Shop 'til you drop, baby!

Now that I have crawled back out from underneath my rocks (see: taxes, plague) I can actually start talking about Things Going On With Me. Because that's what blogging's all about, right? It's one of the most narcissistic things I've ever done, but it's also very cathartic as well. Therapy through the keyboard, as it were. And even better yet, nobody bitches at you for being all memeMeMeME! when you blog. Bonus!

Anyway, you may have noticed in my little weight-loss ticker up there that something has changed and something has not. The thing that changed was my goal weight. After much reflection (and the discovery of actual HIP BONES poking at my skin) I realized that based on my height and frame, 150 might be too much of a stretch for my body. But I didn't want to completely revise things and say that I was shooting for a weight of 180. So I figured that 160 was a good compromise. If I get there, Mahvelous! If I go below? Stupendous! But I'm not going to be silly and worry away at a number that I used to be when I was 16 anymore. Even though I'll be wildly ecstatic if I do get there.

The thing that hasn't changed is my weight. 226. Every day when I get on the scale, that's the number that shows up. Every. Day. It's not fluctuating up. It's not fluctuating back down. It's staying there. If I pig out one day on everything I'm not supposed to eat - 226. If I go on an all-liquid protein diet - 226. It's decidedly odd.

I'm not silly enough to shriek "STALL!" when obviously things other than my weight are moving. (See: discovery of poky hip bones) But it's wierd that there is absolutely no fluctuation going on at all from day-to-day. Usually when I stay at a single weight, I'm fluttering up a pound, down a pound, up two pounds, down a pound, down a pound, etc.

And like everybody else who has lost this kind of weight in this short of a time period, I'm playing the good old head games with myself when it comes to clothes. The other day I wanted to get a pair of jeans that fit better. I already have the one pair from Lane Bryant that fit perfectly, but I want to completely junk all the acres of size 26 jeans that I've got. So I need at least one more pair, preferably two to make this happen.

So I hit the clearance rack at our local Wal-Mart. The only pairs or jeans that I would even remotely consider buying are available in a size 18 and a 22. Of course my brain is telling me, "Get the 22. You're still a fatty. It may be a little bit loose on you, but you'll NEVER get into that 18. Who cares that you're wearing an 18 from Lane Bryant? Their jeans are a bit bigger than most. You've been fooling yourself. You're not THAT small. Twit!"

I was determined not to go to the changing room. I was in too much of a hurry. Despite this, I sat at that clearance rack for a good ten minutes having an internal argument over whether to get a size 18 or a 22. Vanity finally took over and I shoved the 18 into my basket and quickly hurried away. Back at home, I tried them on. Utter perfection! And again, these jeans aren't stretch jeans either. Completely mindblowing.

This weekend, we will be going back down to Lane Bryant so that I can get more bras that actually fit. I will be emptying my bra drawers of all the ones that don't fit and they will be shown the door. No more wearing poorly fitting bras! I am sick of it! Funny how it's easier for me to deal with what size bra I need to wear than the size of my ass.

I am also swimming in fabric samples. I'm not quite willing to go all the way to Los Angeles to spend a day shopping for the fabric for my wedding dress, so I'm having all sorts of swatches delivered to me. I thought I knew precisely what I wanted there for a while, as well as what kind of a dress I wanted. Things were falling into line.

But now The Husband has thrown me for a loop by being willing to forgo a monkey suit and instead dress as Wesley from The Princess Bride. Yes, we are complete dorks. We love this movie. I think we've seen it 100 times, easily. We have two DVD copies as well as a VHS copy. Script? Completely memorized. If there were Princess Bride conventions, I think we'd be there, attending with all the other 80s freaks. Anytime we're bored, this is the movie we pop in.

And since this sort of costuming is right up my alley, it's no problem at all pulling it off. It just means my style of dress just changed; that I now have to order the Amazon Drygoods and Pickling catalog to get the pattern for the right dress; which means that the style of corset I need has changed; and that means my color combinations have changed; and where in the HELL am I going to find the right kind of BOOTS for him to wear that won't break the bank; and now I just want to throw up my hands and scream. Less than 90 days to go. Breathe in. Breathe out.

It'll all get done. Or not. But by God I'll have fun doing it.