but the first time he got a glimpse of morning Abigail, I never felt more beautiful. There isn't a single day where my husband doesn't compliment me, hug me, kiss me, hold me, laugh with me, play with me, snuggle me, or tell me how special I am to him. My husband makes me feel appreciated and noticed, and genuinely makes me feel like the only girl in the world...sorry, Rihanna. I am a better person because he has seen every side of me and still loves and accepts me, and I've never felt better about myself. He sees me, and no one else.

I feel amazing around my husband; in fact, when I'm around him is when I feel the most comfortable because when I feel my worst, he can say one thing that will automatically make me feel my best. He understands, though, how I feel uncomfortable with my body, but that's all brought on by me, not him. So to create a goal with wanting to feel comfortable with myself in front of my husband was silly and thoughtless; I already do, everyday, hence the "failure" of my one month plan. If I had a different goal in mind, then something may have happened, I dunno. Maybe I would have turned into a supermodel with a rock hard body and became six inches taller with a gajabillion dollar contract for representing kimchi ads. But no, realizing that my husband loves me and finds me beautiful at this weight was reason enough for me to continue with my frumpy no make-up, no bra, all sweat pants and coffee cup look.

I often think that when goals are not completed, there is a wrong factor in the equation. Next time you set out to do something, does the cause match the effect? The only reason I am going to succeed with anything is if I use the right motivator. And if I am using how my husband makes me feel to motivate me to try to get better, that will never have an end result because I already feel the best I ever have even if I don't look it.

I love you, Reuben, thank you for fixing a damaged girl.

Other lessons learned...

Never pass up a morning to snuggle your spouse
It's not a good idea to have mixed drinks on Tuesday night
Sometimes it's okay to take a mental health day
It's not a good idea to have mixed drinks on Wednesday night
Use hand sanitizer often when in a Kindergarten classroom
It's possible to bruise a butt crack, this is also hilarious
Find a workout you enjoy to where it doesn't feel like a chore
Korean BBQ is better than Waffle House at two in the morning
Santa Claus Birthday cakes trump all other birthday cakes
Robes = ahhhhhhhh yyyyeeeeaaaahhhhh
Cramps always suck
Egg whites are delicious all the time
Do not start on the hardest mountain if you've never snowboarded before
Kinect games are amazing
I have the best life ever...

A Month of Estrogen

It's 6:15 a.m. on 11/21/2011, and I just got side tracked with the amount of '1's in the date...hmmm...I don't know why that is so intriguing to me. Anyway, today is the first day of a one month journey to recreating my self-worth. There is a back story to this, and as any of my previous students can tell you, there always is: I was driving around town the other day, which I try often not to do because certain Koreans live in the world of Nascar, and while I was fearing for my life and the life of the side mirrors on Cecil (our Patherfinder's name), I heard an add on the radio. The Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders will be visiting this area starting December 19. They are going to visit the soldiers and tour the area for about a week. Usually, I would be super stoked upon hearing such incredible news, but I found myself with a heavy heart because my heavy gut was being cut in half by the seat belt. I can barely watch a movie with any attractive girl in it without wanting to rip my face off more or less meeting/stalking a group of incredible women. That's it! I am putting my foot down once and for all. I cannot live like this. It's exhausting to me and to my husband who always has to pick up the broken pieces of Abigail surrounded by cake crumbs and pickle seeds. I will work my four butts off to find that personal acceptance and happiness. I dub today the first day of Operation Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders aka Operation I Hate Megan Fox. I will write daily about my workout/meals/mindset. I'll keep it brief, but honest, so here we go:

Week 1
11/21 (6:26 a.m.): I missed my morning workout; good start, Abigail. However, I'm lovin' this egg samich!!
          (5:18 p.m.): Just completed my Insanity workout (2 video day). I properly fueled up with fruit and  veggies for a snack, and then some oatmeal for lunch. Okay, okay, and two tater tots made it into the equation...and a bite of cake, but it was good cake!
           (?:?? p.m.): Pasta and Kit-Kat...shoot me in the face.
Alrighty, Abigail, let's try this again.

11/22 (Blah p.m.): The day went really well when it came to making good decisions. Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to workout once! I've been busy in the kitchen all night, literally from after school to eleven tonight. Goodnight.

11/23 (7:45 a.m.): Okay, okay, yummy egg sammie means it's GO TIME!
          (4:10 p.m.): Had an incredible workout today with Insanity and some Abigail Zumba. No food for the rest of the day. All this tasting of TGiving foods has made one full belly. I did learn an important lesson today, though: Koreans do not like gravy.

11/24 -11/27 (does the time matter?): Shame...
The week of Thanksgiving may not have been the best time to make such a bogus promise to myself.

Week 2
11/28 (8:00 p.m.) I had a really good day, and I renewed my vows with WeightWatchers by activating my account once again. BTW: Boca Burgers = delishiosoness! (I had fun working out with my Jessica!!!)

11/29 (6:15 p.m.) Rainy day equals inside workouts all day: Insanity, Jillian Michaels, and Pilates. We finally finished the TGiving leftovers, and who knew stuffing had that many points...blah. But, now all of the temptations are out of the house!

11/30 (9:26 a.m.) I just finished my oatmeal on this dark, rainy day. It's a good thing we don't have a cat because I just wanna snuggle alllllllllllll day. My abs are freakin' sore as all get out; I must have done something right.
         (12:26 p.m.) Once again, I did my rainy day routine: Insanity, Jillian Michaels, and Pilates. Whoa, I just noticed that the minutes on my time match...weird.

12/1   (8:43 p.m.) Today was full of great news, so I was able to tackle Insanity, Jillian Michaels, and Pilates with an incredible attitude. Once I coerced my downstairs neighbor to have dinner with us, which included her brining a bunch of yummy veggies, we had a very healthy dinner!! Feeling great!

12/2   (5:57 a.m.) I was totally awake a 4:15 this morning, so I could get my workout in. My husband had his arm across me either out of love or or attempted murder by strangulation for keeping my alarm on repeat; regardless, I couldn't bring myself to move his arm. I inched in closer, thankful to have him by my side. I did not go back to sleep, but I used that time to count my blessings.
          (8:45 p.m.) I just had all of my points for the next two weeks, and I didn't workout today...blah.

12/3   (12:44 p.m.) My husband bought me a robe...all hope is lost.
            (2:23 a.m.) Let's be honest, any decision made at two in the morning on a Saturday can't be good...fun, but not good :)

12/4    (1:15 p.m.) Shut your mouth about that freaking two hour workout. It was crazy, actually, more like Insane. Sorry, Jessica, (downstairs neighbor) for the plyometrics today.
This week went a little bit better. Everything always seems to fall apart at the weekend, but it's all in good fun. This week, however, I'm starting to understand just how much my husband loves me; it's unreal how great that feeling is. Working out and dieting doesn't make me comfortable with who I am, but he does.

Week 3
12/5   (6:24 a.m.)   I am my mother's daughter because I woke up at 4:15 to workout, but the house was too messy from all of the Christmas kitchen goodies made this weekend. But now the kitchen is clean, so there are no distractions when I get home from school! Except for maybe the robe...
          (7:47 p.m.)  I am proud to announce that I can make a crock pot of navy beans as good as my mother's! I did a killer hour of Insanity and then took it downstairs to my Jessie's to bust out some pilates. I just wrapped up every piece of Christmas candy I made this past weekend so it can leave our house. My buckeyes are just too good to be here.

12/6   (5:45 a.m.)  Great Insanity workout this morning!
          (9:37 p.m.)  Great mixed drinks this evening!

12/7   (6:25 a.m.) Well, today is my weigh in day, and I weigh 1.6 lbs more today than I did a week ago. From reading over this, it's not hard to see why. Reuben and I spoke today, and we're giving both of our bodies and overhaul...boooo.
          (6:27 p.m.)  Just finished my Insanity workout; I've made it to the point where the videos are an hour or longer. It never gets easy! Healthy decisions all day today for both Reuben and me!!!

12/8   (5:56 p.m.) Hahahahaha....nope.

12/9   (5:55 a.m.) Just finished my Insanity workout. I've messed my schedule up, so now I have to do double video days, meaning at this hour I know I have to come home from work and do another video. We'll see what happens.

12/10  (?:?? ?.?.)  Happy Birthday to me and all of my extra pounds!

12/11 (2:10 p.m.)  So, I just got done with my Insanity video and I think I'm sweating out frosting, scrambled eggs, and Sake. Needless to say, yesterday was awesome. I'm super behind on my videos, so I'm gonna double up throughout this week. I need to find that groove I had back in the states, but right now, all I want to do is climb back into bed.

12/12 (5:26 p.m.)  One Insanity video...admitting defeat...feel like death...addicted to deep fried rice nuggets. (I don't know what they are actually called, but here, I call them Dream-Come-True-Nuggets.)

12/13 (4:42 a.m.) Just completed my favorite kinda workout ;)

12/14 (5:41 a.m.) Well, it is my weigh-in day, and I am down a pound from last week which is a good motivator. I already ate my egg white samich to power me through the day. Morning workouts start back tomorrow!
          (5:11 p.m.) Insanity completed; I was stressed to tears and that just made it allllllll better!!!

12/15 (6:27 p.m.) My head feels like it's in a vice; oh no, could it be? Is this my first kindergerm-given-icky-feeling? I think it is. Absolutely no productivity today unless you count the ability to attempt to rid myself of all drainage with the mother of all nose blows. I think I ruined an ear drum.

12/16 (11:28 p.m.) Take yesterday and multiply it by the gel used on the cast of Jersey Shore and that's how I feel. I made all the food and set it out for my husband's poker night, greeted everyone, shut my bedroom door, put on my pajammies, and surrendered to my face.

12/17-12/19 (Cough...sneeze) Friends were seen and appreciated, calories were had, workouts were ignored, Kleenex was used, Mucinex was glorified, Afrin was abused, and to top off the feeling of my face trying to fold in half, the biggest cold sore in the world made itself known today. He introduced himself, and I quivered....aye me.

12/20 (9:38 a.m.) Proud to announce that my face doesn't totally hate me anymore; I mean, it still hates me, but not as much. I have found the energy to put on some tennis shoes and begin my workouts for the day. I ate my egg whites, and I could actually taste them. On my way to feeling better. Well, here we are, folks, we made it to the end, and what did we learn about this kind of goal made by Abigail? I didn't want to put it on here because that would be a super long blog. My reflection on this past month coming soon....

"I May Need a Crane, but I Will Get Back on That Saddle!"

Resolution update: Okay, so maybe I was a little presumptuous when making some of these goals. My first mistake: I assumed I had willpower. My second mistake: I assumed coupons were easily accessible everywhere. Here, not so much. Those who do get them mailed in from the states (hint, hint, people!) have created their own gang. They'll give you coupons, even the good ones, if you sell your soul to them and join their cult which has something to do with illegal child labor laws; I don't know...I won't touch it with a yard stick. My third mistake: I assumed that I would actually follow through on something, which befuddles me to no end because I rarely do that, unless I'm at an all you can eat buffet, and I can easily follow through on anything with "all you can eat" in the title. My forth mistake: I assumed that I would overcome the Slothigail winter routine since I completed the first step of the recovery program which was was recognizing that I have a problem. Oh, I recognized it, and then I embraced it in a bear hug, and said, "Yes...winter jammies!!!" But now it's time to recharge my mojo...

Again, this is the time of year that I get into the most trouble. I throw away all inhibitions of doing anything healthy for myself and enjoy what the holiday seasons have to offer. I made it through Thanksgiving just like I said I would. I ate, I drank, and I was merry, until the very next day when I rolled over and I was woken by the weight of my stomach falling over to one side and bringing the rest of me with it. I SWEAR TO YOU, that's what happened. At first, I was like, "I don't care...gimme gravy!" But then as the day went on and my pants got more and more and more uncomfortable, I had to face the facts that any previous weight I lost has found me. I swear, shed pounds are like a freaking Coon Dog and my butt is the grand prize. The pounds sniff me out and latch on for dear life. With this realization, I did what any normal, disturbed female would do: I took out the three pound bag of gummy bears my husband bought me, a bottle of wine, and shared the frustration with a close girlfriend of mine. She agreed that she was going through the same thing and said, "I know, Abigail, it's like I woke up and was fat!" I knew just what she was talking about. It snuck up on me. That's what I get for living in Korea. My lost pounds have turned into little ninjas, and I have been ninjaed! I shouldn't be surprised, but I kind of was. I remember a little over two years ago giving away bags of clothes because I said I would never let myself get back to that size, and now I don't have any clothes that fit! Surprised?!? Why should I be surprised? I mean, I ate so much last week that I went up a bra size....literally. At first I was like, "SWEET..." and then I turned around and was like, "Ohhhhh nooooooo!!!!!" Interrupting a thought with a thought, wouldn't it be nice to just keep the boobs? Whenever I'm really focused on losing weight and being healthy, mine evacuate faster than Barbera Walters on episode of Sesame Street when the letter of the day is R. Zoom....

After reading a few posts and talking to a few friends, it didn't take long for me to realize that I am not the only one who struggles with this whole "being motivated" ideal. It does feel good to succeed, but that feeling can only last so long. After a while, that feeling of accomplishment gets blended into the feeling of expectations, and then you've lost all sense of 'whoo hoo' associated with it. We forget to pat ourselves on the back for even making a positive step in the first place. Once again, our inner-fat kids let the negative outweigh the positive. I do not weigh what I did two-three years ago when I was my smallest ever, but I also do not weigh what I did seven years ago when I was at my heaviest. But since I know it's possible to weigh less, I can't enjoy that I don't weigh more. I know, that's a pretty weak argument, but it's true. I have totally forgotten how far I have come in my journey and how different my lifestyle is from what it was. Five years ago: no gym membership, ate anything and everything, and would laugh in your face if you talked to me about running; two years ago: two gym memberships, certified instructor, ate more raw than cooked, and completed my first half marathon; now: one gym membership, workout at home, eat what I should/want, run when I can. The last description is somewhat prideful, but it doesn't compare to the second one, nor does it compare to the first one.

All in all, I have come to terms that I am at a different time in my life. I can't go back in time and try to relive those glory jeans, but I can control my future and what's to come. I'm not letting my two year old past motivate me anymore. I cannot go back to what I was, and to be honest, I really don't want to. Yes, I looked and felt great, but I wasn't happy. I'm happy with where my life is now, and if it takes me a month or two longer than it used to in order to lose that weight or reach that goal, I'm okay with that. I was using the wrong motivator to motivate me to be motivated. I want to live a healthy and active lifestyle, and that's pretty much what I'm doing. I'm ironing out some wrinkles here and there, and I am proud to say that I have been off Kit Kats for a week. We love Kit Kats so much that someone actually gave us some for our wedding gift, and we were excited! So yeah, I'm not overlooking the fact that I have dramatically changed my life from what it was five years ago anymore. I'm so much better than what I was then, and I am using that as my motivator to keep going with my slow and steady progress to becoming an even better me.

No Pants on Thanksgiving this Year!

I miss having my own classroom. I do, I do. I miss my high school students and the positive relationship I had with all of them; I miss the school dances and fundraisers; I miss those moments where I actually see them understand what I'm talking about; I miss those moments where I actually see them dismiss what I'm talking about; I miss coaching cheerleading and watching my girls perform while wearing their argyle knee socks (oh yeah, my squad was killer cute); I miss finding out a student got their license leaving me to take a different/safer route to work; I miss finding the answer marked "True" when it was actually a multiple choice question (a,b,c,d); I miss those times where they had better come backs than I did; I miss hearing my female students talk about how he's the one because he held her hand in front of what's her face who he used to date on and off for six and half months but now by holding her hand in front of what's her face proves that he might change his Facebook status from Emotionally Damaged to Getting There Slowly and he's just so awesome because he has thirty-two different safety pins in his jeans; I miss seeing that same boy that she's lushing over just shrug his shoulders while saying, "Whatever..."; I miss it all. I do enjoy what I'm doing now, though. It's an experience worth having, but there's just something about that connection I can have with my own students. Oh, it warms my heart to pieces.

I was so thankful for all of those little classroom moments, even the ones that made me want to go back to college and choose a different major, but now that they're in the past, I miss them; I am thankful for the memories. That famous saying, "You never know what you have until it's gone," is true for a reason.We've all experienced it ten fold. As we enter the week of Thanksgiving and the world of Cream of Chicken Soup, we get so caught up in the hubbub of the holidays, or if your me the stress of being around so many tempting calories, that we forget about actually being thankful. All of those precious things in life quickly get replaced with Black Friday, calorie calculators, talking smack about those family members you see once a year, and gravy. Of all things that distract my ability to be thankful is...can you guess?...yes, the calorie parade that is Thanksgiving. I genuinely stress about it all day. It starts with the fight to get in the pants, proceeds to the fight to stay in the pants, and ends with the fight to get out of the pants. Every year, I have a pants war.

Now, I can only speak for myself, but when Thanksgiving rolls around, my food anxiety sky rockets, therefore, giving my talent to complain endlessly a good volt of energy. I try to be proactive, I really do. I buy all low-fat ingredients, volunteer to make a bunch of the food so I can know what's going into it, never take home leftovers, and I always run a 5K that morning. This year will the first year without a Turkey Trot for me to trot, so I might just trot on my own...trot, trot, trot, trot, trot, there, I trotted. Anyway, usually at the end of the day, no matter what my efforts were, I still feel like a pilgrim murdered my willpower. I use that angst to dominate Black Friday, but that just gives me an extra 13-48 hours to make bad decisions. On a side note to all of the Black Friday shoppers: you're welcome. I know all of you are thankful that I am here and not there because you all finally have a chance to shop in the madness without getting man handled by Abigail. Last year, I literally sat on top of the Paula Deen pots display. They only had eight sets, and I needed two...guess who walked out with three ;)
Thanksgiving should not be ruined because my inner-fat kid runs the show. In fact, I know a lot of people who are stressing about what choices to make and if they are going to have self control. Believe me, nobody understands that stress better than I do. So many others don't understand what it's like to have food anxiety, but to those of you who do, since we have it everyday of our lives, let's hang it up for one day. Here's my new thought on how to approach Thanksgiving meals: eat. This year, I am not going to stress about the fact that this is a "Thanksgiving" meal. I am going to treat it as a regular everyday meal. I will have breakfast that morning. I will not starve myself all day to indulge that night. I will eat what satisfies me. I won't eat like this is my last meal. I will have dessert. I will have a roll. I will have two bottles of wine. I will not be irked, like I usually am, that the cranberry sauce as a certain jiggle that I can relate with. I will enjoy myself, my husband, and my friends. I will wear a skirt alleviating the War of Pants. I will be thankful that I am in the position to have that much food in my presence when so many others are going without. I will mean every word of the blessing when talking to God. I will laugh. I will ask my husband to do the dishes.

There's just too much that goes without appreciation. With only one day on our calender that is designed for us to give thanks, we shouldn't take it for granted. Being out here and around other military spouses really has redefined what it means to be grateful. There are men and women serving our country who would do anything to be home with their families; they're thankful for a letter, a phone call, a care package, or a moment to see their loved ones on Skype. How can I sit here and complain that my thighs won't let me cross my legs when I'm in the middle of all of this emotion? I get to wrap my arms around my husband everyday, and that's what matters most.

I will, for the first time in a long time, be thankful on Thanksgiving.

I am thankful...
that my husband is my best friend
for God and all of his many blessing
that my family is amazing
that my niece and nephews have an infectious laugh
for my health
that my body is an able body
for friends who support my new life
for my past, current, and future students...all of them, maybe...yep, all of them
that cats have the cutest way to stretch to their fullest length and then collapse back into themselves
for deodorant (I'm on the subway all of the time)
for patient people who give my homemade sign language a chance
for gas stoves
that Dunkin' Doughnuts uses so many sprinkles
that we live a life without TV
for Kit Kats
for people who wipe off the gym equipment when they're done
for fat-free cream of chicken soup
for the Keurig
for online support from complete strangers who understand my every thought
that Britney Spears is still performing
that I have the ability to forgive and not forget
that I have not totally killed the flower/houseplant that Reuben gave me, but it is on its way
that my friends have super cute babies which gets rid of any possible awkward moments if they weren't cute
for the Kindle
that I have the ability to get lost in my own city...like, the one in the states (that's talent)
for fuzzy socks
that I can Skype my mom when I have a cooking question
that my husband is going to buy us a small dog
that when I hold a grudge, it's not so heavy
for Weight Watchers because it's an amazing program when I actually follow it (guilty grin)
for the moments that I have the ugly cry laughter that can't be controlled
that I can't whistle because I find that noise annoying, and I would annoy myself
that my husband will do the dishes on Thanksgiving

I'm pretty sure the list would be super long and ridiculous at times, but it would be my list. That list is my list and my list is going to get the attention it deserves this year. I hope everyone has a Happy Thanksgiving, and I'm going to get back to making an even longer list.

Just Shut Up Already!!!

If I asked you what is the one thing women want most in life, what do you think the answer(s) would be? We saw Mel Gibson embark on that dangerous quest when he was given the gift of hearing what women think in his movie What Women Want. Now, if he actually learned anything would be the miracle of the movie because how is he supposed to find out when we change our answers from day to day. Anytime I taught British Literature, I always incorporated The Canterbury Tales. As you just read those words, you either got sleepy because you remember an older, pedantic teacher drilling it in your head, excited because you are a nerdy romantic literary scholar like myself, or hungry and counting down the days to Easter because you mistakenly read Canterbury as Cadbury. In this great work by Chaucer, he wrote about the Wife of Bath telling a story about a knight who has a year and a day to be spared of death if he can find out the answer of what women want more than anything in the world. Go ahead, rack your brains...I know you know the answer...you've read the story, wrote the paper, and then burned the book...c'mon...yes, there it is. The answer in the story is that women want complete sovereignty (supreme, independent authority) over their husbands. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...women are evil.

I'm not saying that's the answer now, but isn't that what we crave sometimes, just for everything to go our way? I'm thinking that most women now would want anything that could make us thinner, fitter, happier, and our lives easier. Eh, small potatoes.

Even then, Chaucer knew that women are complicated and it's very difficult to please us. Seriously, if you're sitting there, thinking, "No, I'm not. I'm happy all the time." Then I commend you on your choice of prescription drug. We are constantly complaining, pouting, pitching a fit, talking crap, hiring a hitman, or sulking when it comes to the smallest mishaps in our days. I'm not saying we do it one hundred percent of each day, but it's definitely there. And we're so absolutely trained to model this behavior that we are stunned when something good happens and it doesn't require an attitude. It's like we stored up a certain amount of negative energy that needs to be expended throughout the day, and if we don't use it, we might go crazy, like Nancy Grace locked in a room with a pedophile kinda crazy. And so when that something good happens, like a compliment, we smack it down, and then drown it, and then slice it, and then shoot it, and then hang it and use it as a punching bag..."Take that you stupid compliment...oh wait a minute..." Yeah, sister, something good!!!!

The first time this habit was pointed out to me was during my freshman year of college. I just got back to the dorm after one of our first basketball games where I danced during the halftime with the Dance Team. When I entered the lobby, some students said that we did a really great job. Out of nowhere, I found myself saying, "Well, I was off count on one part, and my leap could have been higher, and..." when this guy stopped me, told me I was so rude, and to learn how to say thank you. That was a great, big 'wow' moment for me because I never gave it any thought. It is totally rude to disregard someone's praises. But look how many times we do it, ladies. Now, I'm not going to go on because I read this fabulous article this past summer and it says it all. Once I just read it again, I was reminded about how much sense all of it made. It's a small article written by a dude explaining to girls why guys compliment us and how we should respond. What? A glimpse into a guy's mind?? Yes, please! I ask that you please read the article and then put some serious thought into it. We don't have to be so complicated and negative all of the time. I promise it's okay to say, "Thank you." And now, to go give my husband an extremely overdue thank you...

The link to a very insightful article:
http://cosmo.intoday.in/story/women-just-accept-a-compliment/1/8373.html

Are You Happy? You Are...? Well, Let Me Take Care of That...

        First of all, I shall start with a resolution update: my first goal was to lose .5-1lb a week. Well, the first week I lost 2.3 lbs, which was fabulous. I was either in the mode and only saw success as an option, or I was going through red-meat-glazed-doughnut-jet-lag detox...either way, I was happy and ready for the following week. That was the week I rewarded myself for such a fabulous weight loss with Kit-Kats, an apple, and beer, resulting in a huge weight gain, a new facial blemish, multiple husband thinking someone else is hot accusations, and self loathing. During all the eating and self hating, I did manage to unpack the back bedroom, which was full of clothes that I can no longer fit into because they are too small, so back in the box they go. I thought I would totally thrive with learning how to coupon. I printed off multiple buy-eight-butters-box-of-eggs-deep-fried-chicken-parts-MSG-and-get-a-free-high-five coupons and excitedly went to the store. Luckily, there was only one lane open to check out, so only twenty to thirty people were murdering me silently with their eyes when I pulled out my coupons. At that moment, I learned that the coupon Nazi works here and makes up her own rules, so instead of walking out of the store with my third box of Chex cereal, which would have been free, I walked out with contempt for all those who have the power to say, "Noh, whan cupin onwy..." Pffft, whatever! I also had another resolution about blogging more, so now that I'm three days late doing that, here it goes:

      If we are what eat, then I am a bad decision. Plain and simple. I spend more time saying to myself, "Oh, I shouldn't eat this, but I just don't care." And if that were true, the not caring part, I wouldn't be looking at a vacuum hose attachment and a scalpel while wondering if I could be the first person to pull off a self implemented at home liposuction procedure. And if I ever find a coupon for lidocain, I might just make it happen. Anyway, what I'm trying to get at is the "caring" part. Why do I care? Seriously, why in the world do I spend every waking moment with self image and weight loss on my mind? Why is it that I can be so caught up with these thoughts that I can tell you every calorie in every piece of food, every contestant ever to be on The Biggest Loser, every celebrity who has ever acted as the spokesperson for a weight loss product, every movie that has Kevin Bacon in it (that doesn't have anything to do with weight loss, I just really like bacon), but I couldn't begin to tell you who is running in the next election? My brain is totally distorted, and I blame it all on the media.

      Yes, my wonderful followers, it is finally here: the blog post about why media in all of its forms has the number one priority to destroy a woman's soul. I want you to do some brainstorming pertaining to commercials. Think about the women on these commercials. What do they look like and what are they selling? And if there is a husband in the commercial, what does he look like? Most of the time, if there is a husband in the commercial, his looks are way below her league. Sorry, but it just has to be said because I know we're all thinking it. However, if the man in the commercial looks like the type to hear the letters GQ and thinks that you're talking about his level intelligence, he has some girl with a body that is fifty percent hers and fifty percent plastic on his arm. Is that fair? No, I think not. But this is a not a topic about battle of the sexes because that is one issue you do not want to hear from me; I'm an antifeminist...sorry, call me traitor. One day I realized that almost every commercial was geared towards women and providing reasons that they shouldn't be happy. I hate one commercial specifically about cereal because it's all about losing weight, and these women (hundreds of them) are running to the box, and they are all tiny and cute. There's not a single man in the commercial. And every resolution commercial is geared towards women losing weight, working out more, or pooping regularly. I guess that's a secret resolution that women sneak on their list that only the consumer pleasers know about. What do men get as commercials?

Men's Commercial for Weight Loss:
"I lost 40lbs on NutriSystem, and now I can have longer sex."

Men's Commercial for Toiletries:
"I showered with this amazing product, and twenty hot girls are lined up to towel me off."

Men's Commercial for Hair Loss:
"I have hair, and now I can date high schoolers again."

Men's Commercial for Hobby:
1-800-I'm Hotter In Your Mind Than I Am In Person

Men's Commercial for Food:
A twenty second video of an overly hot girl mouth raping a hamburger.

Men's Commercial for Life Insurance:
Hot girl wearing nothing but whip cream...Announcer: "Can your heart handle this? Get life insurance!"

Men's Commercial for Rotor Rooter:
Hot girl plumber crack.

Men's Commercial for Coffee:
Boobs!

      I guess I could be snooty and say that this is how simple the male brain is, and the female brain is so highly functioning that it takes complicated commercials to persuade us to even think about the product, but that's not right either. Say it with me now, Sex Sells!!! And I hate that it does because it is not rubbed in only the men's faces, which they enjoy too much, but it is also rubbed in ours...the girlfriends, the fiances, the wives, the women. Men get commercials where overly, gorgeous women are throwing themselves at the men because they switched to Geico, and women get commercials filled with these words: Bloated, odor, fat, bumpy, greasy, itchy, wide, ache, scaly, thinning, fried, blemish, watery, bags, cramps, hairy, depression, redness, embarrassing, tightens, flow, irritating, blotchy, sweat, wrinkle, brittle, slimming, dingy, smelly, unclean, age defying, constipated, tender, infected, dry, swollen, crows feet, bladder, and the list goes on. Men get magazines with bikini models on them. Women get magazines with bikini models on them with the words, "Look Like This" under her name. It's just a never ending battle. Once we feel pretty good about who we are and what we just accomplished, there's a commercial that pops up somewhere that lets us know that we could be so much better. Irritating!!! And so the circle of Inner-Fat-Kid-Abuse continues...

      As much as I hate the breaking-a-woman-down mentality that the media seems to possess, there's nothing that can be changed. That's just the way it is. And I promise, the last thing I need is some PR major messaging me about the dynamics of consumerism; I get it. I just also happen to find it annoying, to each their own. Anyway, all of this ranting and raving, and somewhat distant and random blog, finally concludes me in making this point, especially to those who are just like me and feel that these commercials and magazine covers are made specifically to crush me and anything that resembles confidence or positive self-esteem. If I gave even half as much energy to the positive words I hear directed literally towards only me, "We're so proud of you (family). Abigail, you look so happy (friends). Mrs. Newton, we miss you so much (students). Honey, you are gorgeous (husband)," as I do the negative energy to headlines meant for the masses, how would my attitude about myself change? Oh yeah, that's a gold nugget Abigail thought...not a chicken nugget, but a gold one...think about it. No, not about the chicken nugget, about displaced energy; work with me here.

I Appreciate My Body...and Deep Fried Bread

Abbey,
I'm not sure that you will believe me but I'm not sure your aware of how many women would kill to be like you. To have the motivation and will power to work out, your working out makes me tired just thinking about it. Your beautiful inside and out! I think your smaller now than when we were in high school and would do almost anything to have a body like yours. I have been reading your posts, and I have to say they crack me up because I can so see you going off on some random ranting about the Waffle House. I know you and I have never been close friends, but I just wanted to tell at the risk of sounding like a psycho that all your hard work makes you something to be envied. So I guess part of what I'm trying to tell you is, you should take time to just be you and slow down to enjoy the moment without beating yourself up. You seem really happy with your new life and your husband seems to love you more than anything so just slow down a minute and enjoy it:)

Dear Fellow PHSian,

 

     First of all, these words are too sweet, but they are also so true. I often take the time to rant and rave about my struggles and very rarely do I focus on any successes that I might have, but I am woman, therefore, I complain and envy others.

      I do feel that I need to make the effort to change the way I communicate my thoughts. Every single day I wake up thankful to have my health, to have a working and able body, to have a husband that loves me, provides for me, and makes me feel flawless, to have God watching over me, to have all of family and friends' support, and to have Dunkin Donuts right across the street. I definitely look at other people endure real atrocities and come to my senses that I am too blessed, but you're right, I rarely focus on the positive when it comes to myself. But isn't that what we all do?

       I feel this problem is what makes up most women. You just said to me what I have said to countless people. We, as in women, as in the border line psychotic, spend more time envying others than we do appreciating ourselves. We continue to say, "I want arms like HER'S. I want a butt like HER'S. I want legs like HER'S. I want pills like HER'S." Heck, I get mad that transgender males can strut it better than I can. With all of this moaning, complaining, and envying, we never take the time to appreciate what we have and what we have worked for. As soon as I look in the mirror and start to see results that I've been killing myself for, I find myself in a classroom with a teacher's aide that is so utterly gorgeous and perfect that I ignore the UFC tournament going on in the middle of the preschool floor, come home covered in self pity and a five-year-old's boogers, and talk about her (the teacher's aide) so much that my husband questions my sexuality. But again, I woman, and I struggle with being satisfied with my appearance.

     I do have my good days, though, and I guess that's what I need to be sharing on this blog. So I'll start with saying that I do love parts of my body, like my elbows or my second to biggest toe...that's actually the best toe because it never gets in the way and always remains blister free...I also like my wrists, they feel small and feminine and have bone protrusion. Ha, there we go, praising parts of my body...never thought I'd see the day. 

      I hope you are following your own advice and you are enjoying yourself. Please know that as much as you say that you envy me for my energy and workout regimen, I envy you for having the chance to be a mother. I'd trade it all for that chance. I have two babies in heaven that I love so much and think about every time I get on the treadmill. God gave me an incredible husband, and by doing that, I know he has other blessings up his sleeve, but in due time. So again, you envy me, but I equally envy you. You're a beautiful person who only has good in her heart.

    The whole point of this blog was to examine why women feel the way that we do, and this is one, if not the number one, biggest issue: denying ourselves personal acceptance, which I will definitely examine closely and use for a future blog post. Hopefully, it will help me and others overcome that hurdle. So I thank you for your words, but I thank you most of all for bringing this issue to the forefront for the other readers. Why, ladies, are we doing this to ourselves? Hmmm...good question...don't know just yet, though. We all need to follow your advice: slow down a minute and enjoy it. However, in the time it takes me to walk across the street, purchase my Dunkin Donut regular (nothing less than a dozen and some must be cream filled), come back and eat one, two, or ten, it's more like fifteen minutes than one...so only because you insist on me taking a minute, I think I'll take fifteen ;)

 

Go Bears!, 

Flabby Abbey 

I Can Either Lose Weight, or My Pant's Buttons...hmmm, I Do Like Dresses.

Well, folks, it's coming around to be that time of year again. That special time of year when the air turns cold and crisp and every fast food restaurant is serving some type of hot beverage with either the word "pumpkin" or "spice" in the title. That amazing time of year where I for some reason adopt the ability of a Mighty Morphin Power Ranger and become a big, fluffy, cozy, lazy bear and hibernate for days or weeks at a time with a toss here or a turn there, so I can dislodge the fork out of my back or remove the Swedish Fish that got lost in my sea of skin folds. Ahhhhhhh, yes, just thinking about it right now made me pull up my husband's wool socks, which I have successfully stolen, to my mid calves (and they just slid right back down), and I think I just sunk another three inches into the couch. Yep, it's this time of year that gets me into trouble. There are way too many things that equate for me to become what I hate most in life: a sloth.
Just think about it:

Cold weather + Halloween candy( Thanksgiving dinner + stocking stuffers + Buckeyes) -  (lack of sunlight/laziness) + TBS movie marathon of The Christmas Story to the third power x every vegetable in the world covered with cream of mushroom soup and bread crumbs( get togethers + my awesomeness) - any gym activity = Slothigail

The formula is not wrong. All you need to do is use the order of operations, Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally that thing out, find the diameter of my butt and the square root of my cellulite while computing the area of my apathy, and boom...Slothigail is the only answer. I know, right?!? It only makes sense. It's moments like these that make people wonder why I chose to major in English Education. What can I say? It's a gift.

I work all year long to do my New Year's Resolutions justice just to ruin myself October through December. After eating my third turkey and a block of cheese, I quickly chug my fifth gallon of egg nog, then for no reason at all blame my over indulgence on Nutrisystem Commercials or the fact that Alf really is never coming back on TV, which leads to me breaking out the pencil and paper to get myself pumped for making the same darn resolutions...hmmm, I'm like Tim Burton talking to Johnny Depp about a new movie, "Okay, so I want you to do my new, innovative movie. Check it out, okay, so it will be either claymation or a remake of something that's already been done, and you'll play a dead person, right? And you'll have bags under your eyes, right? And there will be a girl, right? And get this, you'll want her, but you can't have her until the end of the movie! Bam! I'm awesome...oh yeah, you'll have to sing a song or twenty." That's me, implementing the same ideas over and over...however, I'm not walking around with billions of dollars, nor have I created a gothic teen sensation of sacrificing guinea pigs to Jack Skellington...so I need to jump on the Tim Burton wagon and tweak my same idea so it can actually work.

I've been tweaking, and this is what I've tweaked (ahhh, that just made me giggle): I'm starting some resolutions now with the goal to be completed by New Year's Day. Yeah, that's right, I'm making new rules to this whole resolution thing. I refuse for any of my resolutions to have anything to with weight loss, exercise, or cyber stalking, so I will start my goals now. By starting now, I will free up my time to create real resolutions, important ones. Like being a better Christian, learning a new Korean word a week, trying a new recipe book, befriending someone at the gym, or finding the answers to life's hardest questions, like why I must put one cup of hot water in my Hamburger Helper when it also calls for two cups of milk? The cold to hot ratio is off balance there, so why must I have hot water? Or finally answer the infamous and toughest question of who, who, who, who, who let the dogs out?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!! (I'm thinking it's the same person who took the cookie from the cookie jar.)

My husband and I recently flew to the states to attend a wedding and have a wedding.We were celebrating the happiness of my girlfriend, Amy, and her fiance, Garrett, at their beautiful rehearsal dinner two weeks ago. A friend asked me why I wasn't drinking a glass of wine with dinner, and I answered with, "Well, these pants have a button, and I'd like it to stay there." The answer could have been seen as cute, but I was being serious. When your clothes are hindering you from eating, tying your shoe, or more importantly, drinking alcohol, you must do something about it, and that's when I thought that something had to change. I woke up the next day geared and ready to go with this new idea! I will not let clothes decide my comfort level! So I wore a dress that did not hug the body (thank you, Amy), and wine was had!!! And after that night, wine shall never be had again...anyway...  A week later it took two people and the Jaws of Life for me to get into my own wedding dress when just a few months prior I was able to jump in that thing and zip it myself. Oh Abigail, what have you done to yourself? These two weeks of breaking into a sweat by squeezing into pants made me think if I could actually justify holiday behavior when I'm already struggling to fit in my pajammies. (My husband actually had a "sweat pant intervention" and asked that if I insist on wearing sweat pants all the time, can they at least be girl sweat pants. He makes a good point. My heather gray men's Hanes sweat pants are not the most flattering, but there's something about having the waist pulled up to my arm pits that make me feel thinner...hmmm. I hear ya, sweetheart.)

So with that being said, it's time to switch it up and do something new. It only makes sense: new husband, new country, new life, new wool socks, new approach to resolutions. You'll also see a lot more blog activity because I will be updating you often on the resolutions, so that means that you all have to hold me accountable. My resolutions are listed in no specific order:

Lose .5-1lb a week
Maintain the "no curse words" rule (my husband and I are now two months free of using no curse words!!)
Lose .5-1lb a week
Finish the Insanity Workout
Lose .5-1lb a week
Blog once to twice a week
Lose .5-1lb a week
Have back bedroom unpacked
Lose .5-1lb a week
Implement our "eat out only twice a month" rule
Lose .5-1lb a week
Research how to use coupons
Lose .5-1lb a week
Lose .5-1lb a week
Lose .5-1lb a week

And those resolutions will be completed by New Years, and they will not be put on my resolution list! Again, I will update often on how it's working out, and I will be completely honest about everything. This is a genius idea and they only come to me about once an hour, so use it while it's here, sister. I suggest making your New Years easier by starting now and freeing up that list you'll make on January first but then throw away on January fifth. I'm actually excited about this. Watch out husband of mine, I'll soon be wearing pants minus a drawstring or elastic...but I'm keeping the wool socks no matter what size I am.

(BTW: The cookie jar game, that game never lasted long when I played. They'd chant, "You took the cookie from the cookie jar," and while they were waiting for the famous, "Who me?" I'd answer with a simple, "Yes..yes, I did." Game over...Abigail always took the cookie...my inner fat kid sabotaging me once again.)

INSANITY...it is what it is...

Sooooooooooo....I guess you could say that I like to workout. However, if you take the amount that I like to workout and times that by agajabillion, that's how much I love to eat. Therefore, I am in a continuous circle of sweating then eating, eating then sweating, and on the uber gross days, sweating while eating or eating causing sweating. Having this psychotic addiction to food would be a total load of crabapples if it wasn't for the simple fact that I like to workout...there just happens to be a few days here and there that I forget that fact and plant my sweatsuited self on the couch with the Kindle.

Eyes getting blinded by sweat, heart pounding out of the chest, gasping for breath to prevent passing out, screaming out loud in agony or accomplishment, fighting off dizziness, blisters forming on hands and heels, teeth grinding, brain planning, stomach squeezing, legs cramping, hair hurting, muscle ripping happiness....and no I'm not describing childbirth or me trying to fit into skinny jeans, I'm talking about that part of fabulous delirium that can come from a good workout. I'm always trying to find something new to keep my body guessing. The worst part of doing the same thing over and over, like teaching nine Zumbas a week, is my body getting used to the activity. It takes nothing short of pulling a car uphill both ways for my body to go, "Oh, this is getting a little tough." I love having the energy, the ability, the power, the strength, the results (somewhere under this permanent winter coat of a body), and the drive. I'm not saying that everything is just a cake walk, but I do like to keep it challenging...so my husband introduced me to INSANITY.

Usually, you cannot get me to workout at home, I have no want or motivation, but I've heard so much about this program that I became intrigued. Also, my amazingly amazing husband said that he would do it with me...yes, please! My gorgeous husband working out beside me every morning, I'll take it! I have my own personal motivator right there beside me. Why would I say no to that? If you have never heard about INSANITY, YouTube it right now, and then come back to reading this. Okay, are you good? So you're all caught up to speed? Okay, looks doable, right? Looks tough but fun, right? Well, try it...

My husband and I were (notice the past tense) super excited about starting this program, following through every day, and tracking the results. This is a nine week program: four weeks-one week-four weeks.

Week 1: We jumped out of bed early each morning and did the workout to the best of our ability. We listened to Shaun T, took his notes seriously, and pushed it to the max. We felt proud, tired, excited, and accomplished.

Week 2: Oops, we overslept a little, but that's okay because we did it that night after work. We were familiar with Shaun T's instructions, felt more comfortable with the moves, and encouraged each other through the hard parts. We felt good, motivated, and knew what to expect.

Week 3: Oh no, we forgot a day, well, it's okay to double the workouts on one day, right? We felt like the workouts were a black cloud hanging over us on some days, we say stuff before Shaun T does because we now know every word of the videos, and we don't feel like it's getting any better. We felt burdened, irritated, comfortable, and stronger.

Week 4: Well, we have to rearrange the schedule a little bit because we missed a day...what in the world are we going to do next week when we fly to the states? We do the workouts, talk back to Shaun T and tell him to shut up, and we continue to "boo and hiss" the program for the rest of the day. The workout honeymoon is over...

Yeah, I know, right? What happened to my love for working out when it comes to this program? It's still there, I promise. I actually feel antsy until we do the workout because the feeling of accomplishment that comes with it is addictive. First of all, it makes me sweat like Paris Hilton on an episode of Are You Smarter Than A Light Switch. Thank goodness that we have wood floors in our livingroom because it is disgusting. We pour the sweat because we are genuinely having to work. Second of all, Shaun T makes you stretch twice. As much as I love to workout, I hate to stretch; why...I don't know. But he forces us to do it, and we do it, and that takes away a lot of soreness. Third of all, there is no equipment required; it relies solely on your body weight, so yeah, I've got quite the workout ahead of me. Finally,  my husband and I really do feel ourselves getting stronger in some areas. As much as we hate it on some days, it works.

Physical results, well, I don't see any, but that's because I'm not following the diet plan. I can tell you that if I gave myself a chance and cut out all of the crap that I love to consume, then physical results would be booming. I notice some on my husband, and he notices some on me, so they just might be there. We're excited about continuing with this program, but we'll be even more excited when it is over! I do plan to adhere to an appropriate diet when doing the second half of the workout to see what the true results will be. I might even take pictures..baaahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa. That's laughable. So, my personal opinion is I think this is a killer workout. It's repetitive, but effective. If you are thinking about this program, here's my advice:

Keep a towel with you. If you don't, you will pour the sweat, slip, and break your face, and then you have two problems on your hands...the need to workout and a broken face.

Be consistent and always try to do it the same time of day. We've done it both in the morning and evening, and there are different results...I like the mornings the best. I get pumped...to take a nap :)

Do not skip a day. Just don't...hold yourself accountable.

Do not skip the stretches; those are probably the most important part of the program.

Do not get mad at Shaun T; he's there to help you, so if you cuss at the screen, I'm, oops, you're just wasting energy.

Do not eat four doughnuts before the workout (Abigail learned her lesson). Do not eat a bag of candy corn and a bag of a circus peanuts before the workout (Reuben learned his lesson). We've never been so miserable. I actually swore off doughnuts for that entire night of sleep.

So, the Newtons are halfway through this program, and when we finish, I'll have a final post about it. So if you're ready to feel like you just got beaten so hard that you could throw up someone else's dinner, then I suggest this workout. If you start the workout and think to yourself, "Well, this isn't so bad, this is kind of easier than what everyone made it out to be," you're either pulling a Bev Perdue and blatantly lying to the world, or you're not giving it all that you have. Also, if you do it, don't think about how the results look, because I don't look any different, but focus on how they make you feel, because they make me feel great...or angry...or dead to the world...or as my husband says, glad...glad that we made it out alive!

(Letter 1) Dear Flabby Abbey: CALORIES, WTFudge!?!

Dearest Flabby (yeah, right) Abbey,

My very expensive personal trainer has put me on a wacky diet plan that consists of eating in combination (always a starch with a protein) and severely limiting starches, all while consuming 1200 to 1400 calories a day. There is no calorie counting involved, just measuring of portions. My question is, can't I just count calories, eat nutritionally dense, minimally processed foods and get on with my life?! Is sticking to a low calorie diet enough for me to lose weight, or must I be fanatical about what I eat?

Signed,

Sick to damn death of boiled eggs, string cheese and cucumbers

Oh My Lovely Cheesy Egg Head,

First of all, you make me want an omelet. Second of all, send me the check instead of to your personal trainer. Third of all, do not try to use chopsticks after drinking a bottle of wine; you will stain your clothes. Fourth of all (that doesn't sound right), let me answer your question with a question: would you drink a fifth of vodka to refuel after having run a half marathon? No, don't, it's not good. Your body is thriving for a liquid packed with electrolytes to replenish itself. You don't just grab the vodka because it's wet. That would almost kill you...you'd be a human raisin! Okay, connection time:

I'll try to be brief with my response: the 1200-1400 calorie count is the standard BMR for women (Basal Metabolic Rate) which means that if you did nothing but stayed in bed all day, your body would burn 1200 calories for just existing, sounds pretty good to me. So, of course that's the easiest and safest number for your personal trainer to rely on because they are keeping you on a diet that could sustain you if you were bedridden. In turn, this can hurt you because you are not fueling the body for whatever activity you're doing, i.e. walking, running, gossiping, murdering, etc. Therefore, your body goes all Pacman and starts eating your muscle while throwing your calories to the side to store as fat in order to fuel future activities; it's scared it won't get enough later.

Girl, it gets crazy and complicated, and if you want an accurate calorie count, I suggest you look at the Harris Benedict Formula. It's a crazy mathematical equation that lets you know exactly how many calories you should have in day....but seriously, I'm just telling you that so you can see how above and beyond this crap gets...ahhhhhh!!!!!! (nonsense)

Calories used to be the best measure of fuel for your body, but recent studies have proven otherwise. Eating 1200 calories of Tapioca filled Doughnut Sticks (can you tell what my new fave is?) is not the same as eating 1200 calories of fruits, veggies, dairy, and protein. Again, that's like trying to compare vodka to water...they're both wet and clear, but they cannot serve the same purpose. So out with the calories, and in with the protein, fiber, and low fat. If it has 800 calories, but 20 grams of protein and 9 grams of fiber, the calories don't begin to matter! Protein and fiber break down the slowest and do your body the most good, so eat up, sister. Truth be told by your trainer, though, the reason your starches are minimal is because they don't usually contain protein or fiber, and we just discussed that items without those don't really serve a function, but it doesn't mean that they have to be off limits. In fact, nothing should ever be off limits. Again, if you want it, eat it, just don't eat every item of it in a ten mile radius...instant belly ache!

Finally, in answer to your question, yes, ditch the "diet" because if it's called a "diet" then it's not going to work because "diets" are temporary. And no, do not count calories because they don't matter. We're adults, and we've learned over the years that as long as we're active, we eat within proper portions, and we don't go crazy on the fried and processed, our bodies will thrive. You know what good decisions are, and you know what bad decisions are, and the only reason you have a personal trainer is because you want someone outside of you to hold yourself accountable to a plan because without that person, you're more likely to scribble outside of the lines...and that's okay. (Do you really plan to pay for a personal trainer forever...?????)

Always, always, always, always strive to be healthier, let that be your number one goal.

I don't know if this helped, and if you want further explanation on what I'm talking about, you know where to find me. I care about your happiness; I care about your mentality; be you, which is absolutely beautiful...! Now, about that check....

Flabby Abbey

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar (...to cover my exhaustion, of course)

How many times have you woken up and thought, "Just ten more minutes...what I would give for ten more minutes"? How about those mornings and you wake up only after having slept for five minutes when in reality it was six hours? Those mornings are the pits. When we were all school aged, we wished for snow days all the time because there is something magical about sleeping in on a weekday, an unscheduled weekday at that. I always enjoyed it when I found out really early, like at 5 a.m., on that school day. Those were the days when I had anticipated going to school and doing the morning gettin-ready routine, but instead my mom would whisper that I could stay asleep...best.news.ever! Now, as a teacher, that news can  be either angels singing or the devil's curse...all depends on when the EOCs are scheduled. Anyway, my point is those mornings were treasured. Those are the few times when God gave us, the students, the gift of time. You cannot even begin to tell me that you didn't have one of those days where you worked furiously like a lab rat trying to find the cheese in order to complete an assignment or prepare for a test. We learn that when given the opportunity, take it, and snows days were there for the taking. Unlike today's day...

Now, we're adults (what? that's crazy. I refuse to believe it or model it!) Snow days just mean bundle up and get to work, but good luck trying to find a sitter for your child because school just got cancelled. Am I right? There have been a few days when it seems the whole county has shut down for snow, all except for the Waffle House, of course. Oh, the Waffle House, the amazing Waffle House, the house of waffles and hashbrowns for which we rely on to serve us during the most dangerous blizzards, when returning from the latest away PHS football games, and probably after any nuclear war because there is not anything that can be done to take down the Waffle House...if we go under attack, that is where I recommend you take refuge. (I love their pickles!!!) Sorry, I almost forgot where I was going with this...it's just, there's not a Waffle House out here...waffle stands are everywhere you look, and I hear they're amazing, but there's something about the place mat with all of the pictures and words like "scattered, smothered, and chunked" to describe a dish...and their pickles, are you kidding me? Where do they get those pickles? They are the ones who taught me to put pickles on my bacon, egg, and cheese...okay, that's enough, I swear this post is not about the Waffle House...(and now, I'm slightly pouting...sad face...)

Oh yeah, I was talking about how at once we were given the gift of time in our youth and those turned out to the best of days because regardless how you spent it, you still had a break from the everyday grind. For the first time in my life, I do not have three jobs. That absolutely blows my mind and I barely know how to feel about it. I mean, I am totally adjusting to this housewife gig, but there are so many times where I feel like I should be somewhere, but there's really no where I am suppose to be but here...weird. Even though I have been given all of this time that I have never had ever, I still feel the need to fill it with something semi productive, and you know me well enough to know that means going to the gym. I've made it a goal to go to the gym for four hours a day because that's the amount of time I was getting in back in the states. Plus, from the subway station to, just to, the gym is 1.75 miles (my husband just calculated it for me) and if I'm going to walk that much, then I should make my time worth it. So, I finally have a schedule! But what happened after a few weeks of that schedule? I wanted a day off, or two days off, do I dare say three...eeeeeek. I woke up, had coffee with my husband, and told him that I just didn't feel like going to the gym that day. He said what every husband would say, and the thing they are suppose to say, "Then don't, just take a day to relax." Those words just seemed so simple coming from him: "a day to relax." Ha, relax? I wish! Because these were the thoughts that were going through my head when trying to decide what I was going to do:

"I can just go ahead and go the gym. The clothes are right there, you'll feel better when you're done. Just go ahead because if I don't, I'll get upset. I'll feel awful all day. I'll look at the clock and think what I would have already had done by that hour. I'll think about all the miles I didn't cover. I'll feel so guilty that I won't be able to relax. My guilt will turn into anxiousness, my anxiousness turns into sleepyness, sleepyness turns into a nap, a nap turns into waking up angry, waking up angry turns into raging grumpyness, raging grumpyness turns into self bullying, self bullying turns into self medicating, self medicating turns into snacking randomly in the kitchen, snacking randomly in the kitchen turns into fit pitching, fit pitching turns into self loathing, self loathing turns into mirror staring, mirror staring turns into pinching, sucking, and prodding, pinching, sucking, and prodding turns into sobbing... " and at the end of this crazy cycle, my amazing husband walks through the door expecting to find his wife bouncing around the house with a great big smile across her face because she just had the whole day to relax. Instead, he walks in the door to find me, sitting at the counter with my head in my hands, tears in my eyes, and I don't want to be touched, or talked to, or loved, because who could ever love a big, lazy, worthless, invalid like myself!!! I'll then cry and make big deals about everything for the rest of the evening...like telling him that he could do better, or accussing him of thinking some girl on the internet is hot...all because I chose not to go to the gym. That is ridiculous!

Whatever happened to that love we once had for snow days and getting that time off? Why couldn't I relax like I had intended? Why did I spend all day with my abusive inner-fat kid? I blame three things: estrogen, Jennifer Aniston (her perfection drives me crazy), and internet pop-up adds (it's like they know you didn't go to the gym). The next morning, I went to the gym, and I worked it super-duper hard, but during my long haul there, I forced myself to think about how I spent the previous day. It was my choice to stay home, my choice, and do you know what else is my choice? My feelings on staying home. I didn't have to feel guilty; I chose to, like everyone who is reading this right now. You know you do the exact same thing. We are terrified to take the day off from something, especially working out. I promise, a day off is ten times better than going everyday. Give your muscles time to remember their purpose; we put them under so much abuse that they retaliate with debilitating soreness. There are more times where I have to use the handicap bathrooms because of the side handrails instead of the others...my legs will just give out. Anyway, I decided that I will no longer feel guilty for taking some Abigail time. And I know some of you are like, "Well, going to the gym is my (insert name here) time; that's the time away from all of my house duties." I agree, working out is great if that's what you use as your release, but as soon as it feels like an obligation, breathe! Go get your toes did, girl!

As women, we keep ourselves wound up so tightly that we think that's the only way to function, that if we give our bodies or our minds an inch, they'll take a mile. So what if they do? You're still in control. You owe it to yourself for your day off to be a day off, do not ruin it with guilt. I am actually using that same philosophy right now while eating a cinnamon biscuit...I am enjoying it and I refuse to ruin it with guilt. In fact, I'll have more after this one (who am I kidding? you know there's already more than one on this plate). So, again I stress to you to not run your life with guilt; it's not fair to you, nor is it fair to your family. My husband walking into the house to find me ready to kill the creator of weightwatchers is nothing he deserves. Figure out what those moments are that use to be enjoyable but now feel like a task and fix it...take a day off...go to the Waffle House. I promise everything will be okay. I mean, look at Superwoman, she even took days to get her hair done...

*Side note: Please note that despite the amount of time I go to the gym, I love to eat. I'm heavier than ever, but I have a healthy heart! So when you see me and my lumps, my lovely lady lumps, don't think of me as a liar about working out...I can still stomp you.

I'm Not A Cougar...I'm A Tiger!

Once upon a time, I had a class of students challenge me to wear a different outfit everyday to school for the entire school year. Not only did I do that for one year, but I did it for two. What does that say about me? I am pretty irresponsible when it comes to managing my money. Yeah...I just can't seem to make myself pay more than the minimum on my student loans, but take me to New York and Company, and all of the sudden I have turned into Lindsey Lohan at an open bar...

Needless to say, I have a lot of clothes. That challenge forced to me go through my closet, rip off four year old price tags (you know it's bad when you're taking off Goody's price tags), and dare to mix and match. I have spent the past year purging and donating in order to avoid the title of "hoarder" but there still seems to be an abundant amount. I can't help it...it is, or was, an addiction. I had to get my fix. Every woman knows what I'm talking about when I mention the adrenaline rush of a really good sale...uhhhh...especially when it's DAT (Day After Thanksgiving). I'm just saying last year those other fools didn't have a chance to get their Paula Deen Pots because I was sitting on the display...no lie.

This past year, however, I have had an epiphany (and yes, Lacey, that's a real word) when it comes to my clothes. As stupid as it sounds, I learned that the clothes don't make a teacher. I liked to dress the part, but more than that, I truly loved my job teaching high school. It's not that I felt like I had to dress a certain way in order to be good at what I did, I just used that profession to justify all of the outfits...oh the glorious outfits, and shoes!...gotta love the shoes! Take me as a teacher and take away all of clothes, what would you have? A lawsuit, of course! Dang...teachers get fired for less these days...geesh! Seriously, though, you'd still have me and all the energy I have to give to my students. So to break it down, my classroom awesomeness has nothing to do with my attire, but it has everything to do with me and what I bring to the table. Awesomeness doesn't have a "look."

Do you see where I'm going with this? Your level of bodaciousness doesn't have an outfit, a car, a haircut, a height, or a weight; it has everything to do with you being you...a positive you. A you that looks at the world as something possible; a you that doesn't get deterred easily; a you that will try something multiple times before judging it; a you that is true to you.

"Abigail, I know you, and you don't usually just talk about something for the sake of talking about it. How does this relate to our estrogen abuse?" Good question...

I can't tell you how many times I heard in my college years, "Oh, you're a dancer...or you dance? Hmm, you don't look like a dancer." "No, I don't, but neither do Umpa Lumpas, but they still get the job done." That was at the time I was my heaviest, so I didn't have the long, graceful body that dancer's are expected to have (nor do I have it now). But you know what, for my height and weight at the time, I could bust it out Umpa Lumpa style! I brought heart to every move I made, and I did my best. Even though my best wasn't the best...it was still 100% me.

I have met many who are terrified of starting that path to a healthy lifestyle because they feel that they don't have a look that matches the role. Oh, that makes my heart break. Or they feel that because they look a certain way they have to act a certain way. Oh c'mon, this is not high school anymore...let-it-go. Be true to yourself and adopt whatever healthy habit you want to adopt, don't worry about how you look doing it...within reason, of course. If you show up to yoga on crack while drinking a Redbull you might get a few side glances...but again the key word is healthy, and that doesn't sound too healthy.

This advice works in both ways, though. The idea that "dressing the part doesn't create the skill" goes for those who go overkill on their attire. Just because you see someone in the step class wearing leg warmers, shiny blue leggings, high top Reeboks, a g-string leotard over a hot pink sports bra, and a sweat band holding their feathered bangs in place doesn't mean that she's Suzanne Summers and knows all. Dressing the part kills me: "Oh yeah, I'm a runner. What? Didn't you see the sticker on my car that says 3.1. Yep, that's me. I ran a 5K four years ago...that's where I got this nifty t-shirt that I wear everyday when I'm not running, which happens to be everyday." or "Oh yeah, I do Zumba. I'm mean I've got the shirt, the pants, the shoes, the cds, fifty rubber bracelets, 60 facebook friends who do it, and next month's schedule of classes when I might actually start taking a real class. But until then, I'm just going to wear all of this cool gear and be one big false advertisement because I'm a cool kid..." (It's not being able to count to eight, it's what you do with an eight count...can I get a halleluiah!) I'm not dissing these individuals, but it is usually this type of person that scares others from trying something new. I was guilty of "fearing the outfit" when I went out for new activities, but that fear didn't affect anyone but me. I'm not saying that you shouldn't hold on to even the smallest accomplishments, I'm just saying don't let others and their accomplishments hold you back from yours.

I was holding myself back. I've seen others hold themselves back, and it's all because of a "look." If you have the drive, the energy, and the want to do something, then do it. It's really that simple. Do not let anyone intimidate you. Even if they are number one in that activity, then learn from them. Everyone who has ever started one of my classes all had something in common at one point: they all had a first day, they all had a first class, they all had a group of "firsts" that must be overcome.

So again, our superbaduberdeliciousness of a personality cannot be wrapped up in a look, an outfit, or a body type. I do advise you to show this side of you slowly when you begin something new. You can't just show everyone at once...they'll be too jealous. They'll be like, "Oh my gosh, I hope one day I can have an ounce of their superbaduberdeliciousness...just an ounce..." Don't go and scare everyone off your first day. Be tiger...prowl around, let them admire you, and claim your territory!

"Umm, No Cheese on the Burger, but Can You Add a Hotdog on It? Thanks..."

Okay, Followers, we did it! We've made it to the month of September, the fourth month of existence for this blog. I remember the day I wanted to start this blog, and this is a true story....as much as I want to hide in the closet about it, here it goes...

Again, everyone knows that I married my husband in Korea on very short notice. We had a plan to get married in the states when he came home on leave, but we just couldn't wait another minute. So with me being a girl with a bit too much estrogen, I did what all brides do and started planning, hence, bridal portraits! Yep, bridal portraits after the marriage. My girlfriend, Shannon, introduced me to an incredible photographer, April Sirit, a couple of years ago, and I wanted her to do them (this story has a point). April lives in Raleigh, which meant a four to five hour road trip for this girl...dun dun dunnnnnnnnnn (the evil, foreboding music notes). What happens when Abigail drives???  She sleeps! I'm a narcoleptic driver...serious as my cellulite. And it's instantly; by the time I hit Asheville -BAM- I'm out, and there goes Sadie (my car's name) holding her own. So, what do I do to keep myself awake? Eat!!! What do I eat? Multiple fast food drive-thru items!!! Remember when I said in the introduction that I was a dieting-food-junkie?...yeah.

The car is my safe place. I can eat whatever I want and as much as I want, and I want a lot...from everywhere. I am literally that person that acts like I'm ordering food for other people just so no one judges me. I throw out pronouns like "she" or "they" ("I think they said no lettuce on that burger, please...") and I order food for these false people, with a diet coke of course. Ummm, I'd venture to say that one day you could see me on episode of Intervention because I went to the point of shooting up pancake syrup, dehydrating and crushing burritos so I could snort them, and liquefying cheese fries to put in an IV bag so I could mainline them...ooooohhhhhh yyyyeeeaaaahhhh. Back to my story, so I'm falling asleep at noon in the car and decide it's fast food time. I get my goods and my diet coke and get back on the road. With each bite that I am taking, I'm thinking about my wedding dress; the same wedding dress that I tried on that morning just to make sure it zipped up. That concern was lost somewhere between a taco and a chicken nugget. For the entire drive, I'm asking myself why I do what I do in the car, and that's when I finally told myself that I had a problem, and I needed help, and at that time my inner-fat kid told me that help was at the next exit in a Dairy Queen. I did not go to the Dairy Queen! I called my husband (aka my sponsor for not being a food junkie) and told him that I had an idea: "I want to create a blog addressing weight issues and concerns and other related obsessions that I have because I know there has to be someone else who does this to themselves!!! I want to feel better about being me..." Needless to say, by the time the photo session started, I was sweating out french fries and guilt, but I was motivated to live my life differently. I was thrilled!!! I got back in my car and swore I would start that minute! Okay, well, maybe after this milkshake; I'll start after the milkshake! Yes, a new life for Abigail, when I'm done with this hotdog, a new life for this girl! Whoo hoo, alright, yes, empowered, I will feel empowered when I finish both of these combos from Arby's! I'm stoked, I can't wait, this is sooooo exciting, after this McFlurry, I am totally hammering out this idea....(sad to say, I speak truth about everything I ate on my way home).

The next morning, I felt defeated. We do that, though, don't we? We get ourselves really jazzed about living a healthier life. We go to the store to buy all sorts of fruits and veggies, spending a ton of money, but that's okay because it's promoting a healthy life and we're worth it. We buy workout clothes, new tennis shoes, download songs, kiss our Jane Fonda poster, and hit the road for our first run, and we're running. Oh yeah, we're running, and it feels good. Oh yeah, people are driving by and saying, "Oh, I should run like her," and we're like, "Yeah buddy, this workout counts double because I'm doing it in public, whoo hoo..." and then we start breathing hard, and oops, side stitch, that's okay, breathe differently, and wow, what is my toe doing, is there a rock in my shoe??? Nope, it's just my toe freaking out, but I'm doing great. Yeah, doing good, getting to the end of the road, taking a right turn, uh oh, a hill, avoiding the right turn and taking a left, yes...sweet...going left takes me down hill. And we're still running, and we're doing okay, and yeah, okay, here we go, and we're jogging, and why do my lips feel dry? Hmm...it's okay, lips get dry, and yeah, I'm doing a little less than okay, and wow, ten minutes have gone by, let's walk it out, oh yeah, and we're walking it out...! We feel great! We did it! Let's celebrate with a piece of cake because, hey, we did go out work out today...(sound familiar). We wake up, sore, feeling terrible that we ate the cake, and we give up because we feel defeated...but Monday, we'll start next Monday...Monday for sure!

We all do it, and that's because we lack the ability to find balance at that moment (a future post topic). It took a few days, but I decided to go forward with the idea of a blog, mainly because I desperately needed to know that I wasn't alone, and throughout this journey, I've learned that I'm not. Again, I blame estrogen. The emails, facebook messages, and responses that I get provide so much nurture. This helps me every day. So, my point is that even though I stalled about making a commitment to this, I did it, and I'll continue to do it. I am proud to report that I have not had another series of drive-thru marathons; however, I will admit that one night I did eat two meals from the Waffle House, but since then, I've been clean. And that has nothing to do with the fact that I don't have a car over here in Korea, nor a Korea driver's license, nor are there drive-thrus. Nope, it has nothing to do with that. The amount of bakeries across the street have nothing to do with any new addictions that I might have, uh huh, not this girl...(guilty face). Thank you for following me for three to four months now and letting me get some things off of my chest. I wanted to use this post to remind you that we're in this together! We're a group of estrogen abused girls who exhaust ourselves daily by dieting and hating others...so I'd say that we're pretty much normal.

Keep Your Tampons; I Don't Need Them. I Just Want a Bird to Poop in Her Eye...

WARNING! Yeah, I just thought I should go ahead and prepare you with a great, big, FAT warning; a warning so big that the surgeon general just quivered at the mere thought of putting it in print. WARNING...I'm in a mood. Here's the deal (my mom's favorite three words), I understand that you read these posts with possible feelings of gigglyishness (yeah, that's an adjective) or lightheartedness or anything that makes you smile, but not today, because for every four to five posts that are happy, you have to put up with the ones where I'm in a mood. And no, PMS is not involved...my husband knows the hour PMS starts and ignores anything ugly I have to say for awhile (for me, PMS is nothing more than a short period of exorcism...it takes about 6-8 days for the demon to come out), but since there is no PMS, you may not ignore my rant and rave. In fact, some of y'all may have this exact feeling, and what is that feeling you may wonder? No, it's not that Oprah wrapped up her show, even though I feel that she didn't even take my feelings into consideration; I mean, c'mon, sister Oprah, I thought we were tight...I see how it is, though. I still have Sarah Jessica Parker...anyway....

I'M FRUSTRATED! Yes, the Frustrated Abigail has tuned in today to write this post. She has tied the Fit Abigail to a treadmill with Spice Girls blaring on repeat (So...tell me what you want, what you really really want...), locked the Fat Abigail in a McDonalds with a never ending supply of Rolo McFlurries topped with BigMacs (hold the lettuce because heaven knows nothing green can be on it), and the Frustrated Abigail is standing on a soapbox of irk and self pity. I am frustrated that I have to work ten times harder than anyone I know to MAINTAIN a weight that is considered obese!!!! I am sick and tired of clocking in at the gym to kill myself to unworldly soreness (I hurt to a debilitating point everyday...my hips...my knees) just so I can eat what I want, which is still minimal to most people I know. And right now, some of you all are rolling your eyes because you have seen what I eat...just note that I don't eat like that every day, and you also don't see the hours of workout I did to try and cancel that meal out. I watched my husband eat Oreos for breakfast yesterday, this was after I had my plain oatmeal and went on a five mile run, and I was so jealous of him (my husband...he's so gorgeous...and what y'all didn't just see was me leaning back in my chair to daydream about him for 5-10 mins...ahhhhh). 

I don't know why it has built up in me today. I guess because it's one of those days when I rolled over in bed to wake up, I noticed the back-fat-fold leading to the stomach-fat-belly button-eating-fold and thought, "Seriously!" I'm freaking out here! What am I supposed to do??? I just went from a life where I was working out close to four hours a day to a life where I can take my time and workout when I please, but there's something about being accounted for at the gym...I probably wouldn't have gone half the time if I wasn't the one teaching the classes. Don't get me wrong, now, you know I love working out and being a beast, but man. So yeah, I'm freaking out a little bit. I'm gaining weight steadily, and it's just not fair that I HAVE to workout four hours a day to maintain an "unhealthy" weight...bite me, BMI chart!

Do you get what I'm saying, though? I promise that if anyone else does what I do, they'd have the perfect body, but my body is not only far from magazine cover material, it is always on a steady weight gain. The minute I cross a calorie line...boom...five pounds. Why?????????????????????????? And what does it take to lose that five pounds? About a month of hard work and broccoli for dinner every night (seriously, that's what I have to do). I've had my thyroid checked, and it's fine. I've been told by a lot of people, including doctors, that I should be a lot smaller than what I am with as much as I do, and I say, "Well, duh, and thanks for noticing, now if you'll excuse me, I feel the need to take a cheese grater to my double chin."

If you're a girl in my life, it's time for me to be honest to you, I've sized you up. Yep, that's what I do. I size every female up and inspect every inch...and I'm green with envy. How awful is that? That's pretty bad. But I can't help but to walk around and look at all these girls and ask why I couldn't have this or that. There hasn't been a single girl who I've inspected that I didn't want something from. I just want to look at my reflection, and say, "Okay, this I can deal with." It sucks. I am telling you that it sucks to walk around hating my body and wanting everyone else's. It hurts staring in the mirror with tears in my eyes asking myself what more can I do. It breaks my heart, and my husband's, when I can't walk with my head held high when he tells me I'm perfect, beautiful, and flawless. We were watching a movie the other night, and Jennifer Aniston's perfectness made me sick. I looked at my husband out of nowhere and told him that I couldn't ever look like that, and asked if he was okay with it. He doesn't deserve that treatment from me. I don't deserve that treatment from myself! Females in my life don't deserve to get molested with my eyes when they walk into a room!!

My little sister asked me one time what we would obsess over if we didn't obsess over our weight. What in our lives would be as important as the hours we put into measuring our food, counting our calories, comparing fat grams, researching new eating habits, sweating at the gym, soothing injured muscles, hating other girls (oh, you know you're just as guilty), talking ourselves out of indulgence, being jealous of other's willpower, spending money on detox meds, or anything else related to it??? I couldn't answer. I try to imagine a life where I didn't care, and I have honestly tried to be happy, but then I turn on the tv, read a magazine, go online, or walk outside, and I am reminded in thousands of different ways why my body is not good enough. C'mon, media, quit rubbing these body images in our faces and telling us that's what we need to be!

Do you want to see me have an anxiety attack? Tell me to put on a bathing suit...you'd think I was just told the world was about to end. I can feel my heart rate increase right now....breathe, Abigail. I've told you before that I don't choose to be this way. I don't know when it happened, but for all of my life I have been upset with my body. I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm relating to those who do and feel the same. It seems petty, and believe me it is, but it's still there, and it's still frustrating. I feel ya, sisters.

So yeah, the Frustrated Abigail says it's not fair. My Frustrated Followers are saying, "Abigail, shut up, read your past posts, and be grateful for what you have." I am, I am...I told you this was a pity party, so just deal with me, okay? We all have these pity parties. I am showing you that it's okay to have those days where you want to break every mirror in the house, outlaw shorts or miniskirts (stupid girls in their stupid shorts with their stupid legs without the stupid cellulite around their stupid thighs while walking on the stupid road in their stupid heels because their stupid legs aren't stupidly long enough for their stupid perfect body and their stupid hair that tops their stupid face that I hope gets pooped on by a bird!), burn every fitness magazine that tells me that I can lose five lbs in ten minutes by cutting out negative energy and croutons, and dive head first into a vat of cake batter ice cream while yelling, "I give up!"

No, I don't feel bad about going on this rant and rave. I warned you in the very beginning, and we've made it to the end. I know I'm not alone. I know that every single girl has her day...today was mine. Having just yammered on about it makes breathing a bit easier. Even though I think the way my body responds to food but not activity is not fair, I know that I am blessed. I have a lot going for me: my health for starters - the fact that I'm healthy enough to workout four hours a day is a blessing - my husband who tolerates these Frustrated Abigail days with patience, my family who doesn't question me, but understands me, and my followers who read this and say it's okay now snap out of it. I'm snapping out of it. Please don't look at me and say, "How can you write this post, but tell us to think positively in all the other posts?" Because I can, darn it...I'm human. Now that we have shaken some of  the frustration away, let's enjoy the day, count our blessings, embrace our health, smile that smile, and secretly curse anyone you just eye molested.

I'm Too Sexy for Your Face....Too Sexy for Your Face...lalala

I am female; therefore, I am flawed. No, don't start doing that roll your eyes, "Oh, here she goes again," look because you know what I say is true. I am flawed. "Yes, Abigail, we are all flawed. No one is perfect." True, little inner fat kid, but if I asked everyone who was reading this right now to write a list of their flaws, especially the ladies, how many of those characteristics would be physical attributes? Too many!!! And who is there to blame for that? Everyone including yourself!!!

Whoa, that seemed a little harsh. All at once I'm asking you to beat yourself up, and then I'm blaming you for doing it. I'm not trying to be purposely bring down your personal moral, but it's time to start understanding why we think the way we do. Today's topic is getting you to accept those "flaws" and look at them as personalized, uniques charateristics. First of all, who said they were flaws? Uhhhh...I'm guessing you did. Why do you consider them flaws? I'm guessing you are paying way too much attention to the media and your little inner fat kid telling you lies. I guarantee that you if you made another list, a happy list, about how many compliments you receive compared to the negative comments, the "beautiful" words would out weigh the "ugly." I swear, ladies, sometimes we walk around and act like this is a typical conversation:

"Hi, Abigail, how are you and your pores doing today?

"Well, we're both feeling really big and noticeable today? And you, how are you doing after having to squeeze in those jeans? Wishing you could breathe right about now, huh?"

"Yeah, I do. And don't worry, your pores are noticeable, but not compared to your damaged hair. Oh, and I can see that you're not doing weight watchers anymore...unless you're keeping up with your weight gain."

"I figure if I gain enough weight, then I would finally be happily depressed! You know...just give up having hope of looking anything like what I do, but at least I don't look like you. You sure do have an ugly face..."

Seriously, ladies! Is that how it goes...? NO. In fact, as evil and malicious as girls are, we are very complimentary to each other. If you think about it, if we are so freaking critical of ourselves, think about how nice it is to get a compliment from the most critical people on earth...not Simon Cowell, us. For a girl to look at you and say, "Wow, I love your makeup," or "How do you get your hair to do that?" is huge!!!!! Girls aren't really known for being nice just to be nice.

So, these flaws that we have dubbed to be the biggest pain in our flawed butts only comes from ourselves. Why, though? I have said many times, that you are you, and there's no point to be something you're not. As much as I want to blame the media for setting the standards for what is socially acceptable as being beautiful, it's time to be an adult and accept what we have. Yes, it drives me crazy that the media talks down to girls, but that's a future post...more like a future b*tch session. It's no wonder we're messed up, media folk! You talk to us like we're herds of cattle needing to be lead to the closest fat farm so you can manipulate us into thinking that we are imperfect or need to be on antidepressants when, in fact, we're perfectly fine!!!! Again...future post.

I need you to stop looking in the scrutinizing yourself in the mirror...that includes sucking in, pulling your thigh fat back to see what it would look like if they didn't touch, lifting your butts cheeks with the hope of seeing the skin under it (or in my case, the tan line...haha), flapping that Oprah-wing while flexing just to see if it still moves, hitting runway poses to see what angle looks best on you, or any of the other silly bathroom routines we do before finally leaving all huffy and puffy because we hate what we see. You know what men do? Wet their hair, shave their face, slap on some smell good stuff, and hit the road!!!! (I don't dare question their actions when they're in there for more than ten minutes...they might be secretly practicing N'Sync moves, but I don't wanna know).

The only person that views you as flawed is yourself. Everyone else around you views you as being off the charts amazing...I promise they do. Do yourself a favor...shut up. Seriously, just for once, see you as I see you, or your kids see you, or as your husband sees you, or your friends, parents, coworkers...anyone who you come into contact with on a daily basis sees you better than you'll ever see yourself.

I understand that it is easier said than done. We're trained to hate our bodies. Well, since we have spent so much time going down that road, let's go down the other for a change and see how that suits us. I can almost bet that you'll come out a lot happier, less "flawed", much healthier, and glowing with "I'm better than you" mentality. Treat life like a catwalk and strut it...and if you trip on the catwalk because of your ten inch stilettos, than at least you looked great doing it!


Side note: Due to my recent move to Korea, my whole entire blog menu is in Korean; therefore, I can't figure out what is what to make changes on the main page. I'm working on it slowly, but surely. That is why there is a slight delay on adding the video...haha...I can't read on where I go to upload it. But be patient with me. Now...go strut your stuff!