Okay, man. Let's talk about manners.

I know, I know. My parents grew up in the 1960s, and it was all about freedom and whatever, but still.

Manners.

I don't care if you don't like what I say or what I wear or how my hair looks. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it.

Stop and think before you say or do something that might be deeply hurtful to another person and maybe, just maybe put a damper on it.

I don't mean a person has to hamper his personal expression to make others happy. That is a bunch of malarkey, and not right either. I mean, if you feel you have something you need to say, say it. But try to say it in a nice way, so that it's not just nasty and rude.

Yep, we have rioting and earthquakes and bunches of other horrible things happening right now, just like at every other time in history (we just didn't hear about everything right away, so it seems more immediate now), and yet, life goes on. And maybe if we all tried a little harder to be polite to one another, things might just improve a little tiny bit.

Maybe just try to remember that special lesson about rights and responsibilities we learned in kindergarten. You know, the one where you learned that you had the right to draw with your markers, but it was your responsibility to keep from ruining other people's walls with your markers.

Don't ruin my wall with your markers.

And stop being so rude to other people. The entire planet does not revolve around one person, and some of us are trying to get through a bleak, miserable, cakeless life. Some of us are quite capable of being rude back, but we choose not to, because we are trying our hardest not to snap off your pointy little head.

Also, keep in mind that the person about whom this is written does not read my blog, so there is absolutely a zero percent chance that I will hurt her feelings. Therefore, I have followed my own rules.

Well, it's swimming day again. Not that I'm not thrilled to pieces to be able to suit up, shave everything and then bare it all in front of all of those ladies, but seriously. SERIOUSLY.

I kind of hate wearing a swimsuit.

It's weird how much psychological comfort wearing a t-shirt over my swimsuit gives me. I realize it doesn't really hide everything, as the backs of my thighs are probably my second-most hated body part, after my upper arms, which, are truly a wonder to behold and are actually fully contained within the t-shirt.

Thus, my love for the t-shirt.

But I will go and get my water aerobics on. At least it's a healthy activity and not likely to screw up my diet or anything like that, like a stop at the gelato place uptown would. 

Mmmmmm. Gelato. I haven't even gotten to try it yet, and I know they have a birthday cake flavor, which is my favorite.

No, no, no, no, no. No gelato. Only vegetables and then some oatmeal chia pudding for dessert later. I realize it sounds gross but it's actually kind of awesome.

At any rate, swimming day.

I wonder if the older women still feel weird about it or if they're just like, "Yeah, I've had 3 kids and a hernia operation, so pretty much everyone's seen all of my business. Drink this in, ladies."

Ew. I hope not. I don't really relish the thought of seeing anyone's business.

Last week, I was also on the lookout for that dye that's in pools now that shows when someone's peeing, so that I could point out whoever it was and shame her, but it didn't happen, which makes me feels so much better. I realize that there's still a ton of pee in there, but it comforts me to feel like no one's doing it, rather than that they just don't have that kind of dye in there. Let me have my moment.

Swimming day. I feel like it may be my most neurotic day of the week, not counting Friday morning weigh-in. Because I needed another thing to obsess about. I did.

Okay, we finished our third no-carb Monday. Was it hellish? Yes, but I have discovered something interesting about myself: I HATE NO-CARB MONDAY. 

It's not that interesting, but I wanted to make it more exciting.

It's not even really no carbs, it's just so low carb because I'm attempting to force my ginormous butt into ketosis so I can burn more fat. However, the lack of anything even remotely sugary makes me want to die.

I mean it.  For reals. It makes me feel so crappy I actually want to go lie in bed for about a decade.

Can't, though. I have to treadmill. I do extra treadmill on Monday to take advantage of the better burning. Also, I figure that as long as I'm dying, I might as well die more. 

I wouldn't recommend any children be in the general vicinity during this particular treadmill time.

I've discovered, as well, that it makes me feel better to watch House Hunters International while I'm suffering and yell obscenities at the idiots who go to Lithuania and want a 5000 square foot house that is fully remodeled, but has character and is less than $500 per month. Seriously. What is wrong with these people?

At any rate, I have made it through three Mondays. THREE. The scale is slowly creeping in the right direction, but only just barely. I haven't decided yet if it's worth feeling this craptastic.

Well, that's a lie. Being thinner is totally worth it but I really hope it gets better. Maybe if I lie to myself I can convince myself that it will.

I don't know if I'm that good at lying. Guess I'll find out.

Well, my sister and decided to take the plunge. Literally. We took my Mom to a swimming class to help her build up some extra strength.

Little did I know when I said yes that it would involve wearing a bathing suit with no t-shirt.

I am a die-hard "t-shirt over the suit" kind of lady. Even on cruise ships and other places where it's customary to let it all hang out. I do not let it all hang out. I never let it all hang out. I guess I'm a little uptight.

Maybe, just a bit.

Anyway, we went yesterday, and in the car on the way there I had the awful realization that this swimming pool doesn't let people wear t-shirts because the fibers clog up the filters in their pool. Mind you, I had already spent hours tucking as much of me as is humanly possible into my delightfully faded old suit, and inspecting my legs for mysterious areas where the razor just decided to do nothing (it happens all of the time--I'm not good at hair removal), and trying to imagine how Christopher Walken-ly my hair was going to get in the pool.

This is my process. I just have to do trial runs of everything.

Anyway, we got there, and I took off the t-shirt. I wish I could say it was easy, but it wasn't, and I wish I could say next week isn't going to make me die a little inside, but it will. However, I will say that I don't think I caught athlete's foot from the showers, and  although I did see a lot of be-swimsuited older ladies, I didn't actually see enough nakedness to have nightmares, so that's positive.

Also, since my face wasn't in the water, I didn't worry too much the whole time about the amount of pee in which I was swimming.

There is no escape from it. It's my brain.

And I have the bonus of knowing that I walked around with just a swimsuit on. It looked terrible and felt terrible, but I did it anyway. And I get to do it again next week.

Wait, is that a positive? I'm not sure.

I think it's really awesome that we have decided, as a society, that's it's not cool to shame people for most things. I like that people who have different abilities aren't supposed to be treated like they're somehow less than everyone else; they're treated like special, unique individuals.

That's the way it should be, especially since we all have our things that are less than perfect; they're the fun parts.

HOWEVER (you knew this was coming, don't act like it was a surprise; this is my public forum for complaining), I think it's horrible that we still put up with fat-shaming. I know, it's supposed to be obliterated, and we all care so much about what fat kids eat for lunch and blah, blah, blah, but that's a bunch of crap. Fat people are still treated like farm animals that are one step lower on the rungs of humanity, and that's not right.

This bothers me partly because I am fat, and partly because I am related to and love all sorts of other people who have struggled with weight. For those of you who have never been more than twenty pounds over normal, you may want to click away. You're not going to get this. Some of us have struggled since we were small kids, and don't tell me it's because we don't move enough and we eat poorly; I exercise a ton and I eat better than all my skinny friends. It's just that our bodies were designed to survive famines and stuff. So watch out.

At any rate, I was in H&M on Saturday (for the very first time and I thought my brain was going to explode from the excitement), and I was trying on some things in the changing room. First of all, they need new lighting if they're going to sell so many clothes that are slightly see-through because, whoa. Anyway, I finished my try-on, left the changing room, and encountered a line to get out. I was behind a group of women who were behind another woman who was helping her little girl try on shorts and asking the changing room woman to hold a few things since there was an item limit. She was wearing a green dress and it was that thin t-shirt material, so you could definitely see every bump and bulge. To be fair, she wasn't what I would call fat. She was maybe a size 10. Maybe. She was a very pretty lady, and yes, you could see her bra in the back and a little spillover on the top of her underpants, but good for her for wearing something that made her feel pretty.

The group of three women in front of me was loudly complaining about how long this woman was taking, and then one of them started talking about how some people should learn how to dress. Mind you, this lady was about the same size, and was not free from the muffin top herself. Regardless, she thought it was appropriate to loudly berate  "people who wear clingy dresses that obviously don't have the figure for them."

The part of this that makes me feel bad is coming up.

So, the woman in the dress, who has totally heard all of this, is lowering her head because it's quite plainly embarrassing the crap out of her in front of all these strangers, but most importantly, in front of her kid. She hurries back into a dressing room and we all proceed out, the lady in front of me still loudly mocking the lady in the dress.

I was shocked that no one said anything. But I didn't, either, and that's the part that makes me feel bad. I knew if I said anything, I'd open myself up to that, and I didn't want any, since I am quite a bit larger than either of those women. Also, I knew I'd just cry, which is my defense mechanism and I really need to work on getting a new one because people don't react well when they're in an altercation with someone and she just starts crying.

Adrenaline and I have a weird relationship. Mine is more like cry-or-flight, so I'm pretty sure my genes were not destined for survival unless it involved hiding. I am great at that.

At any rate, it got me thinking that if that woman was being made fun of for any other reason, someone would've told that nasty lady to shut her pie-hole. ANY OTHER REASON. But fat was okay. None of us heard it. I am as much to blame as anyone else, but I really hope that lady in the dressing room doesn't change who she is because of that nastiness. She wasn't even really fat, just had some bulge action happening where she couldn't see it, which happens to even the skinniest of people with the right help from panty lines and bra bands.

I walked out of the dressing room with that special look on my face that tells my husband I am super annoyed. I told him what happened, and he says, "But she didn't look bad."

Sigh. I know. But it wasn't that she looked bad, it was that that woman thought that commenting about her fat was a safe way to get in a dig for making her wait a couple of minutes to get out of the dressing room at the H&M. And, apparently, it was.

I realize that I comment about people's outfits all of the time; I am not trying to say that we shouldn't have free right to comment. I am saying that you should wait until the person about whom you are speaking is far, far away and will never hear you. Hey, if I can't hear you, go for it. Make fun of me all you want, because if I don't hear about it, it doesn't hurt my feelings. Say what you will about me and my big pants.

I do love my big pants. Don't judge. It's like wearing freedom.

Next time, no matter what, I am going to say something. Even if I cry. Because that's a load of crap, and I don't want to be one of the people who just stands there and watches someone else get stamped on. Oh, and if you're that nasty lady, reading this and feeling just a wee bit like an a-hole, yes, you are one, and yes, you totally did have massive bra strap bulge in the back. While you were talking about her bulges and how, "No one should wear a dress like that who doesn't work out." So, yeah, you might want to hit the gym, too.

Yep, fighting fire with fire. That's me. Especially since I'm pretty sure that lady would never read a blog post written by a fat person. It would just be too gross for her non-fat eyeballs.

Well, it's been about two weeks.

Two weeks of protein powder, milk, eggs, eggs, salad, vegetables, quinoa, chia seeds and more eggs.

And I've lost five pounds.

That may not seem like too much, but if you were able to see my weight chart for the last year, it would show you gains of 2-5 lbs. when it goes goes up, but no losses of more than a pound in a week. 

I mean, maybe once or twice, but not three good weigh-ins in a row.

So I guess it's been worth it.

I am not going to say that it doesn't feel like maybe the scale is holding out a bit. I mean, I feel like I can tell I've lost weight and that doesn't usually happen with less than 8-10 lbs.

But I'll take it.

Also, I think there will be mass crying if the scale doesn't keep moving in the lower direction. This is so much work and it's taking so much time every day just to try to get to that mecca of numbers: 40%.

40%, the magical protein amount that I still haven't made it to, even on no-carb Monday. I have kind of decided in my mind that it's impossible for a person who doesn't eat meat to make it to 40%. After all, even on no-carb Monday, when my carbs were super, super low, I think I was only in the high 30%s. 

But you should've seen my fat content. Whoa.

At any rate, I think this is actually something we can stick to for long-term, if we want to, and I think maybe if this continues, I'll be able to get to my next goal. After so many years of trying and no budging on the scale's part, it's delightful to see something work.

At any rate,I will take anything positive right now. Because pessimism.

Well, the higher protein eating plan seems to be doing the trick, as the scale is moving in a downward direction. I don't know, though, after yesterday.

What was yesterday? Why, it was no-carb Monday, and even though we did screw up and eat some carbs we still had very low amounts.

I'm here to tell you that the difference between lower carbs and no carbs is ginormous. Now, I'm not the kind of person who rips people's heads off (too often) when I am tired; I just fall apart and/or start crying for no reason at all. I could tell that I was going to be entirely worthless by the evening, so I got all of my work done in the morning. And I wasn't interrupted by too much of anything, so I got an astonishing amount of stuff done.

And then I looked at the clock and it was 2, and I just couldn't any more. I couldn't anything.

So I finished up the rest of my day, as it was, but everything was so hard. Like, I have the flu kind of hard. Like, I just ran 500 miles kind of hard.

Except, neither of those.

And the rest of the day was kind of a mix of grogginess and longing for chocolate.

I didn't cave in, but we did have some higher-carb vegetable stuff at dinner which I now know isn't the best thing for no-carb Monday, and we will avoid those next week.

But we did it.

And survived.

And I am having so much beer next weekend in order to prepare emotionally for no-carb Monday again.

We've embarked on a low-carb journey.

We went in and talked to someone about nutrition, just to be sure we're on the right track, especially now that I'm not eating meat, and we were informed that, contrary to what we enjoy, sugar is really not that good for bodies.

Shocking.

At any rate, we've changed our My Fitness Pals to reflect this new way of eating: 40% carbs, 40% protein and 20% fat.

Considering I never made it above 12% protein before, you could say I'm having a bit of a struggle. And this struggle doesn't include cookies, so I may die.

Also, my cereal is going to be off-limits one day a week, because we will be doing one no-carb day weekly.

Did I say I may die? Let me say it again. I MAY DIE.

Also, my husband is a meat-eater and isn't allergic to avocados so I have a feeling he's going to do really well.

I also have a feeling that someone is going to find me on the ground outside of the grocery store, begging for Oreos. But not for a while yet.

I have cut the sugar in my coffee by half, and I am going to order me some protein powder so I can have a gross shake thing and up my numbers. Also, I have one more Pop-Tart in my pantry, which I will eat for lunch on Friday and then I'm not buying them any more.

I realize most adults survive just fine without Pop-Tarts. I have just grown very fond of them in the past few months. They are the bright spot in an otherwise annoying and work-filled day.

It's not like Atkins, because we can still eat some carbs and my stomach doesn't hurt and feel nauseous, and I haven't eaten any lunch meat/cheese/mustard/lettuce sandwiches or 50 pounds of bacon.

Yet.

We will endure, however, because we have to and also because I am going to buy a mega tub of protein powder and we have to keep going until we use the whole thing because I do not throw food away.

Seriously.

So, get ready, everyone. It's about to get all skinny up in here. Or at least, all less carby and whatnot.