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And all of a sudden EVERYONE is a freakin? expert on how to loose weight.

I never knew how many people are experts on how to loose weight and keep it off until I got banded. Now, they are coming out of the woodwork. I’m quiet. I’m calm. I don’t say anything, as they go on and on and ON! I decided early on to be open about being “banded.” Hell, I don’t care what people say or think, and if I can motivate just one person to do whatever works for them to lose the weight, then it’s worth it to me. However, when people find out that I’m banded; that’s when it alllll starts. “The best way to loose weight and keep it off is by eating 6 small meals a day.” “I just cut out all the sodas and that’s how I lost 30lbs.” “Yes, but if you don’t work out 5 times a week for at least 45 minutes, at your target heart range, you won’t keep the weight off.” “I don’t eat anything past 7:00 in the evening.” “I drink only the strained juice from boiled cabbage, and eat only egg white omelets.” “The best way to loose weight and keep it off is by eating 6 small meals a day.” “I do the Atkins diet. I know it’s not healthy, but that’s the best way to loose weight.” “You better be working out at least 3 days a week for 2 hours in the pool, with weights attached to your arms, legs and neck, or you won’t keep the weight off.” “The best way to loose weight is by “praying” it off, and if you pray the weight off you don’t have to exercise because God doesn’t like it when we sweat” “You have to work out EVERY SINGLE day, except Sunday, if you want to keep the weight off…and I think that’s in the Bible somewhere.” “I do the all carb diet.” “I lost 50lbs through hypnosis.” “If you don’t eat breakfast your metabolism stagnates and you’ll actually GAIN weight.” “You better be working out.” “The band causes your body to go into starvation mode and you actually GAIN weight…you need to have that taken out.” “If you don’t exercise, then your body starts burning muscle and you might loose weight, but you won’t keep it off…plus your body will look all gross.” But I don’t say anything. I just smile and think “idiots.” But, what I “want” to say…what I want to say is, “Well, I tell you what; none of this is your business. You obviously don’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about, so you can take your choice: you can either kiss my fat a** now, or you can wait, and kiss my skinny a** in a few months!
wendytip

wendytip

11
 

Sorry, but I have to say this...

I hate to be negative, I really do, but I HAVE to say this: I cannot understand WHY people want to post pictures of thier incisions. They all basically look alike...4 or 5 little holes and an incision about 3-4 inches long. It's not like anyone on the forum sees those pix and goes, "Wow, look at that! I've never seen anything like it! It's so interesting, so intriguing, so amazing!" A fat tummy, a few little puncture holes and a little gash. If I want to see that then I can pull up my own shirt and look. Now, if the incisions were all grouped together and formed an outline of Jesus or something, then that might be different...even the Virgin Mary. Or, if you could gaze into the incisions and fortell the future, or make out the winning lotto numbers, or connect with loved ones that have passed; that would be good...but otherwise; I just don't get it.
wendytip

wendytip

7
 

And now, onward, to Youtube!

Wow, so much to say and so little time to say it all! So, here's what I'm going to do. My next episode of "That Crazy Fat Chick" will be all about returning to the forum and some of the issues, concerns and questions everyone has. Now,here's the thing: I tell it straight up like it is, so if that's not your cup of high protien meal replacement then don't tune in. But I have a super postive outlook and a great sense of humor, so if you wanna', look me up. In the meantime:   It's been a loooooong time since I've around. Shit happens? You know? Seriously, I've been through some horrible, work related issues: wrongful termination hearing, Lawyers, hearing officers, all that mess...it's a long and not very interesting story, so I won't bore you with the details, but I'll tell you this: When the going gets tough, I wanted to do what all fat people want to do and that's EAT! Now, notice I said "WANTED" to do, not "DID" do. No, I didn't handle the stress...and man, was there stress, by eating. Actually, I wasn't even tempted, but I knew...I knew that demon was waiting...just waiting for me to slip. The demon came to me in the earthly form of Terrence Howard and spoke to me in the voice of Sam Elliott. Demon Terrence/Sam carried a large platter covered in white chocolote, peppermint bark (my favorite) and was saying, "oooooonnnne pieeeeeece, Wendy...juuuuuuuuust one, come on, yooooooou can handle juuuusssst one can't you?"   Yeah, I didn't eat, but do you know the concept of Abraham Maslow's, Hierarchy of Needs? Well, if you don't, here he is, in a nutshell: Abe believed that humans had certain "basic" needs; (food, water, sleep and warmth.) He illustrated these needs by constructing a Pyramid model with these most important needs at the bottom and broadest part of the pyramid. At the upper portion of the pyramid were things like, security of employment, friends, family, and self actualization. He believed that if humans did not have their very 'basic" needs met then they could move on to other needs. So, if you're freezing and starving to death, you can't really deal with the fact that you haven't had a bath in a month. And yes, I'm going somewhere with this.   SO...from this philosophy, I adopted my own,"Wendy's Hierarchy of Food Addiction Needs Pyramid. It's very simple: When my life is teetering on going straight into the crapper and I'm SUPER STRESSED, it's all I can to to make sure that I stay "food sober" and don't eat. The not binging thing takes up the entire lower half of my Pyramid, so can't really focus on fun, friends or blogging...just trying to hang on. Make sense?   And I did hang on, and one the first day of my hearing I can tell you I was the hottest Bitch in that courtroom. And, hey, win. lose or draw, it's all about being in a size 8, baby! But seriously, I can remember my mom saying, "You have the idea that if you're thin, your life will be perfect." She wasn't right, of course, but she almost was. I don't feel like being thin makes my life perfect, but I do feel like if I can manage my food addiction, monster of an albatross that I've carried around my neck for most of my life, then anything else is a walk in the park.   Do what you have to do and kick your albatross's ass, baby!   Kisses, W      
wendytip

wendytip

1
 

I may be fat, but I'm not stupid...well, not THAT stupid.

So…today…I can hardly wait to get to my doctor’s office. I want to see how much I’ve lost almost as much almost as much as I want that first fill. But, alas, I have the WRONG DAY. AGGGGGH! I can’t believe it! Lack of food is affecting my brain; either that or I’m just not that smart. And, they wouldn’t even let me WEIGH. I though I was gonna’ rush those scales. I’m still a big girl; what could they have done? Then…I go to the “Y” to work out, and I’m busting out 2.2 miles on the treadmill. I hot and sweaty and athletic and stinky and feeling great. I go to the shower and clean up. I reach for my clothes, but alas, I forgot my JEANS! AGGGGGHHHH! Now, I KNOW I cannot be that stupid, but I guess I am. So…I re-put on my gross, disgusting sweat pants and go right next door to buy a pair of jeans. I head straight to the “Fat Girl” section. I flip through the jeans. I look for my size, and guess what? You will not believe this; there on the little tag which should read 18, 20, 22, 24 is a “2”. What the HELL? I pick up the jeans. Clearly, they are “Fat Girl” jeans. I put them back and pick up another pair, just as large…maybe larger. The tag reads a “2!” Another pair of jeans and the tag reads a “4”. This is CRAZY. I rummaging through the jeans like a mad woman. Hangers are flying, but it’s all the same. Fat Girl jeans and none of the tags read higher than a 6! Well I may be fat, but I’m not stupid…at least not that stupid. I see what we’re doing, and it is so unbelievably ridiculous. I mean, really? REALLY? If a big pair of jeans has a size 2 tag, are we really supposed to believe as we stare at the backside of these trousers, which are by the way, at least 3 feet wide, that they are a SIZE 2? Are we supposed to feel better? If that’s the case then why bother to diet and exercise or have the lap band at all? Why not just change the tags out in the back of our clothes? It reminds me of going into a Lane Bryant store…which I don’t do anymore, for this very reason. All of the mannequins that are dressed in the Fat Girl clothes have the clothes pinned up in the back. It’s like they’re saying, “Look, loooooook…buy these size 20’s and this is what you’ll look like in them.” Yeah…right? So, let me get this straight, Lane Bryant; I’m good enough that you’ll take my money, but you don’t want my “true” body type portrayed. Anyway; I feel much better now. Nothing like a good “rant” to cleanse the soul.
wendytip

wendytip

7
 

Hello all!

Finally! I'm back online. So sorry, it's been so long, but my life has been CRAZY lately! However, through it all, I just keep thinking how much better everything is! Honestly, and maybe it's because I'm a recovering addict (YES, I said it! I am an addict...a recovering addict...a food addict, and yep, food addiction can ruin your life as easily as any other addiction can!) that I am just so damn grateful for every single day of "sobriety." And let me tell you, I don't think anyone is as grateful for sobriety as an addict that's relapsed, gotten back up, and reclaimed their lives.   I am a firm believer that out of every horrible situation, something beautiful is born, and the beauty of topping out at 271lbs is finding your own truth and standing back up one more time.   Yes, I am unemployed, denied my unemployment benefits, preparing for a wrongful termination lawsuit, had a flat tire yesterday, getting ready to perform my annual fundraiser for AIDS awareness, I have to do my own roots, the puppy isn't housebroken, I don't get to go to the George Strait concert...all of this WITHOUT SUGAR, but by GOD, I'm not FAT ANYMORE!   My life is so good, I can't belive it's mine! My surgeon hadn't seen me since I was three months out, and when I went in for a fill he went on and on about how proud he is. And, get this; he wants me to speak to groups getting ready to be banded!''   So hang in there, brothers and sisters. Life is beautiful and you can do this!   P.S If you wanna', I have some WLS vids on youtube; That Crazy Fat Chick. But, be warned; I don't play. I tell it like it is.   Kisses! Celebrate every lost ounce!
wendytip

wendytip

6
 

Sweeter words were never spoken.

A few weeks ago, my I was shopping around some funky, little shops with my daugther. I was ready to leave so, I called her and started out the door. She catches up to me on the sidewalk and say, "I couldn't find you. You've lost so much weight that I didn't recognize you from the back!" I gave a delirious shriek and did a little happy dance, right there in downtown Chatt.   This morning, I'm getting ready to go to work and I have on this cute little bolero type jacket. When I bought this little number, about 3 weeks ago, it was snug, but it worked; this morning I had to MOVE THE BUTTONS, to make it TIGHTER! That's right! You heard me! So my totally hot husband says, "I've been able to tell that you're getting thinner when I put my arms around you, but since I see you every day, it's harder for me to tell just by looking at you...until this morning! I could really tell, just by looking at you this morning!" I was so ecstatic at hearing this, that had I not already been dressed and ready for work, I would have given him a little "something-something" right then and there!   As I'm leaving work this afternoon, a co-worker walks up to me and tell me how good I'm looking. Then she says, "Last week, when you were on duty, I didn't know who you were. I looked down the hall, and thought, who is that?" I gave her the little happy dance too!   Life is good, SO GOOD! Life is GOOD!
wendytip

wendytip

5
 

Hhhheeeeyyyyy!

Hey Everyone!   It's been awhile; computer problems, employment problems, all sorts of DRAMA, but that's okay, I can handle it and life is SO GREAT! I'm coming up on my 1 year "RE-BIRTHDAY" and I'm down 93 pounds! God, it is so surreal! I can't belive it's been a year! And more than anything, I can't believe this is my LIFE!   I remember just about a year ago thinking; next year, I'll be skinny! It's so cool that when I see friends that I haven't seen in a while that I have to tell them who I am! It makes me so excited, reading about everyone who is getting ready to be banded or who have just been banded. I wish for all of you the happiness that I've experienced!   Oh, and one more thing; it's late tonight, but I'll post some progress pix tomorrow!   Celebrate every lost ounce!
wendytip

wendytip

3
 

Alert the media!

At LAST...I CAN SEE MY TOES! I can see my toes. I can see my toes. I...can...see...my...TOOOOOOHHHHHHHHZZZZZ! I remember when I started this journey, I stand in my bathroom, butt assed nekkid (that's Southern for naked,) and I'd but my toes on a line of tile. Then I'd straighten up and look down. Nothing. I'd suck in...HARD, and look down. Nothing. Month after month I'd line my toes up and look down. Still nothing...damnit! And yesterday. I lined my piggies up. I looked down, expecting...nothing. And BAM! There they were! My toes! I counted all ten of them. And then today, I went to class at the University. I have to take these summer classes for my licensure. I remembered so many years ago, when I'd squeeze into those damn, tiny assed desks! God, I hated that! I felt so freakin' HUGE! "Stuffed" into a desk. I'd look around and it seemed no one else was having that problem with the desk...just me. I'd think, "You're so lucky and you don't even know it; to NOT have to wrestle with these desks." So, today, I trot my size 14 ass in that class...and I sat down in that desk. NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING touched me, or squooshed me, or squeezed me! I slid in. Do you hear me? I slid in? And then I got back up and sat down in the desk a few more time, just because I COULD! I think a few of the other students may have thought I was a bit mental, but I don't care. And, as if it couldn't get any better...yesterday I was in my favorite thrift store and when I said hello to a friend of mine, she said, "I saw your van out there, but I didn't see you, because I didn't recognize you. You've lost so much weight!" I wanted to scream, " I know, right! It's it awesome?" Instead, I just said thanks. Oh, life is SO GOOD. Next stop; ONEDERLAND!   BTW, If you wanna, check out my video blogs on youtube; That crazy fat chick.
wendytip

wendytip

6
 

I wear a size 18!

I wear a size 18! At last! Finally! I can fit into, without laying down on the bed to get the zipper up, or having to suck in to an unnatural degree... A SIZE 18! Happy days are here right damn now because I no longer wear anthing in the 20's. Oh yes, I may still shop in the fat girl section, but not for very much longer, because I wear a size 18! I think I will go and tell a total stranger on the street tomorrow that I wear a size 18. I don't even care if they look at me like I've lost my mind...I'm sort of used to that anyway. I don't care if they look at me like, "A size 18? Why, that's a fat size." I don't care because it's not a fat size to me. To me, it's a wonderful, beautiful, delightfully slenderishly, too hot to be believed size. All hail the size 18 GODDESS THAT I AM!
wendytip

wendytip

6
 

Wooooooo-hooooooo onederland!

AT LAST!   I weighed in last week at a much anticipated 198! That puts me at a loss of 73 and a half pounds gone! It seems like only yesterday that I was reading other peoples' posts about getting to Onederland, and longing for the day! I can't tell you how great this is! For all you you bandsters that aren't there yet, hang it there; you'll be there before you know it!   P.S I you wanna, you can check out my video blogs on youtube; That Crazy Fat Chick.
wendytip

wendytip

12
 

I found it!

I finally found my special purpose...as far as working out goes! The trick is to find something that you don't think of as working out...something that you don't hate. I've started swimming, and I noticed that I never refer to it as "working out." I also don't hate it...I...I...actually...like it! And, I'm good at it. I can already swim a mile, no problem, and that's with me not even being in shape. When I'm in the water I can go and go and go, and everything that troubles me just goes away. I'm going to do my first "open water" swim this year, and then I'm going to Alcatraz to do the "Swim around The Rock." They dump you in the ocean and you get to swim around the prison. Pretty cool, huh? Someone asked me if I was afraid of sharks, and I was like, "Hell, no! You think I'm finally going to be skinny and let some shark eat me, just when I start to look good in a swimsuit?...Not a chance!"
wendytip

wendytip

3
 

Sing this loud and proud. I hope it makes you smile.

Lap Band Survival (Sung to the tune of "I Will Survive") At first I was afraid. I was petrified. But then I got so sick and tired of my fat butt and thighs. And I spent oh so many nights with dreams of skinny size 9 jeans, and I decided to do something really special just for me. And so I’m banded. I’m on week one. I live on chicken broth and jello, but I know this can be done. I’m gonna tuck in all my shirts. I’m gonna buy myself a thong. thought my bikini days were over, but I’m thinking I was wrong! And now I’ll go, to walk a mile or two. I might even break into a run, ‘cause there’s nothing I can’t do. I’ll have no more bread or pop, but I’ll have all those sales to shop, and I’ll survive. I will survive. Hey. Hey
wendytip

wendytip

8
 

My Red High Heels!

TODAY…is the day that I wore high heels to school. Oh, but not just any high heels…oh no, these were…are you ready for this: red, glittered, sandal, stilettos! The heels on these bad girls must be at least 4-5 inches. I get up, get dressed in this really cute black and white, polka dotted sundress; with red piping…very retro 1950’s looking. I bought it at spring of this year and it was tight…now it fits fine. I had to wear a little black shrug so that I’d be in dress code…I’m a teacher…can’t be showing too much skin around Middle School boys with raging hormones! So, I was just about to go for my “cute”, medium heeled black shoes when I saw those red glittery ones. Now, I do not have to tell you how unbearably painful wearing high heels can be when you’re fat. I mean, the only reason I had these shoes was for a show I perform and the second I hit the wings of the stage I’d kick those shoes off. God! The Agony! But, no more! One of my teacher friends was like, “Your feet are going to be killing you today.” To which I replied, “I’ve waited a long damn time to be able to wear heels again and I might just wear these bitches everywhere I go…to work, to check the mail, to take out the trash, to the pool, to church, to water the garden, grocery shopping…hell, I might sleep in them. I may never take them off…EVER! So today, whenever anyone said, “You look beautiful,” I simply smiled happily and said, “Thank You.” Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!
wendytip

wendytip

5
 

And I am telling you...I'm not as fat!

This is to sang to the tune of "And I am telling you." Now, make sure you sing it with all the rightous indignation and happiness that you can muster! And I am telling you, I’m not as fat. Not as big as I was before, Not gonna’ be that way anymore. No, no, no way! No, no, no, no way! Not the big girl that I once was. Not as big as I once was. Oh yes, I’m gonna’ be free. I’m losing. I’m losing. And you, and you, and you might not recognize me. And I am telling you, I’m not as chubby. Even though my big butt was bubbly. There’s just no way, no way. Got tired of being so large. But now, I have taken charge. Yes, I got banded no doubt. Don’t you say it’s the easy way out? ‘Cause, I can’t have carbonated drinks ever, ever again! No, no, no, no, no, no. My ass will no longer be, the size of a gigantic R.V! And I mean there’s no way. No, no, no, no way I’m buying that plus size. Not buying size 22. You see there’s no way. There’s no way. Burn those fat clothes. Yell, scream and shout, Hey look at me! I’m a skinny girl now! Put on my running shoes, break out the treadmill I’m not going to quit. No, there’s no way I will. And I am telling you. I’m wearing a thong. I’m gonna by a bikini too! Who knows I might even buy two! No, no, no, no way. No, no, no, no way I’m living this fat life. I’m not shopping at Lane Bryant. Yes, I’m gonna be free. And you, and you, and you, you won’t recognize me.
wendytip

wendytip

2
 

Skinny Women

Hey guys, I wrote this piece about 8 years ago, but it still holds true for me. I thought you might enjoy.   Skinny Women   Skinny women how I hate them. How I love to berate them. It’s not that I’m not sympathetic, but size 9, FAT?- now that’s pathetic! They pat their tummies all nice and flat and say, “Do these pants make my butt look fat?” I sweetly reply, “Not to be rude, but those very pants ... make your ass look huge!” A skinny woman I’ll surely beat if one more says; “I forgot to eat.” “You forgot to eat...now how can that be? Isn’t that like forgetting to breathe?” When they do break down and decide to dine, listen closely and you can hear them whine: “Dry broiled fish.” “No dressing, please.” “No beer, just a water with lemon for me.” “You know I never eat red meat, so a bite of liver, for me is a treat.” “French fries? Onion rings?-Take them away.” “Chocolate mousse?...I’ll take fruit sorbet.” I see television shows like “Ally McBeal” I think to myself, “Can this chick be real?” How in the world does she stay so thin? Does food come out? Does food go in? And the beautiful Renee in “Bridget Jones”, is supposed to be fat or merely “big boned?” “Full figured” gals are back in style? Well, I haven’t seen one in quite a while. The problem here, should I venture a guess... A size 12 is average-not Reubenesque! You see, I’m honest and nothing more, and I find false modesty a tedious bore. Cause I tell you sugar, if I were svelte I’d tuck in my shirt and wear a belt. I’d have leather pants and a halter top. Everything I owned would be “mini” or “cropped.” I’d buy black garter belts and maybe a thong. I’d dress like a whore all the day long. I’d say, “Hey everybody, look at me! I’m looking good at 123!” My friends would say, “Can you believe that? I liked her better when she was fat!” “You liked me much better when I was what?” “Did you mention the “F” word? That’s just what I thought! When I was fat, I was so out of place with my great personality and pretty face. Now I’m much better. I’m better I say! Step back non-believers! Out of my way!” As I sashay by on stiletto heels, leaving them to guess what’s been “bought” and what’s “real”. But enough flights of fancy of this fantasy. I’m sure that I am, and will always be me. And “me’s” pretty good. Yep, “ME”- that’’ll do... but... I would like some thighs you can see daylight through. Just kidding. (Not really) Bear with me my friend, for soon I’ll be finished; this tirade will end. It’s just that I struggle and struggle some more, You’d think I would learn; (that’s what therapy’s for.) When it’s all been hashed out. When it’s all said and done; I like me a lot. I’m really quite fun. I know what’s important I do know what counts, and it’s not what I weigh measured out pound and ounce. I just need to vent every once in a while, and give all the fat girls a reason to smile.   Wendy Tippens
wendytip

wendytip

2
 

Life lessons learned.

No I ain't had nothing to drink I knew that’s probably what you'd think If I dropped by this time of night Remember way back when I promised you I'd drop in At one of those meetings down at the Y   Well, they started talkin bout steps you take Mistakes you make The hearts you break And the price you pay I almost walked away   You could hear a pin drop When this old man Stood up and said I'm gonna' say it again Like I do every week For those who don't know me   (Chorus) It's the simple things in life Like the kids at home and a loving wife That you miss the most, when you lose control And everything you love starts to disappear The devil takes your hand and says no fear Have another shot, just one more beer Yah, I've been there, that's why I'm here   This ole boy stood up in the aisle Said he'd been living a life of denial And he cried as he talked about wasted years I couldn't believe what I heard It was my life word for word And all of the sudden it was clear (Repeat Chorus) That’s one of my favorite songs. It’s written and performed by Kenny Chesney, and for a long time I couldn’t hear it without crying; sometimes, I still can’t. I know it’s about alcoholism, but it’s also about me and my eating disorder. So many times, I thought, “I got this. I’m in control. I’m NOT an addict. I’m not ill.” Then there was the time when I lost 71 lbs. on Weight Watchers, and I was convinced that I was “fixed.” I was cured. I wasn’t “that” person anymore, and I was never going back; ever…but, I did. The devil definitely took my hand and I thought, “Just this once.” “Just this once” led to a downhill slide and a massive weight gain. I spent years beating myself up over that. I could not believe that after all that hard work that I blew it, like that. And then, my darkest days began. I felt as though my eating was so much bigger than me. It was something separate from me, that I couldn’t control. I hated life. Every day was a struggle of when do I eat/how much do I get to eat/when will I get to eat again/ what is there to eat? Worst of all, I knew that if I ever did get it together, that it wouldn’t stay together. And I hated everyone; but no one as much as myself...I really hated me. I think that everyone has to have their “moment of truth.” Mine came for me at 3:00 in the morning, watching a show on WLS. I remember thinking, “Life doesn’t have to be this hard.” I pretty much decided right then, that I was going to do this thing. You know, I would have NEVER thought that anything positive could have came from that 71 lb. weight gain, but I was wrong; several positive life lessons came from that. I learned that just when you think you’ve got your demon under control, and you get so high and mighty and complacent that it will rear its ugly head and kick your ass. I learned what to look out for, and what foods that I can’t handle; foods that are “triggers” for overeating. I learned that I am WAY stronger than I ever imagined. Lastly, I learned that the weight loss is secondary for me. The main thing is that I’m free. I’m free from the prison known as my eating disorder. And life is good. Life is very good.
wendytip

wendytip

7
 

A short farewell to my beloved sugar free ice cream.

To the tune of Let's just kiss and say goodbye. I had to throw you in the trash, Or I would have eaten you in a flash. This hurts me more than you could know, But this is it! You’ve got to go! You’re my heart, yes, you’re my soul, But I have no self control. As much as I want you in my life, Let’s just kiss and say good-bye.
wendytip

wendytip

4
 

The hardest thing about being banded

The hardest thing for me to deal with after being banded is that I’ve had to learn how to live my life without “using” food. Not that I’m trying to be dramatic, but I consider myself to be a recovering addict, and that’s pretty much something that no one goes over with you in pre-op orientation. For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why I would have periods ranging from slight sadness to extreme anger, and it would happen all of a sudden. Then, the other day, after an explosive confrontation with someone, it came to me so clearly: I’m having to deal with, cope with life without my “crutch.” It’s like being an alcoholic or a recovering drug addict. I mean, I could make any situation so much better for the time it took to wallow in some food. Bad day, argument with my husband, coworkers driving me crazy, overdrawn bank account…whatever…no worries…give me a cheeseburger from the Sonic, a large order of onion rings, a route 44 Slushy and a bag of Hershey’s kisses with almonds and my world could come crashing down around me, and I’d die smiling; but no more. Now, I have to deal with things…REALLY deal with them. I see things clearly…too clearly at times. But hey, I’ll gladly learn how to live this way, and I mean “gladly”; gratefully, happily and gladly.
wendytip

wendytip

6
 

Skinny Women

Hello Everyone, I wrote this piece about 8 years ago, and it still holds true for me. I thought you might enjoy. Skinny Women   Skinny women how I hate them. How I love to berate them. It’s not that I’m not sympathetic, but size 9, FAT?- now that’s pathetic! They pat their tummies all nice and flat and say, “Do these pants make my butt look fat?” I sweetly reply, “Not to be rude, but those very pants ... make your ass look huge!” A skinny woman I’ll surely beat if one more says; “I forgot to eat.” “You forgot to eat...now how can that be? Isn’t that like forgetting to breathe?” When they do break down and decide to dine, listen closely and you can hear them whine: “Dry broiled fish.” “No dressing, please.” “No beer, just a water with lemon for me.” “You know I never eat red meat, so a bite of liver, for me is a treat.” “French fries? Onion rings?-Take them away.” “Chocolate mousse?...I’ll take fruit sorbet.” I see television shows like “Ally McBeal” I think to myself, “Can this chick be real?” How in the world does she stay so thin? Does food come out? Does food go in? And the beautiful Renee in “Bridget Jones”, is supposed to be fat or merely “big boned?” “Full figured” gals are back in style? Well, I haven’t seen one in quite a while. The problem here, should I venture a guess... A size 12 is average-not Reubenesque! You see, I’m honest and nothing more, and I find false modesty a tedious bore. Cause I tell you sugar, if I were svelte I’d tuck in my shirt and wear a belt. I’d have leather pants and a halter top. Everything I owned would be “mini” or “cropped.” I’d buy black garter belts and maybe a thong. I’d dress like a whore all the day long. I’d say, “Hey everybody, look at me! I’m looking good at 123!” My friends would say, “Can you believe that? I liked her better when she was fat!” “You liked me much better when I was what?” “Did you mention the “F” word? That’s just what I thought! When I was fat, I was so out of place with my great personality and pretty face. Now I’m much better. I’m better I say! Step back non-believers! Out of my way!” As I sashay by on stiletto heels, leaving them to guess what’s been “bought” and what’s “real”. But enough flights of fancy of this fantasy. I’m sure that I am, and will always be me. And “me’s” pretty good. Yep, “ME”- that’’ll do... but... I would like some thighs you can see daylight through. Just kidding. (Not really) Bear with me my friend, for soon I’ll be finished; this tirade will end. It’s just that I struggle and struggle some more, You’d think I would learn; (that’s what therapy’s for.) When it’s all been hashed out. When it’s all said and done; I like me a lot. I’m really quite fun. I know what’s important I do know what counts, and it’s not what I weigh measured out pound and ounce. I just need to vent every once in a while, and give all the fat girls a reason to smile.
wendytip

wendytip

3
 

Help!

The other day my husband tried to kill me. To his credit, he was very clever in his attempt. He hatched his evil plan innocently enough by encouraging me to work out with him at a “spin class.” He approached me earlier in the week and asked me if I would like to go to spin class with him. I expressed my concerns. “I’m afraid I’m not in shape for this.” “What if I become so exhausted that I fall off the bike and humiliate myself?” “I don’t look good in bike shorts.” “The only biking I’ve ever done is when my car has been in the shop and it’s imperative that I get to my destination…my destination being Dairy Queen, or someplace like that.” “You know I hate sweating…in particular the dreaded thigh sweating that will inevitably occur during this class.” None of these excuses worked…and besides, my husband is super HOT, so he was able to convince me to give it a try. Oh, you should have seen him making sure that I was ready for class; getting me a towel, adjusting my bike seat, making sure that my bike’s handle bars were placed just so, checking the resistance on the bike. Little did I know that he was he was getting me ready, alright…getting me ready to DIE! The music started. The too- peppy- for- her own good- impossibly well conditioned- instructor arrived, and we got on our bikes. I was great…for about 30 seconds; then it hit me. My undoing wasn’t to be any of my aforementioned concerns, no, my undoing was going to be the tiny, yet rock hard bike seat that was cutting into my ass. I looked at my husband. He smiled at me sweetly. I chose to ignore the searing pain in my butt. Alas, the more we peddled, the happier everyone looked and the more intense the pain became. I looked around. No one else seemed to be having the same problem as myself. Looking across the room, I spied a women whose ass was almost ass big as mine. She sort of reminded me of me, but with one major exception; she was peddling happily. I wondered: was she faking it? Did she have an “I love exercise” Mission Impossible mask on? You know, the ones that look just like your actual face, but they’re really only a ruse, meant to fool people? What I really wanted to know was how all of these people could NOT be in the same pain as me. What really boggled my brain was how all of the skinny people could not be in pain. I mean, let’s face it; if you’ve got a big, well padded behind that should work to your advantage, but I was dying, and how all those riders with NO padding could take it, was beyond me. I turned to my husband and said, “I can’t take this. My ass is killing me. My husband then told me something that I can only assume was meant to relieve me. “Well, you won’t be sitting the whole time.” And friends, even though I hated life at that very moment, don’t think that I didn’t find the hysterical absurdity in his statement. I began to laugh wildly. After I finally caught my breath, I said, “You don’t really think I’m going to be able to actually stand up on this bike and peddle do you?” However, as my ass began to go numb I decided to try and stand and peddle in order to alleviate the pain. It was sort of like trying to hoist a 200 pound bag of wet sand. I sat back down and peddled some more. Surely I could make it through this. After 5 more excruciating minutes I turned back to my husband, who was now looking not as much hot as diabolical.” I can’t do this.” I said again. “Is your resistance all the way down he asked?” “It’s not my resistance,” I all but screamed, “It’s my ass! My ass is numb! Numb! Do you hear me?” He looked at me calmly, “Hang in there. You’ll get used to it.” I would’ve stopped peddling the bike right then and gotten of f, but at that point the entire lower half of my body had lost feeling. I mentally willed my legs to stop turning the peddles. As I hobbled off the bike, and staggered out of the room I turned to my killer/husband. “Oh, I’ll never get used to it…NEVER.”
wendytip

wendytip

5
 

The Trials, Tribulations and Mental Anguish of Going to the GYM!

I hate working out. I do. I am not one of those, “endorphin rush water bottle carrying gym bag toting heart monitoring yeah, I feel so great after a few hours of sweating” people. Truth be told; if I didn’t have to work out- I wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t miss it one damn bit. But, I do have to work out. I’m making it part of my lifestyle, now. I hate it, but I don’t have a choice, so I do it. So, I go to the gym the other day for a step class. I know that I may not be able to get through it, but hey, I gotta start somewhere. I’m waiting outside the step class and I’m surrounded by all these flippy- tailed little college girls. God, I hate them! I’m just being honest. No, I don’t know them, and yes, I know I’m being irrational. I’m sure they’re very nice girls, but that doesn’t matter; I hate them anyway. They get on my nerves. And they get on my nerves because they have flat non existent stomachs. They have little bitty behinds…my behind has never been that small…not even when I was a baby! Worst of all, they are so joyously happy about getting to that step class! I wish I could beat the hell out of them with their monogrammed gym bags. I go into the class and get my step…none of those little platform, riser thingys that elevate the step. I’m sure the step alone, with its three inches in height will be more than enough for me. I move to the back row; where all fat people work out. I think that if I position myself just right behind a few of those skinny girls that I may not be able to see myself in the mirror. I HATE those mirrors. A friend of mine told me once that the mirrors are there so that I can check my “form.” Hell, I don’t need to check my form. I just need to remain upright. I you hear my fat ass hit the floor then you’ll know that my “form” is in trouble. I do find, however, that if I stand right where the mirrors come together that I look half my size…maybe these mirrors aren’t so bad after all. We begin to work out, and I’m good…for a few minutes. I find that if I do most of the step routines without the step itself, then I can keep myself from passing out…which doesn’t really make it a “step” class does it? It sort of just makes it an…aerobic…floor exercises class. Just when I’m feeling okay, I look over and there is someone with 3 of those little platform things under their step; 3! That step was up to her knees! About that time, the instructor says, “For those of you who want to take it up a notch, you can give a little jump on your step.” Then that masochistic woman with the 3 platform thingys does just that; she “jumps” up on her step! I decided to finish out the step class with my eyes closed. It was awkward, and I had a hard time keeping my balance, but it was worth it!
wendytip

wendytip

3
 

The Band isn't working?

Okay...so, I wasn’t trying to judge or come across as harsh in my previous blog, and for MONTHS I’ve read so MUCH B.S…and I didn’t blog anything “negative,” because I didn’t want to be negative, or hurt anyone's feelings. But for the love of Kirstie Ally, people; let’s all just ‘fess up and be honest! For those who have legitimate problems with their band...for those who have worked and struggled, and continue to work and struggle (and, yes, it will continue to be a struggle, and NO Virginia, there is no magic-cure-all-procedure…you stand a better chance of there actually being a Santa Claus.) For everyone who needs to hear some encouraging words every once in a while, or for people who have simple questions or suggestions; for the pre-ops and post-ops (can you hear the national anthem playing in the background?...) this site is a great place. HOWEVER… for the people (and you know who you are,) who whine and cry and bitch and moan because they: · Can't seem to stop drinking sodas, and then proclaim that: the band isn’t working. · It's day 3 post op, and even though they’ve managed to puree lasagna and a Bundt cake and drink it through a straw, they CAN'T understand why: the band isn’t working. · Their friends and family aren't supportive and they don't understand. They continue to insist upon having fried chicken and mashed potatoes, sweet corn casserole, yeast rolls and fried okra every Friday night, and they simply can’t tell them “no.” I mean never mind the fact that they sabotage the Bandsters efforts and don’t need to be eating that unhealthy crap…they fix the food anyway, eat the food, and then complain that the band isn’t working. · Instead of eating protein first, they eat a big plate of loaded up nachos because the extra cheese and meat and melted cheese, and cheese IS protein, and then; SURPRISE, they don’t lose any weight and of course; the band isn’t working. · Just can’t seem to get into working out in any way shape or form, and so, it must be that: the band isn’t working. News Flash: most Bandsters; we don’t get “into” working out either, but we do it; not because it’s fun or makes us feel alive or at peace with the world, but because we know we have to. · Kind of, sort of went a little crazy celebrating Vernal Equinox day, their niece’s graduation, their best friends, sister’s son’s Bris, or that most recent holiday and grazed 24/7 on crap that they KNOW they shouldn’t’ t have been eating, and now: the band isn’t working. · They count alcohol as part of their water intake…Eight, 8 ounce glasses of Peach Stoli and tonic a day!...but: the band isn’t working. · They figure that since they’ve had the band, and even though it’s been stressed that it is just a tool and, that they have to eat three small meals a day...of lean, healthy foods, and become physically active, that they can continue to do things way they’ve always done it, somehow get completely different results, because hey, when they tell everyone how the band works and what to do, they weren’t really talking to them…just everybody else, and by the way; the band isn’t working. So, yeah…there it is. For all you pre-ops who may be reading this, take heart; the BAND DOES WORK...as a wonderful, life changing tool. You do your part and it will work. For all of you post-ops and Bandsters; the BAND DOES WORK…as a wonderful, life changing tool...You do your part…really do your part and it will work.
wendytip

wendytip

8
 

A yummy summer beverage recipe!

Oh, I almost forget. Here’s a recipe for a refreshing summer smoothie that I enjoy frequently…especially since giving up my beloved sugar free ice cream bars. Fill your blender about ½ to capacity with fresh seedless watermelon. Add ½ can of unsweetened pineapple. Add ½ packet of any sugar free, fruit punch drink mix. Make sure it’s the 2 quart sized packet, and not those singles for bottled water. Add two or three packets of artificial sweetner. Fill blender the rest of the way with water and ice. Give it whir and enjoy. Besides, it’s the only way you can eat watermelon and pineapple now that you’re banded! Cheers!
wendytip

wendytip

4
 

My Party

Someday...soon, when I don't have to shop in the "fat girls" section, I will throw a big party. The invites will read, "Your invited to my I don't have to shop in the fat girls' section anymore." Guests don't have to bring a gift, but they do have to "gush" about how much weight I've lost, before I'll let them in. At the party I will wear my clothing inside out and backwards, so that everyone can easily see that I'm not a 1,2 or 3x anymore. Then we will all gather round' and my guests will sing,   "For she's not shopping in the fat girls' section. For she's not shopping in the fat girls' section. For she's not shopping in the fat girls' section; this nobody can deny."   Hell, I may even make them sing that a few times; who knows?
wendytip

wendytip

4
 

2nd weigh in and fill; down 12 more pounds!

I went for my second weigh in, and was hoping for at least 9 more pounds so that I would have a total weight loss of 25 pounds. I stepped on the scale, and much to my delerious delight found that I had dropped 12 pounds all total! I'm telling you, I just stared at that number; 243. I thought I was going to cry. 28 pounds in just under 8 weeks. It's been so long since I've dipped below 250, that I can't even believe it's my weight on the read out...well, except for the fact that I had to dine on broth and jello for the Christmas holidays, and I've given up sweets, and I don't drink sodas anymore, and I monitor everything that goes into my mouth, and I don't eat fried foods or almost any bread...except for those things, I can't believe it's my weight.   My doctor didn't do my fill; his nurse did, and I could hardly feel a thing! So, in the future I will be making all of my appt. with her. One of the best things is that I can finally feel restriction...praise God! I've never been so happy to not be able to eat hardly any of my breakfast in my life!   However, the best thing about all of this is not really the weight loss; it's the peace of mind that I have, now. I don't wake up and think about what I'm going to eat, or when I can eat again, how much I'm going to eat, when I'll lose that battle...Even though, I will never say never again about being fat (I've learned my lesson there,) I will say, "Not very damn likely!"
wendytip

wendytip

2
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