Susan M. Boyer

USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Agatha Award Winner

Susan M. Boyer

USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Agatha Award Winner

Wait–I Can Do Better Than That

in Blather and Profound Notions, Diets and Other Torture

Wow–where did that year go? Looking back at the blur that was 2017, my first instinct is to ask for a do-over. I know I can do better. Is it just me, or are the years going by much faster now? My grandmother once told me how fast time flew once you were past a certain age–let’s not talk numbers. Nothing good ever comes from that. But I didn’t believe her, and she was so, so right.

With time escaping as fast as it is, I want to make sure I’m doing things right, you know? So, this year, I’m going to spend more time with family and friends–and be fully present. I’m going to spend less and save more. I’m going to read more and write more. I’m going to get to church more often. (This won’t be difficult.) And I’m going to eat healthier and be more active. (This is the tricky part.)

What about y’all? Who’s got New Year’s resolutions?

Happy New Year!

 

Susan

 

Okay, Let’s Try This Again…

in Blather and Profound Notions, Diets and Other Torture, I Am Therefore I Write

Well, well, January, here you are back already. I know what you’re thinking–that I haven’t kept a single one of last year’s resolutions, and you’re right. But I think I’ve just been going about this resolution thing all wrong.

This year, I’m going to stick to resolutions I can, well, stick to. For example, instead of declaring my intention to exercise every day–which even I know is a joke–I’m resolving to exercise more than I did last year. (Trust me, this is an easy one. Even I can do this.)

Also, instead of adopting some exotic new diet from another region where people eat all they want of certain foods and stay thin, or one based on counting or measuring ANYTHING, I’m simply going to vow to eat healthier than I did in 2011–again, easy.

And I’m going to put first things first. Every day, before I check email, sign on to Facebook, tweet, blog, or any engage in any other form of electronic interaction, I will write. This is easy, because it’s what I really want to do.

For some reason, I’ve gotten into the habit of checking in with all things Internet before my day begins. This is a huge mistake, because once I’m online, it’s almost impossible to get off. I click a link on a Tweet to check out a blog, which leads to reading a few other blog entries on the same site, then clicking a link to something else that looks interesting…and four hours later it’s lunchtime and I haven’t written anything except a status update and a tweet or two. The only thing that comes before words on the page is family.

That’s it, January. That’s all I’ve got. So next year, you can forget all about being smug. I can do this.

Peace, out…

Susan

The Chick-Fila Cows Perform a Public Service

in Crazy Happens, Diets and Other Torture, Evidence of My Insanity, Evidence of Rampant Insanity

I love a cheeseburger as much as anybody–more than many folks, actually, if you take into account the vegetarian and vegan sectors. Grilled Angus beef on a sesame seed bun, with extra cheese, mayo, lettuce, tomato, pickle, and Heinz 57. Yum. My mouth is watering and it’s not nearly lunch time.

And don’t get me started on grilled stuffed filet mignon. The moaning might disturb other hotel guests.

I’m a fan of the cow, is what I’m saying–always have been.

But, I’m also something of a…ahem…hypochondriac. Yeah, I  know, you’re shocked and all.

So, when I read this article on page 2 of today’s USA Today, I immediately started inventorying my symptoms. The article states that “A program set up to test beef for chemical residues is not accomplishing its mission of monitoring the food supply for dangerous substances… The health affects on people who eat such meat are a ‘growing concern.'” The article goes on to say that in 2008, “Mexican authorities rejected a U.S. beef shipment because its copper levels exceeded Mexican standards.” The rejected meat was sold in the U.S.

Our beef wasn’t up to Mexican standards, so it had to be sold in the U.S.???

It’s not just copper. (I’m still not clear on how the copper gets into cows, but some of the bad stuff comes from pesticide residue in the cow’s drinking water.) Also, antibiotics are a problem, among them PENICILLIN, which I am allergic to. The article gave a chart with contaminants, some of which I can’t pronounce, and SYMPTOMS TO WATCH FOR. These include oxidative stress (wtf?), renal dysfunction, and death. And those are just the copper-related symptoms. Call me a quack, but death is a pretty serious SYMPTOM.

I had reconciled myself to living with the threat of Mad Cow, now this.

It’s enough to make a girl turn to tofu.

Peace, out…

Susan

Somebody Gets It

in Diets and Other Torture, Jazzercise, The Queen of Pain, Vast Fat-Wing Conspiracy

I accidentally turned on Dr. Phil yesterday. Nothing against Dr. Phil, I’m sure he’s a great guy and all, but I  don’t do daytime TV. But, I’d stayed up far too late reading, slept in, and, as is my custom, I flipped on the TV while I had breakfast. I was outside my usual time slot for breakfast. Typically the news is on. That’s a whole nother rant.

I was fumbling–pre-coffee, mind you–with the remote, trying to turn the channel, when I heard this guy say, “I tried that low-carb diet. I snapped.”

He had my attention. I have SO been there. Several times, in fact.

I squinted at the sign for the day’s episode. “The Ultimate Fat Debate.”

Oh. Dear. Tara.

They had my attention.

The guy who was undone by the low carb diet turned out to be a comedian, John Pinette. This guy is FUNNY, and he is so after my own heart. Talking about his personal trainer he says, “I don’t do ups. Sit ups, push-ups, chin-ups… I do downs. I can sit down, lie down…gimme a cheeseburger, I”ll wolf it down…” Some of his clips are available online. In another clip from this routine, he says, (as I have often maintained to The Queen of Pain herself) “Ups defy gravity. Gravity is a law, and I obey the law.”

Aside from the comedian, Dr. Phil had a panel, and I gotta say, they weren’t nearly as entertaining. Although, there were a few places where I thought they were going to go all Jerry Springer. That trainer chick from The Biggest Loser, was on, along with some guy with a shirt that said “No Chubbies.” They were squaring off against a group of VOLUPTOUS women from groups like The National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance. These women were (justifiably) NOT HAPPY with the chap in the “No Chubbies” shirt. I couldn’t look away.

But, I did hie me to Jazzercise yesterday, and defied gravity one more time.

Peace, out…

Susan

Once More, From the Top

in Diets and Other Torture

The voices in my head are singing Inside Job by Don Henley.

I’m reading The Overlook by Michael Connelly.

Okay, so it’s January, and here’s where I typically resolve to try a new diet, and to exercise everyday. As previously mentioned, I’ve tried them all, most recently South Beach, and I’m here to testify: none of them work. Or they all do if you stick to them, and there’s the rub. When it comes to food, I have no self-discipline.

Since Thanksgiving, I’ve had one long food orgy, and until Monday, not one of the things I’ve eaten has been healthy. Hard to figure out why I’ve had a cold since mid-November.

So, here’s my new plan: I hereby resolve NEVER to diet again. I will not try the new fad diet, whatever it is, nor retry any of the old ones. I’m setting out on a plan to eat myself healthy (really healthier, as I’m generally in great health except for the extra pounds I’m tired of toting around and the cold, but it sounds more dramatic that way).

I’m going to eat my veggies. I’m going to do the thing they’ve been pounding into my brain since birth and eat mostly fruits and vegetables, with moderate amounts of lean protein, dairy, and whole grains. I’m not counting anything or measuring anything, and I’ll eat what I want when I want it. I hereby grant myself permission to have a cheeseburger whenever I want one.

This, I think, is the key. I suspect the biggest reason I can’t stick to a diet is I despise ceding control to someone else. I hate studying books and websites to figure out what I can and can’t have, then trying to cook something from the allowed ingredients that tastes good. No more.

Each week, I’ll put veggies and fruits on my grocery list, and I’ll eat the ones I like best. I’ll prepare them the way I think sounds good.

I started Monday. So far so good. I’ve a had a salad every day for either lunch or dinner. I bet if I did count the calories, I’d be where most diets say I should be. But I refuse to count. The one thing I will measure is myself. I’ll step on the scales once a week and not obsess.

This is my New Year’s Revolution.

Peace, out…

Susan

P.S. Oh, the exercise thing… I’ll be back on the dance floor as soon as all these veggies kick the cold out of my chest. The Queen of Pain is losing patience.

Another Brand New Start

in Diets and Other Torture

Monday was the first day of my brand new diet. I’m trying South Beach this time. I think I’m the only person in the known universe who hasn’t, and most everyone I know that’s tried it lost weight. So far, the food is surprisingly good, and I haven’t had to eat anything strange.

The weirdest diet I can recall embarking on was that Beverly Hills fruit diet many moons ago. That one had un-fun side effects. I seem to remember the woman who wrote the book saying that of course you sat on the toilet all the time–how else would you get rid of the weight? Fat doesn’t just jump off your thighs…

Then, there was Atkins. I am not a pork lover, and, I have to tell you, eating pork rinds and a lot of bacon was not my thing. Also, if you eat too much of the Atkins candy, you’re right back in the bathroom.

I thought about getting some of that Alli stuff that’s all over the TV, but have you heard about the side effects? According to Consumer Price Watch dot net, possible side effects include:

• Flatulence (Bad enough.)
• Oily anal discharge (What is that all about???)
• Loose stools or diarrhea (Yuk!)
• More frequent bowel movements (Yuk again.)
• Hard-to-control bowel movements (Now, this one would not make you popular.)

Once again, one would be spending quite a lot of time in the loo. As nice as the bathroom in our new house is, I really don’t want to spend my days there. Seems like it might be difficult to balance a laptop on your knees while sitting on the toilet.

Up until now, most of my dieting has been of the garden-variety counting calories persuasion. This, I get bored with in no time flat. I hate having one more thing to keep up with. Plus, I tend to cheat. I don’t look up how many calories are in each thing–I estimate. Some of my estimations are suspect. Like, for example, I used to estimate that the Carolina Club salad at Ruby Tuesday’s had about 400 calories. It’ s a salad, right?

According to their website, it actually has 996 calories, and as far as I can tell, that’s without the dressing.

I tried eating only things that come with labels that confess the number of calories, like Lean Cuisines, but The Queen of Pain insists that I shouldn’t eat food that comes in a box.

So…I’ve stocked the kitchen with veggies and lean protein. I bought a new set of scales, having thrown the old ones out on account of they lied. Today is Day Three, and so far I haven’t cheated–really.

We’ll see how long this lasts.

Peace, out…

Susan

Will Dance For Food

in Diets and Other Torture, Jazzercise, The Queen of Pain

Yesterday, I drug myself back to Jazzercise to get to work my third resolution of 2008 to be more fit. It’s nearly August, so I’m hoping the third time is the charm.

The Queen of Pain, who is normally on stage on Monday’s at 5:40, was AWOL. I was put out, of course. How dare she not be there on the third Monday I’ve shown up this year? But, Donna, the Singing Alien was teaching, and I like her class.

Now, as I have not been in a month, after the first two songs I was, naturally, telling myself that it would be FINE for me to cut out early since it was my first day back. But then, Donna put on the dancing music. I don’t even know what the song was, but it had a BEAT. And I remembered why I go.

I love to dance.

Well, that, and I have to do SOMETHING to burn off the Mega Moo Mocha Moo Lattes. I’ve decided to devise a point system. Something like, if I go to Jazzercise four days in a week, I can have Fettuccine Alfredo on Saturday. Or cheesecake. I’ll put up posters of my favorite foods on the refrigerator…hey, whatever works.

Peace, out…

Susan

The Singing Alien

in Diets and Other Torture, Jazzercise, The Singing Alien

Okay, today was an interesting day in the torture chamber, and I’ll tell y’all all about it just as soon as I get something off of my chest: there ought to be some agency that regulates people who manufacture scales. I have cut WAY back on what I’m eating–I’ve not had a Mega Moo Mocha Moolatte since way before they closed the Dairy Queen in Greer. I’ve even cut back on wine–I only drink it only on weekends. And I’ve been exercising my derrierre off every day.

And today, that lying piece-of-junk scale said I’d gained a pound. Myra should have that thing calibrated more often. With all those starving people with aching muscles running around the place, somebody could snap. It might be me.

Anyway, today, I danced with Donna, who, previously I had thought of as “The Serene Alien.” She just has this peaceful aura about her that calms your nerves while your blood is pounding in your ears and your left arm is tingling. Today her serenity was taxed when there was a music malfunction. Now, with no music, many Jazzercise instructors would have immediately opted to switch to a body sculpt format, which would have meant getting to lie down on the mats sooner, but lots more spot torture.

Not Donna…in Donna’s class, the show does in fact go on. She SANG the songs to us, seamlessly inserting cues into the lyrics. It hepled that Donna actually CAN sing–she’s quite good. But the truly amazing thing–and the dead give away that’s she’s a high ranking alien–is that she never lost her breath nor glistened while dancing the highest intensity song in her set and singing the whole time.

Betty was Donna’s class manager today. Class managers log the victims into the computer and keep 911 on speed dial and such. They also assist in technical emergencies. Things really got interesting when Betty joined in to help Donna out with the singing. Don’t get me wrong–lots of us sing from time to time: with the music playing at rock-concert levels, who can tell that you couldn’t carry a tune in a Kate Spade purse? But, there was no music today…

Betty, bless her heart…the best thing I can say about Betty’s singing is that it’s better than mine. And I’ll say this: Betty didn’t sing long before Donna somehow fiddled with that sound system and got that sucker kick-started.

I’m going to get my aspirin. Then I’m going to Goggle the manufacturer of that sorry excuse for a scale…

Peace, out…

Susan

Paying For My Sins

in Uncategorized

My mother is the world’s best cook. Really. I know what you’re thinking…everybody thinks their mamma is the best cook in the world. But seriously, mine is. And she will stuff you like a Thanksgiving turkey if you pass within a five mile radius of her house. It is one of her many talents.

Sunday, we celebrated my brother’s birthday. She made fried chicken–Mamma’s fried chicken is so good the chickens get on a waiting list for her cast iron pan–mashed potatoes and gravy, squash casserole, fresh green beans, tomato pie, corn on the cobb, deviled eggs, cantaloupe and my brother’s favorite, German chocolate pie. And even though it was his birthday, she made my favorite, too. Blackberry pie. Oh…my…gosh. And instead of plates, we piled PLATTERS high with that feast. Is there any wonder I am VOLUPTUOUS? I grew up in that house, for the love of Pete. I never stood a chance. I lived with that during my formative years. I am food-challenged.

In my mother’s house, if you don’t eat enough, she thinks you don’t like it, and she gets this hurt look on her face. Who can resist? I wouldn’t know where to begin counting the calories in that meal. And that was just lunch.

It’s a two-and-a-half hour drive to Mom and Dad’s. On the way home, our neighbors called. We have really great neighbors. They were making dinner for us. Just something simple. Hamburgers (about a half a pound each), corn on the cobb, chips and cobbler with ice cream. And of course we had wine with dinner.

I figure if I fast for a week, I will have averaged out my calories to somewhere around five thousand per day. Don’t you know Monday morning weigh in was a treat? But…I was very good in the dietary department yesterday and today. I didn’t fast, but I am bringing my average for the week down some.

As I told Myra this morning, I need help. We are going on vacation in a few weeks, and I can’t get into most of my summer clothes. The shorts and capris are the biggest issue. I can stuff myself in, and if I use a pair of pliers, I can get the zippers up (as long as I am lying flat). But when I stand up, if the zippers stay closed I can’t walk or breathe. This is a problem. As a pre-published and as yet unpaid author, I cannot afford a whole new set of fat summer clothes. I know I whined about this back in May, but vacation is eminent. This is a state of emergency.

So for the next few weeks, I have to be tortured or sculpted and Jazzercise every day…well, Monday – Friday. And I can only have about 1200 calories a day. If I am vigilant, I can get back into my clothes. The sad part is that, after all that pain and deprivation, I will go on vacation for two weeks. Now, no one diets or exercises on vacation…at least no normal person…possibly the aliens do. Anyway, flying back on that plane from the Virgin Islands, you know that I will be once again busting out of my capris. I will come home and start all over again.

Sigh. I wonder if there is a name for this disorder?

Another Top Ten List

in Uncategorized

Hey y’all. My name is Susan, and I’m a Mega Moo Mocha Moolatte-aholic. It’s been 98 days since my last Mega Moo. Also, I have not visited the Cold Stone Creamery all summer. And yet, my weight still hovers right at that #@! mark. What is the deal here? I’ve been good, really I have. I have Jazzercised, Body Sculpted and been personally tortured, all to no avail. My body positively clings to fat, as if storing it up for a long hibernation. I’m beginning to believe that it is part of my divine design to be VOLUPTUOUS.

Sigh…oh, well. Que sera, and all that. Anyway, my top ten list from last week brought to mind another:

Here are the top ten things you do NOT want to hear a Jazzercise instructor say:

10. This next routine is Pilates based. Joseph Pilates is a sadist, I tell you. This routine will hurt you today and tomorrow. It is the gift that keeps on giving. This is a good time to go powder your nose.

9. We’re going to work our abdominals, with some arm work for free. Songs that work multiple muscle groups will not only hurt you, they will make you look like a spastic seal in the process, because they require entirely too much coordination and you have to think about what you’re doing. Hey, I just want to dance. Put on some Nelly, would you?

8. On your knees. Nothing good ever happens on your knees except prayer, and we don’t do a lot of that at Jazzercise…not out loud anyway.

7. Myra, this is your part. Now, this is something that an instructor (other than Myra) with the microphone says when Myra is taking her class and she wants Myra to sing. This is done for comic relief. Bless her heart, she tries. The last time this happened, eleven dogs were howling in the parking lot after class. Myra is the caring and nurturing one. And she is beautiful and thin…but the girl can’t sing a lick.

6. Leg weights on around the ankles. This is never, ever good. You will be lucky to be able to walk to your car.

5. Don’t forget to breathe. This means that someone looks like they’re about to pass out. It could be you.

4. Keep dancing…Beverly will call 911. This means someone actually has passed out, but if you heard the announcement, it isn’t you.

3. I’m going to the Caribbean (or Europe, or San Francisco, or wherever). Major vacations call for major toning. You will pay for her beautiful vacation pictures.

2. I’ve joined Jenny Craig. Okay, this chic is the looniest tune on the block. A size 4 woman who thinks she’s fat (or that her derriere is fat or whatever, Diane) is TROUBLE. She will hurt you.

And the #1 thing you never want to hear a Jazzercise instructor say…

I’m getting married! Next May! (If this is July, she has 10 months to get as thin and toned as possible for her BIG DAY because the pictures will last a lifetime.) This is a dangerous woman. Avoid her classes if at all possible, because her workouts are your workouts, and she is on a mission. She will hurt you bad.

Peace, out…

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