Seem to be out of limbo. Maybe it was the weather. I wish I cared enough to try to figure it out.... but no. This is not the case.

Al and I leave for Las Vegas next weekend! Woo how!! All expenses paid trip to Sin City, with a Deeelux room at the Bellagio. Fun fun fun! I actually just found out that the company has hired Cirque Du Sole to perform at a private dinner affair for us.

By "us" I mean all of the people from my company... not me and Al. How wierd would THAT be.

"Excure me Flying Smiley-Faced Humpback. You're standing on my napkin."

On the more good news front, and those of you who are adamantly opposed to my stark raving crazy dieters mania should not read further, I'm down to 147 1/2. I actually went to NY & Company (my favorite store in the whole wide world!!) to get some new shorts and stuff for Vegas, and the summer at hand. All of my old clothes were size 14. I though I had gone down to AT LEAST a 12, possibly (joy of joys!) a 10. Nope. 8. SIZE 8. I was so pumped that I called my mom from the dressing room in hysterics.

Well yesterday I had to take it aaaaaaall back... And replace them with a 6.

People, I was a FETUS the last time I was a size 6!! This AAAAALmost tops the trip to Vegas for sheer happiness factor. I went through my closet and tossed everything I had that was bigger than a 10 into a bag and carted it off to the Goodwill. Then I gathered all of my suites that are 10/12/14 and put them together to take to the tailor to be taken in. These are good things in the life of Jessica.

The hell of it is, my joy is tempered by my crazy. I know that the numbers don't lie. I know that the clothing company is making things in the correct sizes. I KNOW that I couldn't even have zipped up a size 10 this time last year... but I still FEEL the same. That's my curse. I know, logically, that I've lost over 20 lbs and 4 pants sizes... but I still feel too fat. I have only two weapons. Al, who never gets annoyed or angry at me for "feeling fat out loud." You know, when I actually SAY I'm fat. Or when he looks at me and I have those Puss-in-Boots eyes, all glassy and round and pathetic, and he doesn't get frustrated by it and tell me to knock it off. Which he should. But then I'd leave him. So he probably shouldn't.

My other weapon is my small, sad ability to recognize that I'm nuts. To see that the new clothes fit, see the numbers on the scale, see the butt reduction, and KNOW that my brain is warped. I told Al that it's like living in my own Matrix. I know I can jump, but my brain doesn't believe that I won't fall. At least I KNOW I can jump. That's something.

And here's proof positive that Al and Purge are actually sharing the same brain:

Phone conversation:
Me: Which of those new track suits makes me look thinnest?
Al (with no trace of a pause): They all make you look so thin it's impossible to tell.

Heeeeeee's a keeper.