What a Drag It is Getting Mold
Written on April 6, 2011 at 1:09 pm, by Mary Hogan
Just when I’d stop scanning every errant dot on my sheets for bed bugs, our wet, wet, wet winter has me sniffing baseboards for mold. Sadly, I’ve become a beagle. I even howl each time the doorbell rings. I do draw the line at, ahem, greeting other dogs in the park, though I have been known to kiss my Lucy on the lips. Thankfully, a family member has leapt in to save me from myself. His moldy advice can be found here: www.moldremovalcenter.com If only he could cure my addiction to human treats…aka rice crackers. Down, girl!
The White Slipcover Workout
Written on April 5, 2011 at 1:27 pm, by Mary Hogan
I have white slipcovers on my couch and two easy chairs in the livingroom, plus one on a wingback in the bedroom. I also have a one-year-old dog, Lucy.
Sigh.
Lovely Lucy
Lucy is not allowed on the furniture, but I have yet to figure out how to keep her from rubbing her beautiful doggy body against my white furniture when she walks by it. I have even caught her napping against them. Yes, she has her own dog bed (in fact, she has three), but she still prefers the pristine lovliness of my furniture. Who, frankly, wouldn’t? As a result, my white furniture is either dirty or pre-dirty.
Double sigh.
Being the “make lemonade” type, I have decided to turn my weekly washing of the white slipcovers into a workout. First, I change into sweats. Then I stretch. Then I begin.
Upper Body: I wrestle the slipcovers off the furniture.
Cardio: Briskly, I cart the giant load downstairs to the washing machine.
Thighs/Glutes: Squatting, I fill the measuring cup with the detergent that I deliberately store on a low shelf. Back straight, I rise up and pour it into the washing machine. Repeat with bleach and Oxi-Clean.
Pecs: Once the slipcovers are out of the dryer, I cart them all back upstairs and launch the more-advanced struggle to shove the cushions back into them. Like jowls, I prefer my slipcpvers tight. Unlike my jowls, they are.
My weekly White Slipcover Workout saves me an hour in the gym and the tempting urge to cover my furniture in plastic.
Lemonade all around.
I eat…therefore I ham????
Written on August 2, 2010 at 3:28 pm, by Mary Hogan
Me, Mary, the reluctant blogger.
My name is Mary and I have a fat HEAD. There, I’ve said it out loud. I’ve taken the first step in my fat head recovery. I am powerless over the fact that I THINK I’m fatter than I am. Which means I will never feel thin until I literally change my mind.
Ugh. I’ve struggled with my body and its propensity to break out in fat all my life, now I have to tackle my fat head, too? Yes. I’m sure this is the ANSWER, the WAY, the KEY. Isn’t it? And yes, I often talk to myself in questions. You do? Yes, I do.
So, here’s the thing: About a year ago, I started an experiment: I began to slim down my fat HEAD. Diets are dead. Everyone knows that. But, what’s a well-rounded girl to do? Let it all hang out? Not me. Ever the optimist, I was determined to find a way to maintain my shape while others around me–in the world at extra large–were losing theirs. This time, I vowed to start at the top. My HEAD.
For one year, the plan was to change the way I THINK, to explore what it takes to rewire my brain and transform my fat head into a thin body.
Piece of cake.
Check back to hear how the year really went. HINT: My head feels slightly slimmer, but I still have back fat rolls above and below my bra. Must I now live a year of lipo? Hmmmm.
What a Country
Written on November 5, 2010 at 3:11 pm, by Mary Hogan
Lately, I’ve been wondering….
When did smart and thoughtful become “elite” and Sarah Palin become “populous”?
Why can’t “highly educated” become our lowest common denominator?
Thought of the Day
Written on March 15, 2011 at 5:23 pm, by Mary Hogan
If everything is seen through a camera lens, is anything ever experienced?
Food Find of the Week
Written on November 5, 2010 at 3:23 pm, by Mary Hogan
Anybody try Goodness Knows snack bars yet??? Yummmeeeeeee! Nuts, chocolate, berries…everything good.
Delish!
Only 40 cals a square, too! (Little square, but big enough.) Only bad part is you have to buy them online unless you live in Denver.
I may move….
Eating, Praying and Loving…oy vay
Written on August 26, 2010 at 1:31 pm, by Mary Hogan
All I have to say is this: Leaving Billy Crudup, James Franco and (almost) Javier Bardem for some floating, unspecific dissatisfaction with your life? Get over yourself, girl. Glad to see you finally have, Liz.
Today
Written on August 6, 2010 at 7:22 am, by Mary Hogan
Today is my first official day as an anti-blogger. My palms are a bit sweaty, but here I go. Here’s what I want to know: Why is a puppy’s squeaky toy made with an inedible, plastic squeaker? The first thing a puppy does is dig it out of the fabric and eat it. Is this a secret ploy to get us to watch our pets more closely? Thoughts?
Meet Mr. Bill, my pup Lucy's favorite squeaky toy. Oh no!
Day 48: The Costco Disconnection
Written on July 8, 2010 at 8:51 am, by Mary Hogan
I rarely touch doorknobs, go berserk when someone coughs without covering their mouth, refuse to palm a subway strap, yet I’ll eat ANYTHING in a Costco! What’s up with that? It’s as if all those bright lights blind me. Thin thinking is out the window even though there are no windows in a Costco. (Is that their master plan? Like a casino?)
My final frontier (okay, one of my final frontiers) is to pass one of those Costco microwaves without shoving my way into the crowd. Particularly a crowd waiting for sausage. Frightening.
Any tips?
Day 45: Glutenous Maximus
Written on July 6, 2010 at 8:33 am, by Mary Hogan
I’m alergic to wheat. I’m convinced of it. The reason I think so is because I had dinner with my friend, Dana, and she told me she was “off gluten.”
“Why?” I asked, alarmed. “Isn’t gluten a critical ingredient in everything delicious and, and…round?”
“Yes,” she said. “it is.”
“Then why have you forsaken it?”
Dana explained that eating wheat gave her a stomach ache, made her skin flush and zapped all her energy. “And wheat makes me bloated.”
My ears perked up. “I’m bloated,” I said. “I’m bloated all the time. I’m bloated right now beneath my Spanx.”
“There you go.”
I stopped eating gluten that night. Perhaps wheat was the culprit all these years! Was it really gas in there, not fat? Does gluten cause thigh and ass bloating, too?
Today, I go to Whole Foods and stock up on gluten-free English muffins, tortillas, rice bread and Teriyaki-style sauces. (Soy sauce has gluten? Are you kidding me?) This weekend, I plan to make gluten-free pancakes and top them with sugar-free maple syrup. My Year of Thinking Thinly is looking up.
Day 40: Thin Commandment Number Two
Written on June 17, 2010 at 2:09 pm, by Mary Hogan
2. THOU SHALT PAY FOR CALORIC SINS WITHIN 24 HOURS
Years ago, my mother explained to me how she put on a lifetime of extra pounds. Besides the fact that she had five kids in quick succession—the nausea crackers alone would add twenty pounds—she described it thusly:
“You go a little astray one night at dinner and nervously weigh yourself in the morning. Amazingly, the damage isn’t bad. So you think, ‘Whew, I dodged that bullet’ and let your guard down the rest of the day. Time gets away from you and you slip-up all week. You tell yourself you’ll do better over the weekend. But you forgot about the birthday party on Saturday. How can you not eat cake? You hope the scale won’t notice. Plus, you’re dead-tired after the party so you pick up McDonald’s for dinner. Then, on Sunday, you figure, ‘What the heck, I’ll start fresh on Monday.’
Of course, by Monday, the scale has caught up to you. You can’t believe your eyes. It must be a mistake. Depressed, you give yourself a lift by going out to dinner. Heck, your diet is in the toilet anyway, might as well have bread and dessert. Before you know it, it’s Tuesday, then Wednesday, and who starts a new diet in the middle of the week??”
I grew up feeling like fat was around every corner, waiting to sneak up on me. As if fat were following me through the streets of Venice. I could escape down a dark alley, hop on a gondola, dart under a bridge, but eventually fat and I were going to run into each other. Probably while I was eating pasta with a cannoli chaser.
Day 35: Sylvie’s Morning After
Written on May 29, 2010 at 10:50 am, by Mary Hogan
The following email from Sylvie arrives the next day:
“MARY!!! Last night we ate with some friends on the West Side and I had….MEAT. AGAIN. Steak au Poivre. Today I feel stuffed, fat, thick, dense, slow, slovenly and fat-bellied. Ewwww. That’s what so much sat fat in a day (on top of a bagel) will do. “
Well, what do you know? Thinnies pay the piper, too. They, too, wake up in the morning with an unfamiliar lump in their bed—abdominal bulge—regretting their behavior the day before. I feel elated. Not for Sylvie’s dietary misfortune, but for the confirmation that DNA is not my destiny. Sylvie’s morning after leads me to believe that “naturally” thin is a crock. A full week of steakhouses and Sylvie would be well on her way to being me.
I call Sylvie to commiserate, but she’s already back on the wagon. Apparently, feeling “dense, slow and slovenly” didn’t appeal to her. Which leads me to Thin Commandment Number Two. Whether “naturally” thin or “unnaturally” calorie-controlled, skinny women pay as they go.
Written on June 16, 2010 at 5:27 pm, by Mary Hogan
DAY THIRTY-NINE. Thin Commandment
Number Two
October 15, 2009
- Thou shalt pay for caloric sins within 24 hours.
Years ago, my mother explained to me her theory of how she put on a lifetime of extra pounds. Besides the fact that she had five kids in quick succession—the nausea crackers alone would add twenty pounds—she described it thusly:
“You go a little astray one night at dinner and nervously weigh yourself in the morning. Amazingly, the damage isn’t bad. So you think, ‘Whew, I dodged that bullet’ and let your guard down the rest of the day. And the week. You tell yourself you’ll do better over the weekend. But you forgot about the birthday party. How can you not eat cake? You hope the scale won’t notice it. Plus, you’re dead-tired after the party so you pick up McDonald’s for dinner. Of course, by Monday, the scale has caught up to you. You can’t believe your eyes. It must be a mistake. Depressed, you resolve to start a diet—and stick to it!—first thing next Monday morning.”
I grew up feeling like fat was out to get me. As if fat were chasing me through the narrow streets of Venice. I could escape down a dark alley, hop on a gondola, dart under a bridge, but eventually we’re going to run into each other. Probably while I’m eating pasta with a cannoli chaser.
That sense of impending blubber is a plague that infects every meal. Eventually, you begin to believe that it doesn’t matter what you do, fat will find you in the end…literally. The rear end. Funny, it never occurred to me to question the whole premise. Maybe calories aren’t evil genuises. If I stop running, maybe they’ll stop chasing me.
For the rest of my Year of Living Thinly, I’ll test the theory. I’ll pay as I go, repair caloric damage the very next day, dispel the notion that new beginnings can only happen on a Monday. Or the first of January.
Day 34: My tffs
Written on May 28, 2010 at 12:31 pm, by Mary Hogan
Unbelievably, I have several Thin Female Friends. My tffs.
I say “unbelievably” because I just read an article about how fatties hang with fatties and thinnies hang with thinnies and your peer group plays a huge part in determining whether you’ll ever allow yourself to be seen in a bathing suit. I’m stunned that my tffs have lovingly welcomed me into their exclusive bikini-clad club.
The last time I was seen in a bathing suit….well, remember that scene in Jaws? The girl’s head bobbing in the ocean at midnight? That’s how I’ll let myself be “seen” in a swim suit. Just my head and a large, circling fin.
Today, to further my study on skinniness, I’m taking my slender friend Sylvie to lunch so she can walk me through her menu-reading process. This is New York City, after all. If I’m going to think thinly, I’d better figure out how to do it in a restaurant.
Sylvie is a long, lean, gorgeous drink of water. The kind of woman most men know instantly they could never have. And her thinness is my favorite kind. It truly looks effortless. Like she was born in a Ralph Lauren ad, not raised in a gym.
We meet at a great NYC steakhouse. They serve homemade popovers in the bread basket. It’s easy to think thinly in a sushi bar, I figure. But a steakhouse? With homemade popovers? And top sirloin with herb and marrow butter? And Kobe beef with fois gras? Well.
“Bring it on,” Sylive says. Not nearly enough? Read on...
Day 32: Under Pressure
Written on May 26, 2010 at 7:23 am, by Mary Hogan
Something has happened. I woke up…swollen. My whole body is, uh, puffy. Especially my stomach, thighs and butt. I think it must be the humidity. Can barometric pressure make you fat? My husband, Bob, gently suggests that my current state of billowiness may be from “all those dinners out.” There has been wine involved. And dessert.
Can popularity make you fat?
I’ve invited my tff (thin female friend) Sylvie out to lunch…with wine and dessert…to find out how she stays thin even though she’s wildly popular. Stay tuned. A full (billowy?) report to come.
Day 30: Vanity Fare
Written on May 16, 2010 at 11:10 am, by Mary Hogan
My afternoon watching thinnies on Madison Avenue taught me the first major lesson of thinking thinly. Vanity. Thin women are more vain than fatties. In a good way. They put effort into their appearance. Even if the goal is to make their appearance look effortless. And they notice when other women don’t.
A few years ago, after spending an obscene amount of money to have my eyebrows waxed and plucked by the best brow stylist in New York City, one of my tffs (thin female friends) noticed the improvement instantly and said, “It’s time you spent money on your haircut, too.”
It’s not that I had a bad haircut, or a unibrow for that matter, it’s just that I always thought I looked good enough. I preferred to spend my money on other things, like a road trip to Meers, Oklahoma to eat the perfect burger. (Definitely worth the trip!)
Thin women, I’m beginning to understand, constantly strive to look their best. Even when no one is looking. It’s a vanity thing. And thin and fat vanities, I discover, are two very different species.
Thin Vanity: Looking my best is an everyday thing.
Fat Vanity: I’ll pull myself together for the wedding.
Thin Vanity: My mirror is my friend.
Fat Vanity: If I never look in a mirror, I can imagine anything.
Thin Vanity: Quality and fit are everything.
Fat Vanity: Comfort is everything.
Thin Vanity: Looking great is worth the effort.
Fat Vanity: Polyester is worth not ironing.
Thin Vanity: I’d rather look good than eat that.
Fat Vanity: I look okay from the front, at an angle. I can repair the damage tomorrow.
Fatties, and fat-heads, like myself tend to kick the calorie can down the road. And we rarely look at our cans at all. I have not truly examined my rear end in years. Even in a dressing room’s three-way mirror, I focus on the front. I become two-dimensional. It’s not like I’m ever going to back into a room, I figure. Most people see me from the front and every room—except the Oval Office—has a flattering corner.
If the President should ever invite me over, I’ll pull myself together for the meeting.
Crap Happens
Written on May 11, 2010 at 12:40 pm, by Mary Hogan
Hi All: Sorry I’ve been incommunicado. A few crappy things, lifewise, have happened. But, I’m back in blogdom. How is everyone???
Oscar Fright
Written on March 8, 2010 at 4:48 pm, by Mary Hogan
A frightfully thin Suzy Cameron on Oscar Night
Suzy Cameron may have gone green in her recycled gown on last night’s Red Carpet, but I wish she’d gone for a burger, instead. Who else noticed those painfully thin arms and VSBs (Visible Sternum Bones)? I’m all for a little clavicle ridge, but James, please, get your wife some dinner and some help. She needs to EAT!!
Day 25: The Thin Commandments
Written on March 11, 2010 at 1:37 pm, by Mary Hogan
Three and a half weeks into my Year of Living Thinly and I realize I’m a bit at sea. And not on a cruise ship with an unlimited buffet, either. More like a Gilligan’s Island-type of raft made from coconut shells. I have no idea what I’m doing and I’ll probably be sinking soon.
I need a list. Thin guidelines to live by. Maybe a tattoo on my snacking hand?
My list begins. I call it my Thin Commandments.
1. Thou shalt never get too hungry.
Admittedly, this isn’t fresh turf. All experienced dieters know that hunger is the enemy of intellect and resolve. In the same way asphyxia produces a “high” just before a person lapses into unconsciousness, hunger messes with your head. Intelligent decisions are impossible on an empty stomach. Just ask Renee Zellweger the day she married Kenny Chesney.
Until I began living thinly, however, I never understood how much advance planning is required. You can’t leave a single meal, snack or grocery run up to chance. Certainly not a trip to Costco. This, I discover, is the first major emotional hurdle in my Year of Living Thinly. Darn it, I don’t want to plan ahead. It’s hard enough remembering to program my DVR. I crave spontaneity. I want to be free. I want to live with the wind in my hair and interesting food on my plate. Not nearly enough? Read on...
Written on May 17, 2010 at 9:46 am, by Mary Hogan
DAY SEVEN. Vanity Fare.
September 13, 2009
My afternoon on Madison Avenue taught me the first major lesson of living thinly. Vanity. Thin women are more vain than fatties. In a good way. They put effort into their appearance. Even if the goal is to make their appearance look effortless. And they notice when other women don’t. A few years ago, after spending an obscene amount of money to have my eyebrows waxed and plucked by the best brow stylist in New York City, one of my tffs (thin female friends) noticed the improvement instantly and said, “It’s time you spent money on your haircut, too.”
It’s not that I had a bad haircut, or a unibrow for that matter, it’s just that I always thought I looked good enough. I preferred to spend my money on other things, like a road trip to Meers, Oklahoma to eat the perfect burger. (Definitely worth the trip!)
Thin women, I’m beginning to understand, constantly strive to look their best. Even when no one is looking. It’s a vanity thing. And thin and fat vanities, I discover, are two very different species.
Thin Vanity: Looking my best is an everyday thing.
Fat Vanity: I’ll pull myself together for the wedding.
Thin Vanity: My mirror is my friend.
Fat Vanity: If I never look in a mirror, I can imagine anything.
Thin Vanity: Quality and fit are everything.
Fat Vanity: Comfort is everything.
Thin Vanity: Looking great is worth the effort.
Fat Vanity: Polyester is worth not ironing.
Thin Vanity: I’d rather look good than eat that.
Fat Vanity: I look okay from the front, at an angle. I can repair
the damage tomorrow.
Fatties, and fat-heads, like myself tend to kick the calorie can down the road. And we rarely look at our cans at all. I have not seen my rear end in years. Even in a dressing room’s three-way mirror, I focus on the front. I become two-dimensional. It’s not like I’m ever going to back into a room, I figure. Most people see me from the front and every room—except the Oval Office—has a flattering corner. If the President should ever invite me over, I’ll pull myself together for the meeting.
I suspect that fat and thin vanities develop at an early age, and are reinforced throughout our lifetimes. Thin girls are told:
“You could model that onesie on Project Runway!”
“You’re going to be a knock-out when you’re grow up.”
When they do grow up, the comments are more like this:
“You can do better than him.”
“What’s your secret?”
Fatties are praised for other attibutes:
“She knows her ABCs already.”
“Look at her pretty face.”
When they mature, their parents proudly say:
“We’re saving our money for Harvard.”
“If stranded on a desert island, our daughter could outlast everyone.”
If I’m going to live thinly for a year, I decide, I’ll need to erase my fat head, hone my thin vanity, and pretend I once looked hot in a onesie.