I just spent the last 11 days on vacation.
Where did I go, you may wonder?
Well, I really didn't go anywhere.
I traveled around New Jersey with the in-laws on Christmas Eve. Then, MB and I traveled to Taylorville to see my family on Christmas Day.
And then, we pretty much became sloths.
Except for the Birthday Bar Crawl. That was on the 28th and turned out to be a poor excuse for a crawl. Two bars and we were done.
Apparently I have become quite a lightweight in these past few years. I used to be able to hang. I could never drink anyone under the table or anything, but I always held my own. The end results may not have been too pretty, but that's not the point. I could always 'take my skirt off' and hang with the boys.
Sometimes I would literally take my skirt off, but not often. It was rare that I would ever wear a skirt.
I was a little nervous about the Crawl. I'm already the older woman in the relationship. During this outing, I was going to be the older woman in the group. The group of 14. That's a lot of people to compete with.
Don't get me wrong, I have no beefs with any of them. I just have beefs in general with those who are younger, thinner and therefore better than me.
In my efforts to boost my self esteem, I decided to get kind of dolled up for the evening. For me, that means nice jeans, a dressy t-shirt style top and my whore boots. They have been named the whore boots by MB. Of course.
They are not really that whore-ish. They are black leather boots that zip up to my knee and have approximately a 3 inch heel. Not a spiked heel or anything. Just a regular heel.
Not too bad.
Not too Pretty Woman before the makeover.
Of course, they are not the best things to wear when you plan on consuming large amounts of alcohol. And when you anticipate drinking more than usual to overcompensate for the fact that you are the older woman of the group. Who is also fat. And whose friends/support systems are 2 hours away.
What could possibly go wrong?
I didn't notice it until I returned home, but I apparently lost a pretty important piece of one of the whore boots.
The sole of the heel.
I'm not sure how this happened. It should have dawned on me when someone commented how echo-y and loud they were as we stumbled down the street. I just figured they were not used to ladies in heels. Classy shoes just sound different.
How was I to know that I had lost my sole?
I was too busy focusing on the positive. I didn't trip. I didn't fall. I didn't injure myself at all really. That's quite an accomplishment for me.
I mean, I already had a burn on my right arm from baking cookies, a cut on my toe from tripping over the heater and a bruise on my butt from falling off the bed. I couldn't handle any more injuries. It might have put me in the hospital.
So, I survived the Bar Crawl without incident. I just have to either fix or replace my whore boots now. Maybe I'll trade up for ones with a higher heel.
Maybe not. I don't think hospital gowns are all that flattering.
After my 11 days of sloth, I have realized something.
I am really tired of crappy tv.
And I am really tired of having to keep my skinny clothes in storage tubs. I have some really cute clothes in there. It's time they resurfaced.
I have already starting making changes.
I planned a whole week's worth of meals using my Weight Watchers/Fat Club cookbooks. I started taking my vitamins again. I even walked halfway around the neighborhood with the pup (a 38 minute walk) and did 2 days of yoga.
So, I wasn't all that slothful.
I did accomplish some things.
And I really needed my 11 days of sloth. Sometimes you need to hibernate for a little while in order to emerge anew.