You know what's worse than being a teacher when you're trying to diet? Being a teacher on any day during the month of December when you're trying to diet. I was like Cookie Monster possessed this week. I've included a video...we'll call it Exhibit A. Notice how well Cookie Monster keeps it together. He is the epitomy of self-control...until the end of his cookie rap.

PS...This is EXACTLY how it went. Cookies were flying everywhere. I kept it together through the 28 sacks of goodies, lovingly baked by parents and students, that found their way to my desk. I took one look at the plethora of gingerbread boys, peppermint fluffs and homemade toffee and whisked it downstairs to the maintenance guys (who love me now, by the way). But on Monday, it all came crumbling down. It happened during our staff Christmas party, when a plate of homemade and beautifully frosted sugar cookies walked into my life. The magic ingredient was the subtle hint of orange zest...but it might as well have been crack. I looked like an offensive left tackle, knocking people to the ground as they tried to make a play for my cookies. At least one person walked away from that party with carpet burn. But wait, there's more. More of those damn cookies came to work yesterday and hung out on my co-worker's desk. They weren't mine, but I ate those, too. I just grabbed them and ran out the door, stuffing them in my mouth before she could take them back. 

Who's sorry now? Each one must have been 1,000 calories. Because I'm up 4 1/2 pounds from my 16 pound weight loss glory. UGH!

I don't know if it was the torrential rain in Pasadena, or my newfound exercise-induced endorphine levels, but I was in a great mood yesterday. It didn't even bother me when the SUV with a bumper sticker that said "Bite Me" cut me off. Normally I would have utilized the horn that Toyota gave me, but decided to let it slide. What does that saying mean anyway..."bite me?" It's obviously meant to be an insult. But do you have any idea how hard I bite? Ask the neighbor kid. She had a giant tire in her backyard and we used to roll each other around in it when we were kids. One day she made the mistake of putting her finger a little too close to my mouth while I was laughing...and rolling. Well, it's all fun and games until someone gets bitten. And hasn't everyone seen Cape Fear? Or Silence of the Lambs?!? Or Mike Tyson? Do you really want to invite people to clamp down on any part of your body?

Now I see why the first question out of Cesar Millan's mouth when he meets his misbehavin' dogs (and their owners) on The Dog Whisperer is "How often do you exercise your dog?" It definitely takes the edge off. In dogs AND humans. I have to admit...working out every single day is becoming more natural. I was skeptical, believe me. If only you could have heard my internal dialogue when I started the project. It went something like this:

"Self, you've got to work out today."

"We'll see. If I have time."

"Oh, you're gonna do it. And you're gonna like it, damn it!"

"You're not the boss of me so shut your pie hole."

"Get upstairs and work out right now!!!"

"Just wait. America's Funniest Videos is on. See that guy there? He's about to be attacked by his orange tabby."

"Do you really want to be fat the rest of your life?"

"Maybe...if it means mint chocolate chip ice cream."

"Ok...it's a commerical. Now go change into your workout clothes."

"I hate my workout clothes. And besides, this is my favorite Geiko commericial."

"Why don't you just record it?"

"It's better live."

"You'll feel better."

"You know what will really make me feel better? A clean house. If I wash the dishes and mop the floor and shred my junk mail and start the laundry, I'll be on fire to work out. On fire! You watch."

"Well get to it."

"After I watch this, I promise."

And that's how it goes. Or how it went, anyway. I'm not an expert by any means. But I think that with any new thing, it seems to take so much time and energy at the beginning. You think if you have to spend your life like this you'll go crazy. But after you do it every day, it starts to occupy space in your thought. And it stops taking such conscious effort.

Now, I'm upstairs everyday. And I gotta tell you...I'm breakin' it down in the exercise arena. I'm nailing the instructor cues, propelling myself in the air, and mastering even the most complicated moves. When Kathy Smith shouts from the TV, "Don't try this step yet. Just watch me," I'm like "Oh, I'm doin' it, Kathy! Bring it."

Will I ever feel so confident in my cooking abilities? I don't know. I saw a sign the other day that said "I kiss better than I cook." That's me. The girl who loves to kiss and hates to cook. 

Two very unexpected things happened last night. First, I was baking cookies for a holiday party. Not baking exactly...they were the ready-to-bake Pillsbury variety. And a snowman oozing with Christmas cheer atop each one. After they were done, I had enough dough to a)make 12 more cookies, b)eat the entire remaining batch raw or c)throw them down the garbage disposal and watch as the last smiling snowman melted into oblivion. I chose c. Afterwards, I felt a feeling I've not felt before. It was a strange mix of sadness, relief and emancipation. I had never thrown cookies away...not even the dough (cookies with potential). It was like hitting your funny bone...you don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Then, I received a piece of very good advice. From the most unexpected source...Rush Limbaugh. He was a guest on William Shatner's Raw Nerve, a show I came to love when Fran Drescher confessed she never thought she'd love another dog again after her Pomeranian, Chester, passed away, and how she'd been dating guys for five years that never really did it for her. I heart you, Fran Drescher!

But last night was Rush Limbaugh. Captain Kirk asked him something about his addiction to OxyContin and he said "When you are addicted to something, your life becomes all about not running out of that." Hmmm...very true. Two haircuts ago, I was still running to the grocery story every night for a hit. And when Ralph stopped carrying my Jello sugar-free chocolate mousse, I freaked out, ran to every store within a five mile radius until I found it, and bought enough packages to be charged for "possession with intent to distribute" if anyone ever looked in my fridge. Except I had no plans to distribute. No one was going to lay a hand on my mousse.

Ok...so now you know. I don't share well. And I'm addicted (or was) to chocolate mousse and William Shatner.             

For the last few days, I've been contemplating about what to write. A lot has happened. Hair Appointment #2, for one, which involved stepping out on my hairdresser of three years to place my head in the hands of two men auditioning for the role of future hair guru. One was named Cesare (pronounced Say Czar), a Lebanese man who slightly resembled Andre the Giant and confessed he liked to get out of speeding tickets by appearing in front of the judge and proclaiming he didn't speak English. Running his fingers through my hair, he made a few contemplative grunts and then proclaimed I needed his fabulous caviar deep conditioning treatment. 50 minutes and $50 later, I had the softest hair ever. Was he the one? Alas, no. A few minutes later, he took the front section of my hair, twirled it between his fingers and then SNIP...cut it two inches shorter than I asked him to.  

Then there was Curtis, a man who owned his own salon, shampooed my hair like he was scaling fish, and who has been living with a woman for the last two years who drives him crazy with her incessant spending, messiness and inability to relate to his Chinese heritage. Hmmm...pretty good hair color, but if he wants to be my hairdresser emeritus, I'm going to have to show him the shampoo scene in Out of Africa. A woman's gotta have a good shampoo.

And then there was Thanksgiving, and the Danielle Steele novel that involved driving across Texas on Thanksgiving Day (making turkey sandwiches in the back seat), only to arrive in DFW for a wedding weekend that involved three days of eating, drinking, reuniting, lots of drama, one fist fight and the funky chicken. 

But (there's always a but, isn't there?)...as this is a blog about body image and weight loss, let's talk shop, shall we? Of course, this is the season of overindulgence and forgotten discipline. I have to admit, I was convinced...CONVINCED...I would come home five pounds closer to my goal and feeling on top of the world. Instead, one day of out-of-control eating become three. And I came back to California four pounds heavier and feeling miserable!

I've been thinking a lot about a book I read in college. It was called The Structure of Scientific Revolutions by Thomas Kuhn. At the center of his philosophy is a concept called a paradigm shift. According to Kuhn, a paradigm "is not simply the current theory, but the entire worldview in which it exists, and all of the implications which come with it."

Ok...stay with me here. Kuhn goes on to talk about the ultimate outcome...the paradigm shift. He says "When enough significant anomalies have accrued against a current paradigm, the scientific discipline is thrown into a state of crisis. During this crisis, new ideas, perhaps ones previously discarded, are tried. Eventually a new paradigm is formed, which gains its own new followers, and an intellectual 'battle' takes place between the followers of the new paradigm and the hold-outs of the old paradigm."

Best example of a paradigm shift? That the world is not flat. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that moment. 

I'm not sure how many of you have seen this, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately. It's a famous perceptual illusion that originally appeared on a German postcard. The idea is for the brain to switch between seeing a young girl and an old woman once it realizes the existence of the other. Which one do you see?

I love this idea...the idea of something clicking into place that allows you to see, for the very first time, a new person...while simultaneously honoring your old self (and by old, I mean former).

A paradigm shift.    

If I were Catholic, I'd be on my way to a 24-hour confessional. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been over a week since my last confession. But I just got back from a week in Texas and a Thanksgiving holiday slash family wedding that had all the makings of a Danielle Steele novel." 

Tomorrow, I promise!