The Bi-Monthly Friday-Night Bottle-of-Red Requisite Posting

In vino veritas.

The price of truth, it seems, runs $9.99 per 750 mils. Yum.

I’ve recently cut out my crack-like addiction to the tasty, chewy, buttery, vanilla-y Rice Krispie squares from the market down the street. That, coupled with yoga and a few more veggies in my diet as well as weight-lifting, and I’m noticing (just as of tonight) some new toning in my midsection. Like, what? I have rib bones? Who knew?

I’m guessing I’ve passed 50 pounds lost now; I was 47 a couple weeks back. I’ve had a couple rough weeks and I’ve given myself a break from the scale. Who needs that shit? I suspect I’ve beaten the 50-pound mark, though. It feels promising.

I decided not to go to this big scooter thing tonight. Yeah, I know, scooter-girl geek. What can I say? Those guys are just whack enough to be a good time any time. But tomorrow night’s the big party thang and I’ll just show up there lookin’ cute in my cutest duds. Truth be told? In vino veritas? There’s a limit to how much nice clothing I have right now. I shouldn’t press my luck with trying to look cute for the same crowd more than twice in a weekend.

I just haven’t the money to dress me up. Lord knows I’m tryin’, but it’s a slow go. I hope to pick up a few more things later this month. But I have a few nice things.

Tonight, for the hell of it, when running up to the store I actually dressed up instead of down. I wore these cute floral camo rolled-up crop pants with sandals and this brown tropics-linen shirt striped with gold, left it mainly unbuttoned and threw a hot-pink cami under it to punch things up, wore sandals, and carried my lime green shoulder bag.

I have no idea what the hell it was, but I got a whole lot of boy eye contact as I tried to figure out a different meal-on-the-cheap after seeing the ludicrous $3.49 cans of coconut milk at Safeway. (What?!) Is it the brazen clashing colours with a pastel camo pant? Or unbuttoning enough for bouncing boobs under a cami? What?

Honestly, I checked once to ensure my pants zipper was up. It was just a little daunting.

You have to understand something here. I may have lost 50 pounds, but I still have clothes I’ve been able to wear before, size 18 stuff from my halcyon days 3-4 years ago, when I was busting out of them yet proudly claimed they were my size. I still feel like the Steff of old… even though everything I own is at least one size (nearly two) too big (and I’ve thrown out the stuff that was any larger than that, two garbage bags full so far.)

When I actually have a whole new wardrobe, I’ll feel like a whole new me. Fortunately for me, I’m combining the right things of old with the right new ones, and having a little success. But tonight? Fucking surreal.

Like I say, I feel like my old self still. Not this 50-pounds lighter version. Eye contact from half the semi-cute to cute guys in the store? What the hell?

I didn’t mind it, not a bit. I just got taken off-guard by the third or fourth guy, since I’m used to one or two, you know? Let’s face it, everybody’s somebody’s type. You dress nice, look happy, someone’s bound to dig something about ya. It’s just about putting it out there. I find that easier now, though.

It’s not like the store was full, either, by the way. And I happen to know from living in this hood for 9 years that the store is most packed with cute-ish single-ish guys at 8ish on a Friday. That was just coincidence that I happened to go there then, when it was such a lovely visit.

But…

I felt, and feel, fucking awesome. What a wonderful experience to go from noticed now and then to just plain noticed. Even if it’s only tonight, it was just so unexpected and felt so nice.

I’ve always been cute. I doubt I’m hot. And I don’t care; I’m cute. That works. But I was always cute and really heavy. Now I’m cute and comfortable in my body. That’s a world of difference.

But I’m not mentally there yet. I don’t compute the difference between 16 and 22. I’m still shocked when I have enough room in the movie theatre seats to wiggle myself into a reclined position. Slumping? Blah! Wiggling? Fabulous!

Psychologically, topping 50 pounds is one of those thresholds most of us just don’t think we can hit. Once we do, well, why not name our fucking number? I feel empowered.

So, to have tonight’s little surreal shopping trip in which I noticed getting noticed, and enjoyed returning some gazes, around the same time I’m cracking the Holy Grail of weight loss, 50 pounds, having never joined a weight loss group, bought a gym pass, had a dietician, or used any supplements…

Blows my fucking mind. What a happy convergence of milestones. I needed that. Seriously. I’m flattered. I feel warm and fuzzy.

Yet I’m really glad I’m having a night away from the madding crowd, a night in which I get to quietly appreciate this changing of the aesthetic guard.

My mindset, though, seems to have some serious catching up to do with my reality.

Maybe that’s the fun part. ‘Cause I’m sure having fun so far. ;)