Welcome to Class, Fat

Quick, solve this problem:

Solve the trigonometric equation given by

sin(x) + sin(x/2) = 0 for 0 ≤ x ≤ 2 pi


Bahahahaha, I have no idea what this means! I use to know at some point. I know, right? I just shocked the blue off of your jeans. When I was in school, I was really good at math, but only the math in which was I was enrolled. I knew Algebra only in Algebra, Geometry only in Geometry, and Calculus only in Neverland. If you asked me a week into summer about a math problem, I'd say, "Je ne parle pas Englais." It amazes me the stuff that I can forget when it goes unpracticed. As you can see by my mad linguistic skills above, I use to be bangin' in the French department; I took it for ten years!!!! The last four years was because college made me. I never understood why if I was majoring in English Education, I had to take four years of a foreign language. I guess to make me appreciate our language even more, or they had a plan to make Madame Larmon retire early. Bless that poor woman. I was a straight up French speaking flibbertigibbet. The one thing I did master quickly was, "Je voudrais de assistance maintenau, sil vous plait." (Everything in there is close to being spelled wrong.) I'm sure you can see that I am saying, "I would like some help now, please." My other two favorite things to say when asked a question was, "Je n'sais pas" (I don't know) or "pomme de terre" (potato). Again, this skill went unpracticed, and aye me, I have forgotten it. Not that knowing French right now could help me in Korea, but it would be fun to take that language on a test drive here. If I took everything that I knew at one point in my life and put it back into my brain, I'd gain the respect of Tony Stark. The Most Interesting Man in the World would create word quips about me that I would spat upon because they'd be feeble-minded attempts to capture my brilliance and poise. 


Knowledge isn't the only thing that ski-daddles when it just sits on a shelf. Nope, knowledge has a best friend called ability. I will randomly do my splits just to make sure that I can do them. For some reason, I do not want to lose that ability, so I'm like WHA-BAM, split. I see that I can still do it, I smile in my own little spotlight, then I stand to retrieve ice from the kitchen to numb what ever tendons I just tore in two. I'll spend the next two days using handicap bathrooms and taking one stair at a time, but hey, I can still do my splits. Now, it wouldn't be near as dramatic if I practiced them everyday like I did when I was an active dancer....which wasn't yesterday as much as I think that it is. But why would I practice that? Why would I take the time out of my day to sharpen an ability that leads to nothing productive? Why not? Practice makes perfect, right? And what's wrong with a little perfection.


I see this pattern with my weight and my fitness goals. Did you know that I have had this blog for an entire year? Did you realize that I am quickly approaching my one year anniversary of leaving the states? If you went back and read my blog posts for this past year, you'd see that I'm a repeat offender. They all start off with something like, "I hate my fat; I hate that she's skinny; let me workout like a fiend...uh oh...Kit Kat attack!!!" Anyone could read these posts and just get annoyed; heck, I get annoyed, and I'm me. My problem is that I've spent a year legitimately out of practice. I know I've hinted here and I've planned there, but truth be told, I'm out of healthy living mode.


The problem with once having lost a bunch of weight and becoming a gorgeous piece of human perfection is that we think we know the solution to having that success again. We've done it once, and we know it all; however, that sneaky little "unpracticed = unknowing" law took place, and we didn't realize it.  For instance, I was most successful with Weight Watchers; I think this is the best diet plan in the world. It taught me so much, and I went from uhhhhh to whoa in a matter of weeks. When I try to do that diet again, I flib up the whole thing because I think I know it all, and I'm not being truthful to myself or my gut. I think that if I'm not eating chicken and broccoli, that I can just eat whatever I want because those are the only two things I can eat to be on track. The same year I was most successful with that diet was the year that I started working out, and I taught myself how to run. Now, I have it embedded into my brain that my workouts need to be structured a certain way for me to have results. I want to only do what I did then. I ran four to five miles everyday, now I think that if my run is anything less than four miles, it's not worth the effort and goes undone. This causes me to skip workouts that might be different because I think they can't possibly give me any results. Don't you know that sitting on the couch and venting on the computer is so much more productive than doing a physical activity????


I can't solve that math problem at the top of the screen; if you can, good for you. I'll write a haiku in your honor. I can't speak anymore French than what I've already shown you. I have two scars on my left leg from riding a bike for the first time after ten plus years of not being on one. I have forgotten these things, but it doesn't mean that I can't relearn them. It would be difficult, or possibly painful at first, but it would be familiar, and then soon, it would be knowledge, and then it would return to it's status as ability, but instead of ditching it at that point, hopefully it would go from ability to habit.


I need to relearn how to be healthy. I need to act like I've never worked out before, I've never counted a calorie before, I've never reached a goal before, I've never given it my all before...I need to start from the beginning. I don't need to compare it to a past experience because it really won't compare. I'll never be able to ride a bike like I did when I was seven, and I'm okay with that. I'm older, my body is different, my butt can't stand the pain of the bike seat, and I have a different mindset, and that is all okay. I won't have a weight loss story like I did when I was twenty-three. I'm literally going to start over and hang up my "know it all" status. Instead of thinking that it has to do with "eating only these meals" or "running this many miles" I'm going to reteach my body what it wants and what it can do. I can tell you that my weight loss story/healthy living journey at twenty-seven is going to be epic. 

A Passport, a White Dress, a Pregnancy Test, and an Amazing Fiance...

So...I've been staring at my computer screen for going on like ten minutes...eleven minutes...twelve minutes...twenty-eight minutes, but actually the twenty-eight doesn't really count because I had to look away to stare at my cat. She stared back. I was told that when you make eye contact with an animal that you should never be the first one to look away, that gives away your role as the dominant species. Seyo looks me in the eyes, which means "challenge accepted." She doesn't blink; she hones in on the deepest part of my psyche and beats down any thing that resembles dominance. She lost this round, I think. She finally just stood up to run over and bite me on the leg. I guess that's her way of saying, "scr#w you, I win." Anyway, I was staring at the computer because I have something that I want to share/celebrate, but I don't just want to throw down words. I want to find the most magical combination of my linguistic skills to share this story. I'd call up my good buddy Jason Mraz, the most talented makin-words-work man ever, but with the time difference and all...geesh. This story isn't of my weight, or a workout, or a diet, or a successful shopping trip, or an amazing meal, or an ah-ha moment, or any of the topics that usually show up on this blog. This is the story of my husband and I sealing the deal here in South K to the O to the Rea a year ago today.

When Reuben and I started dating, he was living in Oklahoma and I was living in North Carolina. One night, as I was being my overly emotional self, I asked him how in the world were we going to make this work. I didn't understand how couples did the long distance thing, and I just didn't feel like I was cut out for it. And I put my foot down and told him under no circumstance was I going to leave North Carolina!!! He didn't miss a beat. His response was this: "Abigail, you ask me how are we going to make this work. I ask you, how can we not make this work?" He had me, I was butter in his hands. We dated; it was good.

Reuben took leave and came to North Carolina for Christmas. During those two weeks, he met my family, swooned my cat, and didn't run for the hills when he saw me without makeup. He's a keeper!!

After the New Year, Reuben went back to Oklahoma, and I went back to eating cookie dough. I was so sad the day he left. I literally went to the gym that morning to teach my fitness class and then followed that with a trip to Ingles to choose my assortment of 12-72 doughnuts. No lie, I had all the doughnuts eaten by the time I got home. That's less than ten miles. What can I say? I'm an emotional eater and doughnuts are delicious with or without emotions. You could be lacking a soul and still be hypnotized by the power of the glaze. Fast forward to March: I flew to Oklahoma to see Reuben's Warrant Officer graduation. I flew out, and we were driving back to North Carolina over the next few days. We were meeting his family in Florida, and all sorts of goodies were taking place. Little did I know this was the trip where he was going to propose. We were at Grayton Beach, just the two of us, and that's when he got down on one knee. I couldn't even say yes; I just stood there, yelling loudly, "Are you serious?" I said that so many times that he started to get worried. But I just couldn't (still can't)  wrap my mind around the fact that he chose me; he wanted to be with me?!? I am a lucky girl.

Minutes after he popped the question. I was all smiles.

Everyone knew that Reuben was going to propose, but I was so caught off guard that I just walked around like bumbling idiot...I was stupidly, literally on the stupid part, happy. The plan was that he was going to leave for Korea, and I was going to stay home. He'd come home in October, we'd make it legal, and then he would finish his assignment. I went ahead and bought a dress because I knew that a wedding was going to be had.

Uhhhhhh...he was in Korea for three weeks when he told me that we couldn't wait for us...us deserved to happen now. And I said, "YEAH!!!" Plane tickets were bought; I was going to Korea to get me a husband! Then I was going to rush back to start the CSP process, so my trip to Korea had to go just right.

It took some time...

but I made it.

June 3, 2011, was probably the most stressful day of my life. We wake up all bright and chipper, ready to get our union on. There was an endless amount of paperwork!!!

One of 164,930,217.425 pieces of paperwork that we had to complete.

We head to the legal department on base...and that's where the headache started. We have our personal wanna-get-married novel of paperwork in our hands, and of course, they were the wrong forms. The forms that were the right ones had to be typed, not hand written. Kick me in the armpit!! To beat it all, there was a great big sign on the desk that stated that no one was allowed to use the office computers to print papers. Without saying a word, I have the power to make soldiers comply to my wishes. I'm not flirt, and I didn't show any leg, no no no. I release a pheromone in the air that is oddly similar to napalm, and those soldiers were going to burn. Once we finished typing our forms on their computer, we had to see the head Korean dude. We walk into his office and the first thing I noticed was that he was seventy years old going on mummy. He rejects all of our papers because of a misplaced comma. I released my pheromone; he does not bend. Oh no...

We fix the comma. He looks at the papers, looks at me, and says, "Yeah, okay, you geh me pah-g-noncy tast."

Me: "Ummm, I'm sorry?"

Master Splinter:  "Uhhh...yeah, okay, you geh me pah-g-noncy tast. You pah-g-nant? You geh me tast."

Me: "No, sir, I'm not pregnant, nor do I have pregnancy test in purse."

Master Splinter: "You go to clinac, ge ah tast. Dey dwah youh blad. Dey tell me you pah-g-nant."

Me: "You really need me to submit a pregnancy test?"

Master Splinter: "You go to Kowean dactaw, go naw."

Me: chin tremble 

(Keep in mind that we need to do all of this before the US Embassy stops taking applications...4ish, and we had already been there for an hour and some change, now this! I also felt fat since he kept insisting a pregnancy test. He wouldn't take no for an answer.)

We leave, and I'm all panicky. We were suppose to take our forms to the Korean officials and get married under Korean law first, that place was across town. I told Reuben not to breathe a word about a freaking pregnancy test; we were just going to act like it never happened. We get to the place and stand in a long line. After what felt like forever, this nice Korean girl takes our paperwork. She's typing away, yay...she's typing, this is it, we're getting married at that very minute---wait, what's that look on her face? Oh, no you don't, girl, you do not stop typing---she stops, shakes her head, and gives us the papers back. We needed two witnesses. We had no one. I get all teary eyed, and we tell her that we didn't have anyone with us. She spoke no English whatsoever and looked at us like we were dumber than kimchi. She kept saying something to us, so I kept asking random strangers to sign a paper they couldn't even read. They would walk away quickly. I can't imagine why; there's a crazy American with running mascara asking for a signature to a paper that could possibly say they were signing over their first born. Needless to say, we got witnesses. Woot woot, we were married because Korea said so!! And there was nothing about a pregnancy test, Master Splinter!!!

The next step was to get our papers translated because there wasn't a lick of English besides our names on these papers. We couldn't file them at the US Embassy in Korean. We are literally walking on the road for two minutes when we see this tent thing set up on the side walk: Translations. Hmmm, we go in, he takes our won and our marriage papers (my heart stopped beating) and ran off. That was it. Zoom, peace out, y'all; there goes our papers. I was concerned for a minute, like hey, what if he just ganked our SSNs? We just had to trust it, and I'm glad we did. The translations came back all notarized fancy like. We were big smiles!! We now knew that our marriage license did say that we were married. To the US Embassy!!!

Okay, going into the US Embassy on a Friday afternoon is very similar to the Waffle House at 3 a.m., the Social Security Office at 2 p.m., or Wal-Mart at insert hour a.m./p.m.; and of course, it had a line like the DMV. It was cute, though. That was our last part of are-we-gonna-actually-get-married-today scavenger hunt. You could tell the other couples who were waiting to get their papers filed, too. They were all cute in their own way. Well, of course, we start talking with another couple, and we both had a maddening day. They yank out their paperwork to make a point, and I notice that we didn't have that yellow form or the blue form. They looked at ours, they didn't have certain papers either. Well, crap. We were the first couple up to bat, nervous as all get out because no one knew what papers were needed, and if they were going to ask for a preg test, I was going to release the napalm. My nerves were shot! We waited for over an hour, and we finally go to the window with papers in hand. This gynormous Jamaican lady takes our papers. I didn't even look her in the eye. I did the whole "if I can't see you, you can't see me" routine. We wait, and wait, and wait, while she looks at each paper. At that moment, I found myself praying for no misplaced commas. She finally told us to put up our right hands; that magical moment was finally here. I was going to get to say I do to the man of my dreams. But I didn't say I do; when Reuben said, "I do," I said, "Yes, ma'am." She made me nervous. Our papers were filed!!! Reuben Newton is my husband!!!

...and he was so happy about it, as you can see.

We exchanged rings in the parking lot of the embassy.

That was such a long, stressful day, but well worth it. You're wedding day is suppose to be stressful!! All I wanted was for this man to be my husband, and I wasn't sure if that was going to be the case on that particular day. Looking back on it now, I can see that I overreacted at times, but man, it sure was scary living it. It's Reuben Newton for crying out loud. He's the best man I know; he's gorgeous, funny, smart, intuitive, compassionate, snuggly, comforting, strong, easy going, respectful, sensitive, mindful, and he takes my breath away every time I see him. He could literally walk out of the room just to turn around and walk back in, and I'm taken back. I can't believe he's mine. He's my husband...wow.

So, yeah, that little adventure took place a year ago today (remember that we are a day ahead of you, state side peeps). For the longest time, I had to listen to people say that they were married to their best friend. I just didn't think that was possible. It was such a foreign concept to me. But now, I feel that I could write a book on it. My husband isn't just my best friend, but he's every role that I need. I never knew trust, I never knew the true meaning of unconditional, I never even knew love until I met him. I was dead set on never leaving North Carolina, leaving my home. But he plays that role for me, as well. He is my home. I'd follow this man to the ends of the Earth. I joke with him and tell him that he could do so much better than me, but until he finds that out, I'm taking full advantage of our situation. The truth is, though, he couldn't do better than me. He deserves to be with someone who sees him for who he is and then prays to God every night that Reuben would some day be blessed enough to himself like I do. There is not a single person on this planet that could love him better than I could. And if there was a girl stupid enough to try...demolish. So yeah, since he is this incredible, he's worth leaving North Carolina, because as I said before, he's my home.

I could be a size 2, I could be that fit girl in the gym, I could create an innovative diet system that incorporates Dunkin Donuts and make a millions of dollars, but all of that wouldn't matter if I didn't have my husband. He is my greatest accomplishment, as is our marriage. During the whole time Reuben and I have known each other, we've never spent more than three weeks together (pre marriage life). Most of the time, we weren't even in the same time zone. So our first year of marriage was equivalent to others' first year of dating. We had a lot to learn about each other, and boy, did we ever. We learned that it gets better everyday. I love you, Reuben Newton, thank you for being you.

June 3, 2011, the happy couple.

October 22, 2011, our stateside wedding ceremony.

All I'm saying is that if you're lucky enough to be married to your best friend, then I hope you acknowledge the specialness of that situation as much as I do. Make sure they know exactly how you feel. Say thank you, say I love you, say I appreciate you...because to be in that kind of a relationship is truly a gift from God.