It’s Not Cellulite, It’s My Body’s Way of Saying “I’m Sexy”… in Braille

A week that started in full force with a great outlook for yesterday’s weigh-in had more than a few distractions. My sister flew down to visit us for a week and brought along her new boyfriend that I was meeting for the first time.

So yes, I drank my fair share in alcohol this week.

I still managed to get to the gym… once. It’s difficult to leave your house guests behind and carry on with your regular workout routine. Smoothies as a snack also fell through as we were out of the house for most of the days. I did get in some physical activity while walking around and touring the city with them. We even had a splash at the water park!

Ooooh the water park! So nerve racking! I get into the good ol’ one piece and check myself out in the swirly IKEA mirror on the wall (if I position myself between two of the swirly mirrors that are slightly separated, I look half as big!). Hmmmm… cellulite on the front of my legs now too, eh!? When did you sneak up? The party got too big in the back and it had no choice but to expand around the front. Glad I could accommodate!

Cellulite… Cellulite, cellulite, cellulite. Before I ever visibly showed any signs of cellulite I was more than grossed out at the women who walked around with it showing. Eew! Why not cover up? It wasn’t until I was unsuspectingly attacked and overpowered by cellulite one dark evening, that I began to notice it sneaking up everywhere! Young, fit, 20-something year old women, walking around with their own braille codes on the backs of their legs and thighs. Cellulite doesn’t discriminate, either. Young, old, rich, poor… I have to admit, I am definitely one of those people suckered into the gossip magazines that feature incriminating beach photos of celebrities sporting their own braille messages. They are human! … sort of.


Have you attempted any of the shelf cellulite products? Pfft… I haven’t. Umm… Yeah. Okay, maybe I have tried it once… or, possibly, have a continuous supply of Nivea Cellulite Gel in my bathroom cupboard. I used to always buy the Nivea Cellulite Patches, until they were discontinued. The product was being discontinued and I still insisted on buying out the rest of the product left on the shelf because I swear “it worked!” I will not even attempt to explain my thought process behind that decision. Mind over matter. If I think it’s helping or reducing the appearance of the cellulite, then so be it. If I could afford to experiment with all of those expensive procedures that the celebrities are undergoing to reduce the appearance… I’d do those, too.

But, I can’t afford it. I can barely afford to keep up my stalk of all those firming gels and creams.


Here it is, folks! A step-by-step guide to perfecting your own body braille message

1. Invite your younger sister, that you are incredibly overprotective of, for a visit and ask her to bring her new boyfriend that you know absolutely nothing about. You will find beer after beer spontaneously appearing in your hand.

2. Eat away your emotions with an over indulgence in snacks and salty or sweet treats.

3. Invite over a house-full of people to intimidate said new boyfriend and prepare a spread of hors d’oeuvres that you must first “taste test” to ensure quality.

4. Take your house guests downtown to the Byward Market and stop in at “Dunn’s Famous Market Deli,” and order the Bacon Poutine!


Oooh right… So… Weigh-in day was yesterday. Yeah:

This weigh-in would indicate a 0.2lbs weight loss. It’s worse than last week’s results; however, I have decided NOT to beat myself up about this one, as it is still down, and definitely not up, despite the number of hearty distractions that I have had this week!

Until next post, my friends…


I Keep Losing Weight… But it Keeps Finding Me!

I open my eyes. Yes, today is the day. TODAY will be the day that I get organized, get “on-track,” get healthy. My feet find the floor and I wash my face, brush my teeth, pull my hair back, and give myself a smile in the mirror- acknowledging that feeling that this will, indeed, be a productive day.

It’s 8:20am… Whaaaat? There are absolutely no worthwhile tv shows on before 9:00am. I roll back into bed and play the 10 games of “Draw Something” that await me on my phone.

9:00am: Caramel drizzle coffee is brewing in the Keurig. I feel as though I have a new air of confidence accompanied by a tingling sensation that this is going to be a successful day (or it could have been the sensation in my arm from contorting it awkwardly as I completed my Draw Something games in bed).

A decision: I’ve made a decision. I should probably weigh myself. The last date I  went on with the scale, I was 153lbs. I have now been going to the gym approximately 3 days a week, and have significantly cut down on my snacking (sort of)-I am expecting to be around the same weight, or hopefully less. I made sure to weigh myself pre morning coffee and post morning poop. “Let’s Make a Deal” is on in the background… someone just won “Mayonnaise Mouth Wash”… haha, funny show.

Noooo! Up almost 5lbs!

Failure: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NO! ….. WHY am I blogging about this? The scale blinked my weight back at me a couple of times, a feature I didn’t realize it had, as if saying “YOU SUCK-YOU SUCK-YOU SUCK”… What a jerk, I had just windexed the scale and put it back onto a nicely polished powder room floor. Bitch don’t deserve my TLC.

This is not the first time I have been disappointed on the scale. The scale and I were at our lowest point in our relationship when the highest number I have ever seen appeared before me, approximately 2 years ago, at 169lbs. Thank goodness, for my own sanity and confidence, I never broke into the 170’s.

Yadda Yadda: I have lazily followed the popular discourse relating to weight, body issues and the number of health problems extending from these topics. I suspect I am not far off to suggest that we have all, at some point, succumb to some sort of mindless projection of these issues onto the celebrity/media kind: They cause it, it’s their fault, they’re too skinny, they’re too fat, they… they… they…” I stand before you, nay, write before you- that I could care quite less about “they,”… pardon, them. It is integral that I figure out why I decide to torture myself in this traditional “yo-yo” weight game. I have participated in pageants where I showcase myself in bikinis and high heels in front of audiences of people- feeling more fabulous than is healthy for a young woman’s ego. I have, in the same breath, lost myself while wandering down one of those “shit happens” paths (reference my header at the top of the page) and found myself swimming in oversized hoodies and sweat pants. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth- have I mentioned that even sitting on a swing set gets me nauseated!? I am, nauseated, at this morning’s discovery that I am back again, or forth, depending on how you’re looking at it.

Making healthy decisions!

What to do, what to do? I did grovel in self-pity for the rest of “Let’s Make a Deal”… O.k… AND “Price is Right”; however, I then decided to pour a bowl of Vanilla Almond Oatmeal Crisp! This is a step up for me as majority of my breakfasts as of late have been that of 4 strips of bacon, 2 fried eggs, and hashbrowns… Fine… 6 to 8 strips of bacon.

To the gym: I may have grovelled in self-pity, only momentarily, after wiping down the mat I was about to do my abdominal workout on, but then rose to the occasion and KILLED it. After my cardio, I walked back to the change room and passed the confused glares: Why would she jump in the pool and then walk around? No no. I did not jump in the pool… It’s all sweat baby. I killed it! Only to sweat it out some more in the steam room later! (NO NAKED PEOPLE TODAY!!)

OH P.S. You dirty, dirty women- if you have your rags, fine, that’s life, but would you do me a favour and clean your sanitary napkins from the shower stall before you exit!? Much thanks.