Okay, this isn't so good. I woke this morning, saw that it was rainy and gloomy, considered what it'd be like to attend a Weight Watchers weigh-in/meeting with three boys in tow (no school this week)...and decided to skip WW this week. Shame on me!
I did weigh myself on my bathroom scale, which is not as finely calibrated as WW's scale, and I seem to be at a plateau. Nothing lost, but nothing gain (I'm trying to be a "glass half full" gal). So here's my progress to date:
week 1 (Wed. 3.9.07) ~~~~~~ Just getting started!
week 2 (Wed. 3.14.07) ~~~~~ - 3.4 lbs
week 3 (Wed. 3.21.07) ~~~~~ - 1.6 lbs
week 4 (Wed. 3.28.07) ~~~~~ - 2.4 lbs
week 5 (Wed. 4.4.07) ~~~~~ + 0.6
week 6 (Wed. 4-11-07) ~~~~~~ -0
total weightloss: -6.8 lbs
This week I'm going to continue tracking my food intake, calculating my "points" and focusing on water, water, water. I've not been doing a good job with water lately. I personally would rather drink anything but. However, I think it's time I start to wean myself from the Diet Coke and replace it with something better for me.
Thanks, everyone, for indulging me in my Cat Eulogy yesterday. Can you stand one more Sebastian story? BehavenPapa mentioned in a comment on yesterday's post that he had a cat that was toilet-trained. How cool is that? I've heard of it before, and Sebastian might have been a good candidate had he not been so stubborn. After all, he has proven that he can perch in unusual places and do his business with hardly anyone knowing. So it really wouldn't be a stretch to switch to a toilet from ... a toaster!
Yes, he peed in my toaster. This was years ago, shortly after Dear Hubby and I were married. Perhaps Sebastian was acting out. You wouldn't know from looking at the outside of the toaster that anything was amiss, but pop a slice of bread in there and push the lever....
My smoking toaster became something along the lines of a weapon of mass destruction. Trust me when I tell you that there are few things worse-smelling in this world that the scent of cat urine being toasted to 250 degrees. Ask my neighbors - both next door and across the courtyard. The smell pretty much permeated the entire city block.
If you ever need to get rid of the smell of skunk, have I got a cure for you. Needless to say, Smoking Toaster of Death met an immediate demise in the dumpster - wrapped in 5 plastic bags. And speaking of demise, that was when Sebastian almost lost one of his nine lives.
Ah, the memories.
And since this post has already descended into the realm of poor taste, let me tell you how the rest of our evening went yesterday. An hour after our cat funeral (burial, eulogy, prayer), we washed up and went out to eat dinner in honor of my eldest brother-in-law's 50th birthday. He chose his favorite Italian restaurant and we were seated in a small, private dining room. Eight adults, four kids (three were mine). The room was pretty dimly lit, nice paintings. The kids were finished eating, the adults were about halfway finished their meals. I was cheating on my diet with a pretty decent Chicken Marsala, when all of a sudden, Son #1 calmly announces "there's a dead mouse under the table."
I thought he was either kidding or mistaken (most likely the latter, because he's a terrible kidder - he laughs too easily and gives the joke away). I was seated two spaces away from Son #1 so I walked to where he was, asked him to get up and I pulled his chair out from under the table. I still expected it to be a mistake. Perhaps a piece of black paper that was used to wrap the napkins or something like that (it was, as I mentioned, dimly lit).
I pull Son #1's chair away from the table. I'll spare the gory details, but yes, it was indeed a dead mouse and it looked to be there at least a day or two by my best estimation (I'm not a Rodent CSI, but I do know mice). ICK. Just ICK. I signalled for the waitress, she walks into our private dining room and said, "What can I get for you?" I suggested she step closer - I was trying to avoid saying it so loudly for the diners just outside our room to hear.
I tell her, "there seems to be a dead..." (insert waitress' bloodcurdling shriek here) I hadn't even told her what we found. "Dead" was all she needed to hear. Way to be subtle, lady! The manager comes over, handles the news a bit better, hurries off to get a broom and dust pan. Meanwhile, Dear Hubby's family continues chowing down. Nothing can kill an appetite with his clan.
First the manager offers cocktails, dessert (at which point my 5-year old was ready to sell us out for a piece of cake) - no thank you. Ultimately the manager ended up not charging for the meal, which in my opinion, was the appropriate thing to do.
I have three boys. I'm not easily fazed. But still, ICK.