Stranger: GO SAINTS…if you are going for the saints send……go saints……..if you are going for teh colts send…….go colts…..send to every one in your contacts

Me: Who gives a crap

Stranger: Wusup uncle saints on deck

Me: WHO???!!!

Stranger: Who iz dis

Me: You texted me; who are you?

Stranger: Dis matthew

Me: Matthew who?

Stranger: Ight bruh ukno a dude name malcom

If anyone can figure out that last one, I will give you a cookie.

“Yo I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want

So tell me what you want, what you really really want

I wanna -OW!-I wanna -OW!- I wanna really really really wanna -I HATE THIS EFFIN’ GAME!!!”

That was me, playing Just Dance last night on the Wii. I was saying some not-so-nice words because not only am I extremely uncoordinated and a horrible dancer, but I also kept slapping myself repeatedly in the face with the cord.

After about thirty minutes of doing so, I realized, hey. I don’t think I’m supposed to be using the nunchuck with this game.

So, did I look like this tiny person playing this game?

Uh, no. Not in the least. I looked more like Steve Urkel, when he busts into the Winslow home and knocks everything in the kitchen over.

Regardless, I got off my ass and was moving.  And while I don’t see this game being fun for an extended amount of time, at least it’s a start.  However, anyone who would like to get me a Wii Dance Mat so I can try some of the more fun games will personally get a private showing of how impossible it is for me to move both my hands and feet at the same time.

This has been a weekend of changes for me, hopefully for the better. As stated in my previous blog, a new Jebbica is looming on the horizon. A skinnier, prettier, overall more healthy Jebbica. And hopefully that will lead to a happier, more confident me.

It started with the haircut:

Which is both crippling and liberating to me at the same time.

Then there were the weekend eating-out-expeditions.  Check me out! I opted for a Roast Chicken Ranch combo at Arby’s, hold the ranch, substitute a salad for fries.  And at Mama Mia’s, a local restaurant known for its huge portions and giant sandwiches and delectable pasta, I ordered a turkey and jam sandwich on wheat bread with a salad. And at the end of these meals, I was still stuffed! And the food was still good!  It’s common sense to cut out sodas and sweet tea and go with water, substitute fries for salads, etc.  But willpower? That is a harder concept to grasp.

Yesterday was also our monthly grocery day, and our buggy (yes, that’s what we call them in the South) was loaded with fresh fruits and vegetables and munchy food with words like “gluten free” or “multi grain” in their titles.  And instead of candy and ice cream, we got things like cocoa-dusted almonds (which are delicious, by the way).  So, the initial steps have been put into place.  It’s the end of Week One; will I have the stamina and drive to last through weeks Two, Eight, forever?

I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want.  I want to be the girl who is happy with herself in every way possible. Who doesn’t feel self-conscious about having a full-length photo taken. Who doesn’t want to die after the end of the “warm-up” on the Wii The Biggest Loser game.  I want to be that girl. Also: I wanna zig-a-zig-ah.

It’s no shock to any of you who read this website that I like saving money. It’s definitely become a game for both The Boyfriend and me, even a way for us to keep the spark alive. After all, isn’t there saying that goes, “those who save together, stay together?”  We tend to get lucky a lot on this front, whether we’re shopping at thrift stores or close-out shops.  And unlike a lot of hipster-y types, who I guess might consider us their unusual cousins, at least regarding tastes in music and cinema, we don’t shop at thrift stores to find stuff that looks like it came from a thrift store. No, our joy comes from finding an Oscar de la Renta coat with the tags on it hiding in the “Fill a Bag for a Dollar” table. Or the Louis Vuitton bag that costs $3.99, and then upon online comparison, you discover that it’s the real deal and originally sold for $27,000.  Now, that’s not to say we’re brand whores, because honestly, neither of us could give a rat’s ass about that. It’s about knowing we can get the same thing that someone paid an arm and a leg for for almost nothing.  It’s about finding something of high quality for less money than something of lower quality.  It’s about knowing that even though we make almost nothing, we don’t have to always feel like do. And that’s romantic.

And it was that zeal that brought us to Rugged Wearhouse, again, last week.  Rugged Wearhouse is a store similar to ROSS or Marshall’s, but there are only stores in the South, and I often find much nicer clothes for much cheaper than similar stores.  For instance, a couple of months ago The Boyfriend and I visited a little hole-in-the-wall shop in Chattanooga called Leo Handmade Gallery.  I loved the stuff in Leo…the artwork, the fashion, the accessories, all of it.  But from what I could tell, the people who shopped in Leo were aiming for the whole “I look like I buy my clothes from the guy who lives at Bench Four Market Street, Under Tree, USA.” And yet, the total costs for this sort of look are entirely and utterly out of my price range.  That’s not to say I wouldn’t go back in there and have a shopping spree in the unlikely event that I ever have unlimited amounts of funds at my disposal sometime in the future.  But alas, $40 is way too much to pay for a screen-printed tee, and so the only item that left with me from Leo was a set of hand-designed bobby pins.  And I could talk all day about why I don’t really think American Apparel is all that great.  (The hipsters just disowned me as their zany cousin after reading that, I’m sure.)

But stop in a Rugged Wearhouse, and you are often bound to get lucky and find something that one of these types of stores will sell for a much higher price.  And that is how I was able to afford this hand-made screen-printed shirt:

But, it wasn’t just this shirt, it was FOUR of this shirt. And an additional two, in red.

BECAUSE AT RUGGED WEARHOUSE, THIS SHIRT WAS A DOLLAR.

And that is why I spend exponential amounts of time and chunks of my paycheck at Rugged Wearhouse.  Also, because The Boyfriend is addicted to the Jean Paul Damage and Lucky denim he can buy for $7 a pair.  So back to where I was originally going with this story…here we were, and I thought it might be time for me to get a pair or two of new jeans, since The Holidays had not helped in my quest to drop a few dress sizes and instead decided I needed extra ones instead.  So, I pick out two pairs of jeans in a size I thought would be way too big, but comfy, for me.

I couldn’t get them buttoned.

Frustrated, I return the jeans to their hangers and put the outfit I had been wearing back on: denim tights, flats, a blue miniskirt, and a long, flowing yellow blouse (or maybe it was a dress, but I wasn’t sure, so I heeded the CYA rule and added the skirt last minute), and flats.  I looked in the full-length mirror.  I had worn that outfit all day, and lack of matching aside, I had felt like I looked nice in it.  I had felt pretty all day.  But the girl looking back at me from the mirror wasn’t Jessica or even Jebbica, it was…an ostrich.

A chicken-legged, small-headed, round-middled ostrich.

As I departed from the store, with nothing but a $2.99 pair of pink plaid Converse All-Star knockoffs and a retro $6.99 pair of 4″ heels, I could feel the tears falling down my face.  When did this happen? And how could I let it get so bad?  It wasn’t so long ago, after all, that I used to have to eat everyone out of house and home to keep from losing weight.  I’m tall for a girl, and even at 107 lbs I was never a size 0, but I was always very thin, and I hated it.  I didn’t want to be a beanpole, I wanted womanly curves. And now I have them, with the addition of a belly that makes me look like Octomom’s protege.

And I just can’t let this escalate any further.

So, starting last week, there will be no more Philly Cheese Steak subs and Killer Potatoes during my work lunch. And no more making excuses not to exercise. This is the genesis of a new me, and therefore this blog will hopefully reflect that.  I’ve changed my diet. Today, I  got all my hair whacked off.  I’m about to engage in a game of “Just Dance” on the Wii.  To be the Jebbica I want to be on the inside, I feel it’s only logical to change myself into the Jebbica I want to be on the outside.  Hopefully confidence and strength will follow.  I need inspiration, and I hope to provide some, as well. So, if you are even remotely going through some of the same things as I am, please feel free to chime in, and perhaps we can work on this together!  I need someone to hold me accountable for this.   Are you in?