ChgoRed, Girl Editor

Back Back Bo-Back

Thanks so much for the well-wishes and advice. I am improving and my back is feeling better. Have been in contact with my PCP (who was not very helpful) and a friend who works for an association of orthopedic surgeons, who gave me a lot more advice. It all boils down to:

1) Backs take a long time to heal, so be patient.
2) Moving around is much better for you than sitting or laying down.
3) Take drugs if you need them.
4) For the love of God, don't reinjure yourself.

Unfortunately, I am not patient, don't like to take pills, and am a big fan of doing things that require me to sit still (TV, reading, etc.). It made for a long week.

I will admit that the drugs (2 Advil every 6 hours) are helping enormously, even if they do make me a bit loopy at first. Less pain means I am more willing to move around and do things, which leads to feeling a little better the next day. Plus, being able to do stuff has really helped my mood.  I still want to be all better NOW, but will settle for daily improvement.

Also helping—The Husband, who has been remarkable. The man went out in a wet, gloomy snowstorm Sunday to buy groceries so that we would have some dinner.  Patient, understanding, and very good at making the Stern Face when he thinks I'm overdoing it.  He even brought me a can of chocolate Hobnobs, one of my all-time favorite cookies.

He is an absolute star.

"Tops $9.99 and Up," My Fanny

Dear Lane Bryant,

I don't care if you mark them down to $0.99--I'm not going to buy a horizontally striped sweater. I'm not even going to try them on.  Something that makes me look bulkier AND wider--oh, can I please?

No.

And, really, either you should start marketing more aggressively to the size 28 and size 14 crowds, or stop buying so much stuff in those sizes. They're cluttering up the clearance rack. 100 pairs of pants, and only 2 pairs in my size? Oh, that 10 minutes was well spent.

Also--there's no way those pants were an 18. Not on this planet.

Thanks for the tanktops,

ChgoRed

Signs

On the train this morning, I notice a guy in line for the next station. In his hand--one of those giant Ziploc Baggies, holding a banana, sandwich and big bottle of Gatorade.

And my first thought? "Man, that's a lot of carbs. Does he know many carbs that is? With the banana and the bread AND the Gatorade, my God, he must be looking at--"

She Smells Sea Swells

Nope, no caption contest last week. Called on account of illness. See, there was this outbreak of hooky-playing at my house, and we all caught it. (It’s always rampant this time of year.) Nothing to do, really, but wait it out.

At the beach. In the sun.

Eaten Up

Last night, a dream:

I’m hostess to a massive dessert party, somewhere that is not my house. Plates of cookies, pies, fabulously decorated cakes—the works. And people everywhere. Even Gary Sinise showed up, which is pretty weird because, well, he’s Gary Sinise, I do not know him, and no, he’s not this guy. Whatever. Tons of food, plus tons of people watching TV and eating sweets. For, like, two days.

Moral: You can act like you’re not on a diet; you can refuse to call it a diet; you can even tell everyone you know that “it’s not really a diet.” But your body always knows. And your body would like a Frappuccino, like, yesterday, please.