I have a fat cat.

This weekend, our dear friends Jason and Juan came over for dinner. Jason cat-sat for our cat Lucia when she was a wee little kitten, weighing in at a mere four ounces and was so damn cute that it was hard not to overzealously squeeze her to death. See?

I'm four weeks old and frighteningly cute.

Lucia is now just over two years old, and is… how do we say… a bit round. We’ve had many guests comment on her physique – though it’s always confusing as some insist that she’s a heifer, and some coo with adoration that she’s “perfect”. However, this weekend, upon seeing his kitty god-child, Jason exclaimed “She gets wider every time I see her!”. It was easy to brush away that comment as it’s not like he said it to ME, and I was 3/4 through a bottle of Chardonnay and a little too toasty to care. Later that night as piles of dishes sat on our counter and Matt and  I nursed the end of a good buzz, Matt said rather pragmatically, “Do you think Lucia needs to go on a diet?”

Sounds of protest were the first things out of my mouth, because despite her squishy little belly that sways when she walks, I DO think she’s perfect. She’s a fluffy, puffy feline, and she has brilliant green eyes and an usually calm demeanor. So she’s a little large – so what, so am I? As I thought about it, I realized, she DOES need to go on a diet. Because she’s a cat, and weighing 14 pounds is not exactly svelte for a cat. I have no ambitions of putting her in a bikini, but I want her to live until my children grow out of the tail-pulling phase and realize what a great cat she is.

My reaction was surprising because I realized (as ridiculous as this is going to sound) that my feelings were hurt for Lucia. I have felt the sting of being told I need to lose weight, so the realization that my chubby kitty also fell off the Fat Tree and hit every branch on the way down was a bummer, and it stung. I felt as if her obesity were my own personal failure, as if I have been shoveling chocolate chips into her mouth and placing a tray of goose fat in front of her every morning.

Sprawled Out

I got over it the next morning and have been cracking fat jokes in her direction every chance I get (I’m so compassionate, aren’t I?).  Matt even called me out because he made a comment about her size and I told him it was rude, and then the next day I referred to her as a fat-ass. Wanna know my justification? I am fat, so I’m allowed to make fat jokes. Kind of like black people and the n-word.

So now, Lucia and I both will tackle obesity in 2011, with her weight loss goal a whopping one pound, and mine, a fantastic fifty. Together we will battle our addiction to food and fondness of lying around. While I initially was disappointed that my big fat problem had affected my big fat cat, now I realize it’s a blessing in disguise. Why? Because together, we’re a purrfect pair.

Weekend Willpower

I ain’t got none, yo. No weekend willpower. Because there are things around me like Homemade Apple Dumplings, smothered in butter cinnamon sauce and topped with a dollop of melting ice cream. Because I had a groupon for LA Artisan Creamery and got a scoop of homemade Cookie Dough and Peanut Butter Swirl ice cream. Because I work 40+ hours a week, go to school, blog, do laundry and scoop the litter box. It’s always been a problem of mine – even when my wedding was approaching, I found ways to convince myself that I DESERVED that Popcorn at the movies. Like somehow somebody owed it to me, and I should get it, for my good reward.

When I was getting my undergrad degree, I met with an awesome nutritionist named Ellen. After a few weeks meeting with her, she made an observation that stunned me. She said, “Alyssa – Your overeating is your way of acting out. You do everything right in your life – and you let yourself be a bad girl by eating poorly.” It was like a light bulb turned on over my head. She’s right! I get extreme pleasure from yummy food, like an alcoholic does when he swigs a big gulp of burning whiskey. I’m a glutton in the most pure and simple form. I like yummy things, and they are my drug. Now if only I could stay put in “Rehab”, and devote myself fully to Weight Watchers and the gym. Do you ever feel like you have an addiction? What is it?

A Chip on My Shoulder

My weigh-in was today – and after a week of diligent semi-honest tracking, mass water consumption, and three visits to the gym, I gained .4 of a pound. .4 – no big deal. Kind of like maybe… a poop. Sorry to be crass. But, it still sucks to think about the things I did RIGHT all week, and then have it seem like it was for naught. (And yes, I know it wasn’t – we’ll talk about that in the next blog). My weight watchers leader questioned me in our meeting about what derailed me from my plan. The answer came quickly, and left my mouth like a perfectly timed swear word- and it was CHOCOLATE CHIPS.

My Nemesis

You see, I’m not much of a sweets person. Dazzle me with doughnuts, drape me with eclairs, cover me in cocoa – I don’t care. Put a piece of chocolate cake in front of me, and then challenge it with a basket of fresh tortilla chips, and I’ll pick the chips 100 times over. But I do have a weakness for certain sweets – especially FROZEN chocolate chips. If they’re room temperature, I’ll leave ’em alone  – but freeze them and these toothsome little nuggets of cocoa-luxe are too hard to resist. Oh- and semi-sweet only – I don’t bother with any of that milk chocolate garbage.

I pop three or four of them in my mouth at a time, savoring the satisying crunch, the heft to each chip, the delicious melting of  dark, decadent chocolate on my tongue. I don’t know if it’s a comfort thing, or a texture thing, or both, but those goddamn chocolate chips ruined my whole action plan.

I tracked them at 2 points per tablespoon, but I realized I probably didn’t track *all* of the chocolate chips I consumed. I pretty much inhaled a bag in a week. Yesterday, I made Matt takes the remains of the bag – by then crinkled and wrinkled into an illegible yellow sack (Tollhouse brand – always). And I missed them today. You can bet I missed them. After each meal, I longed for the savored feeling of cold chocolate against my teeth, washing away the salt of a previous meal, a perfect melange of bitter vs sweet… See? There’s something wrong in my head. Normal people don’t think about food like this. They think about sex, or purses (Hi Mom), or nicotine, or beer (Hi Dad) like this.

Do you have any “Chips” on your shoulder, or trigger foods? What are they, and do you avoid them – or invite them?

License to lie

Today I had a DMV appt to change my driver’s license to reflect my new name. I had been thinking about if I wanted to change my weight on the license, because my 165 pounds was a little off… and was even a little off when I first wrote it down 10 years ago for my permit 😉 I went back and forth about just how honest I wanted to be, and decided that while I did need to be kind of honest, I didn’t have to be…. super honest. Haha.

So, now my new license will say the dreaded number 200…. the number that is officially the “fat” mark in today’s society. I feel like when someone is trying to emphasize size you always hear, “the 200 pound guy” or the “200 pound person…”. 200 pounds is not small. It’s not lithe, lean or thin – yet I know plenty of 200+ people that don’t look like Jabba the Hut. In one way, I’m proud of myself for coming closer to the truth, because who really cares? It’s not like I’m foolin’ anyone. EVERYBODY lies about their weight on their driver’s license. Well, almost everybody. Matt just checked his and of course it’s 5 pounds heavier than what he actually weighs. Ok, so maybe a more accurate hypothesis would be that most WOMEN lie about their weight.

I am McLovin!

So ladies – is your driver’s license accurate or skewed a little closer to your “happy weight”?

ABCs of Me

I stole this from KJPugs. 🙂 Please enjoy this fluff post on my regularly scheduled night off from blogging 😀

A is for Age: 25

B is for Beer of choice: Root Beer. My dad is ashamed of me, but I’ve never been a beer drinker!

C is for Career: Fancy title is Online Content Manager, but really I pretend to be dollies all day and manage social media pages and write stuff for a toy company. I <3 my job.

D is for favorite Drink: I love my diet pepsi, but a good homemade lemonade is off the hook. Or Bailey’s Irish Cream. Num nums…

E is for Essential item you use everyday: My iPhone and my JuicyTube!

F is for Favorite song at the moment: Sweet Disposition by Temper Trap

G is for favorite Game: Scrabble!

H is for Hometown: Naperville, IL

I is for Instruments you play: I don’t know if it counts anymore because I haven’t played in years, but flute, guitar and keyboard. Had a brief and unsettling affair with the french horn. It was an arranged marriage by my band teacher. Me no likey.

J is for favorite Juice: Grape. I’m just sad it’s so sugary 🙁
K is for Kids: Lucia and Leo
L is for Last kiss: Always Matt!
M is for marriage: I dig it. Been hitched since 8/7/10 and it’s rad!
N is for full Name: Now, it’s Alyssa Ann Lofgren Curran.
O is for Overnight hospital stays: None – yay!
P is for phobias: I’m always paranoid about getting in car accidents, and I am freaked out by spiders!
Q is for quote: “Successful people will look back and say, damn, that road was uphill the whole way – but the view from the top was worth it.” -Unknown

“Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.” Thomas Edison

“”The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.” Picasso

R is for biggest Regret: Hmph. I can’t think of one right now? I’m a firm believer that a lot of the stupid things I’ve done have been done for a reason – if anything, as a lesson learned.

S is for sports: Hmmm. If I had to pick one I’d say hockey.
T is for Time you wake up: I’m so bad. I live 10 minutes from work, so I usually roll out of bed at 8 and get to work at 8:30.
U is for color of Underwear: Blue stripes.
V is for Vegetable you love: Oh so many! Artichokes, peas, green beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, cabbage….

W is for Worst Habit: I overeat when i’m bored or stressed. I can also be very stubborn and will tend to ruminate on certain thoughts.
X is for X-rays you’ve had: Dentist, at the nasal surgeon’s office (no, no nose job here, just a disgusting flesh-burning of the nostrils for allergies)
Y is for Yummy food you make: Pot Roast, enchilada casserole, lasagna, baked pasta, chicken soup… I love cooking.
Z is for zodiac sign: Taurus, a whole lotta bull baby!