Tucked Penis Envy and Canned Ego

I’m in that place again. I am fully revelling in and completely overtaken again. It’s my drag queen addiction. I have it bad.

It started when I was just a baby, really. A small town girl of 19, in my first year of college. I was a music major. I loved theater. My high school boyfriends wound up coming out of the closet a full decade, a wedding and a baby before I did. The friends I made in college were all theater majors and most of them gay boys. They took me out to gay clubs and we danced and we danced. Then one night at a bar called 1470 West, I saw my first drag show. I was hooked. Sequins, Make-up, Wigs, Trashy humor and LASHES…big lush thick gorgeous LASHES….and feathers. I can’t forget the feathers…and did I mention the sequins? Yeah, sequins.

I was hooked. Hooked on drag. I wanted to be a drag queen. Big, fabulous sparkly people with razor sharp wits and confidence overflowing. They held attention and glamour….They held secrets. They get to be someone they really weren’t…on a regular basis. It’s like theater without the script and direction…and with cocktails. It’s a brilliant sparkly party. God knows I love a brilliant sparkly party.

I’ve known lots of drag queens personally. Most of them had lives as drama filled as their acts. Crazy addictions, crazy fights and crazy self esteem issues. Up close, I loved them as much as I loved their drag characters. A few of them were grounded and stable and understood that being a drag queen was entertainment, a theater piece and not the basis for their actual life. It was a delicate balance, emotionally, financially, socially and mentally. Taking the best and ¬†the worst qualities of being a woman and blowing them up a thousand times. It’s a hard life, but really great entertainment.

I am still friends with a few of the queens of my younger days. I backed away from the drag scene as I got older, but I never backed away from my love of the glitter glamorama. I suppose I got too old to wait for a midnight show to begin. Drag time is always a few hours later than straight time. I just can’t stay up that late anymore, even with a disco nap midday.

So, these days I sit and watch my secret obsessions on LOGO and on YouTube. They remind me that life is a party to live everyday, and not to take myself SO seriously. It is a wonderful part of my gay culture and I appreciate it. Many of the queens I know had absolute toxic wits, but beneath those snarky barbs beat a huge heart and a bunch of hurt feelings. So, I am reminded that being mean doesn’t fix you, it just breaks someone else. We are all in this together, but it is sometimes, every man for himself. That is a delicate balance. Compassion vs. Competition….now there is a fine dirty line. I guess you might as well walk it in some Christian Louboutin’s, right? I know I can’t afford them…but you can get a fine used pair on Ebay in your dollar range. ūüôā just sayin

So, here is to the Queens. Thanks for feathers, lashes, sparkles and wit!  No Tea No Shade!

Smooch Out! ….you better werk.


Happy Birthday Megan Elizabeth Rushing! You can’t be 23! I’m barely 30!

Ok…My fabulous, Joan of Arc baby has turned 23. ( Please math genius, just be kind to me) One year older than I was when I married her father, and one year younger than I was when I made her. ¬†Well, God made the fabulous creature, but I did a lot of the work, let me tell ya. In fact, really….let me tell ya….

Here is a list….a list….a list…of the 20 things that I remember most about the whole making a person thing:

1. “Gathering the ingredients” wasn’t ever good or fun enough to counter the rest of the process of making a person. (Of course, I am and was then too, a lesbian. Could have skewed the opinion, I suppose.)

2. Nausea- It’s what’s for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

3. A commercial can make you vomit, for real.

4. A true craving isn’t funny. ( mine was chocolate cake batter) In the moment of the craving, the craved item becomes like air. You need it. You have to have it. You are at the bottom of the swimming pool and it’s so far up to the top. ¬†It’s that urgent pressing need to survive. Can you make it? You are about to burst…dying for that sweet gasping moment when you finally get that chocolate cake batter…I mean, AIR! Yeah, it’s like that.

5. A swollen foot can rip a leather shoe at a wedding. Your 24 year old, well shaped ankle can look like the overstuffed compression hosiery that belongs to your 85 year old, diabetic great grandmother. Oh..and no drinking at the reception, and the single hot guys look at you like you might be contagious.

6. Random people will touch your belly. Not only touch, but pat, rub and even put their heads and ears to it. Some folks will even talk into your belly button region like they are ordering lunch at Wendy’s….Well, if they ordered lunch in baby talk, that is.

7. The first time you feel your baby move it is magic. It’s a magic that only you get to know. It will make you smile in a way that is uncommon, and you will only smile in that deep knowing way during this precious moment…..that is, right after you have wigged out thinking that some kind of bug has crawled up your shirt. After the “get it off me dance”, you will smile like that.

8. Nipples can look like cigar butts. Thankfully, the return back to normal…thank you Jesus. Your husband won’t think it’s funny if you hang things from them. Much like you don’t think the wash cloth trick is funny.

9. Peeing should be an Olympic sport. Who can hold it longest. Who can move the fastest. Who can pull down their giant underwear the quickest.

10. You feel fertile and sexy. You don’t look that way, so you don’t want anyone to know that you feel fertile and sexy. Really, you are sexy. Where was I back then? I need the today me to be with that yesterday me.

11. Neet and Nair is way more convenient than shaving.

12. Watching your belly move on it’s own is fun for other people. It’s bonding time for you. It’s like a little secret mommy and me session.

13. Everyone has an opinion. You know the rest of that one, right?

14. Swollen eyes, swollen lips and swollen noses are just a small outward manifestation of the giant swollen main event that is raging on the inside.

15. Baby hiccups bouncing my belly.

16. Dreaming of what my baby looks like, acts like…who will she be? Hoping she will be more like me and knowing that if she is, I will go crazy.

17. Performing in the King and I, running up and down stairs and kneeling prostrate before a giant golden Buddha while the baby does gymnastics on my diaphragm. Singing a ballad in the warmth of a spotlight while there is a disco party going on in my belly. Heee maay not aaaalways saaaay ( for Christ sakes can we keep it down in there!)

18. Closing my eyes and knowing unconditional love for the first time. Feeling the warmth and peace of that knowing was like floating in heaven.

19. The ultra sound that looked like a Halloween card from my fetus. Skelly girl. This was also the ultra sound when I realized that her name was Megan. It wasn’t Elizabeth Anne. It was Megan Elizabeth. She was a firecracker.

20. Being pregnant was one of the best times of my life. I am grateful for the experience of it. I am happy to have shared that experience with only Megan Rushing.

So, now that I am all teary eyed. Let me say to you momma’s out there…. It’s a crazy, emotional and painful and gleeful and magical and wild ride. Here’s to it. ¬†I’m glad I got to do it.

ONCE ūüôā

Happy Birthday Betty Spaghetti, you are one tough cookie, and you are loved loved loved by a ton of people….but really not as much as your mother ūüôā lol!! Sounds like MY mother!

Smooch Out – It’s nothing that a little plastic surgery can’t fix, right? ūüôā

Oh…I think I get it.

So, this morning I was having a cup of coffee….a really good cup of coffee in my favorite “life is good” mug. I was also eating a bagel and thinking about my upcoming Zentangle class. I was thinking about what I needed to get done to be ready for the class and chewing, chewing, chewing ( you know…bagels and all) and then suddenly it hit me. I totally get the whole life imitates art epiphany of Zentangle.

If you don’t know what a Zentangle is…well, let me enlighten y’all ūüôā


You can gettem like dis.


You can gettem like dat.

ImageYou can do it like dis.

ImageYou can do it like dat.

Zentangle is the art of doodling. Doodling to get into a zen like state. Reconnection with your higher self while distracting the analytical mind. A way of reconnecting the two sides of your brain. But, best of all…mindfulness.

By mindfulness, I mean being in the present moment. You aren’t thinking backward to the past. You aren’t thinking forward to the future. You are simply being in the exact moment during zentangle.

Zentangle has a motto – ” Anything is possible, one stroke at a time”.

I know…I went to the trashy place right away.

But, if you can put your giggling teenager away for just a moment and think of that statement with me. I know it sounds like the” one step at a time” or the “one day at a time, sweet Jesus thing”…but there is more meaning in that statement than I originally got when I first read it.

In the teaching of Zentangle they say that as you begin with simple patterns, and really doing them one stroke at a time ; you will begin to notice patterns in the world around you.

I thought about that this morning, chewing my bagel. The first thing I noticed was the pattern of my kitchen cabinet doors. I then looked at the drapes in the den and noticed that there was a pattern to the way they folded along the rod. I noticed the pattern of the blind. I noticed the pattern that my throw pillows made on the couch. I saw that pattern of the little nooks and crannies of my bagel. I thought about making them into Zentangle patterns. I thought to myself, “How can I break these complicated designs down to smaller strokes so that I can use them in drawing?”

That’s when the big ” AHA” moment came.

There are patterns in everything.

I have patterns.

People have patterns. There are behavior patterns. There are cycles in life  and those cycles have patterns.

Some patterns are great and I love those things about being me. There are also patterns that I don’t love so much, and they seem really overwhelming to think about fixing.

BUT ( really this a good big but)

If I apply the Zentangle approach to those patterns, like I would a drawing….just by altering one stroke….just adding something, in a mindful way…or maybe subtracting something…one thing at a time….just concentrating on that one thing…..just one….

the pattern will change

One single change. One small alteration can change the whole picture. When I am comfortable with that alteration, perhaps I can move on to a different stroke. If it doesn’t work…it isn’t a mistake. It’s just an opportunity to do something a little differently. There are no erasers in life, There are no erasers in Zentangle. Life is a tangle. If we throw a little bit of Zen in the mix….who knows what artistic masterpiece we will create.

I love it.

Today I agree to alter one stroke. I can get into that. It feels respectful, and gentle, and very love filled.

I felt a little empowered by it. Yeah…I’m digging this.

If you live in the Atlanta area and are interested in Zentangling, with me and my fabulous crew of tanglers, ….please come and join us. We have classes scheduled every month until the end of the year. We hope to have a big Zentangle show in the Phoenix and Dragon Gallery in December. Come out and do your doodle with us. ūüėČ

Click the links below for more information.



Smooch Out…and appreciate the way the ink flows, baby ūüôā

Refuse the Refuse!

Just say no to the trash!

So, it has taken me a few days to write this blog. Mostly because I was angry, and by angry I mean hurt, rejected and swindled by a company that I trusted with a very sensitive part of my psyche.

Last week, Sondra and I finally took a deep breath and walked back into our local Weight Watchers store. I will tell you right now, that those people have made some big money off of us. We have been happy with the program and moderately happy with the support. I say moderately because the support has been a little sketchy. The people who work at this store are a little judgemental and uppity. Really, in my humble opinion, those are two characteristics that I feel should NEVER be allowed to work in an establishment who serves people with self esteem issues. Nevertheless, the place is full of them. 

ANYWAY….let me get back to the story. In the past, the older lady that used to weigh us would practically chastise us for not having the W.W. fee taken prepaid online. We chose to pay at the desk, just in case we needed to miss a week or if we decided that we didn’t want to go back and then have a hassle cancelling the subscription.¬†

So this time, we did the online thing just to be in compliance. When we got to the store, there was a new little woman. She looked at us like she might be a little afraid of us. Then she asked, ” What do you girls need?”¬†

Really? I mean she must have seen the size of my behind, right? I think it is fairly obvious what I needed. I didn’t say that…I just told her our story. She proceeded to tell us in a disgusted tone, that we needed to re-join there at the store and we didn’t have the¬†privilege¬†of visiting the store from paying online. I told her I was confused, because we were told to pay online last year. She then pointed us to read a sign and took care of the two other women in the store and ignored us. Sondra asked me what I wanted to do. I said, “I want to leave. I am through with Weight Watchers”.

Heavy people have heavy luggage.

When they ask you for help and you are rude or mean or condescending, you add more luggage to the pile they are already carrying. You pick a scab on very deep wound. You threaten to send that person back to a place of comfort that is probably not the healthiest place for them to go. 

You didn’t do your job.

You hurt. You didn’t help.

The tough girl inside me that protects the extra sensitive girl inside me is giving the big giant finger to Weight Watchers and two to that little woman. 

The rational girl inside me is screaming that Weight Watchers is the only program that has ever worked for me. She also knows that we already know the program. She is throwing away the bullshit that the little over- pretentious scale warden dealt out.

While I was in that part of my head, I started throwing out some other garbage as well. For instance the word “FAT”. I always felt that by saying that word in association with myself I was owning that I was fat. The first part to fixing anything is to¬†acknowledge¬†it. Right? That was what I believed. ¬†BUT….I am wrong in that thinking. I am not fat

. I HAVE FAT…and I have plenty of it.

I am Susan. I am fabulous. I am moody. I am creative. I am intuitive. I am female. I am funny. I am smart. I am loving.



Fat does NOT define who I am.

Fat does not define who I am.

It’s time to rewind those tapes and do a little editing.

When I was thirteen my mother took me to weekly diet meetings in the basement of our church. The plan was called the “Conway Diet Plan”. I was almost a teenager sitting on a cold metal chair in the middle of about 40 middle aged women who were trying to shed some weight. I felt like a failure. I felt fat. I felt uncool. I hid it from my friends. I weighed 127 at the first meeting. I weighed 117 when the summer was over. Two pounds away from my goal. Failure again. ¬†I remember when my mother expressed her concern over my bucking the diet system, the leader told her that when I was ready to lose it, I would. It was up to me. Failure.¬†

Did mom know that she was doing this? No. I am sure it was not her intention to screw me up. She was doing what she thought was the best thing. I can’t fault her for that. BUT…I can rewind that tape and give the whole situation the big fat finger and send it down the road like a driver that has just cut me off. Here’s to you and disconnect! ¬†I refuse that trash.

Other people’s paradigm’s pushed on to me are NOT okay. ¬†That is trash!

Pushing MY paradigm on other’s is NOT okay! That is trash!

Developing my own belief system based on love for me and everyone else…but especially me…is what is okay. It’s what is great. It is what will help me the most and see to my best life. I have looked at myself in the mirror and told my eyes that I loved me for over a month now. It’s working. It’s better. I think the Universe put that snotty little woman in the Weight Watchers for a reason. The reason was to let me know that I am the one with the power here. No crutches. No more putting myself on display for someone to make a buck. No more accepting judgement from people who have no right to judge me. I can do this losing weight thing, as frightening as it may be, I can do it. I need to be fearless in it.¬†

I am not fat. I have fat. I am not defined by what I have. I am defined by the ways in which I am. 

I am fearless in the loving of me.( I may have to say that to my eyes a few times.)

whew..I think I feel better. I want you to feel better too. I urge you to dig around a little in the storage closet of your mind and dig out some of those old tapes. Or hell…some of the more recent ones. Fix the stuff you want to fix, for you own good.¬†

Whew, now let’s grab our hula hoop’s and have a real good time!! I’m getting my new one this week and I am STOKED! I will so let you know how it goes!

Smooch Out! loveloveloveloveloveloveu


It’s the little things….

I turned 47 this year. 

Yes, I know; a lady never tells her age. Well, I am not always a lady so I suppose I can let it slip this one little time. 

I fight the aging thing. Well, not with a whip and a chair or anything drastic like that. I mostly do it with make up and hair do’s and groovy wear and denim…and eyelashes and sunless tanner and too expensive sun glasses. So, I just slap it around a little I guess.¬†

This year, it hit me that I am in my late forties and probably more than halfway done with this lifetime. I’ve done a great deal with these forty seven years. I’m proud of most of those years…a few that I am not so proud of, I smile back on fondly. ūüôā ¬†I realize that I better get busy and start setting some goals for next decades ahead. I don’t want to get bored. I still want to play golf. There’s a goal. I need to lose some pounds in the chesticular department as to keep¬†impediment¬†of swing to a minimum. I will dig being a snappy, tan, older girl with my carefully color treated hair smoothed back in a classic low slung pony tail. My butter soft golf shirt and¬†Bermuda¬†shorts and natty shoes with the tassels will look lovely in the sun and again later in the club house while I am having a quick lunch and a¬†manhattan¬†with my fellow golfer gal pals. It’s just a piss-elegant fabulous dream…..and I’m making it a goal.

Goals are important. They say that as long as you have one…you are more productive and happier. Really, they say that idle hands are the devil’s playground. I kinda believe that one. I know people who have stopped setting goals for themselves. They get complacent. They become depressed and then they fall into negative behavior patterns….oh..there is that devil on the merry-go-round… ¬† I get it, and I am setting some goals. TODAY! ūüôā

As I look forward….and backward at the same time. I see patterns arising in myself that make me think of my upbringing. The realization of them make me shudder and feel a sense of comfort,¬†simultaneously. It is an odd cocktail of never wanting to become my past and yet, understanding that those parts of my past are good. They are comforting. They are real. They make me feel real, and established. I feel rooted and like a grown up in good ways…not just the bill paying, face the music kind of ways.

For instance: This last holiday season, I began…out of the blue…to save containers. Every Cool Whip or lunch meat container I could get my hands on went in to the dishwasher and then stashed in the cabinet. As I did it, I felt good….like some kind of right of passage had occurred. When we had guests over….I send leftovers home with people in my cool whip bowls. I felt good. I felt solid. It felt warm and like love.¬†

I have also started wearing reading glasses. It’s not just a option any longer. I really do need them. A year or so ago I began getting really upset with the hair product manufacturers because the¬†writing¬†on the bottles of gel or mousse or whatever were so tiny, there was no way to read it. One day, in a fit of indignation, I called Sondra into the bathroom to complain about the situation. I handed her the bottle while¬†chastising¬†the company for their tiny unreadable font size and much to my¬†surprise….she started reading it. Out loud, and without a¬†problem¬† ¬†If I had been wearing pearls, you bet I would have clutched them. Anyway….I realized I had a problem. I have readers and I love them. If I sweep my hair up and wear them I am a sexy older librarian. ahem….Madame Librarian.

My latest is the limited cleavage act. A few weeks ago, while out and about, I noticed a stylish older woman who had a great deal of cleavage showing. It was jacked and racked and slightly cracked and really not at all attractive. So…the Congress of the United Selves of Susan have declared that only a minimal amount of cleavage be shown in every day situations and only a moderate amount be shown in special situations. It was passed into law with only one nay vote from Super Tan Suzy who expressed discontent at the limitations that will be presented to the Maxi Dress summer thing. We are in cover up negotiations for special summertime situations currently.

Settling down or settling up….I don’t know. I do know that it is time to accept myself for who I am and where I am. Setting goals is what keeps me moving along this bumpy road of life. We all gotta plan our trip! I’m not calling bucket list yet. So it’s just a Party Plan for now!

Set some goals for yourself. Look forward to your life. Keep your head up and on the road ahead….even if your right now is in the crapper…..plan your party up ahead, make a to do list and get there as quick as you can! Give the list to your guides and angels and ask for some big help!! That’s what I’m doing!

So, BYOB and don’t forget your sunscreen!! ( the latter portion of this sentence is not endorsed by Super Tan Suzy, however she is all about the BYOB)

Smooch Out!!



Ok…Here’s my idea.

I am a self loather. Yes, I am. I was raised to be. It’s really generational. It has been going on far to long to place blame…so we just have to recognize it and try our best to shake off the syndrome.¬†

I am always looking for little ways to help me end the cycle. Little tricks….especially little tricks in pretty containers usually lend me some happy assistance.

Way back when…when I had my big important J-O-B…I had to go to meetings. I had tons of them. I didn’t love them. But one day there was one of those BIG meetings that got held off premises, to¬†accommodate¬†all of us and to make us feel special in some way, I don’t know…

Anyway…there was this little exercise that we did.¬†

We were each handed a 3×5 note card. Our instructions were to put the name of the person sitting to the left of us at the top of the card. Then we were instructed to write a small, sincere compliment on the first line and then pass it to the right. We continued passing the cards and writing our statements until the card came to its rightful owner. It was a good exercise. It made me look at the people I work with in a positive light. It made me remember that they were real deep feeling and normal people who were there to work their purpose and to make money to feed their families. When I got my card back, I teared up. I was surprised at the comments…you know I always think everyone secretly hates me…mostly because I have secretly hated myself. Those comments meant a lot to me. Mostly because I saw truth in the statements…and they came from other people. Those who saw me at my best and my worst. Those statements were the good things they felt about me when asked. I was moved.

Here are my comments:

” You are a “breath of fresh air” at work”

“Love your smile”

“I just love you”

“Your movie making skills are great!”

“You the bomb! My favorite FDC teacher”

“Not enough room on this card to say how glad I work with you”

“Great to work with”

“Always has a smile on her face”

“Just an AWESOME person”


“Friendly and Smiles often”

“Creative and funny! Breath of fresh air!”


Years later….I still have that card. I still appreciate it. I still read it. I still need it.


Recently I have been really getting into working a great deal with the angels. I thought I might develop a workshop using a combination of the note card exercise and working with the angels.

I came up with the ” Angel Cache”…..and THIS boys and girls is my idea.¬†

You will need:

A group of friends….ala Facebook¬†

A pretty container…glitter, bedazzle, bead whatever you want…it is your pretty container.

Some paper, or little posties or some kind of small note paper or card. 

Post the following on your Facebook wall:

YOU ARE MY ANGELS – I am building an angel cache with words of inspiration to help me remember how I am loved during times of darkness. Please leave a one word or a one sentence statement that you feel describes me, or something that you like or admire about me. I am writing these comments down and saving them in a pretty container. When my life gets filled with worry or trouble, or when I am just having a hard time loving me, I will pull your words from my Angel Cache and be reminded of you and your words of inspiration. Please post this on your wall, and I will leave you a little love. Thanks for loving me and helping me to love myself through all the good and the bad.


When you get comments. Write them down on the pieces of paper. You can draw or find some pictures of angels to put on the back of the cards if you wish. Sit the pretty container on your desk, or your beside, or wherever you will be able to get to it. When you are feeling low, reach into your fabulously decorated container and pull out a wonderful gift of you. 

My hope is that your fabulous container ( box, bag, jar, whatever) will give you some happy whenever you look at it…and when you need a little boost, the energy of the love on those little notes will help you love yourself through any day.

So, I am gonna start it on my wall….I will love if you play along. ¬†Thanks for reading…

Love you meeces to pieces!

Smooch Out ūüôā ¬†….and remember Martha Stewart glitter is the best ūüôā

Beating yourself up for fun and profit.

Why do I do it? Really. Why?
There has been a offer on the table of my life for about a month now. Every day of that month I thought about it. I asked my friends about it. I cried and said I needed help understanding it. The lingo, the jargon….it all had to be WAY over my little old head.
When I tried to read the contract, I swear it was like it was in a foreign language. My eyes couldn’t even make words out of the words that were right in front of my face in black and white. Items that were being requested seemed to be mountains that I could never provide and probably wasn’t smart enough to understand what they meant anyway. I was bound to send in the wrong thing….I wasn’t smart enough and I knew it.

Big Lie- I wasn’t smart enough.
Big Truth- I don’t love myself enough.

I preach it everyday. I try to practice it everyday. But, when push came to shove on this very important instance….I didn’t love me. I didn’t trust me. I didn’t believe in me.

Ain’t that some shit? After all I have done and been though…ain’t that some shit?

Today, I made myself buckle down and get it done. I read the contract. I read the requirements. I had questions. So, I called them and asked my questions. I really only had two questions. Two little questions….not a thousand. Two.
The answers were simple.
I was making it too hard. Too hard because somewhere deep inside me, I don’t believe that I am capable of handling things….even though I have handled some pretty important things in the past. Even though, I became the tent pole that held up more than one situation in my life. Somewhere there is still a little drop of poison of self loathing….self debilitation…self destruction. I know how it got there…I do.

There is a reader at the store. Her name is Damaris. She tells me that I need to take spiritual baths. I have always taken spiritual baths…however, Damaris puts some odd ingredients in her tubs. I started following her advice a week ago. I got through to some interesting places in my bathtub. Lots of negativity that was dragging me down and causing me to be unreasonably tired has been pulled out of me.
Last night, I thought the bath was fairly uneventful…..until today. I can finally see the small sliver self hatred that was given to me many many years ago. That small sliver that called out to other people who would reinforce it and help me to believe it to be true.
Today, I am shaking my head. Fully aware of its position, but still fully aware of the poison. But like we always say….”You know your poison, you know your antidote”
– ain’t that right Aunt Joanie?
From today forward….I know my poison. AND…I know that the antidote is gentleness and love and patience….and a solid fearless knowing that it is okay to ask the right questions to the right people. It shows that you care when you desire clarity. I come from a place of authenticity and concern…and the answers unfold to me gently and easily.

So, I got it done. It’s ready to go into the mail. It really took me about 30 minutes. I’m proud of me today.
Everyone needs a kind and gentle kick in the pants sometimes… ūüôā
Just like Abilene says…”You is kind. You is smart. You is important”
That’s just the truth right there….
Love y’all!
Smooch Out!

“Plateau”, You Sound so French, and yet You are From Hell.

I wish I could give you all some great inspiration today. Hell, I wish I could give myself some. 

The sad, sad truth of the matter is: I am tired of being on a damned diet.

I am tired of reading labels. I am tired of trying to figure out points on every damned thing I eat. I am tired of looking at my belly and my behind and wondering if they look bigger than the day before. I am tired of telling people that I have lost about 40 pounds for a month straight because I can’t seem to make it past that mark. The thing I am most tired of is going to the weigh in and only losing a pound or less than a pound. At this current rate, I will die of old age before I reach any kind of goal weight ( not that I really have a goal weight)

I just did the heavy sigh thing.

I have begun to understand the ins and outs of my healthy lifestyle friends. I watch them eat sticks and fiberous things with their fruit. I watch them eat paper and fungus derived beverages and raw fish. I watch them exercise their proverbial asses off so that they can have a cocktail or a night on the town. I see them pass on delicious sauces at fabulous restaurants. It’s sad making. All that wonderful food, so carefully and deliciously prepared, shunned as if it were malignant.¬†

They all look fabulous in their clothes. They never ever worry about how long their jacket hangs. They tuck in their shirts. 

I want that too. So, I pass on the sauce that I know will make my eyes roll back in my head, even if I can’t tuck my shirt in today.¬†

Sigh again…

I don’t want to go backwards. I don’t want to put the weight back on. I am finding myself becoming apathetic to the point count at a meal. I hear that rebellious snot in the back of my head saying ” Eff this, Susan…how about some wings tonight?” I never do it, but I find the want of it is increasing.

I love to go out. I do. Last night I found myself telling Sondra that we need to stop going out. The cocktails and salt in the food is doing me in. I have always though of that as “livin” just experiencing all of the glorious things that this life has to offer.¬†

Now I feel like I am taking away part of my life to live longer….how is that right?

So I am back to my old time 64 thousand dollar question:

Is it better to die young having eaten what you wanted, danced as often as you wanted, loved as hard as you have wanted, drank what you wanted whenever you wanted and experienced all the great dishes on the smorgasbord this life has to offer, or is it better to live long life of moderation?

I am still debating that……sigh again…..sitting on my plateau of 40 pounds….waiting for the energy of my weight loss to shift into gear again.¬†

I am staying with it. I am. I don’t freaking like it… but I am staying.¬†

My Fabulous Friend Teresa and I in January
Me last month. Yeah…the trashy one in the middle.

There’s a difference. There is a difference in my fearlessness. There is a difference in my girth. There is a difference in my life because 40 pounds allows me freedom of movement and gives me opportunities that I didn’t have anymore when I was at my top weight ( that shall never be mentioned, don’t ask)

I can cross my legs again. 


Hang in there with me, love monkeys. Love me through it, I sure am trying to do it for myself.

Smooch out!