Hold your head high. Take a deep breath and sigh

Goodbye to California.

I'm a little out of words because I already spilled a little of this on Facebook and to some of my friends. But I'll tell the same story using different words if I can.

PART ONE 


Ode to Coleman Kane:

Today I handed in my resignation at work. It honest to God broke my heart. I love my job. I have loved it since the instant I started working there a little over 3 years ago. There are many reasons to love my job. We work in a great location, just about 3 blocks from the beach, which you can see from most of the windows. I get to do things I love. I know it sounds nuts, but I love paper work. It makes me feel important when I have paperwork to do. I have gotten to learn many things at my job. Things I never expected. I book travel overseas. That was not a part of my job when I started, but something I was able to take on during my time there. And although at times I may bitch about having to do it, secretly I absolutely love it. I also love the hours I work. They are wonderfully regular, which is a dream for a single mother like myself. Monday - Friday. 8-5. I get holidays off. I acquire vacation time.

But most of all are the people I work with. My God. What a fantastic collection of people. Humorous, friendly, tight knit, laid back, wonderful people. All of them. They have all been so special to me. So nice and encouraging and they have offered me such guidance when I feel lost. I could never have made it, nor would I ever have stayed so long without this magnificent cast of characters. And my favorite person of all of them is my boss, Coleman Kane. I have worked many places in my time. I've sold cell phones to people in malls, I've been the door girl at a downtown club, I've processed paperwork on some less than saintly people working at a power plant, I've run my own business, I've worked in retail, I sold Christmas trees, I fabricated orthodontic appliances, I even worked for a Mouse. And in all of my wanderings I have never had a boss who cared so much for the people working for him. He takes care of us in such wonderful and sometimes funny ways. He sees to it that every Friday is not just casual, but Casual Pizza Friday. He makes sure that we have hilarious office parties. He's put up with me through all my wide eyed confusion and mistakes and takes more time than he can probably afford at any given moment to explain things in a way that my slow moving mind can understand. He's a friend to everyone he works with. He remembers details about our personal family lives. He's hosted office parties at his house because that's the kind of guy he is and those are the kinds of people he hires. People who are wonderful and people who can be trusted.

I have grown so fond of my boss, and I hope that he is fond of me. At least in a way that would never allow him to curse my name in vain, although he pretends to curse it on occasion. Since joining the company, never once did I wish I worked somewhere else or for someone else. Not many people understand me, or even tolerate me for long. But my boss has always been so kind to me and that has meant the world to me. I swear if I had a choice I would have never left.

PART TWO


Ode to my family:

We'll get into my choice here.
My family is more incredible than yours. That's the truth. Not just my immediate family either. All of us. We have about 12 million people in my family and every one is a gem. Concentrating for a moment on my immediate family though, we have been to hell and back more than once over the last five or ten years. In the last 4 years alone I had a baby, witnessed the decline of my marriage, went through a long battle with depression, lost my house to foreclosure, lost my husband to his own demons, and put on 90 pounds. Through it all, my family never left my side. Not one time ever. Not even for five minutes. Not even when I wanted them to. My temper, my mood and my general outlook on life has had violent swings up and down for years now and God bless them, they stuck by me. And they were happy to do it.

My family has suffered it's own series of unfortunate incidents over the past few years (on top of an emotional basket case of a daughter, can you imagine?). It leaves us now with my parents health in a state more delicate than I would hope for. I don't know how much they wish for me to share about their personal lives, so I will just leave it at they should no longer be working, and can therefor no longer live "comfortably" in California. And I use the term comfortable loosely, and I think a lot of Californians will know what I'm talking about.

So they must depart the land of beaches and orange groves and Starbucks as far as the eye can see. And I could never let that happen without placing myself and my daughter by their side. I have no choice, because there is no choice. There is no choice because there is no question. There is only fact. We are family, and we need each other.

Fact.

I am an emotion basket case right now. Not only am I coming to terms with my impending departure to the Lone Star State, but my daughter is gone to spend 9 days with her father. I have never been away from her for so long. She has only been gone for 3 night-nights and I am already starting to go numb. I keep forgetting that she is not home when I leave work. I pull up into the drive way and right before I open the garage it occurs to me that she is not inside waiting for me. I have only gotten to speak with her once since she left, and it was very brief. I was waiting up to Skype with her this evening after she got home from a restaurant, but her father sent me a text saying she had fallen asleep. Disappointment and heartache immediately follow.

My eyes are swollen 3 times their normal puffiness. My face needs no moisturizer tonight because it is still damp with tears. This has been a very emotional few hours. With the handing in of my resignation comes the end of my ability to pretend that this is not really happening. "Yes it is. And you better start to pack because, frankly honey, you've got a lot of baggage."

Brandy Pyle's Zumba Profile

RAD!!!!!

Brandy Pyle's Zumba Profile

Oh and by the way...

I started this blog/journey early in the year after smelling sunblock in a store and deciding that I wanted to take my daughter to a waterpark over the summer. Well, my less than half ass attempts at weight loss (before this Zumba adventure) did nothing for my figure. But I never let that stop me from showing my daughter a good time. As it turns out I did take her to a water park on the 4th of July and she and I both had a wonderful time. I just adjusted my wardrobe into something that made me comfortable. I found that board shorts worked wonders for taking my mind off how I looked. So that mission has been accomplished. Now back to the fitness part. :)

pics or it didn't happen

It's Okay To Be Bipolar

I don't have much life energy to pour great wit and much playful banter into a blog tonight. but we'll do a short recap. In four more night nights I'll be getting my Zumba fitness instructor certification. Me! My out of shape, huffin and puffin ass will be leading others in the health charge.

This holiday weekend started at 1:30pm when my boss was kind enough to let us all go home early for the weekend. So I picked up my daughter and took her to see Spy Kids 4D. (and the smell cards don't work, btw. And thank God, because who wants to smell stinky diaper and dog fart? Who the hell...?) We met up with some friends at the movie who came over to play after it was over. We were up ALL night playing. The next day was a day of shopping and errands, and again our friends came over to play. And again we partied all night long. On Sunday ...I honestly can't even remember Sunday I'm so tired. But I do know I was awake until well after 2 in the morning. Which brought me to today. And a 9:30am Zumba class.

Normally I take Zumba 3 times a week. Mon/Wed/Fri. But because of this Labor day weekend, my normal gym was closed on Friday AND Monday. Well that just wouldn't do. Not with this all day certification class coming up. I need all the practice I can get. My original plan was to do some sort of at home cardio over the weekend, but if history tells us anything it's that home + cardio + me = not happening. So this morning, more tired than I've been in a long time, but also motivated out of my mind, I rolled out of bed and into my car and drove to my local 24 Hour Fitness with a "try it free" pass in my hand and waited for Zumba to begin.

Here comes the bipolar part.

During class I was doing my best. As best as I could muster with my exhausted body and mind. I even over did it during one song. I was feeling wonderful when I noticed that it doesn't hurt as much to jump anymore. A few weeks ago, jumping up and down incorporated all sorts of unpleasant things and very quickly exhausted me. Well today it didn't, and I noticed. There was a lot of jumping in this song and I was doing it all. About 2 minutes later I stopped dead. I felt like I was going to faint. I realized that I had bitten off more than I could chew with this one. After a moment I regained composure and started dancing again. I shook it off and kept going. But fear set in. What if I can't make it through this certification class on Friday? Oh my God what was I thinking getting into this so quickly. I am so extremely out of shape. I wont even be able to lead an hour class for MONTHS. All I can probably muster for now is to lead a few songs under someone else's class. When will it get better? I shouldn't have signed up for this. 


But then, once the class was over and I had made it through, my faith renewed. I will do this. Then something else. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm telling you, I know my body. But as I was sitting the car on the way home, I lifted my arms to grab the wheel and it felt like my arms were lighter than they had been an hour ago. I fit in my chair differently than I had on the way to class. Whoa! What? I was driving home and my face felt like it was glowing. Like it was radiating warmth and sunshine and it felt open and good, like air was passing through my pores and in general I felt like a golden pink color. What a wonderful thing this journey I am on is giving me. I can feel the journey happening all around me. Now maybe I'm just a little tired and over worked, because I don't think my words are making much sense right now. But I feel high as a kite. Sometimes right before class I feel intimidated and nervous, but I come out the other side feeling like I have just slayed a dragon.

So here I am, nervous and intimidated and afraid...and slaying dragons 3 times a week.

How To Turn a Fail Into a Win

I promised you the good, the bad and the ugly. Well this would be one of those uglies. I've been a Zumba fiend the last couple of weeks. Devouring all the information and songs and classes I could. I placed an order for some Zumba wear with an instructor friend of mine last Friday and have been practically counting the minutes until it arrived.

Today was that day.

All I've been able to talk about lately are "my Zumba pants". I love Zumba pants. I think they're awesome. I love the fit and the colors and the fact that you can attach tassels to them. When I got the word that the pants had been delivered, I got in the car and rushed over to my friends house somewhere near 9pm. I grabbed the box of clothes, threw it in the car and made the 3 block trip home in about eleven seconds. I ran up the stairs, busted the box open like a kid on Christmas morning, took the pants out of the protective packaging and looked at them.

 "Hmm". *insert quizzical head tilt* They look a little small. I had ordered the biggest size they make. XXL. Surely they have sent me the wrong pants. I check the tag. Nope. They are "correct". So I decide my eyes must be in crooked and I begin to step into them.

I think I figured out something was wrong when they stopped ascending my body somewhere around mid thigh. Holy shit. Can this be? These pants not only don't fit, but they don't fit by a long shot. How can this be possible? My beloved Zumba...has betrayed me?

I've noticed something online with the Zumba pants. They are constantly out of the bigger sizes. Whenever you find the really cool looking pants, you will always come to find that anything other than XS, S and M are all sold out. You know why? Because people that skinny don't work out. They don't need to. WHY on earth would they not make more of these bigger pants? And why wouldn't they be made to fit the girls such as myself who are in desperate need of some serious cardio exercise, and who don't want to show up looking like we're dressed to work out in a prison yard? I instantly wanted to write Zumba Corp a letter quoting Day-Day from Next Friday when he says "Fat b*tches need love too, Craig!"

Now here's the up side: I have decided to keep the pants. Both pairs. They are MONTHS (at best) away from fitting. But God as my witness, these *F-Bomb*ing pants will fit me. And I will rock them. No one will have ever looked cuter in them. I will wear the pants, they will not wear me.

Being the person that I am, I took pictures. My mom and daughter were in the room when the trying on happened, so as I walked out of the changing area with devastation on my face I solemnly grabbed my camera and asked my mother to take some pictures. At first I did not intend to show the pictures to anyone. They were for me to keep and to look back on when one day these pants were far too big on me. But, I remembered that some girls out there may not have the "hope is like herpes" (see earlier blog) thing going on and may need some real motivation and hand holding. So, Big Girls out there: You are not alone. But I will tell you this, you will soon have one less sister amongst you, because I am out of here. Big Girls, I will always have love for ya, but I can't be one of you anymore. And I'd rather you bask in the glow of healthy positive changes along side me, than have you eat my dust. I have made the first step of getting off the couch. I walked out the door and into a Zumba class and it is motivating me every day. *prepare yourself for a Jerry Maguire moment* So all I wanna know is, who's coming with me?

I couldn't even get these all the way up my legs.

Am I on drugs? Because I'm sure acting like it.

It was only last weekend, and yet I cannot remember what I was doing or thinking, but something suddenly possessed me. I made an executive decision for myself. I deliberated all of 28 seconds, sat down at the computer, and executed my plan. 

Now it's been what, six months? Six months since I attended a Zumba class. And I'll tell you honestly that's the last exercise that I had done. At least until this Monday. (But were skipping ahead) I had what can only be described as a Flip Wilson "the devil made me do it" moment. But I decided that I was going to become a Zumba instructor. ~Yes. You read it right.~ 

I have one friend who is currently a Zumba instructor who happened to be online at the time I made this decision. As I was filling out blanks in the "I'm fat, overweight, out of shape and wanna be a Zumba instructor" enrollment sheet, she was answering questions I had. 

Click

Pay

Send

Done

As of September 9th, for better or for worse, I will be a certified Zumba instructor. **eek** Now, I may be smokin' crack, but I'm not crazy. I know that I may very well die of exhaustion if I jump cold turkey into this. So the day after this decision was made, I started going to Zumba classes again. And so I shall continue to do three times a week until I am certified. I have gone Monday, Wednesday and Friday of this week. And I'm dying a little less every time. Still dying, just a little less. I will admit that my energy has been a tad up this week from last week. My appetite, surprisingly, is down! Every time I actually make it all the way through a class, I feel better and better about my decision. I ordered some Zumba pants, which I am DYING to get in the mail and try on, and I already have plans on how to affix my Zumba themed coif. This is honestly the last thing I would have ever pictured myself doing. 

Zumba instructor. Wow. This blog just got a whole lot more interesting. (to me anyway)

My Date With "MiMi"

Alright now. Listen closely, because I'm only going to tell this story once...

So last night I went on a date. My first date since my last relationship, which ended little over a year ago. Which had been my first relationship since the untimely death of my marriage. Needless to say, I don't date much. I have many reasons, I suppose. I'm a single mother. I work 40 hours a week. My child is still very young and in need of my attention and affection. I'm afraid to get hurt again. I don't have a wide enough social circle to meet potential mates more often than once every 2 years. Bla bla bla yadda yadda yadda...take your pick. I have tried a few dating sites. I mostly started just to see. I was curious to see what kind of men were on the market. Over the last few years I have visited eHarmony, Match.com, Plenty of Fish and OKcupid. And what I have found is that most of the men on the market, are still hanging in the window for a reason.

I've been contacted by numerous men. Most emails I received mainly consisted of one sentence, or sometimes one word and usually had something to do with describing my butt. "Sup?"  "DAMN! You got ass." "You remind me of a Mos Def song. 'Ass so fat you can see it from the front'.When you gonna let me hit dat, ma?" And that would be the entire body of the email. What on earth kind of response these men expected, I couldn't tell you. On one occasion I received what seemed to be the first chapter of a book. The email took me 15 minutes to read through. A few times I got asked out, but I always said 'no'. Like I said, I was just there to look and get a feel. That is, until this week.

I call my date "Mimi". Why? Say that name over and over and over again and you will get the gist of his conversation. The date started out promising enough. We chatted online a few times and seemed to have a lot in common and he had a great sense of humor. He asked me out to dinner. Which would imply that there would be dinner, right? Not necessarily, as you will come to find out.

We met in the parking lot, and before we had crossed the street into the restaurant he had already dropped an "f bomb". I thought "okay, he's nervous. It's understandable." We walk inside and he takes me through the restaurant and to the back patio. Before arriving at our date night, he knew that I was very inexperienced with the world of beer, so he offered to teach me about it. The truth is, I really can't stand beer, but I thought "you know what? He wants to show off his knowledge on a subject. This is something I have never done before. I'll give it a shot."

We seat ourselves outside and he orders both of us some beers. Then he orders an appetizer. Pretzels with cheese and mustard for dipping. Little did I know that this would be the only thing we would eat this evening. There never was an entree. Just beer...and pretzels. So our beers show up and I have to say, mine wasn't that bad. It was actually pretty good. As I sip, he starts to talk. About 4 minutes into his chatter, he lets out a burp mid-sentence. He never stops to excuse himself. He just keeps on talking. (Oooooookaaaaay) 25 minutes later, he is still talking. I'm nibbling on pretzels wondering when we're going to order dinner.

He's in the Navy. So needless to say, he's spent some time over seas. I know aaaaaaaaall about it. He went on and on about how he's "the man". He told me about how he once owned a bar in Tahiti, how on the island everyone would come to him for anything they needed because he had connections. While on ship he was the man who everyone came to for the most in demand of items. American cigarettes, American candy bars, movies, porn...you name it. (Did he seriously just tell his date that he was a porn distributor? Yes he did!) He went into great detail about his rule of lending out porn on the ship. "If it comes back sticky, you're done. You're cut off. No more for you. Just keep it. Ha ha ha, you know what I mean?" (Ummmmm...) *que a nervous laugh and a giant swig of my tasting-better-every-minute beer*

During the next half hour he downs another beer and lets out another half dozen belches. Still never once stopping to say "excuse me". I'm sorry. That's not only rude, but it's disgusting. Talk of sticky lender porn on a first date, I can almost handle. But not excusing yourself after a burp, you're crossing the line, buddy.

He casually mentions the pretzel appetizer and asks if I like it. I say yes, it is very good. He then remarks "Yeah, they've got food inside, but it's really weird." as he scrunches his face. A few things come into my head now. I realize that not only are we NOT ordering anything other than this appetizer, but I think to myself "Why on earth would you ask me to dinner at a place which serves food that you have no intention of eating?" I also notice that we have now been here an hour and a half, and I've spoken about 15 minutes total.

The best...well I wouldn't call it that. How about, the most interesting and perhaps humorous (to anyone not actually on this date) part of this story comes about 45 minutes later. We're...as you were...he is still talking as we go for a walk. As we come to rest on a picnic bench and he continues to regale me with stories of how awesome he is, how he once almost smacked his best friends wife for being a bitch (what the shit?), of what kind of dates he'd like to take me on in the future (and he's serious!!) it happens. I hear a strange noise. At the same time I notice that the bench we're sitting on vibrated somewhat. Oh my God. This man just farted. He farted!! He farted and yet the band played on. He didn't stop for an instant. Suddenly I could hear the lyrics to a Matthew Wilder song. "Aint nothing gonna break my stride. Nobody's gonna slow me down. Oh no. I got to keep on (TALKING)!!!"

Thinking back on it now, I wonder if I kept my poker face. Honestly I was too in shock once I realized what had just happened to notice whether or not I kept my composure. And even if I hadn't, I don't think it would have mattered because this fool wasn't even looking at me. As far as he was concerned he was on an awesome date with himself. He started to tell me about an awful date he had once gone on in which the girl started talking about marriage and kids and how she could see these things happening with him. And in the same breath, starts discussing "our" future together. He is telling me all about the things we're gonna do together and the dates he's gonna take me on. The phrase "Not if you were the last man on earth" came to mind more than once. What's really strange is the fact that this was not the first date I had been on since becoming single in which my date talked incessantly. The first guy even caught himself on a few occasions and would jokingly refer to himself as "Hemingway". On that particular date I don't think I said more than "It's nice to finally meet you" and "Well thank you for the lovely evening." But that is another story for another time...

Some dates can leave a bad taste in your mouth