If Only Oprah Could Really Help Me...

Apparently, I think about being fat even while I'm sleeping. The other night I dreamed that a theme park was being built in honor of DALLAS the TV show from the '80s. I went to the opening and Patrick Duffy was at the gate! But when I asked him for a dance, he told me, "I don't do fat chicks." I argued that I was married and just wanted to dance, but he stood firm ... and I was PISSED. As people entered the park, I told them about Patrick's attitude, but no one seemed to care. Then Oprah showed up -- and she was angry. She defended me and gave Patrick a heated talking-to. Then she and I stormed the park and enjoyed the rides, our sizes be damned.

I've never met either Oprah or Patrick Duffy, but I do know people who know Patrick and from all accounts, he's a nice guy. As silly as the dream is, though, I guess I still have some deep-down fears about being judged. While I'm pretty sure that Patrick would be polite to me in real life, there are plenty of assholes out there who really would tell me, "I don't do fat chicks."

The good news is, I'm becoming slightly less of a fat chick. Each time I go to the gym, I'm getting stronger. Tonight, I did 32 minutes (10 elliptical, 15 bike, 7 treadmill), but I pushed myself on each machine. I put the elliptical's crossramp up to 15 and dialed the resistance up to 3; on the treadmill, I topped out at an incline of 3.5 and speed of 2.4 mph; and on the bike, I managed to keep the machine going for 10 minutes this time -- and get this, I made it up to Level 2! Karen says that it looks as if I've lost some weight, especially in my legs. I think I look about the same, but I can definitely feel the difference when I walk.

Poor Karen really pushed herself and could barely move by the time we left. But we're both working hard. Even though we don't spend a lot of time together in the gym, it's nice having someone at the gym.

On the way out, a trainer stopped us (well, really me) and asked if I wanted to work with her. I turned her down, explaining that I wasn't ready for that just yet. I hope she doesn't bug us. That will be so annoying. I might want to work with a trainer later on down the line, but for now, I feel as if I'm able to push myself without injuring myself. I don't trust that a lot of trainers know how to deal with obese people and I don't want her to put me in positions where I'm on the floor or doing some other move that will hurt my back. I like the progress I'm making. I'm gaining strength, but not to the point where I'm burning out.

In other news, I got a nice surprise package today from one of the actors whom I'd interviewed. He sent a hug gift basket full of cookies, nuts, meats ... excactly what I DON'T need, but it was sweet. I ended up having a couple of items and then gave the rest away to my co-workers. I was proud of my restraint. Regardless, it felt really nice to be appreciated!

I'm anticipating a crazy day at work tomorrow, but feel like I can handle it, especially since I have another "gym date" in the afternoon. And who knows? Maybe Oprah will send me some surprise flowers...

Sleeping Beauty

Now that I've been recovering from my broken leg for a few weeks, it's coming up in my dreams; I keep dreaming that I'm walking on it and that it's OK -- hopefully a good sign for those of you who believe in dreams predicting the future.

That said, I also have frequent dreams about my weight, which apparently I can't even escape in my sleep. The most common ones I have are where I'm naked and in public and everyone is mocking my weight; I'm at a clothing store and nothing fits (that one is pretty close to reality, sadly); I'm fighting with my mom over my weight (another reality-based one) or I'm reuniting with someone from high school and they're laughing at me for no longer being thin.

Well, last night I finally had a new variation on the "being fat and getting mocked" dream. In it, Jon urged me to start dating again, "just in case" something happened to him. I wasn't thrilled with the idea, but agreed to go on a few blind dates just to shut him up. Unfortunately (or fortunately since I'm MARRIED, even while I'm asleep), my "dream" date (heh) turned out to be anything but and stated that he couldn't see why anyone would want to be with a fat chick like me (sidenote: El Jerko resembled George Costanza, so he was not exactly a looker himself!). I then stood up in the middle of the restaurant that we were in and loudly ordered him to "pack his penis and go." HA!

While in real-life, I don't intend to start dating anytime soon -- my actual husband and gay trophy husband are all I need right now -- I do love the line and am now going to have to find ways to use, "Pack your penis and go," in everyday conversation. I'm pleased that while my dream self may be as heavy as my real self, that at least we both can come up with a good zinger on the spot.