In the middle of the summer, I attended a birthday party for my cousin’s daughter. It was the first time in a while I had seen a lot of my cousins and tíos/tías. They noticed the weight loss and complimented me, asked questions and made some off-color jokes (“are you anorexic?”). As I’ve mentioned before, I’m ambivalent about the comments. It’s nice to see that others recognize my efforts, but I’m still uncomfortable the attention to my body when the comments come from men or are mentioned loudly in a group.

One comment still resonates a few months later.

As I was making the rounds and saying goodbye to my family, my uncle pulled me close.

“You look great, mija. But no more… don’t lose anymore.”

I didn’t say anything as I did the quick calculations of how much I still needed to reach my goal, or even be within the healthy weight range for my height.

“Um, thanks tío,” I said softly and then continued on to say goodbye to my other tíos and cousins.

A few months later, my uncles words still ring in my head, especially as I’m getting closer to the number I arbitrarily set for my goal weight and I’m not sure how I’ll feel once I’m there. I’m also tired of having to buy new clothes, especially with the cooler temperatures.

Maybe I should set a different goal: being able to share clothes with my sister. (My mom already passed down a bunch of skirts.)

Progress photos after the jump.
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I love that my friends and family take pictures when they find the elusive 31. My cousin, Vanny, took this photo at the San Diego Zoo.

Today’s karaoke scorecard: Me Voy (Julieta Venegas), Hopelessly Devoted to You (Olivia Newton John, Grease), Tú, Solo Tu (Selena version), Tragos Amargo (Ramón Ayala), I Will Follow You Into the Dark (Death Cab for Cutie), and First of the Gang to Die (Morrissey). [I picked songs to fit the sad song theme. Also, I'm already making a list of songs I need to sing next time I do karaoke.]

The boyfriend shares a birthday with Tiffany. I share one with Debbie Gibson. We were meant to be…

Cindy is is equal parts Marcha de Zacatecas and Camino de Guanajuato.

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If you’ve looked at my weekly photo posts, you’ll notice that there are quite a few grainy MacBook Photobooth self portraits. I wasn’t being narcissistic just for the sake of it. Instead, I was tracking the changes in my face as I lose weight*.

The photos are a nice companion of the other signs of my progress: the line graph charting my weight loss from week to week; the bags of clothes I’ve removed from my closet and given to Mamá Toni to take to Tijuana; the new clothes I’ve had to buy; my endurance and strength increasing; skin clearing up as I put healthier food in my body; and unexpected cravings (e.g., my mom’s oatmeal, calabaza).

I’m not quite at my goal yet, so the photos below are not representing before and after. It’s more like before, current and in-between. As you’ll see, they’re all focusing on my face, I’ll get around to full-length photos later.

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I spent a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror today. I examined my reflection in new and old outfits as I sorted through all my clothes and decided what to give away and what to keep. I found a bag of old clothes I intended to give away after a previous cleaning. I must have forgotten the clothes — all one or two sizes smaller — because I still had the bag. I pulled out my old favorite pair of jeans circa 2004, a cute paisley blouse, and some more items. The jeans were too loose, the blouse fit just fine. I kept some of the clothes in the bag and put the rest in the give away pile. In the end, I filled three bags with new-ish clothes and hung up some old clothes.

Later, I went shopping for jeans that fit and didn’t make me look like a teenage guy sagging his pants. Once again, I stared at my reflection in the mirror trying to notice the changes.

Where is the weight coming off? My legs? My thighs? My butt? My arms? My stomach? My breasts? My face?

All of the above.

My friends and family notice the changes too. Some of the comments are funny (are you doing speed?), some make me feel self-conscious (have you had to buy a new wardrobe yet?), and some confuse me.

A few days ago my tía Martha asked, “¿Estás enamorada?”

“Yeah,” I told her, not quite sure what being in love had to do with weight loss. I heard the same question once before several years ago from my roommate’s mom. Is this a Mexican saying? Does it have something to do with being so smitten or broken-hearted that you can’t eat?

There are some things that don’t change. I went shopping yesterday to search for a dress to wear to MEChA de UCLA’s 40th anniversary dinner. I tried on several dresses at a few different stores, but I came home empty-handed. I still don’t like shopping* (shoes excluded).

* Attributed to a combination of (a) not willing to pay $168 for a dress I’ll wear a few times; (b) my codo, see (a); and (c) selection sucks, especially for short women.

Same rules as before. You determine whether they are fact or crap.

1. I dislike menudo.

2. I pick onions out of most of my food, if at all possible.

3. When I was a kid, I wouldn’t eat chorizo because I found it too spicy.

Let’s play a game. I’ll post three statements and you determine whether they’re fact or crap.

1. When I was 6 years old, I got beaned in the head with an eight ball after getting caught in the crossfire of an impromptu billiards ball fight between my brother and his friend.

2. When I was 4 years old, I was having a grand old time jumping on my mom’s bed with Danny until he bumped into me. I fell and hit my head against the corner of the dresser. I had to get a few stitches for the cut on my head.

3. I broke my wrist while roller skating when I was 12 years old.

Mamá Toni repeats the story every time there’s pan dulce on the table.

“El pan para la noche,” she says imitating me and giggles. “No te recuerdas?”

I shake my head no. All I remember of my trip to El Cargadero that summer was the excitement of being on a plane without my parents, running around the large plaza in front of Papá Chepe and Mamá Toni’s house playing games with the neighborhood kids, and getting hooked on Rosa Salvaje. I must have blocked out my love for pan dulce and the result.

When Danny and I returned from El Cargadero, I had gained weight. Again, I don’t remember this, but my mom and Mamá Toni insist that El Cargadero was the turning point. I was no longer average. From ’88 on I was chubby/chunky/fat/whatever/insert your own euphemism.

While I don’t remember the result of my trip to Zacatecas, I do remember my First Communion the next spring. I wore the white custom-made dress I wore as a flower girl for my Tía Nellie’s wedding just a few weeks earlier. While waiting for the ceremony to begin, mom talked to Mrs. Millan, my Brownie troop leader. Mrs. Millan complained about finding a dress for her small and skinny daughter. Mom told her she had the opposite problem, but was lucky I had the flower girl dress. I was embarrassed and felt like hiding.
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I sat in the middle between Lori and Adrian. My brother tagged along simply for the post gym trip to Costco. Lori and I had business. She needed to start up her gym membership after letting it lapse recently and I needed to sign up. We gave our IDs to Philip so could start the process.

Adrian asked, “Can you put me down as a referrer so I get he next month free? What if you add me to Lori’s family plan. I want to pay less too.”

“No,” Philip said and explained that I couldn’t be counted as a referred because Lori was not technically new and I was being added to a pair/family plan. He was nice about it though, and joked with my siblings whom he both recognized as regulars at the gym.

A few days later I was alone and without my sibling to hold my hand through my first session at the gym. While I consider myself fairly independent and willing to do most things alone, I was intimidated by the gym and any workout that wasn’t simple jogging around the local high school track or swimming.

I called Lori for some advice.

“Um… I’m going to the gym. I don’t know what to do. Help!”
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Birthday Activity Page by Rio Yañez

I think Rio could have found cooler people for that trivia section. I share a birthday with with tía Luisa, Sara Ramirez, Hideo Nomo, Eldridge Cleaver and Queen Rania of Jordan.

Also, on this day in 1985, Richard Ramirez, the Night Stalker, was captured by residents in Boyle Heights as he tried to steal a car. Yeah, it’s creepy, but it’s East LA and Chicano centric.

I hate the pressure of birthdays.

Everyone asks, “what are you doing?” as if you’re supposed to have an elaborate, day, evening, weekend, week or even month planned. (Side note: August has been pretty awesome so far.)

I always give in to the pressure, even if it’s tough to plan a big party over Labor Day weekend. I can’t just let the day pass like it’s any other Sunday. It’s the 31st! I have to celebrate it if only for that reason.

I decided on Wednesday to hold a BBQ/tardeada at my parent’s house. Maybe I’ll pass out last year’s birthday activity sheet made by Rio. Sadly, I won’t have a bouncy castle. Sorry kids.

Invitation by DB. He’s a [patient] Photoshop pro.