Watch out boy

Ok, so...

Reading my mission journal has been awesome but mildly depressing. 

I was obsessed with losing weight back then and never really did. 

So, that fixation has been going on for A LONG TIME.

And I've kind of plateaued in the last 3-4 months, going up and down the same 5 lbs.

Some might say it's because I've lost focus with exercise and have been eating like it's my job.

"Some" being my nutritionist and all.

But what does she know, right?

ANYWAY-

I've been kind of depressed about this. 

But today I got a little boost of momentum. 

Two things...

I've been rummaging around in my storage bins looking for mission stuff for my October trip and finally deciding to scrapbook my Europe trip (7 years later) when I found these jeans!

 These were the jeans I wore at my heaviest and I BARELY fit in them. 

Like laying on the bed, praying and holding my breath barely. 

Sometimes I forget how far I've come. 

My dad put it in good perspective.

 He said "You've gone like 70 percent...it's just that last 30 you've got to knuckle down and finish" 

30% feels a lot more doable than 70-80 lbs. 

And the second thing....

I was hit on at the gas station.

 I was only there on the Sabbath for emergency purposes. 

(NOT a peppermint patty, I swear!) 

Anyway, the clerk- MAX- (a younger, Indian man with pompadour hair) says, as I am checking out "I really like your car".... 

I turn in confusion to the parking lot, wondering if he realizes I drive a 2001 Chevy Malibu.

 With chipping paint. 

But there are no other cars in the lot. 

He then says (with almost a wink, I swear!) "My name is Max, what is yours?"

 Then he proceeds to ask me if I live nearby and shakes my hand and tells me how he is originally from Manhattan. 

In such a slimy way.

I was literally staring at him like a deer in headlights.

I picked up my peppermint patty..uh...emergency important stuff and was like "Yeah...well, welcome to Quakertown" and ran out. 

Adding to the confusion in all this was my outfit.

I was wearing my official cleaning clothes- a bleach stained black t-shirt with a sports bra and cut off black sweats.

 I was partially covered in flour (from making bread) and I know I was sweating because I'd just been in my hot room, rummaging through storage. 

My hair was in it's usual half falling out, lumpy ponytail. 

So, not my sexiest look. 

But apparently you can't resist this kind of hotness, no matter how it comes packaged.

 Max is proof of that. 

And now I have official cougar street cred. 

Yeah, son! 

Lori Ann

Official Cougar 

p.s.- If I turn up murdered, you might want to start the search at the BP in Quakertown...