It Has to Start Somewhere

This Little Piggy Said Fuck You

2011-03-25T23:14:00.003-05:00

I know I've been on hiatus for awhile, but I couldn't keep my silence after I saw this story unfold:

That's right. One Mr. George Lopez, compares Kirstie Alley to swine. Because we all know how original and imaginative fat jokes are, especially ones that relate us to farm animals.

Lopez eventually apologizes, if you call "I misjudged the joke" an apology. Kirstie, reluctantly accepts it.

Let's say for a moment that we can set aside the sophomoric nature of this joke. I realize that some people find fat jokes to be hilarious, and even I can chuckle at them myself, if they're done well. No one wants to hear some obvious comparison to pork any more than any one wants to be schooled about the differences between men and women. An easy insult does not a respected comedian make. But I can get over that. What I can't get over is the sort of catch-22 that I think most overweight people feel they are stuck in. We are constantly being bombarded with messages on how to correct our "problem." And that if just got off our big, fat asses, and stopped stuffing hamburgers and ice cream in our mouths, we could be socially accepted and able to shop at more than 4% of the stores in any given shopping center.

Enter Kirstie Alley. A former skinny girl, who has publicly shared her weight struggle with the world in a humorous, HUMAN way. She goes on national television, clothed in little more than straps and sequins, and stands shoulder to shoulder with super models, teenagers, and professionally lauded female dancers. And proceeds to kick ass by landing in second place after her first week of Dancing With The Stars. How exactly is she rewarded? With a fat joke by late night nobody who only a few years back was chubbing up the airways.

To say this infuriates me would be an understatement, but that's not really the point. What I am wondering is what exactly the fuck are we supposed to do? Being fat in public is generally not accepted. You may remember a few months back when Marie Claire published this column by resident fat expert, Maura Kelly. The backlash was huge, and an apology followed, but the damage was done. Fat people are getting the message, loud and clear. We are not worthy of good jobs, healthy relationships, or according to Kelly, the freedom to just walk around. Yet when an overweight person not only performs something that is considering exercise, but also excels at it, it is suggested that she be lined up at the trough and prepared for slaughter. So apparently it's only acceptable that we lose weight in private, as not to force anyone to look at us being all...fat and stuff.

Comments like this come from a place of truth. Whether it stems from insecurity or fear (which I think may be the case of Kelly, jury's still out on Lopez) or from deep rooted malice, these aren't just passing, unintentional comments. These jokes and articles were not accidental. They were written and said with purpose, and directed at an increasingly growing number of people. Until fat people can be seen as people, without a preface, I don't think stories like this are going away any time soon.

But I will definitely keep my hooves crossed.

Not Appropriate for Milk Cartons

2010-07-08T21:59:00.000-05:00

I like to shop. I enjoy spending afternoons at the bookstore, cutting out of work early to check out sales at Macy’s, and browsing house wares at my favorite home décor shops. And although I love all these things, nothing plagues me with fear and trepidation like shopping for bras.

So a few weeks ago I took a deep breath, hopped in my car, and set out on Mission: Brapossible.

It’s not that I hate bras. Sure, nothing feels better than slipping out of my boob cradler after a long day at work, but overall I don’t mind wearing a bra. Bras are meant to be functional, compliment a cute pair of undies, and even assist in foreplay. I don’t have beef with brassieres.

What I hate is trying them on. I hate waltzing through the store clasping 87 mammary snugglers. I hate locking myself in a fitting room, stripping down, hooking, and un-hooking myself into a series of bras. I have my method down to a science, so there’s not much shifting that needs to happen, but there are so many things I would rather do than examine how my back appears in a strapless demi-cup. What’s even better is that many stores have adopted a sort of bra-whisperer philosophy. Now, I have a sales associate camped outside of the fitting room door, asking me every five seconds if I need any help. I have to repeatedly turn down offers for bra fittings from girls with names like Bailey and Gracie-Kate.

Back to the mission.

Last week, I entered the fitting room with no fewer than 20 bras. I have lost a bit of weight in the past few months, so I knew I may have to go down a size. What I did not expect to happen though, was to experience such a gross reduction in boobie tissue.

“Boobs!?!?!” I cried. “Where have you gone?”

I was met only with silence.

It’s not that I’m sad that my boobs are diminishing. It’s just weird. I’m used to looking for bra sizes with double letter values. I’m accustomed upgrading my shirt size because I can’t get my actual size over my ta-tas. I’ve grown tired of the way my cleavage peeks out from even the most modest of dresses.

But no longer. Now, I need padding, push-ups, and bras with titles like “The Balconette.” Gone are the days searching the racks for a hard to find girth/cup combo. I feel somewhat normal. And even though my breasts are running the risk of becoming ittie-bitties, I’m ok with it. Because it may just mean that the rest of me will follow.

Mitten Meanderings

2010-06-28T13:35:00.001-05:00

Maybe it’s the commercials showing vast expanses of blue water, cherry trees, and smiling faces. Perhaps it’s the countless “Great Lakes” license I’ve seen the past few weeks. Or maybe it’s been the string of impossibly hot weather that commenced on Nashville before summer even started. Whatever it is, I am jonesin for summertime in Michigan.

I miss waking up to cool temperatures, and being able to dine outside in the evening without feeling the prick of perspiration. I miss needing a sweatshirt on cool nights, even when it was August. I miss breezy weekends in the sun, complete with surprise sunburns because I was lured into a false sense of security by the cooler temperatures.

I miss ice cream parlors. Real ice cream parlors with names the The Taystee Freeze, Ice Cream Junction, and The Grill and Chill. No homogenized, sterile, brightly lit, marble slab-with-all-the-fixins conglomerate. I want to slurp a hand dipped chocolate-covered vanilla cone while sitting on a weathered picnic table. Watch people come to the window in ill-fitting summer garb and order banana splits. Play the batting cages until the sun sets. And not to mention the ice cream flavors. Where is my Mooney’s Blue Moon? Tell me where I can find real Superman ice cream, and I will spend the rest of my days trying to avoid dripping pink, yellow, and blue drops on my clothes.

And what about the water? What about never being more than an hour’s drive away from a real lake? Not the man made stuff, with built-in grades and two feet of sand shoveled in from some foreign county. I’m talking sand dunes, light houses, and drop-offs that make you scream for your mommy. How I miss the stretches of time spent water skiing, fishing, and soaking up sun from my spot on the boat. How I crave dipping my toes in the water from the edge of the dock.

I miss getting in the car and heading to Pine Knob (sorry, I refuse to call it the DTE Energy something-or-other) for some amazing outdoor music. Where are the shows at The Fillmore, The Shelter, Saint Andrews, or the Royal Oak Theater? Gone are the days of sprawling out on a blanket at Meadowbrook Music Festival.

I’m craving YaYa’s chicken, Boston Coolers from Halo Burger, and mostaccioli al forno from Italia Gardens. I would love to pick-up a Reuben from Oliver T’s and an iced coffee at Tim Horton’s for lunch. I miss happy hours at Damon’s, Grand Blanc Inn, and Blackstone’s. Hell, I’d even settle for a coney at Angelo’s right now.

I know that in a little while, I’ll be back for a visit. And I’ll get my fix, and realize that I’ve spent a month romanticizing all of the things that I was so used to before. I’ll come back to the sultriness of the south and be ok for a few more months. Then, I’ll start missing Christmastime in the Midwest.

Help me, help me, help me sail away
Well, give me two good reasons why I oughta stay
Cause I love to live so pleasantly
Live this life of luxury
Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon

Losing It, Part I

2010-06-10T15:46:00.002-05:00

I have been meaning to blog about The Biggest Loser television show for some time now. I have struggled to organize my feelings about this program in a constructive manner, so I have just sat back, and read what far more articulate bloggers have had to say. However, when I saw that Jillian Michaels now has her very own reality fat-hater show, I could stay quiet no longer.

I first, have to own up to a bit of hypocrisy. Right now, a coworker and I are running a Biggest Loser contest at our workplace. I have also purchased and/or rented various Biggest Loser products: cookbooks, exercise DVDs, etc. I have watched the show on a few occasions in the past, but I usually get too angry to sit through an entire season. I have a strong desire to improve my health, and have been healthfully and diligently working on my weight loss through the past year or so. I’m not knocking the desire or attempt to lose weight – I just want to make that clear.

I’ve always wondered what happened to Biggest Loser contestants after their time at the ranch had expired. I rounded up a couple where-are-they-now articles, and was interested to see that many contestants were not able to sustain their weight loss. In fact, most of the featured contestants gained back at least half of the weight they had lost. Sort of makes me wonder how successful the “scream til they drop” technique works in the long term.

Then yesterday, I came across this post over at Body Love Wellness. I remember watching Kai Hibbard a few years back, and found her to be funny and witty, and somewhat of a kindred spirit. I was really sad and disappointed to hear that she had developed an eating disorder. I was not surprised, however, that the show was so cutthroat behind the scenes.

I think what bothers me is that The Biggest Loser has turned into a resource for folks trying to fight the fat, myself included. And what makes me particularly sad is that the show promotes a really ugly approach to taking care of oneself. Most of the professionals I have consulted with regarding weight loss (nutritionists, psychologists, physicians) have all advocated weight loss that is slow-yet-steady. And more importantly, they've advocated treating myself well. Based on what Kai Hibbard has shared, it appears that Biggest Loser producers and consultants have taken a different approach. From what I can tell, this method has not proven successful beyond a few minutes.

All of this leads me to further question why we're OK with this. I'm continuing this post into a Part II, but I think there is a deeper issue at play. Why are we willing to accept and even delight over a form of abuse inflicted upon others?

Losing It, Part II

2010-06-10T13:58:00.004-05:00

I had the pleasure of catching about fifteen minutes of Losing it With Jillian this week. I wasn’t able to watch much more than that, so I promptly turned the channel to something more appropriate, like the second season of Friday Night Lights. But I digress. Losing it With Jillian is aptly titled, as watching the show makes a person want to climb the bell tower. The show is more of what you’ve seen of Jillian. Insults, screaming, and a healthy dose of death threats, compliments of Ms. Michaels. In the episode I watched, a mother was humiliated in front of her children. She cried, begged to for breaks, and eventually pushed her huffing, puffing, red-faced self to complete Jillian’s odd combination of exercises. I have seen Jillian perform the same “technique” on Biggest Loser contestants. She treats them like cattle, reminds them of how close they are to dying, and screams and them for falling off treadmills and not being able to lift inordinately heavy weights. All for their own good though, because deep-down she cares very deeply for the fatties.

I then stumbled upon this entry over at fatshionista.com. Now, I don’t necessarily agree with all of Lesley’s opinions, but I appreciate that she articulates herself well, and provides substantial back-up to her arguments. But what shocked me the most about her entry, was the video she posted of Jillian Michael’s hot mic faux-pas during an interview. I think it is a true testimony to her intentions behind the verbal abuse she serves up weekly on The Biggest Loser. Michaels, like many others, views fat people as a sort of non-people. And I believe that Lesley hit the nail on the head when she says :

It’s not simply Michaels’ fat-hatin’ that bugs me, nor is it her penchant for yelling. My problem is that her methods of engaging and motivating her clients is frighteningly close to a relationship which in any other context we would call abusive. Working off the two clips above exclusively — two clips I chose pretty much at random from a multitude of possibilities — I can make this case. For one, Michaels dehumanizes the fat people she works with (”They’re not like normal people”, “half-dead”). She seems to think the brains of fat people have been compromised such that they can only respond to repetitive screaming, not unlike wayward cattle. She makes threats, not just to their physical safety, but to their very lives (”The only way you’re coming off this damn treadmill is if you die on it”). Her abuse is calculated to break her clients down until they weep, and even then she doesn’t let up. She is unpredictable, with a vicious and quick temper, and is apathetic toward (if not gratified by) her clients’ discomfort, be it physical or emotional. There’s even elements of codependency in there, as it’s only when the fat people in question behave as instructed that her mood might change and they may receive some encouragement or support, which is only meted out in doses small enough to keep them craving more. And before any of this happens, the people she trains must first be convinced that they cannot possibly survive without her, that their lives prior to this introduction were worthless, their bodies but hollow shells — or, in this case, shells filled with soulless fat.

The real kicker for me is that a few years ago, I would have seen nothing wrong with Michaels' (or anyone else for that matter) treatment of overweight people. Fat acceptance is something I struggle with, even now. In some ways I do believe that I don't deserve to have a certain amount of success, money, healthy relationships, or love. That I deserve to be treated like a second-rate citizen. And it's not Jillian Michaels' fault that I feel this way; this issue is far more deeply rooted and systemic than some flash-in-the-pan trendster trainer. But I do think that shows like Michaels' perpetuate the emotion many overweight people already feel. The reason there is no backlash towards this type of behavior, is in my opinion, because people don't see anything wrong with it - regardless of what their size may be. There's something so devastatingly wrong about this, but I recognize that I contribute to the problem.

All of this is not to highlight what a horrible person Jillian Michaels is. She's playing a character, and obviously has filled a spot where there was demand for her type of character. There are a million Jillians in the world today, but I suppose this Jillian has made herself a mascot, in more than one way. The point of this exists in a challenge I have with myself. To talk to myself and treat myself the way I would if I were training The Biggest Loser contestants. To stop being so judgmental of other women of substance. To start questioning the mistreatment of all people, not just in cases where it's socially acceptable to do so.

…And See How That Goes

2010-05-26T14:41:00.001-05:00

I’ve always enjoyed Sarah Silverman. She’s equal parts crass, witty, vulnerable, offensive, and intelligent. And if you asked the William, he’d add hot to the list.

I recently ran across this CNNOpinion interview with Sarah, where she discusses fat jokes.

According to Sarah:

"I don't really care for like, fat jokes about women, specifically, because I feel that we live in a society where fat men deserve love, and fat women do not deserve love -- at least in white America. And so I feel like that's an ugly thing, and it doesn't make me laugh."

Silverman’s perspective did two things to me. First, it hit really close to home. I realize that in allowing myself to feel undeserving of love, I contribute to a larger, societal issue. It’s something I feel challenged to fix every day, and it’s affects every relationship I have. Secondly, it reinforced the feeling I have about fat jokes. Don’t get me wrong – I can laugh at fat jokes. It’s not that I’m so sensitive that I can’t see how making fun of fat people is funny. However, it may be that same sensitivity that keeps me from thinking most fat jokes are funny enough to laugh at. To me, they usually seem cheap and unimaginative. It doesn’t require much insight or creativity to point out physical characteristics to others. And for similar reasons, I don’t like jokes about skinny people.

I hear a lot of overweight women make fun of themselves, in an attempt to be funny. And while I realize that this is likely just a defense mechanism, it really bothers me. Not only does it make others uncomfortable, I’m not sure that it doesn’t just perpetuate thoughts of negative self-worth. Having the ability to make fun of myself is important, but I have to draw the line at calling myself names, or referencing my body using negative terminology and overused stereotypes.

Sarah has gained a few more cool points in my book. Not that she needed any…

The Good Side of Down

2010-04-05T19:08:00.004-05:00

Today, I was involved in a mid-day meeting where lunch was served. The choices allowed for some healthy decision making, so I loaded a plate up with veggie wraps and fruit. As I was enjoying my lunch, a women who works with me scrunched up her nose and squinted in the direction of my lunch.

"Ohhhh, look at you! You're being so good!"

My initial reaction was to find a nice spot in the middle of her forehead for which to place the heel of shoe. The fear of termination and/or jail time prevented me from proceeding with that plan, so instead I just stewed about it.

I'm being good, huh? And I suppose being bad would mean that I had chips instead of fruit, and maybe a cookie for dessert. How about two cookies? What if all I ate for lunch was chips and cookies and more chips, followed by a gallon-size swig of Coca-Cola? Would that make me really, really, really bad?

Eating fruit does not make one a good person. Having a cookie does not make one a bad person. Bad people punch little kids in the face. Bad people deface property, kick puppies, make fun of disabled people, or become republicans. Bad people are not bad because they eat cookies. I'm so tired of this constant measure of food's placement on the axis of evil. Pizza? Bad. Quinoa? Good! Pizza and quinoa? Uhhhh...

All of this scalability, this balance of good vs. evil that we all spew does not help. It doesn't. It makes people feel unnecessary shame and guilt. It makes people treat themselves poorly in the name of health. It makes people feel like they can't leave their houses for a meal. And that, really is bad.

I am just as guilty of this good/bad mentality. It's something I think of every day, with every morsel I decide to swallow. But I vow to try my damnedest not to place that on another person. Because no one is bad because of the things they choose to eat. Unless you're a cannibal, and even that's negotiable.

I constantly challenge myself to reshape the way I think when it comes to food. Part of what I have struggled with in regards to disordered eating stems from people in my life telling me that what I was eating was good or bad. Starting with my grandmother and moving all the way to my nutritionist in college, it's ingrained in me to associate feeling poor about myself with what I am eating at that time. And that's no way for anyone to feel - good, bad, or ugly.

The Pandora Affect

2010-01-20T17:52:00.001-06:00

Over the past few weeks, I’ve really been delving into some reading and movies discussing the topic of eating disorders. Since disordered eating is something I struggle with daily, I sometimes find myself searching for answers as to the why and how this all started for me. Aside from this, I also have something called PCOS, which is an acronym for a disease that affects my insulin levels, weight fluctuations, and my ability to ovulate. I’ve been researching a lot into the causes behind PCOS. Most theories seem to put PCOS as the cause of all symptoms related to disease, but there are some schools of thought that believe that obesity can actually cause PCOS.

As I delve into my research, I can only find one recurring theme. That all of this talk of insulin resistance, disordered eating, depression, and a litany of other unattractive symptoms just makes me feel badly about myself. And subsequently triggers me to fall back into dangerous habits. And I hate that.

So, I find myself feeling very stuck in all of this. I want to feel better. I want to manage my PCOS so that not every day feels like an uphill battle. I want to normalize my eating so that the prospect of eating out doesn’t incite a tightening in my chest. I want to be able to discover what I can do to better myself without sending myself into a tailspin of anxiety.

How do I find answers without opening up a new set of questions?

Wealthy Successors Have No Regard

2010-01-08T14:40:00.002-06:00

Dear People With Whom I Work:

Prosperity and posterity are not words that are interchangeable. They have have vastly different meanings, despite sharing a similar phonetic pronunciation. Using these words in exchange for one another makes you sounds silly, and can sometimes negate other fundamental concepts you are trying to relay.

Additionally, the word "irregardless" has no true meaning. Yes, this "word" has been added to Webster's dictionary, but only because your educators and mother failed you in a horrible way.

Therefore, the next time you choose to use any of these words as described, do not be surprised by my glazed-over expression. I'm just visiting my happy place.

Sincerely,

Your Considerably Underpaid Co-worker

Adjusting

2010-01-03T21:49:00.004-06:00

I have been playing with a 2009 review blog for the past week or so, but haven't produced anything that didn't sound somehow whiny and narcissistic at the same time. So, instead I found this survey on another blog, and decided this might be a better way to summarize the past 365 days. Happy New Year!

1.What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
Walked into a flooded house. And then moved the bare essentials out in about 45 minutes.

2. Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I did. I'm not a huge fan of resolutions, because I feel like life doesn't necessarily work in a sort of set goal, meet goal pattern. So I've started to make year-end goals instead of resolving to change myself in some prolific way.

3.Did anyone close to you give birth?
Only if co-workers count.

4.Did anyone close to you die?
No, thankfully.

5.What countries did you visit?
Canada!

6.What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?
A specific vision for my professional future.

7.What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory and why?
No dates really stand out. I had some special adventures with my bestie, and some very trying times personally.

8.What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Losing a whole dress size worth of weight.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Nah.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A new trench coat, and it was a steal. I get complimented every time I wear it.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Hmmm, that's a tough one. I have to say that I am so proud of my parents. Their marriage was tested this year, and they have come out of it pretty strong.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
All of the "celebrity" parents who made seemingly selfish and money-driven decisions instead of thinking of their children. Jon, Kate, Balloon Boy Dad, etc.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Bills, bills, bills. And a travel.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
That William and I started our podcast. It's been a great tool for us to just relax and talk to each other. I also feel like we challenge each other to pursue creative endeavors.

16. What song will always remind you of 2009?
Michael Jackson's This is It.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? Hmmm. I would say right now, I am happier overall. But I am much more guarded now than I was at the beginning of 2009.
b) thinner or fatter? Thinner!
c) richer or poorer? Ugh.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Exercising. I often sacrificed Emily Health Time to working.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Working. Whining.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
I spent Christmas with my family. The WHOLE family.

21. How many one-night stands?
17. Just kidding. Zero.

22. What was your favorite TV program?
The Office and 30 Rock stand out right now.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
No. I am trying to work on some of the negative feelings I still have for people who have wronged me.

24. What was the best book you read?
As cheesy as this sounds, the last Harry Potter book. I saved it as long as could, and finally read it a few months ago.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Adele.

26. What did you want and get?
A Wii! And a white noise machine. I am thankful for family and friends who love me.

27. What did you want and not get?
Inner peace.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?
Up In The Air and Julie & Julie were my two standouts.

29. What did you do on your birthday?
I spent it in San Francisco, with the person I love the most.

30.What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Professional growth, along with a better paycheck.

31. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Justin Timberlake

32. What political issue stirred you the most?
Healthcare reform.

33. Who did you miss?
My family.

34. Who was the best new person you met?
Although I already knew this person before 2009, I gained a wonderful new mentor in a manager I had last year.

35. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009?
That forgiveness isn't a weakness. And that I can weather a lot more than I thought I could.

36. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
"And children don't grow up; our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up."

All-in-all, I am happy to kiss 2009 goodbye. Although I know that life doesn't work in plotted, 365-day spans of time, I feel a certain amount of re-energization with the arrival of 2010.

Cheers.

Justice for Amy

2009-12-30T17:37:00.002-06:00

I spent a few days in Michigan last week, and while I was there, decided to peruse my mom's selection of books. She usually lets me invade her collection when I'm home, and was generous enough to let me read her copy of If I Am Missing or Dead: A Sister's Story of Love. I was intrigued by the book, partially because of it's subject matter, and partially because the author grew-up in Michigan.

Janine Latus and her sister, Amy, grew up in a large family. Their father was emotionally and sexually abusive to Janine and her sister, and both of these women grew up to be in abusive relationships. The books is written from the perspective of Janine, and ends in the death of her sister Amy. Amy's story was fairly sensational, garnering attention from national news media. Amy's murderer was sentenced to just under 20 years in prison after pleading guilty to Amy's death.

I'll admit that I am not a professional book critic. I read frequently, but don't feel well equipped to accurately articulate the pros and cons of every book I read. However, after reading If I am Missing or Dead, I felt that I had been deceived.

Firstly, the books title and summary indicate that this book is the story of a woman's death. Not so. Instead the story is mainly based on the trials and tribulations of Amy's sister, Janine. Janine mainly tells Amy's story through a series of reiterated phone call conversations and recollection of family vacations. Only at the final chapters of the book, does Amy's story unfold, and discussed the specifics of her domestic abuse and untimely death.

I finished the story upset with Janine Latus. I didn't think she did justice to her sister's memory. Much of the narrative on Amy described her weight fluctuations, something that seemed to bother Janine more than Amy. Janine also battles her own weight and image demons; allowing her husband to perform daily weigh-ins, and getting breast augmentation at his "gentle" suggestion. The book offered a few discussion questions posed to Janine Latus after she had written the book. I was completely surprised to read that Janine found no connection between she and Amy's body image issues and their abuse. Given the great amount of time Janine spends describing their bodies from youth to adulthood, it was difficult to understand how Janine could not make this connection.

The book purports itself as a red-flag to women, to watch-out for these types of behaviors from the men in our lives. Although Janine Latus eventually leaves her husband, it is after over a decade a marriage; after her children and step-children witness years of verbal and physical abuse. After years of Janine staying in the relationship out of a need to feel needed and wealthy. I found Amy's death to be more of an injustice after seeing it from Janine's perspective. It is too strong to say that Amy's sister capitalized on her death, but I did detect a sort of martyr-ish self-fulfillment in Janine's woeful tale.

It's strange to take an emotional journey of this nature, and come out feeling unresolved. I realize that I am judging a situation from which I have had nary a sip, but I found myself wanting more for Amy Latus. That at least those closest to her could have an insight into how their lives had unraveled.

It's too late
She's gone too far
She's lost the sun
She's come undone

She didn't know what she was headed for
And when I found what she was headed for
It was too late
She's come undone
She found a mountain that was far too high
And when she found out she couldn't fly Mama, it was too late

Eventual Clarity

2009-12-17T00:47:00.003-06:00

Tonight, I ran into an old friend of mine from the first year I lived in Nashville. Whenever I run into someone I haven't seen in awhile, I kind of clench up. Immediately, I run a mental assessment to determine if I was thinner or heavier the last time I saw the person. I then wait for the inevitable head-to-toe scan, followed by a possible question regarding how much weight I've lost.

But tonight was different, Hannah just looked me right in the eye and told me I looked well. This was especially remarkable given the fact that the last time Hannah saw me, I was sizes smaller. Of course, I was subsisting on a diet of black coffee and Special K cereal, but I digress. We decided to meet later in the evening for drinks, as Hannah happened to already have plans with a few acquaintances from our college days. For the next three hours, I hemmed and hawed on whether or not I would show up. Reunions are not necessarily my forte, unless I know the guest list and all possible escape routes ahead of time. But I went. Reluctantly.

I could run through the events and conversation of the evening, but ultimately, here is what I came away with after spending a couple hours with old friends.

1. No one is paying as close attention to my weight fluctuations as I am. And if they are, they are brilliant, Oscar-worthy actors.
2. Sometimes being in a serious relationship hinders one's ability to socialize effectively. I was engaged for a portion of my first year in Nashville, and I spent a lot of time holed-up in my apartment, gushing to my then-fiancee. I missed out on meeting some really genuine and warm people.
3. I allow myself to hide behind the issues I have with my weight. I convince myself that people aren't going to like me because of the way I look. Although this often keeps me from being hurt, it more frequently prevents me from getting to know really amazing people.
4. Every evening should end with an ale.

All of this is to say that I hate how much life I've missed out on, staying wrapped in this little cocoon I've created for myself. I haven't the faintest clue how to get out of it, but I'm willing to try. So even if this resolve only lasts for the next day, I find some hope in the fact that I am recognizing these parts of myself. Isn't acceptance the first step?

I wish that, I knew what I know now
When I was younger...

It All Started with a Shoe

2009-11-17T21:49:00.002-06:00

They were light and delicate and palest shade of pink. There was a tiny elastic band that connected each side, and a dainty bow near the spot where my toes slid by. I wore them everyday for a month, and was careful to make sure that not so much as a speck of dirt tainted the sweet smelling leather.

My mom bought me my first pair of ballet shoes the summer before I started kindergarten. Saturday mornings, I would wriggle into my tights and leotard and carefully place my shoes on my feet. The next 30 minutes were spent at the barre and sashaying my way across the dance studio floor. I loved it.

On a shopping trip with my grandmother a couple years later, I found a new love. It came to me via patent leather and a thick black ribbon tie. I would heel-and-toe across my family's kitchen floor, much to the chagrin of my mother. Tap shoes aren't easy on kitchen tile.

A few years after that, I graduated to Pointe class, and got my first pair of Pointe shoes. Even though they added six inches to my frame, they made my toes bleed. I was used to the structure of ballet class, but Pointe took things to a new level. Sometimes, I wanted just to dance. No worrying about form, feet placement, or the time it took to wrap my feet before class started.

I was lamenting to a friend about my predicament, and she recommended I try taking in a modern dance class. And a few days later I was just dancing. Gone were the itchy tights, wedgie-inducing leotards and arabesque-ing until my form was perfect. Instead, I was with a group of misfits who wore what they wanted, danced because it felt good, and had nothing. on. their. feet.

No shoes. Nothing to tie on between classes. No toes to wrap, no Advil to take, no plies to correct. Sure, form was important, but so was feeling the music. It didn't matter the angle at which my leg was bent, or whether turns were well-spotted. I didn't have to worry about Buffalo Time Steps or fifth position placement. I was more aware of my body and how it moved. My moves were large and expressive, instead of dainty and controlled. I loved every minute of it. And no shoes.

I started taking a hip-hop class this week, and I got a little glimpse of that feeling again. Sometimes, I have remind myself how important it is to move. The tough part of being so conscious of my body is that I forget that I'm actually good at dance. It's familiar, and comfortable, and for just a few minutes I forget about how much I try to appear as small as possible. For a few minutes, I am shoeless.

Paper Thin

2009-10-06T04:18:00.001-05:00

Dear Awesome Neighbor,

I just wanted to thank you and your dogs for waking me up at 2:30AM this morning. It was very refreshing to be stunned into coherence by a shrieking puppy and the slamming of your back door. Additionally, I appreciate the 45-minute coughing session that ensued mere inches from our shared wall thereafter.

Perhaps tomorrow morning, you could turn on your stereo around 3AM. Or maybe, you could run the length of your living space while whistling the Leave it to Beaver theme song. Heck, who am I kidding? You don't even need to be that creative. A little stomping and yelling at your undeservedly sweet dogs should do the trick.

While I realize that my difficulties in falling and staying asleep and your general neighborly awesomeness are mutually exclusive, it would be great if you could muster up a grain of consideration for those who sleep during the hours of 11PM-5AM. It's only a six-hour window where I ask that you lower your obnoxious quotient by a few clicks.

So, as I sludge my way through my grogginess and sleep-deprived-grump during work today, I will raise my coffee cup in the hopes that you have as productive a day as I surely will. Fucker.

Truly Yours,

Exhausted

Contradiction in Terms

2009-08-12T22:52:00.003-05:00

So, I recently blogged about a new dating show, More to Love, and thought I had moved on to bigger and better things, until I stumbled upon this over at 5 Resolutions. And my frustration came back full-force.

I had read some pretty stellar reviews about Drop Dead Diva in the few entertainment magazines I subscribe to. I was kind of curious about it, so when I saw the first few episodes were hanging out in my friend's On Demand queue, I thought I would check it out. I didn't even make it through the first half-hour of the show. Somewhere between the platter of donuts that Brooke Elliott's (Jane) character eyes lustily, and the Lane Bryant jokes, I fell off the grid.

I remember seeing Margaret Cho live a few years ago, and it was right after she had gone through a significant weight loss. She joked about the fact that she had lost the weight by eating a diet of mainly persimmons and exercising to the point of obsession. The climax occurred when she literally pooped herself while stuck in traffic on her way home from work in L.A. Cho hammed it up, made the facial expressions that helped bring her to fame, and we all had a great laugh and went home. I had since read all of Cho's interviews where she talks about body image and the hope for an eventual migration to body acceptance for all body types. And I bought it.

So, imagine my surprise when I check out Cho's latest project, and I am slapped in the face with stereotype upon stereotype. The fat chick can't resist a donut. Hmm, why is that familiar? Why does it seem like a regression to watch what appear to be confident, capable women, exploit some shortcoming that is not really based in truth?

I think Jane could still be effective without playing the victim to food. I wonder if perhaps exploring some of the real food issues that women face might actually be easier to relate to, however less, ahem, appetizing it might be. What I would ultimately like to see is a strong, sexy, confident, and yes, chubby woman who isn't a victim. A woman who usually has the whole wheat toast and apple for breakfast, but sometimes indulges in an eclair. A woman who is not thin, but not necessarily unhealthy.

Would that be so hard to swallow?

Post-Matriculation Booty Shakin'

2009-06-21T12:32:00.002-05:00

During my college days, I was a bit of a party-music connoisseur. I had an extensive collection of CDs, and was usually the primary resource for any of the music played during my sorority's house parties. And I loved it. I would spend most of my post-tuition earnings on the latest and greatest in hip-hop, dance, and a little pop. On Thursday nights, my roommate and I would rock out to my latest finds. We’d even turn on the Christmas lights we’d strewn about the room in an attempt to lure boys into our room. Not that we needed the “mood lighting.” It was after all, college.

Then life happened. College ended (the fun years anyway), post-college break-ups occurred, and my life as a corporate drone started. Not only were my fun party CDs irrelevant, they just weren’t as cool to listen to. Somehow, sitting in traffic after a 10-hour day, feeling my Spanx cut off all circulation to my lower extremities voided any need to play The Thong Song. Instead, I made friends with Elvis Costello, The Cure, and Dashboard Confessional.

But every once in awhile, when I least expect it, I’ll hear something that takes me right back to those days. And there I am, shaking my ass on the dance floor of our neighboring fraternity house. A never-ending supply of screwdriver drinks in my hand, my feet in the highest heels I could find, my lips never un-glossed and ever ready for any potential 2AM make-out sessions.

This weekend, my friend K-Ro came out for a visit. We were bouncing around town, when LMFAO’s I’m in Miami, Bitch came on the radio. We both stopped mid-sentence, and I immediately turned up the radio. The song has been in constant replay since that moment. Sometimes I can overlook all of the things that I consider to make ‘good’ music, and just enjoy something that makes me want to get out of my seat and dance.

I got a plan, what’s your cell?
We playin’ naked Twister back in my hotel…

Retaining Walls

2009-06-03T21:02:00.003-05:00

“Hey, do you remember that guy we ran into when we were downtown a few weeks ago? He was tall, with dark ey-”

“Scott?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you remember that?”

Shrug.

I have always considered myself as someone with an above average memory. Sure, as I get closer to my 30s, and have to memorize industry-specific acronyms, website passwords, and friend’s birthdays, I am not as sharp as I used to be. But for the most part, I have the uncanny ability to hold on to faces, names, events, and places easily.

My friend L doesn’t remember anything. She spent most of our high school graduation leaned over, asking me to identify three-quarters of our graduating class, most of whom she had known since pre-pubescence. She forgets to put her car in park before turning it off. At no time can she name the title, or any starring actors of a movie she saw within the week. And she doesn’t care. She laughs off her ineptitude at memorizing names. She gives rap songs ridiculously inappropriate titles because she thinks it’s funny that she doesn’t know the real titles. She spends a good deal of her driving time getting lost. But she never skips a beat.

Then there’s me. I hold on to everything. Every detail. Every forehead crease, wrinkled skirt, handsome face, or peculiar odor. I fast forward and rewind, like a little mini-film that plays on repeat in my brain. The outfit my last manager wore on the day of my job interview five years ago? Got it. The cost of my dance costumes for my competition recital in 8th grade? Don’t even have to check the receipt. The painted-walls smell of the hallway in my freshman dorm corridor where I stood the moment I laid eyes on my first love? Yes, indeed.

And usually, this memory of mine is a great tool. My mom calls me after her church service to tell me about a childhood friend’s parent that she ran into. I can always recite their names so my mom won’t be embarrassed during her next encounter. I can remember where the car was parked, right down to the crack in the pavement next to the left rear wheel. My high school speech teacher would be proud to know that I still can recite the poem Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout. Well, most of it anyway.

But sometimes, and what is becoming more than some times, I don’t want to remember. The way the wind was knocked out of me when I found out a rather crushing secret kept by a close friend? You can keep it. Hearing two grown women, who had purported to my be my friend only weeks before, say vile, sophomoric, and completely unoriginal things about me? Please burn the original and any copies.

It’s sort of like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. There is no way to erase bad memories, or chunks of memory, for convenience sake. Sure, a blow to the head might do some good, but that has potential of putting my motor-skills at risk. And the real catch when it comes to having an impeccable memory is that for all the fantastic, sunny skied, blue watered, sand-between-my-toes kinds of flashbacks, there are always a few spoilers.

So what then? Is there some sort of guide to pushing away everything bad that keeps me up at night? Isn’t repressing bad stuff just exacerbating the issue? Or is the solution to hold on to the good stuff nice and tight, but keep the bad stuff at bay? Not so much that it disappears, but just so that it’s not showing every half-hour on all screens within my brain? Maybe it’s better to address the big stuff, even if it drags on and closure seems just beyond the fingertips. Maybe being haunted by something so crisp, clear, and painfully present is a sign that I have yet to truly confront this stuff.

Because ultimately, I refuse to just start forgetting. Unlike my friend, I am not content to not remember. I like cataloging new faces. I enjoy the feeling I get when I smell that combination of sea salt, hot dogs, and freshly mowed grass. I like tracing my fingers along the skin of the person I love, and knowing there will be no surprises. I like to remember.

Long Overdue

2009-06-02T22:06:00.002-05:00

So, I've been M.I.A. for awhile, and not the British she-rapper who almost dripped birthing fluids while performing at the Grammys. I mean out-of-pocket, indisposed, or otherwise engaged.

I mainly didn't write because it was like Lemony Snickets up in this piece for a few months, and I didn't feel like sharing bitter comentary about my life's shortcomings. I'm getting over all that, slowly...and not-so-surely.

There really is no point to this post, other than to dump a few meanderings I have been pondering over the past week. So, her goes.

Why does Southwest airline only post flight information five - six months in advance? Ummm, hi. It is summertime and need to get my travel plans in order for the rest of 2009. Life does not end after Halloween.
Eminem, I still love you. I am so sorry I doubted you for so long. Had you just told me you were holed-up in Detroit, nursing your addiction, I would have come to your rescue. And even brought you a strawberry Faygo to make it better.
I am now StubHub's bitch. TicketsNow, you can take your tickets and do something highly depraved, profane, and painful.
As if I needed another reason to love and spend all of my supplemental income at Target, the store has started carrying Soap & Glory products. I discovered this stuff on vacation in Canada awhile back, and I was hooked. But like all European-inspired products, it took four score and seven years to make it to the US, let alone the mid-south. But it was worth the wait.

My goal is to make these posts not as few and far between. So, to the four of you still reading this, cheers.

Piece-Mealing Metaphors

2009-01-13T23:12:00.001-06:00

You know those times when things seem to just click together? Maybe everything is not perfect, but life hums on at just the right tune that if you could capture it on your digital camera, you wouldn't delete the picture for a couple years?

Yeah, me too.

Except there is sometimes this little thing. Or maybe it's a really big thing, disguised as a little thing. And maybe it's not in your face all the time. Maybe it's like a snag on your favorite sweater, that if you just leave it alone and don't pull that one teeny-tiny little thread, your sweater would remain intact for at least six more dry cleanings.

Perhaps it's that if you pull that little snag, you might be forced to see the demise of something you really love.

It might not even be that black-and-white. It might be this wonderful shade of grey. Not so grey that it envelops you and and makes you forget about any other color. Maybe it's invigorating, like mornings along the San Francisco Bay. It might just smooth out the sharp edges of things you would rather just leave undiscovered and lull you into a false sense of security the way four-wheel drive does to Midwesterners.

But you know, you always know, that like all things unpleasant, it will surface. And no amount of pink frosting, or perfectly sized jeans found on sale, or sleeping in on Saturdays will ever make it less sharp. Less devastating. Less not there.

Little boxes, on the hillside
Little boxes, made of ticky-tacky
Little boxes, on the hillside
Little boxes, just the same
There's a pink one, and a green one
A blue one, and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same

And the people in boxes, all went to the university
And they were put in boxes, and they all came out the same
And there's doctors and lawyers and business executives
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same

Behind Stall Number One...

2009-01-11T23:03:00.004-06:00

When I was a kid, I had a mild fear of public bathrooms. I remember willing my aching bladder to just wait a few more minutes on my bumpy bus rides home from school in the afternoon. I would run in the door, and barely make it to the bathroom. My mom always lectured me on holding it too long, but no amount of her talk could make me use the bathroom during school.

I've gotten over my phobia since then, and in the past year I have traveled pretty extensively for both work and myself. So, using public restrooms sort of becomes a secondary thing, and I don't even think twice to push open the door marked 'Ladies.' Once inside, however, I have noticed that not everyone is playing by the same rules. It appears that maybe men aren't the only ones who can't be trusted to follow proper bathroom etiquette. Ladies, I know you're out there...and I'm keeping my eye on you.

1. Do not peek through the space between the stall door to see if someone is occupying the stall. Sometimes that space is bordering on a full inch, and if I wanted my lady-parts on display I would call Larry Flynt. Try knocking. Or even checking for feet under the door. Or just waiting for a half-minute until I exit.

2. When using the air-dryer to dry your hands, please do not heed the advice of Outkast and shake it like a Polaroid. While I appreciate that the air-dryer takes some time to fully dry hands, I do not want to be sprinkled while you attempt to pre-dry. Walk a few feet away from me before you attempt to wring your hands of access water.

3. Wash your hands. Seriously? Don't be disgusting.

4. When there is a long line of women using the bathroom, do not take extra time to fix your face while people stand behind you waiting for a sink. The bathroom is not a place where I like to spend extra time, and it tends to get crowded. Put away your Wet-n-Wild lip gloss, and move it on out.

5. Pay it forward when it comes to toilet paper. If the stall you just left is out of toilet paper, don't let some unsuspecting mother with her tw0 year old wander in after you without a warning. Remember that feeling you get when you're all settled in, and then have to call out to some generous soul to spare a square?

6. Sometimes, the bathroom can get a little...seedy, and a hover situation is definitely in order. But be a dear, and clean up any toilet seat sprinkle that may result from your attempt to avoid crabs.

Lesson adjourned.

And Now...

2008-12-23T02:25:00.003-06:00

Edit: I have created a separate blog for my new venture. Check it out at: http://andnowforthedifference.blogspot.com/.

Whenever I self-evaluate, and think about the things in my life I would like to change, I find the answer is always the same. My weight, my weight, and my weight. In that order. Every time.

I've really struggled lately, and found myself sinking back into that same loop of desperation. Binge. Feel guilty. Purge. Lather, rinse, and repeat if necessary. And it's always necessary. I could say that I've done everything to overcome this, but that's not true. I think there's an ebb and flow to getting over something of this magnitude. I'm waiting for the ebb.

That said, I've been thinking of ways that I can better myself in the new year. I'm not one for resolutions, because I feel like there are plenty of ways I can accidentally disappoint myself. Why add to the list? But that's sort of the definition of self-defeating, and that's just not working for me anymore. So, as a sort of simultaneous thought-chain, I've been thinking about re-tooling this blog. I feel like I set out to tell my story, but that story unravels every day, and I'm finding that it's hard to be the narrator of my own movie.

Ok, so getting back to the original self-evaluation, and seeking to better myself. In sort of exploring the issue of changing my body, I usually wind up in the same place. Find a restrictive diet and exercise in abundance. Because that has totally worked the last 762 times I tried it, so why not give it one more whirl? Because. I said, enough already!

So instead, I have decided to embark on a new journey for 2009. Call it a resolution, call it a diet, call it playing with fire. But I'm calling it research. I think a lot of the issues I have had with food and the abuse thereof has to do with a lot of built-up pressure based on all kinds of information I have learned from the various diets I have attempted in the past. Should I eat pasta? Should I eat an apple everyday? Should I avoid apples? Should I eat after 9? After 8? After 5? Is it better to exercise in the morning, or at night? Should I use the 2/3 rule? Should I? Can I? Will I?

My project for 2009 is simple. I plan to attempt a new diet each month of the year, starting on January 5. I will follow the plan as closely as possible, and document my journey - what worked, where I struggled, how I felt emotionally and physically, etc. And you, dear readers (reader?) will get a front-row seat.

I know this may sound ridiculous. Why on earth would someone who has struggled so much with diets and self-image and food and exercise do something like this? And I'm not sure I have an answer to that question. I do know this. Taking on this project will allow me to focus on one thing at a time, so I won't feel the overwhelming wave of dos and do nots when I try to cram everything I have ever learned into a diet. Also, I have established some ground rules, so I won't be embarking on anything restrictive, overly expensive, faddish, or generally destructive. I've set these guidelines.

1. Each plan must include both a diet and exercise regimen.
2. Each plan must consist of at least 1500 calories a day. I have based this on my doctor's recommendation.
3. No plans that eliminate fruit or vegetable groups.
4. No plans that require mail ordered or prepackaged and shipped food items.

Since I'm still kind of working out the details of this, I haven't really decided what the determining factors will be for success or failure. Since weight loss is my immediate goal (with a broader and more important goal of health and well-being), I will be reporting any gains/losses at the end of each month.

I have a few options in mind for January's plan. I will be posting more details soon. Oh, and I would like to keep this blog as a sort of separate log of my journey. I still plan to write on other topics, so I'll be splitting this into two channels. Stay tuned!

Your Exclamations Mean Nothing to Me

2008-11-05T10:41:00.003-06:00

People who mark all of their emails as 'important' or 'urgent' are like the boy who cried wolf. After awhile, I will realize that your emails are only important to you. Not to me. And really, not to anyone else.

So then, I will answer your important emails after I've answered everything else. Even forwards from strange family members who I avoid during holidays.

Is It?

2008-10-30T00:44:00.002-05:00

I try not to think of what I would do if the unthinkable happened. What if I lost a member of my family, or my house burned down, or everything I had worked hard to achieve disappeared? I guess I avoid thinking about these things because I fear that I would just wither away and never be heard from again.

The unthinkable happened to Horatio Spafford. Several decades ago, Horatio lost almost everything. His business and home were destroyed in the Great Chicago Fire. Two years later, he sends his family on a European vacation, and his four daughters are killed when the boat they are travelling on crashes into another boat. When Horatio's wife notified him of the tragedy, he hopped the next boat to Europe. And what did he do during the lengthy journey across the Atlantic? He wrote a song. Not a song of lament, or anger, or bitter resentment. Not a song becrying the tragedies of the years past. No, instead, Horatio writes what is quite possibly the most peaceful and praise-filled hymn sung today, It is Well With my Soul.

I can't imagine the kind of internal serenity Spafford possessed to be able to write something so prolific at such a tragic time. I can't imagine having a faith so deep, strong, and all-encompassing that I would have the clarity to know that my soul was ever going to be ok. I wish I had faith like that. I wish I was able to take enough stock in something greater than myself. Enough that all of the minutia of the day-to-day details became just that. Details. So that everything of importance; my mind, body, heart, and spirit were saturated with tranquility. So that minor inconveniences, careless friends, or missed deadlines weren't enough to flush my cheeks.

I have a hard time with faith, mostly because I can't see it or touch it. Disappointment occurs more than fulfillment, and I just assume the status quo. I don't say this to be self-deprecating, but more because I am so baffled by those who choose to believe that it really is going to be ok. And not just for the next five minutes.

I wish it could just hit me over the head. Some life altering moment that causes me to take action on this faith thing and really feel the peace Spafford so fondly put to words.

No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper thy peace to my soul

Owning It

2008-10-19T16:56:00.002-05:00

I was really excited to catch Adele last night on Saturday Night Live. Her songs have been the soundtrack to my commute back and forth from work for the past few months, and I couldn't wait to hear her live.

Adele definitely did not disappoint. She sounded as amazing live as she does coming through my car stereo speakers. What also impressed me was that she chose to wear a short dress. As a woman who sometimes feels like my breasts are the only part of my body worth flaunting, I was excited to see another plus-sized girl showing some leg. And you know what? She looked great. She was sexy without displaying six inches of cleavage, and she rocked the mic without performing some sort of overdone booty jiggle.

Self-criticism is a hard habit to break. I keep thinking that at some point, I'll run out of negative things to say and think about myself. That at some point I will truly stop caring about the way my arms look in a sleeveless shirt and how well my jeans appear to fit.

It's easy for body image to become an obsession. It starts with something small; a pair of pants fitting loosely, having someone comment that I appear to have lost weight, or even going to bed hungry. It doesn't take long before I'm counting every calorie, calculating every meal, examining each piece of food that passes in front of my lips. The problem is that it starts to feel so good. It literally and figuratively starts to feed itself into control. It's like there is this separate being that hovers over me and weights until the ultimate point of vulnerability. And then...WHAM! I'm trying on my skinny jeans every morning before work and eating little else than vegetables and peanut butter. All of this, only to come full circle within a matter of days/weeks/months.

This is my most difficult habit to break, and I think because it's so multi-faceted. There is guilt, coupled with a sense of responsibility for health, multiplied by my burning desire to be thinner, and then iced with the fact that I cannot escape my drug of choice. So here I am. In the now, and trying to just take it day by day. And today is not going so well.

There's never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching
All you need is the thing you've forgotten
And that's to learn to live with what you are

So freak out if you wanna
And I'll still be here
Don't call me for years and when you do
Yeah, I'll still be here

Flowers, Flowers, Everywhere

2008-10-13T14:21:00.002-05:00

Dear People who Sell Stuff on Craigslist:

Laura Ashley is not exactly interchangeable with Shabby Chic. That flowered couch your mom gave to you before you left for college in 1996 is not vintage. Nor is it worth $50.00.

Sincerely,

Me.

I Just Live Here

2008-10-12T14:21:00.002-05:00

So, this morning I stopped to pick-up a newspaper from the little grocery around the corner from my house. As I was paying, a guy in his late forties came in and whistled a tune that has replayed in my head all day. I have been racking my brain all afternoon to remember where I know this tune, and finally it hit me.

I suppose you're never too old to get your Smurf on.

His Ego may be Larger than Alaska...

2008-10-08T21:32:00.001-05:00

but his stingers are hotter than it's governor. Karma, meet Sarah Palin.

I've avoided making any commentary on this election for a few reasons. First, that's not really the purpose of this blog. And no, I can't tell you the actual purpose of this blog. Second, I'm nervous to take a stance that creates a historical stamp. It's like people driving around with those Gore/Lieberman stickers on the bumper of their Chevy's.'

But Sarah Palin disgusts me. And not because she is a cliche, or a woman who clearly substitutes 'cute' for substance. No, the reason Ms. Palin tickles my gag reflex is because she makes us look bad. Or, at least the us that have a vagina. I am disappointed with a woman who has accepted the position for one of the most powerful positions in the country, and possibly the world. I'm disappointed when I watch her falter and stumble and ineffectively try to manipulate her way out of any situation that requires her to be everything that she is not. Bold, strong, intelligent, controlled, deliberate, and confidant. Oh yeah, and that whole leadership thing. I'm sad because I've watched her turn into in a wannabe bully. No original thought, no original purpose, absolutely no creativity. Just riding the coattails of the smart kids and makings quips that end in an -in.

I think Anne Lamott has a better idea. I think that as women, we should support those who possess the fire. There are enough women out there who incite support from being dramatic, mean, "sassy," and otherwise useless. We all could stand to channel a little Molly Ivins.

I still believe in Hope - mostly because there's no such place as Fingers Crossed, Arkansas.
- Molly Ivins

I Sure Hope That's It

2008-10-05T14:54:00.001-05:00

So I was talking with a coworker last week and catching up on the happenings of him and his family. He told me that his wife and youngest daughter had started a MediFast diet earlier in the week, and jokingly mentioned that his household had been rather tense ever since then. I remembered that his daughter was young, and when I asked my friend how old she was, he told me she was 11.

It was rather difficult to get through the rest of the conversation, because this wave of emotion came over me that I hadn't really expected. Dieting with my mom was a staple of our relationship from the time I was 12 until the time I left for college. I couldn't help but wonder about my friend's daughter.

I truly hope that this is the last diet she ever decides to take on. I hope that she gets to a healthy weight and learns some healthy habits and never gives a passing thought to the number on the tag of her jeans. But from what I know, and from what I have learned from other friends and various influences, this is probably just the beginning for her. This is not the first and last diet she will start; it is only the first of many. She will probably lose some weight and it will be positively reinforced by her family, friends, and cute boys in the lunch line. I hope that she decides how to eat by listening to her body, and not to her mom or infomercials or by watching her friends subsist on diet coke and carrot sticks.

My true hope is that this doesn't lead to destructive behavior. And that she doesn't start marking important events in her life by how much or little she weighed. That when she starts dating, she doesn't question why someone would want to touch her or be with her. That she doesn't spend her days counting calories and carbohydrates and sugar content of everything she eats.

Maybe I'm just forcing my own situation on to someone else. The thought of an 11 year-old starting a diet makes me cringe, makes me relive those days of coffee-only diets. I wish I could change it for so many other 11 year-old girls who are about to repeat the same exact cycles.

I knew that to keep in touch
Would do me deep in dutch
Cuz it isn't the rush of remembering
It's just mush
And the signature thing
Is only growing harrowing
I should have no trouble now
To keep from following

Why I Love My Coworkers

2008-09-17T14:45:00.002-05:00

My sentiments exactly. Except maybe replace 'socks' with 'bra.'

Check My Flow

2008-09-12T23:03:00.005-05:00

So, awhile back I wrote about the Pink and Carey Hart split. A few weeks ago, I caught Pink's video for her new song So What. Or, as my friend Kate refers to it, the naner-naner song.

After seeing the video, I was even more bummed about the dissolution of the Pink/Hart relationship. Clearly, they get along and still care for one another. Why cut down the tree with carved initials and declarations of love? Can't Carey ride bitch on the back of her riding lawn mower?

I suppose I'm longing for a little dose of fairytale in a reality-laden world. What's so overrated about a great story that stays, well, great? Why can't I have my cake and eat it too, preferably with a scoop of ice cream?

I digress. I think I just wanted an excuse to hear this song again. Catchy, ain't it?

Synchronized Slimming

2008-09-11T23:28:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wish that as women, we decided to stop relating and foraging relationships based on diet and negative body image issues. I wish we could compliment each other's brain, heart, and character and not each other's size, dress, and skin.

I have shared many a meal with female coworkers since I started working in a professional setting eight years ago. And I can genuinely say that most of these meals play out in the same fashion. Everyone ponders over the menu for a few minutes, and then announces their meal plans. Except usually the statement is prefaced by declarations that go a lot like:

"I'm being good today!"
"I'm having a bad day, so I'm having the..."
"I haven't eat since yesterday, so I'm going all out!"
"Today is a cheat day."

How about we just eat? If it's a hamburger, a salad, a muffin, a potato chip, an oyster, a taco, or a jelly bean. How about we just do it? And we don't excuse it or justify it or mull it over once everyone else has made their decisions.

And I'm having seconds of that.

And before the might
of all that’s seen
I’ll raise my head
and wake to dream
with a clean pair of eyes

Inaudibly Irrelevant

2008-09-05T14:49:00.001-05:00

I'm a big fan of words. I love consonants, syllables, contractions, similes, and everything in between. That said, hearing someone use incorrect tense, ending sentences with prepositions, or making up words makes me feel like I'm trapped in a phone booth with Fran Drescher and Bill O'Reilly.

Stop using 'mute' in place of 'moot.' Those words have two vastly different meanings. I promise. Look it up.

I opened my eyes
While you were kissing me once, more than once
And you looked as sincere as a dog
Just as sincere as a dog does
When it's the food on your lips with which it's in love

Reality

2008-08-28T22:39:00.004-05:00

I will never be described as exotic or mysterious. I'll never be able to get a suntan without first having a sunburn. I'll never have a proportionate hip-to-waist ratio.

But I will always be able to shake it to those who do.

August Disgust

2008-08-11T21:54:00.000-05:00

I came across this today, and I have to say that I'm not entirely opposed to an August succession from the calendar. August just seems superfluous; an extra month of heat, oppressive humidity, and 31-day tease of crisp, leaf-changing existence.

But I couldn't help but think of my baby brother, who will welcome his 23rd year on Friday. My other brother and I celebrate our birthdays in April and October respectively. Each spring and fall, we would skip to school in our birthday duds, laden down with trays of whatever confectionery delight our mom whipped up. Our classmates would gather around, vying for the biggest, softest, and most well-frosted cupcake. We were the prince and princess of our classes for one day a year.

Meanwhile, our resident August Baby celebrated birthday after birthday with just our family. No classroom celebrations. No leftover cupcakes for the bus ride home. No hand-decorated cards from the entire second-grade class.

So maybe instead of ending the summer on a sticky and saturated note, we should celebrate the lazy, ethereal, and undying days. We should lounge poolside, drink in hand. We should sport sundresses and crisp linen shirts and strappy sandals. We should travel, and eat, and dance. And most importantly, we should overcompensate for our friends who never got to partake in classroom birthday celebrations.

Daisy summer pipers come to town
Piping people out of doors
To see the magic all around
Listen now you'll hear his sound
Stare into a mirror pool
And laugh so princely vain
The skies become kaleidoscopes
With no two turns the same

And Then There Was One

2008-08-05T20:19:00.003-05:00

Last week, my mom came into town for a few days to help me after I had some minor sinus surgery. She left on Sunday, and I haven't been the same since. Nashville has been my home for the past five years, but within the past few months it's gotten harder and harder to say goodbye to my family during our respective visits to each other. Just the mention of the word 'mom,' and I can hardly keep my eyes from welling with tears.

Sometimes I worry that my personal contentedness is too dependent on the influence of other people in my life. I find myself seeking validation, comfort, and assurance from my friends and family. This feeling is especially evident when I experience uncertainty. When I question my career, my relationships, my finances, I just want to lie down and be rescued.

But the thing about human beings is that they are not guarantees. I know that even if my mom lived next door to me, there are a million circumstances that could take her out of my life. I know that friendships often have an expiration date. I know that people change their minds. And more importantly, I know that I have to be OK with myself regardless of the people who are (or are not) around me.

It all comes down to reminding myself that I am strong, capable, and resourceful. That I am able to deal with adversities even if I was the only person in my life. And that even if I wake up with only myself for the rest of my life, I will be OK.

When I'm trying to outrun you
you won't leave me alone
When I need you to be with me
I end up on my own
Oh, I wish that I could move you
Faster, be still, or rewind
But it's a matter of time

Adam West

2008-07-23T00:21:00.000-05:00

I slept through my 6AM alarm this morning and ended up rolling over to a clock that read 8:17.

Oh, hell.

So I raced around and somehow managed to be out the door in just under 30 minutes. I spent the short drive to my office chastising myself for being so hard on my body. I spent the rest of the day scrutinizing calories and gulping water to rehydrate.

I fell pretty hard this time. Last week I felt like I was an actress in the starting sequence of every Batman TV show from a few decades ago. I was zapping, kaplowing, and bamming my way through a bunch of gnarly situations. Then came the crash. The burn. The incineration. Getting back up is still causing me some issue, but I don't feel like I'm lacking in clarity right now. Just having trouble reaching the bootstraps.

I'm starting to wonder if maybe I'm going about all of this in the wrong way. For the past couple years, I have been trying to seek out every form of medium that relates to my present situation. I keep thinking that I'll get better if I can build up this army of books, songs, and movies that tell my story, that make me feel less insane. But I don't know that it's necessarily about that right now. I think that maybe it's about focusing on who I want to be, not swimming around in what I am or what I used to be. Maybe.

A thousand fires burn out of control
And no one's ever there
To see them
We're dyin of thirst our voice is lost
From all this screaming
I came down in a lonely state
And now everyone is leaving
Our souls so charred beyond recognition
And I'm trying to find the reason

Small Victories

2008-07-22T12:24:00.001-05:00

Who was able to check three major projects off her to-do list by noon?

That's right.

Me.

You Know the One

2008-07-07T20:50:00.002-05:00

I grabbed dinner with some friends tonight after work. Midway through the meal, I realized that I was counting the calories in practically every bite I was taking. I promptly put down my fork, took a deep breath, and waited for the feeling to pass, but it didn't ever really go away. I counted all the way home.

I think it is fair to say that the holidays are extraordinarily difficult for those who struggle with disordered eating. I think it’s an even safer bet to say that summer is like one long and steamy holiday. A holiday full of barbecues and beer and forced socialization in minimal amounts of clothing. Right now I’m just treading, trying to keep my head above water and not get pulled into the tide of Body Hatred and Lack of Self Esteem.

In a few days, I'm heading to Michigan for what is supposed to be an escape and a chance to catch a ball game. Instead, I'm worrying about how much weight I have gained since the last time I saw my family. My brother and sister-in-law have spent the bulk of their marriage on diets of some description or another. They yo-yo back and forth between sizes, and spend a great deal of time talking about losing weight. My sister-in-law has even gone so far as to post a countdown of sorts on her MySpace pages. My mother provides me with a weekly update on how much weight the family has lost or gained. And while I love seeing my family, and laughing with my brothers, and shopping with my mom, sometimes I just wish it were different. I wish my visits home weren't filled with such trepidation, and I wish I didn't feel scrutinized each time I walked through the door. I mostly wish I didn't have a "let'sjustgetthisoverwith" feeling every time I came home.

So, as much as I want to just give in and listen to that voice that tells me to makeup for all of the hot dogs and beer I've had in the past few days, I know I need to keep fighting the good fight. And that no matter how hard my mom stares at my waistline, it's still about me nurturing and taking care of myself. I think.

I am colorblind
coffee black and egg white
pull me out from inside
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready
I am taffy stuck and tongue tied
stutter shook and uptight
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready
I am fine
I am covered in skin
no one gets to come in
pull me out from inside
I am folded and unfolded, and unfolding
I am colorblind
coffee black and egg white
pull me out from inside
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready
I am fine

Living me Softly

2008-06-30T22:22:00.000-05:00

I realized today, that as I was traipsing down the office hallway for the 72nd time, I was making this odd sigh/motorboat sound with my lips. And I thought to myself, "what the hell are you doing?" And I really had no answer.

I watched a movie this weekend with a fat, red-headed woman, who portrayed an overbearing and slightly psychotic mess of a boss to the movie's main character. She wore a lot of polka dots, ate jelly donuts, and carried on office banter in a shrill, earsplitting tone. The movie actually opened with an office celebration of her birthday party, and her little beady eyes glistened as she cut herself a Texas-sized piece of cake.

Really? Seriously? Is this material still funny and cool and trendy? Is the overbearing, overeating, overweighted, shrew of a woman still a necessary cinematic staple? Are we really still buying the mentality of the fat person's agony? Hiding sugary snacks, over-compensating for a bullied adolescence, wearing tentlike fabrics to hide abdominal fat? Really? I was annoyed before the plot was ever introduced.

Fat acceptance is something I struggle with, mostly because I can't seem to accept myself. At any size. It's been almost six months since I've had a bulimic episode, and I can't say that I feel any sense of accomplishment for it. I guess I just thought that if I stopped all of that behavior, I would just start losing weight. I thought the 'next step' would be so natural, that I wouldn't even realize it was happening.

What I seem to forget everytime is that this is not going to be an easy fix. In the past, when I wanted to lose weight, I would stop eating for days, weeks, or even months at a time. In the past, I could drop weight by starving myself and then having one big binge and purge session to work out my hunger. But my reality today is that those things have stopped working for me, emotionally and physically. Forcing my body to react to my actions just doesn't fulfill me any more.

That said, I have realized the only thing I can do at this point is be gentle with myself. Restricting, obsessing, forcing, overhauling; all these do is send me into a crash that takes me longer and longer to retreat from each time it happens. I want serenity. I want peace. I want to know that I am ok no matter what the tag on my pants says. And even as I read those words, I still can't quite convince myself that it's true.

Elbow Room

2008-06-12T01:11:00.000-05:00

I'm tired.

I've tried to write here several times over the past few weeks and nothing is really happening for me each time I belly up to my desk. Part of it has to do with another creative endeavor I am attempting, but the rest of it has no real cause, destination, or plot. I'm just tired.

I'm feeling that oppressive, crushing, dark feeling again. My heart feels heavy in my chest. My limbs seem to be moving solely of their own volition. Brain set to autopilot. I'm reacting. Responding. Smiling when it's appropriate. Forcing myself to accept outing invitations from friends. Convincing myself to stay awake just one more hour. Then laying in bed for two.

I looked at the calendar today and realized it's been nearly six months. And while I want so badly to be happy for myself, I'm having trouble mustering anything beyond cautious nervousness. What next? Who am I without being the Eating Disorder Girl? What if I still can't get it right?

Part of me wonders if all of this therapy and self-exploration has turned me into someone very selfish. That maybe in the process of trying to find myself, I really just lost the girl I was meant to be all along.

I talked to absolutely no one
Couldn't keep to myself enough
And the things bottled inside had finally begun
To create so much pressure that I'd soon blow up

And I heard the reverberating footsteps
Syncing up to the beating of my heart
And I was positive that unless
I got myself together I would watch me fall apart

Callous

2008-05-16T00:50:00.000-05:00

I learned the art of sarcasm from my best friend in junior high. Her name was Laura, and she had long dark hair with a sweep of bangs and she wore topsiders nearly every day. We would make prank phone calls during our sleepovers at her house and we made a killing from scamming CD companies out of those 10 CDs for a penny deals. Her father used to beat her with a belt and she would call my house in hysterics asking me to have my mom come over and get her. Her mom was as aloof as the wallpaper in the hallway of their family home, and her brothers showed love by letting Laura and me smoke their cigarettes.

Laura and I drifted apart our freshman year of high school. She wanted to drink and have casual sex with college boys. I could barely stomach half of a Zema and couldn't figure my way out of a blow job. It was strange watching our friendship end. I knew she was completely awful for me, and that she was holding me back socially, emotionally, and academically. My parents practically threw a party when I came home one day after school and announced that our friendship was no longer. And even more strange was I didn't miss her. I didn't skip a beat, I just moved on to different friends and new activities and ended up having an awesome time in high school.

What is it about getting older that makes moving on so much more difficult? What makes the Laura's of adulthood so much harder to shake? In high school, I knew Laura was completely toxic to me. I think I even had an idea that our friendship would not stand the test of time. I don't know that I go into relationships any less aware now, so I'm not sure what has changed. Part of me wonders if it is because I want to believe that people aren't as fickle or flippant in relationships as they get older. Or maybe I just think that if I show enough love, support, and care, I'll be able to eclipse any hurt that might be imposed.

My worry is that I'm starting not to trust people. I'm starting to get paranoid that I'm being lied to; that everyone really is out for themselves. I don't want to buy into that. I don't want to be skeptical all the time. I don't want to carry past hurts around like some sort of preemptive badge. Mostly, I don't want to miss out on an opportunity to meet someone amazing because I can't stop looking over my shoulder at proverbial reminders.

But you can't will yourself happy
You can't will your cunt wet
You can't keep standing at the station
Pretending you're being met
You can't wear a sign that says 'yours'
When that ain't what you get

It flows and flows away from me
My love is a stream
Your love is a vaudeville show
So charming and obscene
We both had our moments
We both had our fun
And then I hated to prove 'em all right
All those who said I'd run

Dracula Moon

2008-04-30T01:45:00.000-05:00

I'm starting to wonder if there are any genuinely good people left. I know this sounds very dramatic and dare I say, whiny, but I'm starting to lose hope. Perhaps it's just that everyone (like myself) is riddled with insecurity and self-doubt. But where I internalize and just abuse myself, other people project their stuff on to the people around them. Or maybe everybody just gets beat up all day long; by their kids, their spouses, their ex-spouses, their coworkers, and food service employees. And maybe they gather all that up and exploit the one shred of power they have over someone else.

Or maybe I just need to get over it.

I turned 27 a couple weeks ago, and I've been crafting a to-do list of things I want to accomplish before I turn 30. I realize that 30 is three whole years away, but since I barely noticed the past 27 years I figure it's time to get crackin'. Sadly, I have decided to omit my goal of learning to skateboard. I realized that I don't really want to learn how to skateboard. I just want to be automatically good at skateboarding. I don't want to go through that fall-all-the-time-as-you're-learning phase. So here it is, in no particular order.

1. Learn Spanish.
2. Learn how to operate a sewing machine and successfully sew things for myself.
3. Start reading books about world history.
4. Travel to Italy.
5. Travel to France.
6. Travel to Greece.
7. Learn how to make a cheesecake.
8. Lose enough weight so that I can go down two full dress sizes.
9. Buy a couch.

I think I'm going to start by learning Spanish. My friends got me a bookstore gift card for my birthday, and I'm going to put it to good use.

Don't worry mother, it'll be alright
And don't worry sister
Say your prayers, and sleep tight
And it'll be fine, lover of mine
It'll be just fine

I Know Where It's Not

2008-04-21T02:37:00.000-05:00

Got back from vacation yesterday. Wish I was not back from vacation. Wish vacation never had to end.

So I've been sad for the past 24 hours. Crying and pacing. Attempted to read/watch movies/talk to friends to no avail. Took a bath. More pacing, or maybe just more roaming aimlessly from room to room. Finally went to grocery despite having no appetite.

I really want to talk about the great times I had last week, and I will very soon. Right now, I'm just a little raw and emotional to give a rundown. So instead of dwelling on that, I've decided that I need to remind myself of all the people in my life who I'm grateful for. I haven't done this in awhile, and it seems more productive than reminding myself how much I miss something I just can't have right now.

1. William. For being my best friend and the greatest travel buddy a girl could ask for.
2. Bigs and Beeler. For serenading me with what was quite possibly the greatest rendition of the 'Happy Birthday' song.
3. Mom. For being there, always.
4. Chris. For reminding me that I deserve better than I allow myself to believe I deserve.
5. Andrew. For smart-ass birthday cards that never cease to crack me up.
6. Ryan. For being the most angelic and precious little boy I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I can't wait to see the person you grow up to be.

Lumina
Come and wrap around me
Lumina
Take me through the snow

Eve took a fruit, Eve picked a fruit
Juice ran down her chin
Babies will put things in their mouths
Never heard of sin

Lumina
Open like the sea
Lumina
Sing me in the dark

Eve had to ask, Eve had to ask
What is wrong with this
Here is the place, now is the time
Let's invent the kiss

What it all comes down to

2008-04-09T05:58:00.000-05:00

I purged last weekend, but not in a bad way. I was doing some spring cleaning, and reorganizing my bookshelves to accommodate a bunch of new reading material I've purchased over the past six months. And while not alarming in number, I did notice that I have quite a few books on diets. And by diets, I mean fairly restrictive eating and exercise plans that are nearly impossible to maintain over a lifetime. I was struck with the realization that this may be one of those 'garbage in, garbage out' kind of things. Those books peer out from their shelves at anyone who uses my living room. Perhaps it is not the healthiest thing to have all of my past fails at diet attempts staring me in the eye when I'm trying to relax.

I contemplated boxing up the books and donating them to the library. But then it struck me that perhaps this may just perpetuate the problem. Maybe I'm just adding proverbial fuel to the proverbial fire by passing along material that is essentially weight loss propaganda. So, instead I took my box of books to my local recycling center. I was thrilled to see that my books could be recycled into something that may actually benefit my fellow citizens.

I'm still in this really weird restless, kind of mopey and contemplative place. I'm hoping my vacation next week will help me relax and clear my mind.

There's really no hope for me
And that three second rule
Somethin gets dropped
And still I'm the slowest damn fool
Slow to realize what's really going on
Slow to know in a moment
Who or what has gone wrong

I wanna tighten down on the lag time

Your consonants were buzzing
Around your head like flies
Your true colors were showing
And your shape and your size
You were drinking your way though it
I was shrinking right there inside of my clothes
My eventual twenty/twenty
Arms crossed
Tapping her toe

Girl, Corrupted

2008-04-01T00:38:00.000-05:00

I've had a really tough month, so I am incredibly grateful that April is just a couple hours away. Not that flipping a page in my calendar is going to solve everything, but I'm hoping I will get some inspiration from my upcoming vacation.

My last session with Dr. Gray left me feeling deflated and defeated. I think it's safe to say that I've made a lot of progress in the last year. The problem is that I keep hitting this cement wall every few months and there just doesn't seem to be some tangible way to push past it.

I love to dance. I danced for 11 years, and even now, over a decade after I've left it behind, I still can't find a high that compares to dancing. I've been taking a hip-hop class once a week for the past few months, and for that hour every week I leave feeling like I can take on the world. Yet somehow, there is still that resonating voice that tells me I don't deserve to feel good and like dance. I don't deserve other pleasures because I'm not good enough. And I'm not good enough because I'm not thin enough.

See, the problem is that I'm fighting a voice that is almost as old as I am. A voice that has a lot of back story on me. A voice that knows every weakness and guilt and sorrow I've ever felt. And most of all, a voice that is vengeful and vindictive. Of what, I don't know.

I know that I don't want to stop fighting that voice. And I know that I need to convince myself that I do deserve to have a hobby that is fulfilling, relationships where I feel loved, and a career that is rewarding. I want to be able to hold on to what I have right now, even if it's not what I want to be right now. I'm tired of holding my breath and waiting for my life to be different.

This is probably the point where I should make some self-proclamation and declare that I'm going to take a course action. But I'm not, because I don't know what that looks or feels or acts like. What I do know is that I'm not ready to quit fighting. I know it's going to be sad and angry and probably lonely, but I can't keep falling down because of a shame I don't deserve to feel.

Time to tell me the truth
To burden your mouth for what you say
No pieces of paper in the way'
Cause I can't continue pretending to choose
The opposite sides on which we fall
The loving you laters, if at all
No right minds could wrong be this many times

My memory is cruel
I'm queen of attention-to-details
Defending intentions if he fails
Until now, he told me her name
It sounded familiar in a way
I could have sworn I'd heard him
Say it ten thousand times
If only I had been listening

Chocolate Evolution

2008-03-25T17:13:00.000-05:00

Last night, one of my friends hosted a party to celebrate the premiere of The Hills new season. My affinity for this show is a bit on the ridiculous side. Part of it has to do with the fact that I relate really strongly to Lauren, the shows main character. Not the whole 4500 square foot apartment, Mercedes Benz, fashion line, and VIP access to exclusive clubs part. I more relate to the way she behaves in relationships.

So last night, we settled in with some (ok, more than some) wine and watched our heroine navigate the mean streets of the concrete jungle. MTV had really outdone itself; the network hosted a huge premiere party at some fabulous location and even coerced Mariah Carey into spitting some rhymes at the end of the show. And sadly, I loved every damn second of it. But here is what I'm not understanding:

1. Why did Brody feel it necessary to act like he wanted a relationship with Lauren before she left for Paris? She wasn't putting any pressure on him to commit to her. And why show up with a different 'girlfriend' and hang around Lauren's roommate? Why offer something that wasn't even being asked for, and then stomp all over it for no reason?

2. When will Spencer realize his own douchebaggedness?

3. Why didn't Lauren hook up with the hottie French musician? Short of finding Peter Krause in my shower, there is nothing sexier than a cigarette smoking Frenchie on a Vespa.

4. What were the repercussions of the burnt gown? And how adorable was the replacement gown?

5. How soon do we get to see more of Lo?

I have to preface my next statement by saying that I love Mariah Carey. My formative years were spent singing her songs to myself in the mirror. I wore her albums out on my tape player. That said, who the H does she think she's fooling? That performance was so not live. Ok, maybe it was live because Mariah was actually standing there, breathing and in person. But those vocals have a definite expiration date. And what was that blathering about the trainer that moved into Mariah's house and was boring but effective? What? Bring the old Mariah back. You know, the girl who wore that black cocktail dress to her first five public performances? The one who really had a seven-octave range? The one who couldn't really dance, but shook her booty anyway?

You'd trade your place for a brighter sun to come your way
Walking contradiction now I'm a mess I cannot say
It's ok, it's ok, I hope I will be ok
So come on I'm screaming now how much I need you to stay

And if the night left you alone
And if the days leave you cold
I'll trade a symphony for a song
I'll leave the light on by your home

Kiss My Ass Just Sounds Bitter

2008-03-19T01:57:00.000-05:00

I thought that this morning I would wake up with some clarity and relief from the uncertainty of the past few weeks. No such luck. I do however, think I'm starting to figure out why I'm feeling out of sorts on such a macro level.

I've really been working to process my feelings as they relate to my recovery from an eating disorder. And lately, I've been feeling really vulnerable. I don't know how long it's been since I've had an episode, but I know it's been awhile. I'm trying not to count the days, because it seems that when I start to do that, it brings the purge option back to the table, and I'm really trying to avoid even the consideration of old habits. That said, the past week or so I've been feeling really sad. Not that scary, depressed kind of sad, but a sad like I lost a friend. I know this may sound completely masochistic, but in a way I'm mourning my eating disorder. I'm starting to realize that even if tomorrow morning I dropped right back into every old habit I had four years ago, it wouldn't do the same thing for me that it did four years ago. It's like returning to your hometown after you've grown up and discovering that although nothing has really changed, everything is completely different from how you remembered it. It's a very raw, nerve exposed feeling. And to be completely honest, I hate feeling this way.

There is a part of my insides screaming for me to cover up, to not leave myself open to heartbreak and loneliness and disappointment. I'm terrified of what might happen if I actually let myself lean into my emotions. I'm afraid that I am not strong enough to cope with those emotions and I'll just turn into this shell of a human being. But then, I feel a tug from some place closer to my heart and I just know that I am strong enough to keep going. And that the closest my self has been to a shell was during the years I was drowning in an eating disorder.

So, as much as I want to just relax and maybe lay in bed for the rest of my life, I know that's not an option right now. And I know that would be the worst disservice to myself. Regardless of how many outside influences make me feel less than worthy, I'm refusing to believe I'm anything besides amazing.

These back steps are steeper to the ground
The brightest stars are falling down
I'm walking the edge, walking the tightest rope
We can be frank, reality rips on through, rolling like a hurricane
I'm over the bridge and under the rain

Maybe Blink 182 Had It All Wrong

2008-03-18T00:42:00.000-05:00

I'm starting to worry that I'm too old. Ok, not too old, that's the wrong term. I'm starting to feel ill prepared true adulthood. And by true adulthood, I mean life as a 30-something. Next month, I will celebrate the arrival of my 27th year of life. I'm not angsty about getting older, in fact I'm welcoming my 30s with open arms. Oh, to be done with all of this personal and professional undulation. To be poised, and revered, and socially at ease. Well, maybe being 30 won't mean a change in personality. And given some of the encounters I've had with 30-something women lately, I may just decide to hit pause on 29. I guess I'm just circling back around to the question of 'what next?'.

I'm not one of those girls who has always wanted to get married. I never played 'here comes the bride' or thought about flower schemes and bridesmaid dresses. Even when I was engaged for a brief period of time, I didn't so much as cast a sideways glance at bridal magazines. I have no fucking sense of what it would be like to have a husband, let alone children and family pets. I'm not against marriage; I've seen it do both really wonderful and really terrible things for people. I am moderately terrified of the idea of having someone in my living space for the rest of my life, but I also love the idea of coming home to my best friend every day for the rest of my life. I guess I just feel a little like an alien because marriage isn't something that I've definitely penciled into my five year plan. What if I'm supposed to be all ethereal and romantic and brush up on my ironing and vacuuming skills? What if I'm supposed to want more than just hand holding on the couch during my favorite TV show? What if I'm selling my self short?

But I think it's more than that, and I like that part of myself. I get excited about the fact that I've beaten my last score in Brick Break. I like only having to buy groceries for myself. I like knowing that I can pack up at any given time and leave - whether it be for a day or a year - and not have to get permission from anyone but myself. My discomfort in being older doesn't have to do as much with what I expect of myself, but more of what I think everyone else is expecting of me. There is something so magnetic about having an unknown future. Sure, it's scary. But it also takes the possibility door off its hinges.

I remember reading a short story somewhere that basically said that there is nothing we should be doing. That as long as we treat people kindly and take care of our own well being, we're following the right path. I don't really know if it gets much better than that. So whenever I get nervous that my career isn't advancing as quickly as it should be, or that my boyfriend at the time may not be the person I should be with, I try to remind myself that I am exactly where I should be. And this will be the case whether I'm 26, 36, or 46.

I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes, and
I certainly haven't been spreading myself around
I only travel by foot and by foot it's a slow climb
But I'm good at being uncomfortable so
I can't stop changing all the time

If there was a better way to go than it would find me
I can't help it the road just rolled out behind me
Be kind to me, or treat me mean
I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine.

America's High Five

2008-03-15T11:49:00.000-05:00

I love technology and change and living in a world that is full of convenience and efficiency. But sometimes it's remarkably refreshing to know that some things will always be predictable, steady, and stable. For that, I am grateful beyond words.

Your Two-Ton Death Trap

2008-03-13T17:38:00.000-05:00

It’s been a no bueno kind of week, and I am so tired I just want to hibernate for a month.

Monday morning I sat down at my desk and opened my email. I had a message from a former coworker and former friend who left my company last week. Our friendship ended a few months ago, basically because I had a romantic relationship with one of our mutual friends. I hardly expected to receive an email from her, and didn’t bother to make any grand gestures to bid her farewell. Her email started out very kind; she gave me kudos for the work I have done in my current position, and she mentioned how excited she had been to see me grow professionally. Then came the punch to the ovaries. The last part of her email said how sorry she was that we had “lost” our friendship, and that it had never been her intent to lose me as a friend when we had talked about needing our separate identities at work. And she’s right, we did discuss the need to separate ourselves professionally. But that’s not why our friendship ended. It ended because she chose to be petty and immature about a situation that was really none of her business to begin with. When I tried to reconcile things with her a few months ago, she only pretended that everything was ok and spread rumors about me to our coworkers. Her email was just another slap in the face and further dismissal and denial on her part. I thought that I had gotten to a place where her actions could not hurt me any further, and it turns out that I was wrong.

I have been chewing on her words all week, both literally and figuratively. I cannot quite figure out why I am so affected by this behavior. I never imagined that as an adult, I would have to deal with girlfriend drama over a guy. It seems like something that a person should grow out of, like shoes and coats. I’ve been really torn between trying to patch up our friendship or just let things end on kind of a sour note. A friend and I discussed the situation over drinks last night, and he helped me put things into focus. He said that what she had done was wrong and dismissive of my feelings, and that I am under no obligation to try to make things right…again. Hearing this from an unbiased third party made me feel exponentially better. And the end of this paragraph marks me moving on.

I went today for my new, fancy sleep mask fitting, which marked today’s linear plunge into existential angst. I am feeling like the worst form of human being, especially when I saw that my health insurance is paying more than $3000.00 for the entire CPAP machine and mask.

So, I’ve decided that I refuse to stew anymore. And I refuse keep wallowing in the muck of another person’s lame behavior. I have really been toying with the idea of a complete fitness overhaul, but my concern is that I will fall back into the obsessive, panicky behaviors. But I suppose at some point I have to stop running scared and just start making changes. If it’s not perfect, than it’s not perfect. But I have to do it. Starting now.

Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?
Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts.
So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess,
And to stop the muscle that makes us confess.

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

Disinterested, Party of One

2008-03-07T01:45:00.000-06:00

One of the easiest ways to test any relationship is by traveling together. Travel is better than any polygraph the FBI can conjure up. True character is revealed in airports, restaurants, and hotel lobbies.

If the earth were ever to be examined by aliens, I think the best place to start would be the airport. There really is no other public place to see the entire gamut of human emotion on display. There is sadness, happiness, frustration, boredom, excitement, romance, heartbreak, hunger, anger, and ambivalence all under one roof. There are no cookie cutter personalities or appearances; nearly every person is completely different from the next, yet shares the commonality of being at the airport. I love to observe the airport - not just the travelers, but the ticket agents, the husbands picking up wives, the porters carrying bags, the wayward children, and that one guy who is always driving some sort of golf cart vehicle through the most crowded corridor. It's although everyone is exactly where they should be, and completely out of place at the same time. I always try to guess the life stories of the people around me. The bored teenager sitting with her parents. The old couple wearing matching sweatshirts and looking dazed. The suit huddled in the corner with his laptop, cell phone, and venti non-fat latte. The little girl who is awestruck by the planes landing and taking off outside. I wonder where they are going, who they have left behind, and if they are really going to try to get away with that extra carry-on suitcase.

Up until last year, anytime I had flown, I had been by myself. I'm not saying this because I feel bad about it, I'm simply stating the facts. My family lives a few states away, and most of my oldest and dearest friends live at least a Southwest nonstop flight away. And I like to travel, and generally be the boss of myself, which makes exploring new places an adventure for me. However, after traveling with another person, especially one who I would deem a compatible travel buddy, I miss having that other person next to me. There's no one I can share my smirks with when I see something smirk-worthy. There's no one to laugh at me when I stub my toe, trip on the escalator, or bump into some freestanding object (which I will inevitably do). There is something about taking in new places and knowing that without saying a word, you know it's the most peaceful, beautiful, or inspiring place you've been.

Ok, I'm getting schmaltzy, so let's move on.

This morning, two of the coworkers I'm traveling with decided to pick up some donuts for the office on our way into work. We were discussing the difference between donut shops in our city versus donut shops in the Los Angeles area. Now, I know we're just talking donuts here, but it makes me kind of pleased to see that this country isn't as homogenized as it sometimes appears. For me, Ocean Beach bars will always have the best Mojitos. And people outside of Michigan don't even know what a paczki is. The bums in San Francisco are by far the friendliest, and no one can do a speedier oil change than the service stations in Bar Harbor. I like that everything is not exactly the same, everywhere I go, every time I'm there. It makes being nostalgic much more fun.

Have yourself a taste of foreign glamour
Feeding on our way to something new
Missing for a night but gone forever
But they are here to take good care of you

I know, right?

2008-03-04T07:44:00.000-06:00

I am up far too early because my body thinks it's still in Nashville. Subsequently...

Basics:
Name:	Emily
Date of Birth:	4/18/1981
Birthplace:	Flint, MI
Current Location:	SoCal
Eye Color:	Brown
Hair Color:	Blonde
Height:	somewhere between petite and average
Heritage:	German, Swiss, English, American Indian, Dutch
Piercings:	Ears for right now
Tattoos:	nada
Favourite:
Band/Singer:	Billy Joel
Song:	I'll Be
Movie:	Moulin Rouge
Disney Movie:	ummm, The Little Mermaid
TV show:	right now? Nip/Tuck
Color:	Red
Food:	anything involving pasta
Pizza topping:	sundried tomatoes
Ice-Cream Flavor:	strawberry
Drink (alcoholic):	vodka tonics
Soda:	Squirt
Store:	Target
Clothing Brand:	dunno
Shoe Brand:	whatever is cute and comfy
Season:	Fall
Month:	October
Holiday/Festival:	Christmas
Flower:	Tulip or Magnolia
Make-Up Item:	mascara
Board game:	Trivial Pursuit
This or That
Sunny or rainy:	Usually sunny...sometimes I like rain
Chocolate or vanilla:	chocolate
Fruit or veggie:	both!
Night or day:	night
Sour or sweet:	ehhh...
Love or money:	love
Phone or in person:	in person
Looks or personality:	little looks, lotsa personality
Coffee or tea:	coffee
Hot or cold:	cold
Your:
Goal for this year:	stick with an exercise regimen
Most missed memory:	playing in the snow with my brothers
Best physical feature:	lips
First thought waking up:	Do I have to?
Hypothetical personality disorder:	what?
Preferred type of plastic surgery:	breast lift
Sesame street alter ego:	Tele
Fairytale alter ego:	Glenda the Good Witch
Most stupid remark:	I know, right?
Worst crime:	hate crimes
Greatest ambition:	To be an author with a house on the bay.
Greatest fear:	That when I die I will wish I had lived my life differently.
Darkest secret:	I see dead people.
Favorite subject:	pop culture
Strangest received gift:	hmm...one time I got pot holder and some chocolate-covered pretzels from a blind gift exchange
Worst habit:	procrastination, negative self-talk
Do You:
Smoke:	Sometimes
Drink:	Yes
Curse:	Absolutely
Shower daily:	Uh-huh
Like thunderstorms:	If by like, you mean love? Yes.
Dance in the rain:	It's been far too long since I've done that!
Sing:	I used to.
Play an instrument:	just the skin flute. bwahahah
Get along with your parents:	Indeed
Wish on stars:	I have.
Believe in fate:	No
Believe in love at first sight:	No
Can You:
Drive:	in most countries
Sew:	kinda
Cook:	yes
Speak another language:	Not really
Dance:	I'd like to think so.
Sing:	Yes
Touch your nose with your tongue:	only in my dreams
Whistle:	Yep
Curl your tongue:	yes
Have You Ever:
Been Drunk:	yes
Been Stoned/High:	yes
Eaten Sushi:	yes
Been in Love:	yes
Skipped school:	yes
Made prank calls:	yes
Sent someone a love letter:	no
Stolen something:	yes
Cried yourself to sleep:	yes
Other Questions:
What annoys you most in a person?	deliberate ignorance
Are you right or left handed?	right
What is your bedtime?	whenever I can manage to fall asleep
Name three things you can't live without:	friends, music, kisses
What is the color of your room?	black, white, and red
Do you have any siblings?	two brosefs
Do you have any pets?	sadly, I do not
Would you kill someone you hate for a million dollars?	no
What is you middle name?	Reba
What are you nicknames?	Em, Emmie, Elimy, E-Stein, Stein etc.
Are you for or against gay marriage?	Neither
What are your thoughts on abortion?	It's a difficult decision to make.
Do you have a crush on anyone?	Yes
Are you afraid of the dark?	No
How do you want to die?	Suddenly, and during a happy moment.
What is the largest amount of popsicles that you have eaten on one day?	Probably six
Would you take a bullet for the one you love?	yes!
What is the last law you’ve broken?	probably speeding
In a Member of the Opposite Sex:
Hair color:	I like baldies.
Eye color:	blue
Height	taller than me
Weight	doesn't matter
Most important physical feature:	hmmm, lips, shoulders
Biggest turn-off	physically? long fingernails
Take this survey or other MySpace Surveys at PimpSurveys.com

I've Never Met a Toby that I Didn't Like

2008-03-03T09:55:00.000-06:00

I'm sitting in lovely Southern California right now, staring out the window at palm trees and sunshine. Whoever said that Seasonal Affective Disorder is a myth, needs to spend some time closer to the equator.

So last night was the first time in a long time that I really had to fight the desire to purge. I had a really exhausting evening that was full of a bunch of minor disappointments. Typically, I can handle minor disappointments, but I was traveling alone and didn't have a lot of wherewithal to process. The hotel's room service menu was singing my name, and I was completely isolated. Ideal conditions for the Perfect Storm. I freaked out a little bit. I cried a little bit. I decided to get over it. I vented my frustrations to a friend, did some mini-exercises, and ordered a chicken salad. And I feel so much better today, so much better than I would have had I given into that pang to make myself feel better using other methods.

After listening to the soundtrack from the movie Juno, I have fallen in love with Kimya Dawson. I love music, but I've been feeling a real disconnect for the past few years when it comes to music. I like Kimya because I feel like she's just having a conversation with me when I hear her music. Her sound is simple and straightforward and completely sing-alongable.

I sat in the swamp with a little pink piggy

who loved roller-skating and playing pretend

the boy that she loved was a real snackmaster

the world was a beach ball we were all friends

Could I Get that with a Side of Moxie?

2008-02-22T00:47:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I went to the doctor to follow-up on the results from my sleep study. The doctor took me back to a room with a computer, and downloaded the data that was collected during my sleep. I looked through pages and pages of wavy lines and finally cast an imploring glance at my doctor. He told me that nothing was really out of the ordinary, except I take frequent 'half breaths,' and that I woke up 89 times within a five hour period.

89 times!!!!! you say? Why yes, 89 times. It turns out that there is a narrowing in my upper airway, which the doctor thinks is caused by the allergy and sinus problems I've had since I was a kid. And the whole time he's explaining this to me, I'm just thinking that he sounds like the teacher from Charlie Brown because the voice in my head was shouting, "all of your health problems happen because you're too fat. Fat, fat, fat."

Gosh, the return of that voice. I had almost forgetten it, I had almost persuaded myself that I would, in fact, be ok with out that voice. And that it came back into my life like a screaming freight train. It took the spring from my step and sparkle from my eye. And then I went back to work.

I have to say that I so grateful to have made friends with two really wonderful women who support and love and care about me without any pre-requisite. Did you ever have somebody tell you exactly what you needed to hear, exactly when you needed to hear it without being prompted to say anything? It's a feeling that's not matched by much else. Without going into detail about the issue I was having, my friends came through for me in the form of laughter, Mexican food, and beer. And you know what was strange? That voice disappeared! It didn't fade, or waver, or squeak through. It disappeared.

The rest of the night was filled with much merriment, a little more beer, and even some cardio and strength training. When I woke up this morning the sparkle and the spring had returned. The conclusion to this story is that I will have to wear some ridiculous apparatus so I can actually start sleeping through the night. But this is just an undercurrent to a broader happy ending. Because damn it, I will be ok.

I do what I can wherever I end up
To keep giving my good love
and spreading it around
Cause I've had my fair share of take care
and goodbyes
I've learned how to cry
And I'm better for that...

I'm a New Soul

2008-02-19T22:26:00.001-06:00

So, today a friend and I were exchanging pleasantries. I asked how he was doing, and he reciprocated the question. And all I could think was that I am doing great! Nothing is fabulous or perfect or wrapped up in a neat and tiny package, but I feel great. This insight made me think of how good I really do have it, and that I forget to be grateful for such an enriched life. So here is my list o' thankfuls.

1. The bright sunshine and clear blue sky that I got to look at all day from the window at my desk.
2. A handsome and quite hilarious little nephew.
3. Photographers who take pictures of John Mayer and his luscious, hungry-for-my-skin lips.
4. Coworkers with good attitudes.
5. Friends who remind me that traits like being kind and selfless are not weaknesses.

I was sad to hear that Pink and Carey Hart are separating after a two year marriage, and a four year courtship. Don't get me wrong, a single Carey Hart is the best kind of Carey Hart, but I sort of rooted for his marriage to succeed. I like it when non-conventional celebrities who shun the standards of Hollywood beauty and behavior get involved. It makes me feel like there is hope for the rest of us schmucks just trying to figure it all out.

Perhaps the reason my day has been so lovely is because I've had this song playing in my head since I woke up. I'm thinking about putting it on indefinite repeat.

Marked Drowsiness May Occur

2008-02-17T03:47:00.000-06:00

The whole process around having a baby is weird to me. Maybe weird isn't the right word, but I can't think of anything better right now. I went to a baby shower today for one of my coworkers/friends and I had to marvel a bit in the things people do to have a baby.

Earlier this week, a friend and I made a trip to Babies R Us to buy gifts for today's shower. We printed a copy of the baby registry and set out to find a few items within our price range. I immediately was sent into sensory overload. The shelves were packed floor to ceiling with diapers, bottles, toys, strollers, and monitors. I counted at least 20 different types of pacifiers. I was drowning in sea of blue, pink, yellow, and green. I felt like I was going to hyperventilate. My friend and I quickly asked sales clerk for help and got the hee-haw out of there.

Up until a few years ago, all of the baby showers I attended were for family members. Then I became an adult and all of sudden experienced the onslaught of pregnant friends. Watching someone open baby gifts is kinds of like buying a magazine that touts a fabulous cover story, and then finding out that the article is something you've already read. It's anticlimactic. Everyone knows what the showeree (?) is going to receive, and delivers the obligatory ooh's and aah's as required. And promptly gets drunk on too much mimosa.

I am being half sarcastic. My expectant friend has embraced every step of her pregnancy and she and her husband are genuinely thrilled to be having a baby. They are both smart, practical, and hard working people who I am sure will raise a wonderful little boy. And I think it's great to be able to celebrate something that is so life changing with friends and family. I'm just wondering if having a pizza-and-a-movie shower is a major faux pas. Probably another sign that I definitely should not bear offspring, eh?

So, last night a friend surprised me with tickets to Spamalot. And it was fantastic. It made me miss the high school all-nighters my friends would pull to watch Monty Python marathons. Afterwards, my friend and I headed to a local pub to have dinner with some of our other friends. Towards the end of our dinner, I headed to the bathroom and passed a huge group of guys on the way. As I turned sideways to slide between the group, one of the guys reached out and grabbed my breast. The left one! I was so completely shocked that I just stood there, mouth agape. When I was younger, being groped in a bar wasn't that odd an occurrence, especially given that I was at dance clubs with 18 and 19 year old boys. The guy last night had to have been in his 30s, and we were standing in the middle of a pub.

I finally gathered my composure as the boob grazer smirked and winked at me. Not knowing what else to do, I reached out, gave his nipple a squeeze, and proceeded to the bathroom. On my way out, his buddies were high-fiving me and giving me kudos for the avenged breast grab. As much as I wanted to be angry and feel violated, I couldn't help but feel a little proud of myself. I mean, the guy is probably just glad he didn't grab my crotch.

You're the type of guy who doesn't lie
He just doctors everything
Chooses some unassuming finger
And quietly moves his wedding ring
Who rewrites his autobiography for any pretty girl who'll sing
But you can't fool the queen, baby, cuz I married the king

Bodacious TaTa's

2008-02-14T01:20:00.000-06:00

I have a new hero, and her name is Margaux Laskey.

I could probably spend an entire day talking about how affected I was by this woman, but I really think that I can sum it all up in a few points.

I love that this performance opens up discussion about body image, dieting, and eating disorders within families.
I think it's great that Margaux addresses media and advertising in a humorous way. It doesn't sound bitter or martyr-ish.
I love the imagery of the mannequins with bold numbers across the chest. It makes the topic of disordered eating more palpable.
The symbolism of both the number 8 and the sizeate concept. Because exclusivity is so overated.

An event occurred today that reminded of how wonderful my life really is. I forget sometimes to be grateful for the people and things in my life that are good and true. It's days like today that motivate me to get better and be a positive light to others. It's days like today when I can't help but smile.

Sing it like you mean it

Make me believe it

Dream it like you own it

The party aint stoppin till we've outgrown it

But You're Neither Friend nor Foe

2008-02-13T02:41:00.000-06:00

You know those days or weeks or months when you feel like everyone and everything is beating you up, and testing your tenacity? I feel like I'm having on of those weeks, only it seems like every situation is magnified by about 1000.

I've been crying a lot lately...like, a lot lot. Crying all the time can become a bit cumbersome because it makes things like working, and driving, and watching tv a little difficult. Maybe I can talk to my boss about having my computer moved into the bathroom so I can just sit in there and sniffle all day. Ok, I'm being a bit silly right now, but I have been feeling a little fragile this past week. There is a lot of potential change on the horizon for me. First, my parents are thinking about moving to Tennessee. While there is a part of me that would be really happy to have them closer, there is an even larger part of me that's wigging out. I feel like I'm just starting to assert my indepence as a separate entity of my mother. I'm afraid that her moving her might affect some of the progress I've made.

My landlord emailed me last week about a one-bedroom apartment he has available in the building next door to my current place. As of yesterday, I was pretty much dead set on moving into the new place. I had the revelation today that I don't think I'm ready to live alone. As much as I would like to come home to an empty house sometimes, I would much rather come home to a supportive and caring person like my roommate. Plus, I'm really trying to focus on avoiding isolating rituals, and I'm worried that living on my own might aid me in slipping into some of my old habits. So even though I have to wait for the bathroom and not play music after 10PM, I think I'll be happier in the long run.

Work is making me cranky and I think I need a vacation. I'm struggling with wanting to advance my career, but still keep work at work. I love my job, and that's something I've never really felt before last year. I feel like I actually have a career now, and when I go home on a Friday afternoon, I feel like I've made a difference. What's uncertain to me, is how to parlay that into a successful management opportunity. I'm scared that I won't be able to manage people well. I'm scared that I'll be too much of a friend, or too much of a boss, or just too much of everything. Maybe I'm just wishing I could skip the learning curve and be good at everything immediately.

Even though I'm facing some uncertainty, I feel like I'm equipped to face it. And it finally feels so good to be able to express emotion instead of bottling it up and letting it out in other ways.

Set me free, leave me be
I don't want to fall another moment
Into your gravity
Here I am, and I stand so tall
Just the way I'm supposed to be
But you're on to me, and all over me

But it Ain't a Balloon I Can Just Let Go

2008-02-11T22:39:00.000-06:00

I’ve been pretty pleased with my progress since I started working with Dr. Gray about a year ago. I’ve really busted down a lot of the walls I had built, and I’ve confronted a lot of the issues that have built up for so many years. I still feel like there’s been something holding me back from a full recovery, and I think I finally gave it a name during my last session: shame.

I am starting to see places in my life where I am apologizing for myself. I’m not talking about anything as blatant as an actual apology, I’m talking about something dangerously subtle. Something that kind of simmers under the surface and is hot enough to impact my actions, thoughts, feelings, and self-confidence. See, shame isn’t something that’s necessarily that easy to pick out and name. I think a lot of reason I feel shame is because I think I’m bad or out of control or lazy or stupid when it comes to eating healthfully. Part of it stems from all of the feedback I get when I lose weight. Things like, “oh, you are such a good girl!” or, “you must have such strong willpower!” The reason I was losing weight was because I was starving myself, or throwing up everything I ate or exercising three hours a day. It wasn’t because I was good, strong, controlled, or motivated. It was because the coping mechanism I had developed so long ago wasn't helping me cope anymore.

I think I have been looking for someone or something to blame for a long time, and typically I turned to myself to assign blame. It was my fault that I wasn’t thin enough, and subsequently I didn’t deserve the same treatment that should be granted to every human being. I let myself become invisible, or I told myself I couldn’t be a part of anything good. Having shame is probably one of the worst emotions of which to break free. It’s not like anger, sadness, or happiness; there is nothing to expel to express or purge shame. Dictionary.com defines shame as the painful feeling arising from the consciousness of something dishonorable, improper, ridiculous, etc., done by oneself or another. And I really can't think of a better way to describe how I've felt the last couple months.

Even as I write this, there is a little voice in the back of my head telling me that I lack the control, and motivation, and clean soul to get past my eating disorder. Even as I am telling myself that I deserve love, affection, and trusting relationships, there is an even louder voice saying that I should feel lucky that there is anyone who wants to spend time with me. I think I may have just hit the hardest and most highest bump in the road. But, my real voice is getting louder and stronger and I know - wholeheartedly - that the real voice is going to win in the end. So there.

what's with that halo hovering
above that thick skull
spare me
if i do say so - i think you're covering
'course there was nothing
could've prepared me

for the side effect of this dirty drug
the way you punish me and then you shrug

what's with that phone call, baby
it's like you're trying
just to crush me
do you feel stronger each time you push me, dear
did you tell your mom you carpet bombed
right before you left here

are you at home now with your kitty cat
are you just at home now with the way that you act
do you split the rent there with all your secrets
or do you just pretend to all your friends
they're uninvited guests

yes and when you want it tidy tell me
can you still dispel me
sweep me neatly under the rug
does your conscience ever mention
the way that you treat me
or do you just fend it off with a ...

The Top 10 Things I'd Rather Not Hear Discussed at Work

2008-02-11T15:53:00.001-06:00

10. What you plan to buy at the grocery tonight.
09. Why you won’t eat food made by people who own cats.
08. How hot you think Tim McGraw looks in his jeans.
07. The groin infection your son may have.
06. How much money you spent (or didn’t spend) on any particular item of clothing.
05. Any positive statements regarding the current US president.
04. The fungus you got on your toe from your last pedicure.
03. Faith Hill belting mediocre pop-country songs from your tinny radio.
02. Inane, loud laughter based on some inner-office IM you received.
01. References to last night’s intimate liaisons with your spouse.

Those Days Were My Favorite

2008-02-07T01:13:00.000-06:00

I spent part of today emailing back and forth with two of my oldest and closest girlfriends from my hometown. We were catching up on the changes happening in our lives and marveling in the fact that we've all stumbled into an adulthood complete with careers, families, and mortgages. I don't feel very grown up, in fact most of the time I just feel like I'm pretending. It's like I'm waiting for someone to pull down the curtain, take away my checkbook and send me on my way via Care Bears bicycle.

Last night, I ended up having a conversation with an old friend of mine from college. He and I have kept up through the years and we've always walked a fine line between being just friends and being more-than-friends. Something has always held me back from jumping in head first with him. Part of it has to do with my ugly track record for long-distance relationships. And the other part is, well...something I can't quite finger. On paper, this guy is the gold standard, but personally I just never felt like I could really relax around him. Last week our relationship took a turn and I realized that we had to address the pink elephant in the room.

It's really difficult to make the decision to purposefully extract a possibility from my life. I think sometimes I dream so much that it makes reality seem like the real dream. It dawned on me today that maybe this is the true test of adulthood. Being able to make a decision because it's going to benefit the other party in the long run. Being selfish is so easy. I don't know one woman who wouldn't love to have an endless supply of romance potentials filed under the Just In Case category. Life is scary. For some people, being alone is the scariest thought imaginable. But maybe being a grown-up is deciding that loneliness or lovelessness isn't going to be the end. Some of my self-nurturing moments occurred when I felt lonely or unloved. I think that hanging to something because it's available is the truest form of self-denial. And for me when I love and care about myself I don't feel lonely or unloved.

Speaking of hanging on to something because it's available...I realized today that it's been over a month since my last episode. And it feels like Christmas to know that I didn't even count the days to get here. So I'm not dwelling - just taking it one moment at a time.

Love has made us blind
Tied us a bad break that binds
It's not what you think
I just feel I'm losing time

...But Could You Bottle it Up?

2008-02-05T02:26:00.000-06:00

I'm exhausted right now but apparently sleep is not a priority for my tired little brain tonight. A couple nights ago, I underwent a sleep study to figure out why my sleep patterns and schedule are so inconsistent...to say the least.

So, I arrived at the sleep clinic around 8PM, and was promptly escorted to hotel-ish looking room. I was hooked up to approximately 57847389 wires and then had to figure out a way to go to sleep with enough electricity to power the eastern seaboard attached to my cranium. I finally found a comfy place and relaxed enough to fall asleep. I was told by the tech at the clinic that I would have to log at least two hours of continuous sleep (meaning that if I woke up, the time would start over) in order to have any type of treatment administered. Nonetheless, no treatment was administered during the seven hours I spent in bed. Which kind of freaked me out and calmed me down at the same time.

I'm a generally tired girl. I drink coffee and try to exercise and stay peppy overall, but I'm pretty much exhausted at any given time. It makes me feel slightly better to know that it's because I'm not getting any type of decent sleep. It also makes me feel like I'm a geriatric because I don't think I should have these types of issues at such a young age. Which, of course, leads to cyclical guilt, self-loathing, and general disdain for my very existence. I'm just hoping I can have this resolved relatively quickly. Like right now.

That said, I do feel okay about myself right now. I've been doing a lot of writing and reflecting, and I've been keeping a notebook with my food journal, exercise log, along with an overview of my feelings while I'm doing each of those activities. Keeping a food journal has been about 489 times more beneficial than I thought it would be. First, it keeps me in check, because when I know I have to write down what I've eaten I tend to eat less. Also, it helps me recognize and prevent those moments when I eat because of some type of emotion.

One of my friends has been kind of keeping a food journal with me, and as part of this exercise, we decided that we would save all of the receipts from our food purchases for a two-week period. Let me tell you something - we both spent a ton of money on food. It's difficult being a single girl and saving money on food purchases. I know that sounds kind of backwards and oxymoronic, but it's true. Cooking takes a lot of time, and it's hard to justify spending that kind of time to feed just one person. Plus, most recipes and boxed meals serve four or more people. This requires a lot of tupperware purchases, eating leftovers, or wasting food. And when we're talking about career girls, like me and my friend, cooking is below the lowest possible priority when we come home after a long day at work. That said, the food journal helped me realize that I can come up with a plan to accomodate my lifestyle and not suck a bunch of my free time up to plan, prepare, and package food.

So, I just have a couple more details to put in place before I start full-fledge with the plan I talked about last month. I feel really prepared for this. I've been journaling for three weeks, I've got a shopping list of the things I need to buy to get ready for the exercise plan I've worked out. I even have a mantra and a motivational poster. Cheesy, I know, but at this point I think any little bit of encouragement is helpful. Here I go.

I'm not satisfied with this lifetime
I'm following you to the other side
There's nothing that can change my mind
You're all I need

Blank Stares and Blank Pages

2008-01-29T00:32:00.000-06:00

I've been in a foul mood most of the day and I can't quite put my finger on why the hell I'm feeling so down. I would like to chalk it up to PMS, but that's a problem because usually I call girls out when they try to play such a bullshit card.

The problem is that I'm feeling really bad about myself, physically. I've taken the purge option off the table completely. As in, it doesn't even register as an option for me right now. To say this leaves me feeling vulnerable would have to be the grossest understatement in, well, forever. Yes, I know I'm being dramatic right now, and a lot of this is just me sounding things out in my head, but I'm feeling really scared right now.

How do I fight back to those who automatically fail me as a person without reason? More importantly, how do I suppress the urge to prove my worthiness to those who are determined to make me out to be a bad person? See, at some point my life has to be about me, not about me shaping myself into someone based on what others around me project. My friend Kate and I met at the mall tonight to do some shopping and catching up. We stopped in at a little salon inside the mall to get our eyebrows waxed and asked if the aesthetician had time for both of us. The receptionist gave us the once-over and mumbled that 'Erica was busy' as she motioned toward the back of the salon. Kate, the ever acerbic said, 'who is Erica.' I nearly imploded trying to hold my laughter in. Kate was really upset when we left; she talked the whole way home about how belittled she felt by that receptionist. I see Kate and I can't imagine her ever feeling insecure; she's tall, thin, has dark hair and an olive complexion. But to hear how her whole trip was sullied because of one ten-second encounter made me feel almost devastated.

How is it that we build an armour of protection to ward off evil spirits in the form of nasty girls, snippy mothers, ambivalent crushes, and passive-aggressive coworkers? How do we avoid being deduced to gossip and tears and general malaise when we're faced with opposition from someone who clearly gets their kicks from being a bad person? I would love to think that we can just chalk it all up to a self-esteem issue and make ourselves believe that we're really better off not being reguarded in the likes of these people. But we all know that's not true right? Because if we could just shrug off gossiping and naysayers and bullies, the world would be like one neverending episode of Full House.

I think that maybe I'm grieving a little right now. I'm grieving a relationship with my mother that has changed, probably forever. I'm grieving a friendship that I'm risking in an attempt to explore other possibilities. I'm grieving a lost friend who continues to sink deeper into quicksand. I'm mourning my lost ability to truly just pick myself, dust myself off and...well, you know the rest.

Head under water, and you tell me
to breathe easy for awhile
Breathing gets harder
Even I know that

I Heart Jordan Catalano

2008-01-27T21:57:00.000-06:00

Since I've been spending a lot of time trying to get over my recent cold, I've been watching the My So Called Life DVD series I got for Christmas (best gift ever!). I have to say that I have forgotten how spectacular this show really was. I really can't think of any other program that truly captured what life as a high school-er is really like. Freaks and Geeks came close, but MSCL will never be topped. I know that's a bold statement, but I heartily stand by it.

When I would watch the show several years ago, I really only paid attention to the character plots of Angela and her friends. Teenage angst was something I could relate to so easily, and Angela Chase was such the perfect teenager, I could hardly stand it. The strange thing is that now I'm really struck by Graham and Patty's (the parents) relationship. It's strange to see the people that parents turn into. As an outsider, watching Graham and Patty, I love them as a couple and as individuals. They remind me of my parents - a father with a quiet and slightly humorous intensity. A mom who cares so much that she doesn't really realize that she's trying so hard that it's almost unbearable.

This makes me think about my own family and the other families I know. I wonder what makes us fall into these roles almost subconsciously. I know that my parents were pretty cool people before they started having children. And I'm sure that before they had my brothers and me, they had the best intentions of being the most loving, attentive, and generous parents that they could be. I'm not saying that my parents were awful or that my childhood was rough or anything of that nature. What I am saying is that I wonder how it is that my parents fell into the roles they now have. And I wonder the same thing about my friends' parents, and now about my friends as parents.

I wish I knew what allows us to become complacent with a stereotype or generational habit, or a cultural expectation. Growing up, my parents had very different roles. My dad was fun and goofy and took me out for pizza on nights when my mom worked late. My mom was the disciplinarian and the general caretaker. I see that pattern a lot in families, and I know some of it has to do with the way our bodies are hardwired hormonally. But what I don't understand is why we become ok with it. My Aunt Kim and Uncle Steve are one of the few couples I know who share their parenting responsibilities almost exactly 50/50. They've been married for over 15 years and they've managed to buck every gender, generational, and stereotypical role that seems to fall on parents. And they have great kids. I don't know what their secret is, but I do know this; they both work ridiculously hard at being parents. So much so that it any observer can see that their family is their full time job and everything else is just details.

So I'm not really sure where that leaves me. The thought of having a family - of having responsibilities outside of myself scares me to no end. I don't want to fall into the trap of motherhood and wake up 10, 15, or 20 years from now not knowing who I am. I see my coworkers and my friends at church and my own family holding on so tight to their kids that they're not allowing for any autonomy. At what point do we stop living for ourselves and lose what we once knew to be our own life?

The thing that I love about Patty and Graham is that they don't always fall into these familiar roles of mom and dad. I was reading some of the notes from MSCL's creator included in the DVD set I have. She said if the show had continued, she would have split Patty and Graham up. A part (a very small part) is glad the show did end before she could break apart their marriage. It think that maybe we need to see a couple who realizes that not knowing the answers may be what it's all about.

All my life, is changing every day
In every possible way.
And my dreams, it's never quite as it seems
Because you're a dream to me.

Certainly Not Me

2008-01-26T23:56:00.000-06:00

So, this morning I woke up to a throbbing headache and a sore throat. I promptly rolled back over and fell asleep, only to wake up a few hours later feeling a slightly worse version of both symptoms. It's not often that I get the flu or a true cold, so I decided to hoof it over to the after-care clinic and see if I could get something to ease my ailments.

Let me tell you something about the after-care clinic. Without exception, it's the loudest damn place on earth. It doesn't matter where the clinic is located either. It could be in the middle of Orange County or on the outskirts of Mexico City. It still sounds like the middle of a flea market, regardless.

I sign in, flash my insurance card and take a seat away from where the general crowd is sitting in the waiting room. There's a mounted TV currently set to ESPN, in a waiting room full of old women and little kids. How appropriate. Not only is the TV on, but it's set to the loudest possible decibel. Nothing like a little Sports Center to keep my temples in check. Aside from this, the man sitting a few chairs away from me is coughing. Not just any cough either; this cough was the equivalent of a 6.8 on the Richter Scale. Everyone in the waiting room was startled every time he coughed. It didn't matter if I stared at him and tried to anticipate the next cough. It still scared the bejeesus out of me every time. I decided to hunker down inside of my hoodie and pretend I was in my warm bed. My serenity was interrupted fairly quickly by a couple of little kids who decided it was a good idea to turn my foot space into a race track.

I'm not bothered by kids who act like, well kids, in public. What bothers me is when parents choose to act completely oblivious to their children. Just because it's a public place doesn't mean people with children get a break from parenting. It's bad enough that families are given priority at the airport, restaurants, and parking lots, but I would rather not be faced with the demise of western civilization at the doctor's office. Instead of making a production out of the loud little bits playing at my feet, I moved to another chair. Thankfully, my name was called quickly after that.

When did waiting in the actual examination room take the place of waiting in the actual doctor's office waiting room? Were there just so many complaints about the wait time at doctor's offices that medical staff thought they were pulling a fast one by making patients wait in the examination room? Genius!

I made it out of the clinic and managed to pick-up my prescription without issue. I finally came home to my quiet, cushioned spot in bed. And I've been here ever since. Sore throat? Working its way out. Headache? Not since I left the clinic.

Oh Saturday Night...

2008-01-22T08:59:00.000-06:00

Lately I’ve been feeling…well, for lack of a better word, blocked. I’m having trouble writing, I can’t allow my mind to relax enough to read, I drift away in the middle of conversations and meetings, and I’m having difficulties focusing on the most mindless of tasks. My room has been in upheaval for the last two weeks, and I can’t bring myself to even organize my laundry. What is wrong, you ask? I have no bloody idea. Even as I write this, I’m thinking about all the things I need to do for work, friends, family, the oil change I’ve neglected to get. And then to top it all off this morning, I log into my blog to discover that I’ve been blocked from the eating disorder forum I used to be a part of. Blocked! Everywhere I turn, blocked.

What I’ve decided is that I have a lot of unresolved issues that I need to address. First, I have to talk to my mom about the things I’ve been chewing on (no pun intended) for the last week. I know it’s going to be difficult, and I know the outcome may be something unpleasant, but I have to address this. This is heavier than just a couple snide comments that need to be reconciled. This is three generations worth of self-serving, underhandedly malicious behavior that has to be corrected.

My new plan of healthy living is going to begin February 1. I’ve been following all the homework tips from my little book, and I won’t have any travel or socially binding plans around this date. I’m physically and emotionally ready for change, and I think my mind will be ready once I have all of my organizational tools in place.

I love to swear. I think it all started as some sort of rebellion when I was in high school, and it’s snowballed into something that I never wanted it to be. I drop F-bombs like it’s Hiroshima, I take the lord’s name in vain, and I even make cuss word hybrids like asshat and fuckface. I’ve always known that it’s unbecoming, and I think that’s why I kept doing it – sort of my middle finger to all of those who told me it was unladylike or not feminine. I’m starting to realize that I sound like Andrew Dice Clay, so I’m trying to tone it down when it comes to cussing. Just another step I’m trying to take in my quest to better myself.

A sudden freedom, I shed the demons
Bask in the light of the day
Analytical, metaphysical
A shadow on the wall of the cave

Is that her thigh, or a rabbit?

2008-01-11T03:24:00.000-06:00

Before Christmas, I started seeing advertisements for a new show on one of the schmaltzy women's channels called How to Look Good Naked. It's hosted by Carson Kressley, who is of former Queer Eye for the Straight Guy fame. I was a bit skeptical because all of the commercials showed overweight women crying and then subsequently dancing around with Carson. The last thing I wanted to tune in to was another Sad Fat Girl show, or a trendy fashion show where gay men make snarkey quips at dowdy straight people.

To my surprise, How to Look Good Naked is fantastic. First of all, the show features women of all sizes who struggle with body image. Carson has toned it down a notch, and he is caring, compassionate, and tough without being insulting. I love the premise of this show. It shows which undergarments to wear to look good underneath clothes. Because Carson has some fabulous connections, all of the clothes are given to the person on the show. I'm talking $1500 couture dresses right off the rack and into the hands of these women. At the end of the show, there's kind of a mini-makeover with hair and makeup, and then Carson actually arranges for a nude photo shoot. And guess what? Afterwards, the women on the show actually think they look good naked.

There was one segment of the program that struck me - and I loved that the creators of the show included this part, because I think it's really crucial to truly feeling good naked. At the beginning of the show, Carson brings out a parade of women dressed in their underwear. These women are probably two sizes smaller and two sizes larger than the woman Carson is dressing. He asks her to first decide who she is closest to in size. From the show I watched, it looks like every woman sees herself as bigger than she truly is. The woman from tonight's episode was shocked when Carson placed her next to one of the smaller models. I love that - I love that the show addresses self-perception. I love that it opens up a conversation about being okay with one's self right now - not 40 pounds from now.

I'm working right now on being okay with the reality of now. This doesn't mean that I want to be complacent and resistant to change. It just means that while I work on my future self, I try to love my current self. Because my friends, self love is the best kind of love.

Stand in the rain
Stand your ground
Stand up when it's all crashing down
You stand through the pain
You won't drown
And one day what's lost will be found
So stand in the rain

Drive to the mailbox

2008-01-08T01:02:00.000-06:00

One of my favorite websites, and daily check-in spots is Urbandictionary.com. I like to stay fresh, and keep up with what the kids are saying. My new favorite term? Vajority; meaning the female majority. I’m a fan of any vagina-hybrid term, but this one takes the cake for me.

Speaking of fresh and new, I’ve found a new fitness plan for which I am muy excited. Yesterday, I stopped into Barnes and Noble to get my weekly book fix. There was a huge health and fitness display two feet inside the entrance, and smiling up at me from the cover of her book was Kim Lyons. Kim Lyons is one of the trainers from the TV show, The Biggest Loser. I like her because she’s really compassionate, practical, and encouraging on the show. Her book is no different. She provides a complete fitness regimen as well as a nutrition outline. What I like most is that she has seemed to take into account that her readers may actually have a full time life going on outside of trying to be healthy. The book is easy to follow, and Kim provides recipes that can be made and then frozen. Me likey.

I’m feeling a lot better today than I was feeling last week. I have an appointment with Dr. Gray on Friday, and I’m actually looking forward to talking things out with her. I also spent last night organizing my bedroom so that I have space to exercise along with plenty of room to work on my craft hobbies. It’s all gonna be ok.

If you were falling, then I would catch you
You need a light, I’d find a match

Cuz I love the way you say good morning
And you take me the way I am

If you are chilly, here take my sweater
Your head is aching, I’ll make it better.

Cuz I love the way you call me baby
And you take me the way I am

I’d buy you Rogaine if you start losing all your hair
Sew on patches to all you tear

Cuz I love you more than I could ever promise
And you take me the way I am

...that we'll be ok.

2008-01-04T01:42:00.000-06:00

I hit a low today. I lowly low, one I haven't felt in a long time - maybe even in years. I'm really struggling right now with what to do next, and I feel like I'm staring down uncertainty in almost every aspect of my life. My former employer hired a motivational speaker during a period when the company was going through a lot of changes. His catchphrase was, "I eat change for breakfast."

I'm eating change for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. And then I'm throwing it back up. My throat hurts, I can't sleep, and my eyes are fuzzy. The thing that is plaguing me the most is that change is an inevitable part of life, especially during recovery. I don't want to keep being dragged under water every time I'm faced with something emotionally taxing. I just want to keep plugging through.

One of my favorite writers is Anne Lamott. She's a Christian author, but she's lived a pretty seedy life. Part of her past includes her struggles with eating disorders. She says that one day she sought help with hers, and met with a therapist. She figured out that she wasn't eating when she was hungry, and she wasn't stopping eating when she was full. This revelation frustrates me. I know that I don't have a normal eating pattern. I know that my body has no idea what it's like to be fed on a normal basis. I don't spend my evenings with my head in the toilet because of a lack of knowledge. I could tell you how many calories are in a banana, a piece of chocolate, a slice of lasagna, and an enchilada. Being overweight, or having any type of compulsive eating disorder does not happen because people are stupid. It happens because it's the only way these people know how to cope with change and adversity.

I guess what ultimately worries me is that it's too late for me to change. That these behaviors are so ingrained in my character that it is inherently impossible for me to break free. Clearly identifying the problem isn't enough. But I guess what keeps me going is the glimmer of hope that I'm strong enough to overcome this. And that even in the midst of a really trying binge/purge cycle, I know that I am better than this, and that I do have that Anne Lamott gumption to break free.

So here is what I have decided. I'm going to start with just exercise. Four days a week of whatever I want to do to burn some calories and relieve some stress. I'm not going to count fat grams, or stop eating out, or eliminate bread from my diet. I'm just focusing on one action that I know is entirely within my reach. And I'm giving it 90 days. If after 90 days I still feel lousy, I'll try something else. I think I'm mostly doing this because I know that I deserve it, I know that my heart and soul deserve the chance to thrive and be the best they can be.

I told another lie today
And I got through this day
No one saw through my games
I know the right words to say
Like "I don't feel well," "I ate before I came"
Then someone tells me how good I look
And for a moment, for a moment I am happy
But when I'm alone, no one hears me cry

We'll take a cup of kindness yet...

2007-12-31T14:58:00.000-06:00

I had to laugh today when I saw an Internet ad starring Derek Jeter. The ad was for a new cologne called Driven:Black. The humorous part? It’s distributed by Avon. I guess I consider Derek Jeter to be a fairly high caliber brand. I wonder how much money Avon paid him to be the face of their new cologne. Hopefully enough to replace the testicles he must have lost to agree to an ad campaign with Avon. Seriously.

My tummy is a rumbling today – partially from a lack of sleep and partially from a purge session I had last night. I think it was mostly triggered by the double combination of phone calls from my mom and my brother. I really need to figure out how to distance myself from the drama happening with my family. It’s a double edged sword because I want there to be peace and I feel like I need to facilitate that peace. The problem is that I’m not a good facilitator. I’m too emotionally involved. I spent last night working on the letter to my mom and much to my surprise, I feel like a huge load has been removed from my shoulders. I’m starting to feel like maybe this is something I can do. That maybe it’s not going to be this huge emotional tidal wave and I can just plug away at working on myself and come out on top. It feels good; it feels refreshing.

Being that it is the last day of 2007, I feel like I should do a little reflecting on the events of this past year. I really think that it’s important to focus on the good parts of life. 2007 wasn’t perfect, but I feel like I’ve come a long way personally.

In 2007 I…

…reconnected with a few close friends who now live in various parts of the country.
…bought myself some new wheels.
…made friends with two women who inspire and motivate me.
…explored four major league baseball fields.
…celebrated my 26th birthday.
…discovered that I don’t have to be ashamed of who I am anymore.
…watched The Bridges of Madison County for the first time.
…made my nephew laugh.
…chopped, cooked, and ate an onion for the first time.
…discovered my new favorite city with my new best friend.
…bought the most comfortable pair of boots I’ve ever owned.
…started reading the Harry Potter series.

All this is to say that when I look back on the past year, I feel like I’m getting started on the right foot for the new year.

Cheers.

Ready to Investigate

2007-12-27T22:01:00.000-06:00

I'm home now and I feel like I can breathe. I want to say that I know I'm lucky. I have a family who loves me and cares about my well being and supports me. I have two bitingly hilarious brothers, a very sentimental and caring father, and a nephew who is so completely adorable he makes Dakota Fanning look like a snot-nosed brat. And then there is mom. I love my mom - so completely and so deeply and wholly that as I write this I can't help but tear up. As a child, I spent hours sitting on the edge of her bed as she laboriously french-braided my hair. She spent many a moon making alterations to my dance costumes so I would be the flashiest and most well presented during my recitals. She helped me practice for my choir auditions and competitions. She helped me learn to drive, write English papers, and paint my toenails without getting any polish on my skin. She was there, even when I thought I didn't need her to be.

So now I find myself in a bit of a crisis which is further highlighted during trips to my hometown. I know I'm essentially a part of my mother; everyone I meet tells me how alike we look. Family members inadvertently call me by her name. I'm mistaken for her when I answer the telephone at my parent's house. And the thing that plagues me the most is that most of my behaviors toward food were learned from her. I feel sometimes like she is clawing at me, trying to keep me like her and to keep me from pushing past the issues that keep weighing me down. This last trip was most difficult and I won't pretend that I wasn't hurt by some of the things she said to me. I feel like she's making a deliberate attempt to carve away the self confidence I've busted my ass to achieve. And why? That, I have no answer to. Some of my closest confidants think it's jealousy and I'm not sure I disagree. Our lives have taken very different paths, and a part of me wonders if she is wistful about the freedom with which I live my life. I'm not sure that my mother's life is what she would like it to be.

All of this leaves me feeling, for lack of a better word, lost. I feel like I've hit a plateau in my recovery and that if I don't deal with all of this 'mom stuff,' I'm going to be stuck here indefinitely. I'm not much for New Year's Resolutions, but I think in this case I'm going to make an exception - only this will extend beyond 2008. I am going to confront this part of myself. Maybe it means I have to lay it on the line with my mom, and maybe it means it have to resolve it within myself. For as long as I can remember I've tiptoed around addressing a part of my life that is probably the most definitive. And I think that 20+ years of tiptoeing is enough.

I am unwritten
Can't read my mind, I'm defined
I'm just beginning
The pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Cancel my Subscription

2007-12-13T15:59:00.000-06:00

This week has kicked my ass. And considering that I'm only a few hours into Thursday, that's saying a lot. Last night I was driving home in the rain and I kept having to maneauver around debris that had blown into the road. I feel like this week has been the same - I've had to navigate through a series of emotional obstacles that have left me worse for the wear.

Christmas is right around the corner, and I had started this season with a sense of excitement that I haven't felt in awhile. I'm trying to keep that excitement alive despite some family conflict, a bump in my recovery, and some other personal changes.

Taking the high road is a difficult step. For some reason, it's become more difficult for me in the past few years. I was telling a friend last night (who is also a native northerner) about these difficulties and I think I've realized that in an attempt to fit in, I've compromised pieces of who I used to be. I'm not going to get into a big discussion about the cultural differences between southern and northern women, but I will say this. We are different in practically every way, our moral code is hardwired on opposite ends of the spectrum. And it's difficult to be told that everything I learned during my formative years is incorrect. Because it's not incorrect, it's just different. Not amount of gossip, or scheming, or backpedaling is going to change that. That said, it's really difficult not to be tainted by underhanded negativity - especially when it's thrust in my face on a daily basis.

I'm a firm believer that when I have trouble articulating what I'm trying to express, that I should let someone else do it for me. So here you go - from everythinglori.com/blog.

When someone reacts to you with the verbal tone equivalent of twisting a daggar in your right eye, then they fucking care a lot. They may hate you, but point is, they care, care enough to hate you. And when shit like this goes down – for me? It’s reeeallly hard to not respond. Really hard. Why? Ready for my answer to Why? Because it’s not fair. Isn’t that stupid? When I shared the details to this exchange to others, 3 people responded identically – "Why do you care? What does it matter? That’s such a waste of time and energy. Why are we even talking about it?" Well, it’s this whole being a bigger person thingy. It’s just…sooo hard. When you’ve been kind to someone and they’re mean to you? Don’t you have the right to fight back? But what I’m slowly realizing is that no person who wants to be mean to you is worth ever speaking to, much less responding. Why don’t these lessons come to me AT the time rather than after the fact?

But who you associate with is who you are, and I think that certain people can bring you down and others can make you better. I’ve recently come to associate with a person who has a level of kindness, generosity, and patience that I find to be both refreshing and inspiring. It both highlights to me where my flaws still radiate and what I need to work on to become more like that. When you meet good people who are not just good deep down, who are not just intending to be kind but who are practicing kindness on a daily basis, well, it definitely teaches you that there is always room for growth. Sure, I’m embarrassed right now that I’ve so often and too recently traveled on the low road, and somepeople find their way up there earlier, so good for them. When you meet people who are about 48 times more mature than you, you bust your ass to mature as quickly as possible – all while hoping that person sorta thought you were that mature all along. :) Point is, it’s never too late to climb on up and join the good folks up on the high road, and I’m surely on my way. I aspire to finally become the Bigger Person. Call it my preemptive New Years Resolution. Less negativity, no more seeking out what does not matter to me, no more looking back. Enough of my time has been spent on the childish exchanges with those not worth my attention. I’m turning 29 in 3 months. It’s about time I grew up, don’t you think?

All of this is to say that I think I used to choose friends out of necessity. And not that I don't need friends now - I still need people in my life. I think I'm realizing now that I deserve to have friends who love, respect and care for me unequivocally. I compromised in the past because there was some amount of buried shame that told me I didn't think I deserved it. The difficult part now, is learning how to move on without feeling like I need to get even. But I know that in the end I'll be more than even.

It’s like going to confession every time I hear you speak
You’re makin’ the most of your losin’ streak
Some call it sick, but I call it weak

You drag it around like a ball and chain
You wallow in the guilt; you wallow in the pain
You wave it like a flag, you wear it like a crown
Got your mind in the gutter, bringin’ everybody down
Complain about the present and blame it on the past
I’d like to find your inner child and kick it’s little ass

My Departures Were Old

2007-12-11T21:06:00.000-06:00

Is it an insult to my generation that I do not like pop/rock versions of holiday music? There is something about curling up on my couch in a pair of big, fuzzy socks, hot chocolate and a skein of yarn and listening to my friends Nat, Johnny, and Frank. I could not imagine the same scene playing out to the vocal interpretations of Christina Aguilera. Although, the fuzzy socks might be a bit much right now given that it is in the 70s outside. So maybe I am curling up with a glass of iced tea and flip-flops.

Dr. Gray wants me to write a letter to my mom for our next session. I really do not want to write a letter to my mom. I don’t think I realized I had as much anger as I do until our last session. Mom stuff is tricky. There’s all of this guilt and sadness and anger juxtaposed next to love, apathy, and pity. I am really not sure how to start this letter, henceforth, I’ve been putting it off all week. It has not been the best couple days. I think the anxiety of actually addressing these issues is sending me into a tailspin. And I think my behavior is reactive to this anxiety. Which leaves me feeling uncertain and kind of nauseated – no pun intended. I’m going to write the letter, I’m going to write the letter.

I bought a new book and some new music tonight in an attempt to cheer myself up. I know this too shall pass, but I’m nervous that I might be stuck in a rut right now.

At that particular time...

No Golden Calculators Need Apply

2007-12-08T03:30:00.000-06:00

I've spent the last few hours in an attempt to complete my holiday shopping with my friend Caroline. Shopping is the truest test of a friendship for me. I'm not the stereotypical female shopper. I only go to the mall if I need something specific. I have a very methodical and efficient way of trying on and purchasing clothing. I have no real weaknesses with the exception of housewares. That said, I knew tonight might be a test of my patience.

Caroline and I did yoga before our shop-fest. We centered, we breathed, we stretched. We set out with a calm purpose. And then we went to Toys R' Us. It's been a long time since I've set foot in a toy store. I'm not one of those people that's nostalgic for the days of my youth, when my parents would take me to the toy store and let me pick out that one special thing. Nonetheless, I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into.

The store was a complete mess. Discarded Barbies and Matchbox cars were strewn through the aisles. Board games were stacked haphazardly on shelves which held either no toys, or too many toys to support. The bicycle section was mayhem. All around me were the sounds of 'test me' buttons being pushed. And the children. Oh god, the children. I told Caroline I'd meet her at the check-out counter and made my way over to the book section. To my surprise, the book section was like a zen garden. No children, no noise, no debris. Just me, a rack of neatly stacked literature, and another browser. I was kind of annoyed that this was the only quiet and neat and subsequently untouched section of the store. I wondered if books were really that antiquated and un-trendy. I think out of sheer principle I bought more books than I have gifts to give. I fought my way back through the sea of exasperated parents and marched myself and my books out of that store.

The shopping center that houses the Toys R' Us also houses a Lifeway Christian Bookstore. I think the name of the store needs to be of some emphasis in this story. As I was pulling out of my parking spot, I witnessed quite possibly the most disturbing scene. A woman in a minivan peeled out of her Christian bookstore parking spot. She then sped towards the exit, but not before sideswiping a loose shopping cart. She hit the cart so hard that it flew into the air and landed on another car. Maybe landed is the wrong word. It sort of bounced against the hood of the car, and then smashed the windshield before toppling onto the concrete. Caroline and I sat frozen, dumbfounded. What further confounded us was the fact that the minivan driver stopped, looked around, and then drove off. Drove off! Caroline and I played good citizen and made note of her license plate information. It turned out the car she obliterated belonged to some teenager who works at the store. O' Holy Night indeed.

The rest of the shopping expedition went well. Caroline and I mesh quite nicely as a shopping duo. We came, we saw, we conquered. We treated ourselves to holiday libations afterwards. We vowed to do all our shopping online next year.

Who's House?

2007-12-03T21:03:00.000-06:00

If I could choose any celebrity to hang out with, I would choose Rev. Run and his family. I know I'd be excited to meet the Rev, but the idea of chilling with his family gets me just as pumped. Me and Justine could bust a move, I could play video games with Diggy and Russy. Angela and Vanessa could do my makeup. Seriously. Let's make this happen.

I talked to my mom tonight, and she was telling me about all the crafty projects she has going on for the holiday season. I didn't inherit one crafty little gene from my mother. This woman can make a holiday spread out of a toothpick and a maraschino cherry. I can knit lumpy scarves and pre-heat the oven. Would I consider myself creative? Sure. But crafty? Only by the Beastie Boys' definition.

On a heavier note, I had group today. I was going to give the rundown of today's events, but it's too emotionally exhausting. So I'll say this. If you read this, and you pray, or meditate, or even send up smoke signals, please keep my friend Sherri in your thoughts. She is a kind soul with practically no support system and she's having a really hard time right now.

For blaming myself for your unhappiness
And for my impatience when I was perfect where I was
Ignoring all the signs that I was not ready,
And expecting myself to be where you wanted me to be

To whom do I owe the first apology?
No one's been crueler than I've been to me.

Feces to Fertilizer

2007-11-27T00:58:00.000-06:00

Graphic, I know. But just roll with it a moment.

One of my oldest and dearest friendships is with a curly haired cello-playing goddess by the name of Liz. Liz is flaky. Flaky McFlighty. It's a wonder our friendship has survived for 14 years, but it has. I love Liz something fierce and no amount of flake or flight will change that. Growing up, Liz had bunk beds in her bedroom. She and I would lay on the lower portion of the bunk and write memories on the exposed natural wood beams from the upper portion of the bunk. One of our favorite quotes at the time said something to the effect of true friends seeing you not as a you are, but as what you wish you could be. We loved that quote. Wrote it everywhere, including the graffiti'ed bunk bed. And I think that sums up why no matter how flaky Liz is, I will always love her. And I know that no matter how judgemental, or condescending I can be, Liz will always love me.

Fertilizer, I know. I'm getting there.

The past 48 hours have been rough. But I dug in...deep. I went to group today. I meditated. I threw myself into my work. I talked through my hurt with someone I trust and love. I knitted. I talked on the phone and watched reality TV. And in the end I did it. Instead of taking all the crap I was wading in yesterday and making it deeper and uglier and scarier, I changed it to fertilizer. I had some help along the way, don't get me wrong. But I still stopped, looked around, and decided that flowers are a lot prettier than dead weeds. And I'm counting on tulips.

Self magazine voted San Francisco as the healthiest city in America. Ironically, it also is ranked number one for the fewest number of people per capita on a diet. There were more positive statistics regarding the city in the article I read, and this wasn't just an independent study done by the editors at Self. It makes me feel like the universe is collaborating to will me back to the scent of salty air and soreness in my thighs from stomping up hills. I'm coming back...I promise.

We bring ourselves down
And build ourselves up in disappointment
How fragile we are
So fragile we are, we just don't show it
We'll shake up this town
And shoot down the stars for our enjoyment

2007-11-25T19:39:00.000-06:00

I'm having a really hard time today and I'm not sure what else to do but write.

Fucking Thanksgiving. It's bad enough that we celebrate one day solely by overeating. Instead of just ending with one day, it's like the world is given carte blanche to extend in to the weekend. I purged last night. And I am so twisted up from it that I can barely breathe. The thing I hate the most is that it just hit me so hard, and so familiarly that I can't re-center myself. There I was, 4AM and still on a rush from the endorphins. And now here I am, physically sore and emotionally depleted and I just wish I could make it go away. And this is the worst possible to week for me to feel anything but on top of my game.

I'm so tired.

Freddie Prune Gives Good Head

2007-11-21T01:03:00.000-06:00

I now have a new reason to love Oliver Platt. His character on Nip/Tuck is helping restore my faith in a show that was quickly turning from debauched and depraved to dismal and disappointing. Alliteration, you are my friend.

It's not just Olly that is sparking my mini-masms, no. The show has taken back its acerbically sexual undertone and tortured man-glam from one Dr. Christian Troy. The world, my friends, is once again as it should be.

Thanksgiving festivities have commenced a whole 48 hours in advance for me. Today was 'Potluck Day,' at the job and I left work feeling beyond satiated. I'm staring down the barrel of my worst fear right now - an excuse to overeat in a social setting. So what then is stopping me from completely losing my mind during all of this gluttony and gravy-based camaraderie? The fact that I am just breaths away from going four months without purging. This is the longest I have gone since I've been bulimic. I feel too triumphant at this point to let a little tryptophan high stand in the way of four-motherfucking-months (yep, I said it) of recovery. So fluff off cheesy potato casserole. Love don't live here no more.

And can someone puh-lease explain the rationale behind wearing denim miniskirts and Ugg boots at the same time? I hail from a region of the country that is battered by about eight solid months of winter. I mean snow, ice, more snow, bitter temperatures, icy roads, snow, wind-chill factors, and frost bite. Oh, and more snow. Wearing giant Eskimo boots with exposed ass cheeks is like a slap in the face with an ice scraper. Either it's winter or it's not. And we all know your feet are sweaty and smelly despite your attempt to look saucy. The gig is up.

I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time

Bored at Work

2007-11-12T17:10:00.000-06:00

1. Are you ready for 100 questions? As ready as I’ll ever be.
2. Do you watch college football? Yep – especially Big 10.
3. Who will fill this survey out after you? Umm, I’m not sure that anyone will.
4. Who was the last person to send you a text message? Dan
5. Do you love anyone? Yes
6. Are you happy? Yes
7. Where was the last place you went shopping? Publix
8. How do you feel about your hair? I yike it.
9. Where do you work? Kroll
10. Last thing you ate/drank? Reese’s Pieces (thanks Julie!)
11. Do you wish you were someplace else right now? Yes, home and under my covers.
12. Do you have any pet peeves? A few…
13. Do you have any expensive jewelry? Yes, at my mother’s house.
14. AIM or Yahoo? MSN
15. Do you like math? I like numbers, but not math.
16. How many hours on average do you work a week: 50
18. Favorite baseball team? Detroit Tigers
19. Favorte NBA team? Detroit Pistons
20. Do you watch the Olympics? Yes! I love the Olympics.
21. Last restaurant you went to? Amerigo’s
22. Who was the last person to call you? My mama
23. What’s your sign? Aries
24. Do you have a favorite number? 4
25. Last time you did volunteer work or made any donations? Last month for the Diabetes Walk in Nashville.
26. What do you spend the majority of your money on? Rent and my car.
27. Where does your family live? Michigan, Chicago
28. Are you an only child or do you have siblings? Two little brothers
29. Ever been called a bitch? A few times.
30. Got any guilty pleasures? More than I care to admit.
31. Do you drink beer? More often than I care to admit.
32. Whats your favorite color? I don’t really have a favorite – I like lots of colors.
33. Did you ever collect Beanie Babies? No. Stop it.
34. Ever bought anything online? Of course.
35. Myspace or Facebook? MySpace.
36. Do you have T-Mobile? I do! I love it.
38. Do you sometimes wish you were someone else? Not someone else perse, but in a different situation.
41. Last time you saw your parents? Last month.
42. Do you have any talents? I can play the nose flute and I do impersonations.
43. Ever been in a wedding? A few.
44. Do you have any children? Nope.
45. Last movie you watched? Friends With Money.
46. Are you missing anyone at the moment? Very much so.
47. Did you take a nap today? No, but that sounds wonderful.
49. Ever been on a cruise? I have!
50. Did you notice number 40 was missing? Actually 30 and 40 are missing. Douche.
52. Do you have any wealthy friends? All my friends are wealthy in love.
53. Ever met anyone famous before? I have
54. Favorite actor? Edward Norton
55. Favorite actress? Frances McDormand
56. Are you multi-tasking right now? I am
57. Could you handle being in the military? Nooooo way.
58. Are you hungry or thirsty? A bit thirsty.
59. Favorite fast food restaurant? Hmmm…probably Taco Bell.
61. What is your average cell phone bill? $75.00
62. Do you own a camera phone? Nope.
63. Ever had to take a sobriety test? Nope.
64. Do you believe in Karma? I believe in the concept of karma.
65. Can you speak any other languages? Not really. I can read conversational French.
66. Last time you went to the gym or worked out? Last week
67. How many pairs of shoes do you own? Somewhere around 20
68. Do you have a photo hosting site that you use? Nope.
69. Last place you were? Before work? My house I suppose.
70. What is your college mascot? Trojan.
71. Ever been to Las Vegas? Sadly, I have not.
76. Have you ever been gambling? Yes.
77. How old are your parents? 49 and 54
78. When is the last time you updated your blog? Last night
79. Do you have your wisdom teeth? I have two left.
80. Favorite place to be? The beach
81. Have you been to New York City? Yep, a couple times
82 Favorite sit down restaurant? Park Café or Peter’s for sushi.
83. Ever been to Disney Land? No
84. Do you have a favorite cartoon character? I used to be a big fan of Rainbow Brite.
85. Last thing you cooked? Pasta
86. How is the weather today? Kind of cloudy and balmy.
87. Do you email? Do I email? Is this a trick question?
88. Last letter/piece of mail you received besides junk or a bill? My Netflix DVDs.
89. Last missed call? J-Balla
91. Last voicemail you received? J-Balla
92. Do you drunk dial/text? It’s my specialty.
93. Stupidest thing you ever did with your cell phone? One time I dropped my phone in the toilet at a party. I was too grossed out to fish it out so I just left it there.
94. What is the best city in the state that you live in? Nashville I suppose.
96. Did you just die? What?
97. Are you bored right now? Yes – I cannot concentrate on work.
98. Last concert you went to? Green Day.
99. What do you think about before you go to bed? This really tall, dark, and handsome drink of water that I am so lucky to have in my life.
100. What are your plans for tomorrow? Work, work, and more work. And my TV night.

Into Marvelous Light I'm Running

2007-11-12T02:28:00.000-06:00

Today at church, the pastor talked about the idea of authentic community. Authentic community is a big catch phrase amongst Christian hipsters, but its fundamental meaning is of something to take note.

I've lived in Nashville now for over four years, and I am just getting to the place where I feel like I am establishing something resembling an authentic community. What has become blatantly obvious to me over the past few weeks, is that friendships formed based on a common interest may not always be the most fulfilling for me. I used to try to surround myself with people who I thought were a lot like me. What I find is that I tend to let my personality - my being - take a backseat to make these friendships work. I'm finally starting to see that I'm missing out on a lot of great human interaction and causing myself a lot of hardship in the meantime.

I made friends with a girl named Sarah when I first moved to Nashville. We quickly hit it off because we were both from Michigan and subsequently both experiencing the culture shock of life below the Mason-Dixon line. We remained friends for just over a year, and then as quickly as we bonded, we broke apart. I tried for months to patch things up with Sarah, but it just wasn't going to happen. I finally realized how much I'd been settling in our friendship; I finally realized how much of myself I'd compromised to keep Sarah's ego in tact because I so desperately thought I needed her friendship.

I'm going through a very similar experience now, only with a lot more pain involved. When Sarah and I parted ways, I turned to my eating disorder to cope. Now, I'm actually dealing with the way I feel about a friend who has betrayed me and who has hurt me to the core. Forgiveness is a really tough pill to swallow. Probably worse than forgiveness is forgetfulness. I think in this case I'm trying to forgive both myself and my friend. It hurts deep and true and so real that sometimes I'm mad at God for creating us as such fallible creatures. I hate that I have to feel so disgusted at someone. I hate that I have to feel like such a failure as a person.

All of this is to say that I don't think authentic community stems from people gathering based on a commonality. I have found the unlikeliest of friends from simply opening my mind up to the idea of getting to know someone because they are different than me. If nothing else, I think I'm experiencing a lot of pain right now to learn that friendships can be mutually fulfilling. And that I am loved because of who I am, not because I serve as some sort of puppet for the emotionally malnourished.

'Cause this is a battle
And its your final last call
It was a trial, you made a mistake, we know
But why aren't you sorry, why aren't you sorry, why?
This can be better, you used to be happy, try!

Like A Sneaker on a Live Wire, Dangling

2007-11-07T20:30:00.000-06:00

It is a sad day when one of my guiltiest pleasures leaves me feeling…well, without pleasure. I had approached fall with an unbridled sense of excitement over the promise of a fabulous Tuesday evening television lineup. My two favorite programs – House and Nip/Tuck – are now scheduled on Tuesday night, one right after the other.

The last two weeks, I have come home on Tuesday night, made a delicious dinner and adjusted my bed pillows to achieve maximum comfort. I settle in, remote control in hand, and wait for that comfortable feeling of numb brain to sink in. The last two weeks, I have been sorely disappointed.

First, can we put some more characters on House? Last season, House’s entire staff either quit or resigned. This season, we pull out all the bells and whistles to hire a new staff – complete with hottie Olivia Wilde, and that dude who is either Harold or Kumar – I can’t remember which. Now this week, we bring out the quasi-famous Michael Michele? Weak. Weak! How many medical dramas can this woman guest star on? ER, a couple cancelled pilot episodes of a random doctor show, I think I even remember her on Chicago Hope. What the H?!?! If the writers of the show end up creating a romance between her and House’s characters, I may have to consider burning my television.

So let us discuss Nip/Tuck, shall we? My loyalty runs a bit deeper for this program; I have watched it since its inception, and Dr. Troy has been the subject of many a masturbatory fantasy for me. That aside, I am nervous that the writers may be grasping this season. Last year, Troy and McNamara moved their practice from the sultry beachside of Miami to the vapid and contumelious Hollywood. This move apparently warrants the onslaught of guest appearances from an odd combination of B-listers, impersonators, and Lauren Hutton. I will contend that Portia DiRossi looked wicked hot in last night’s episode, but she only appeared for about five minutes of the show. But Daphne Zuniga? Marilyn Monroe look-alikes? The gay mafia? And to top it all off, we have to run a story-line about Dr. Troy being a middle aged has-been? Show a girl some love!

I turned off the TV last night and rolled over to a feeling of uncertainty. How can the world be right without the cocky swagger of a lady-killer like Christian Troy? How can I fall fast into a satiated sleep without the snarkey rebuttals of Dr. House dancing through my dreams? Why is the world plotting against me?

It's a longshot
She's got the truth and her tongue for a slingshot
But she's taking steady aim at the big shot
It's hard to miss the rolling bullets on the blacktop
Better mark it, your turf

She's coming up from, coming up from, coming up
Coming up from Behind. Yeah.
She's coming up from, coming up from, coming up
Coming up from Behind

Luckiest

2007-11-01T16:14:00.000-05:00

I saw Ben Folds today at the diner where I had lunch. He was sitting on the same side of the booth as the girl he was with, and his cool quotient dropped a few points because of it. Couples who sit on the same side of the booth weird me out. I like to look a person in the eye when I’m talking, not stare down the depths of an ear canal.

I love Nashville in November. It smells woodsy and fresh and crisp outside. I can wear a jacket without getting warm, and boots without looking silly. November also brings the promise of the holidays. I’m so excited for Christmas this year. It’s not even that I love Christmas itself, I love the time surrounding Christmas. I love decorating, baking, shopping, and listening to Christmas music. But mostly I love the onslaught of clay-mation movies that pop up during the holidays. There is nothing better than sipping some Baileys and hot chocolate and watching Rudolph get his feelings hurt.

I decided I’m going to submit something to the Burnside Writer’s Collective. Which means I may actually have to grow balls and possibly a beard to build up the cahones necessary to submit a piece. This also means I’m going to have to write something BWC worthy. My friend sent me a copy of Free Will, and it inspired me to write like the good philosophy major I played in a past life. But I don’t want to straddle the religion/spirituality line too much. I think instead, I’m going to do something on eating disorders or social body consciousness. I’m feeling very analytical on that topic as of late.

What if I’d been born 50 years before you
In a house on the street where you lived
Maybe I’d be outside as you passed on your bike
Would I know?
And in a wide sea of eyes
I see one pair I recognize
And I know…

Oh, Ani

2007-10-29T17:48:00.000-05:00

How is that a little Kanye West and Cheetos can become the cure-all for an emotionally ravaging day? I submit that Cheetos are made in part with crack, as there is no other logical explanation for their deliciousness or addictive quality.

Group today was rough, and I think it had to do with the fact that I’m actually doing pretty well. It’s a strange guilt I feel to know that I’m moving past all of the mental angst I feel in regard to myself. Things aren’t wonderful by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m feeling sad for all of my friends in group who are where I was one year ago, or two years ago, or three years ago. The problem is that there is not a formulaic response to recovery; it’s sort of trial and error to find your groove and then when you lose your way, you go back to square one and look for your groove again. It broke my heart a little bit to hear about the struggles my friends are facing. It broke my heart to know that I can’t fix it for them. What I can do right now is keep on plugging away at this. Maybe at some point I can be an inspiration to my friends at group.

I wish I had an internal switch that prevented me from being nauseated by desperate women. I wish I wasn’t affected so greatly by the behavior of immature bottom-dwellers who lack any morsel of self preservation. Mostly I wish I could stop caring about those who do not have my best interest at heart. The fact is that we all have our own stuff; almost without exception everyone has experienced some type of pain or bitterness or unfortunate circumstance in his/her life. At some point, you chose not to expel your own existential crises onto others. At some point, you chose to just live for yourself whether or not anyone is watching. At some point, you make peace with the universe and eventually you make peace with yourself.

i gotta beeline double time

leave my home sweet home for your honeycomb

then i show up steady, ready and proud

and i find I've forgotten how to talk out loud

isn't it just like you to bring me to my knees

in my brand new stockings

while the cat is out with my tongue

isn't it just like you to bring me to my knees

in my brand new stockings

love makes me feel so dumb

Last Time I Checked, I Was None of Them

2007-10-23T17:04:00.000-05:00

I just returned from an unexpected visit to the motherland - this time for a funeral. My grandpa passed away at the lived-in age of 90. He lived through The Depression, a couple wars, marriage, kids, several relocations, and more importantly a lot of love. As sad as I was that grandpa is gone, the more relieved I am that he’s not suffering anymore. And he was ready; he told his pastor just days before he died that he was ready to see his wife and Jesus. I can’t help but believe he’s right, and that after such a long and productive and inspiring life, he gets to be reunited with the people he loved and dwell in the most perfect place.

Visits home usually leave me depleted and in a semi-permanent state of self-loathing. Or maybe I should say that I chose those feelings after my visits home. I’m choosing not to feel that way anymore. Being at home gave me a lot of time to reflect and think and just be. I did a lot of writing and went for long walks with myself and it was nice to just be alone without distraction for a few minutes at a time.

I’m starting to see that a conflicted life is a wasted life. I have this friend who is constant conflict; with herself, her friends, her coworkers, her life. And now this friend is in conflict with me. While I definitely don’t want to just rollover and let her project her issues on to me, I am not going to engage in her conflict. I hate that I have wasted so much time being upset over the person I am. More importantly, I’m resolving to be OK with the person I am. There just seems to be so much natural conflict – universal, spiritual, social – and I would rather make the choice to not be conflicted about the things are unnatural. So there.

Lose the costume
The days of dress-up are gone
Time to join in and put a different outfit on

It's an Infininte World and I Want You...

2007-10-11T15:28:00.000-05:00

Ahhh, Duncan Sheik. How I adore thee.

Feeling marginally better today. Partially because I don’t know how anyone could be upset on such a beautiful day like today. Partially because I’m just tired of feeling like poo. And partially because I feel good in what I’m wearing.

I realize that recovery isn’t cut and dry. I realize that it’s a series of good days looped in with a series of bad days. I realize that I’m a work in progress and that weight loss may not necessarily be the next natural step for my body or my mind. That said, I’m not feeling comfortable at the weight I’m at and I think that contributed the most to my less-than-sunny disposition the past week. It’s not just a matter of comfort either – I want to feel healthier and more at ease in physical situations.

There are days when I can look at myself objectively and think that I’m beautiful. I want those days to not be so few and far between. More than that, I want to stop judging others based on how they look. How is that the thing I’m most sensitive and insecure about, is the very thing I’m guilty of myself? I think if I met God today, that’s the first question I’d ask him/ her. How is it that as human beings, we are such hypocrites? How is it that we can completely loathe and detest qualities that we ourselves possess? It just seems so cruel and unfair and completely tragic. But I digress.

One of my favorite pick-me-up songs is The Middle by Jimmy Eat World. I have it on repeat today.

Hey, you know they're all the same
You know you're doing better on your own, so don't buy in
You live right now, just be yourself
It doesn't matter if it's good enough for someone else

It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything will be just fine
Everything will be alright
It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything will be just fine
Everything will be alright

The Middle

2007-10-09T21:16:00.000-05:00

Every time I start a sentence it sounds completely whiny and melodramatic and that's really not how I'm feeling right now. I'm exhausted. Completely and totally. And the kicker? I'm sleeping regularly. And for long periods of time. So maybe I'm emotionally exhausted. Maybe.

I've been kicking ass at work. My non-profit roots have reared their martyr-like head again and I'm helping out with some philanthropic initiatives at work. I'm also getting my team whipped into shape and helping out with some pretty large new clients. I feel confident and together and powerful. Then I go home.

Maybe it's the 90-day rule. I've gone nearly three months without purging, and with only a few binge-eating episodes during that span. I feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin. I can't sit, stand, or lay down. I eat, but I feel gross and helpless afterwards, regardless of the type or quantity of food I had. I hate that I'm feeling this way again because it's just so old and done and I'm so over it. But I'm not really over it because I keep reliving it. I want so badly to make it to three months. I feel like that might be what breaks me - I've never, in the last six years made it 90 days without purging. I want to know how that tastes and how it looks on me.

The other shitty thing that I'm freaked about is this weekend. My roommate and I were supposed to do some serious shopping for our apartment, but she's decided to go home this weekend. Which leaves me with, the exception of a few hours, a clear schedule. I feel trapped and it's only Tuesday.

My church started this new podcast series called "Traction." My pastor recommends that I listen to it and go for a walk. So tomorrow, I'm getting up early to find my Traction. Or maybe just a tread.

And the Clarity to See and Stop This Now...That is What I Have Earned

2007-10-03T12:11:00.000-05:00

Call the wah-ambulance. I can.not.stop.crying.

But it’s good. I know it’s good because it means I’m feeling stuff and I’m not just stuffing my emotions inside and pretending I’m “fine” and “ok.” Not that I’m really doing that terrible, but my life situation isn’t ideal right now.

I think I may have lost a good friend this week – or maybe I just lost someone I thought was a good friend. I think I’m starting to figure out that maybe hanging out with someone solely because that person makes me laugh is not enough ground on which to build a friendship. But it doesn’t make it sting any less to find out that I’m expendable. It doesn’t make me want to trust and love and believe with abandon.

Tyler and Caroline have moved further away from me – it takes me about an hour to get to their new house. In a way I’m happy for them because they’ve wanted a house for so long, but I’m sad because it’s not as easy to see them during the week. Thusly adding more tears to the Sorrow River I’m creating.

It’s just that I’m so restless right now. I can’t move without worrying that I am slipping into obsessive behavior. We talked in group this week about the difference between leaps and baby steps. And I know it needs to be baby steps right now, but baby steps don’t get me very far very quickly. I’m not trying to whine, I just wish this would happen for me.

What I’m striving for is a greater connection between my rational self and my eating disorder self. I can sit here at work and know that I am a hard worker, a good leader and a strong contributor to my company. I’m an aunt, a daughter, a sister and a niece, and I know I play an important role in my family. I just wish these things mattered when I put my jeans on this morning. I wish they mattered when I’m surrounded by mirrors during hip-hop aerobics. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Speaking of hip-hop aerobics, I found out that my gym is offering the class again for October! Yay and hooray! So I’m headed back tonight to get my swerve on. Sort of. I also decided that I’m going to buy myself a new athletic-y swimsuit and start swimming one day a week for cardio. I used to swim all the time and I’m actually a pretty strong swimmer. I also like swimming, so I know it’s something I can do and not be bored.

Baby steps, here I come.

...And Consequently So Am I

2007-09-25T18:55:00.000-05:00

Yesterday’s group session was really tough. I’ve had a heavy heart ever since yesterday, but it’s mostly because I wish I could change life for the women in my group. A new girl has joined our ranks, and she is a snapshot of me four years ago. I want to just scoop her up and take her away to some place where none of this crap mattered. I wish I could do that for every one in my group, hell every woman who has carried this burden on their shoulders. I know this is coming off as whiny, and it is whiny, but it doesn’t change the what-ifs we all feel. I prayed last night for everything I couldn’t change and for everything I knew I had the strength to change.

I became ill yesterday afternoon during work and ended up going home. I’m not sure if it was something I ate, or just general stress, but I physically became ill. As I’m leaned over the toilet and my chest is pounding and my eyes are watering I think I slipped out of myself for a few minutes. I could not believe that this was something I used to force myself to do. It hit me really hard and really fast and all I could do was apologize to myself and to my body for using something so unnatural to cope.

I’ve made the decision that it’s time to get back into the swing of things exercise-wise. And by swing of things, I don’t mean that I’m going to start the obsessive exercise regime I was doing earlier this year. This is gentle, and in the greatest effort to take care of myself. So I’m starting with three days a week – two days of cardio and one day of yoga or Pilates. It feels good to be decisive about this and not just wing it until I’m out of control. I just hope it stays this way.

Serious...as a heart beat

2007-09-20T16:12:00.000-05:00

I love it when people mix metaphors. I used to work with a woman who did it all the time. My favorite was when she said we were all going to ‘hell in a purse.’ Really? I think I’d prefer to meet my destiny via attaché case.

My brother is coming into town tomorrow, and I’m mucho excited. Andrew is my baby brother, and one of my favorite people. It’s weird living apart from my family because I receive far fewer hugs than I used to when I lived near my family. I love hugs. They are probably the most sincere, non-selfish expression of affection that I can think of. I feel like I can read into a person’s soul when I hug him. My friend Caroline gives the best hugs. Caroline is on the short side, and she’s the quintessential petite girl, but when Caroline hugs it is with the force of a pro-football tackle (left or right, doesn’t matter). It’s as though all her determination and love and sincerity are pouring out through her arms. I’m always cheerful after a Caroline hug.

A friend of mine recently told me that next month a production of The Phantom of the Opera is going to be shown at a local venue here in Nashvegas. This isn’t just any production of Phantom, this is the 1925 original black-and-white silent film. And on top of it there is going to be live accompaniment by the Nashville Symphony complete with an organ. Nothing gives me goose bumps like a little organ music. I know some people think that Phantom is generic and sort of the Wal-Mart of musical productions, but I must beg to differ. For me there is still so much romance and intrigue and just general emotive music to this musical that I can’t write it off as cheesy. Perhaps it’s because I used to pretend that I was Christine. My parents house had a loft and I could stand at the top of the staircase overlooking the living room from my perch in the loft. I imagined I was being stalked by a masked man in a tuxedo and a cape. Wow, that sounds really stupid now. But I digress. I still love dramatic organ playing and big-lashed heroines and misunderstood bad guys. That will never be cheesy to me.

I’ve had that Relient K’s “Who I am Hates Who I’ve Been” running through my head all day. But not in a self-depricating way. It’s more of an apology to myself and a resolve to do better next time…which turns out to be this time.

No Pat on the Back, Just Your Mind Intact

2007-09-18T11:11:00.000-05:00

I’m feeling a bit frazzled and out of control today, so I’m stopping now to write a little and let the catharsis of that sink in.

When I started this blog, it was mostly to talk about myself and the bounty o’ issues I have surrounding myself, my weight, and my eating disorder. These past few months have given way to so much change, and I feel like my life is molding itself into something a little bit closer to what I thought it would be. Therefore, I’m changing the direction of this blog. I still want to talk about my stuff, but I just feel like I have so much more that’s inside of me that I need to explore through my writing.

I like to play a game with myself where I review the last year and decide my worthiness based on how much I have accomplished. This accomplishment, of course is relative because ultimately I’m my own worst critic and don’t recognize what I have truly accomplished. Something about the change in weather, and the promise of fall brings this out of me. When I started to reflect this time, I actually felt good about where I am. In the past year I’ve graduated from college, I’ve gotten a promotion, I’ve lived in one place for more than one year, I’ve bought a car that I saved for all by myself. While all of these are tangible and very important, my more important accomplishments lie within my soul. I think what’s most important is that I’ve made a conscious effort to stop dwelling in the muck of what I think I should be. It’s not easy, and it’s certainly not something that comes naturally. But I am trying.

Things We Buy, To Cover Up What's Inside

2007-09-08T20:22:00.000-05:00

On Friday I went to the doctor because I've had this strange sensation at what seemed to be the part where my throat meets my stomach. It wasn't heartburn or indigestion or anything painful. It was kind of a tight feeling and it affected my appetite my throat. It had started the Tuesday prior with no reprieve all week. My doctor thinks I'm having esophageal spasms. She told me right away that it happens to a lot of people, but when I asked her if it could be from the purging, she said higher instances occur in those who are bulimic.

I have to take a series of three medications several times throughout the day. If this doesn't work in one week, my doctor is going to send me to have an esophageal scope. I may have to have my esophagus dialated. Apparently it's a quick procudure and cures the problem indefinitely.

I feel like a complete asshole. Not only because this mostly happens to people over the age of 60, but because I feel like I'm being an irresponsible citizen. I would consider myself to be in recovery - it's been nearly two months since I've purged and I've really started to be aware of my actions and thoughts as they pertain to myself. But because of what I have inflicted on myself, I may have to have minor surgery. People die of things that they have no control over; cancer, heart attacks, blood diseases, and too many others to name. Here I am with my head over the toilet several times a week because I can't get ahold of myself. It pisses me off that I've let it go this far.

I don't want to hate on myself too much for this, because I don't want it to lead to self-destruction. However, I don't feel like this is one of those touchy-feely things I should just 'be ok' with. I'm praying that the meds will work and I can just put the rest of the unpleasantness behind me. I'm also praying that it's not something worse than esophageal spasms. I wish I could go back to myself when all of this started and just reason with that little girl who thought she could just take it all on and not bother anybody. I wish I would have told her to speak up.

I've Got My Reasons, Got My Seasons

2007-09-02T22:24:00.000-05:00

Today marks six weeks of no purging. Actually six weeks of no purging and not purposely overeating. What makes this even more significant is that I hadn't even counted the six weeks. Usually I'm like an abacus, counting every millisecond that I haven't purged. It feels good to have not noticed the time passing so quickly. This leads me to analyze what has been different about the last month-and-a-half that has allowed me to stop searching for reasons to binge.

I did an insane amount of traveling - especially during the weekends when I tend to isolate and fall into the binge/purge cycle
I really threw myself into work. It's been an especially stressful time for my department and I worked really hard to make changes that I hope will have a lasting impact on my team.
I've been careful about journaling whenever that negative anti-Emily voice kicks in. I'm working to respond to all the misconceptions I have about myself.
I've been praying a lot. I don't like to get all Jesus-y here, but I do notice that my life is a bit more peaceful during the times when I am meditative and prayerful. I'll leave it at that.

That being said, I'm a bit worried about starting to purge again. Based on my past history, I usually don't last much longer than this before I freak out and fall into old habits. All I can say is that this time I feel like my arsenal of defense tools is stronger than before. I don't want to be overy-analytical here. I'm just excited about my success and tomorrow will be a new day.

I've been dancing and singing all day long. I actually used to sing all the time. During my first stint in college, I studied under the tutelage of Eugenia Yau. She was this amazing petite little Asian woman with the voice of an Operatic Goddess. She worked diligently with me to convince me that I could in fact, perform at a couple showcases the music department sponsored. My voice was a lot more pure then - before cigarettes, and shouting, and throwing-up turned me a bit rusty. All of this is to say that I miss singing and I want to get back into it. Part of me wants to find a church with a choir, even though I'm happy where I am now. We'll see. For now, the shower and my car will have to do.

Like Indecision to Call You

2007-08-29T14:06:00.000-05:00

I am in a really weird place right now. Nothing is going right and I am sad and scared and feeling general malaise. I suppose the little thread I am hanging on is that I am actually feeling my emotions right now. It has been so long since I have cried so freely and felt ok with just being sad about something. It was scary at first to not try and just numb myself into oblivion, but I did it. I am letting myself experience life and not back away from my feelings. And that’s ok.

I’ve decided that I have to sit down and talk to my mom about the things that I can’t take on for her. I am not saying that I’m going to create some approved list of topics we discuss, but I have to let her know my limits. Mostly I can not listen to her blame my father for everything that’s wrong with them financially. I know for a fact that she’s had a hand in this as well, and it’s not fair of her to put her frustrations on me. That is what therapy is for.

It is a strange thing to realize what I have carried on my shoulders for too long. I remember watching this episode of Oprah when I was in college. There was a woman about my age (now) who lost something like 175 pounds in something like seven months. She said that the seven months was the last part of her therapy; she had spent years prior in recovery from disordered eating. It was not until she was able to let go of all of the extra baggage that did not belong to her, that she was able to lose her own physical baggage. I am not even to the point of thinking about weight loss, mostly out of the fear of slipping into old habits. I am however, working to get rid of this extra emotional baggage.

My father is a very simplistic in his craft. He likes clean lines, open spaces, and room to create. I used to watch him at his drafting table when he would draw-up plans for new houses. He always started with a lot of extras; crown molding, abbreviated lofts, bay windows, cabinetry, etc. His final drafts were always sophisticated without being overly intricate. I loved to imagine what it be like to live in his houses, with their airy high ceilings and long stretches of hardwood floors. I could fill the space up any way I liked, and I kind of imagine that I’m doing the same thing with my life. I’m clearing out of the extra stuff I don’t need so I can make space for who I truly want to be.

Because you can just give it back

2007-08-27T13:55:00.000-05:00

It's my vacation from my vacation day and I can't help feeling this impending sense of doom for what the rest of this year will be like. Maybe it's a vacation postpartum, but I'm a little depressed and angsty.

Let's start at the beginning. I went to Michigan for a few days to see family and relax and generally connect with people I'm related to by chance. I love my family, in fact sometimes the love I feel for my family is so deep and so encompassing that I'm not sure what I would do if I didn't have them. Other times I just wish I could start over and be independent of their influence on me. About four years ago, my dad went into business for himself and unbeknownst to me, apparently his business is fledgling. My mom went into great detail about their finances while I was home. Apparently they've drained their retirement funds and are living on my mom's salary right now. They're mortgaged beyond their resources and now they're spending what should be their pre-retirement time working like dogs to have some income. Just income. Not retirement or spending money or entertainment change. Income. I'm so angry and sad and anxious and worried for them. I'm mad at my mom for blaming the situation on my dad. I'm mad at them for continually pissing their money and their lives away. I'm mad at them for passing along their insecurities and bad habits to their kids. But I'm mostly just sad because there isn't a damn thing I can do to help them. My parents are undoubtedly best friends, but in someways I think they just feed into one another's weaknesses. I want so badly to not take on their stuff; to just give it back and be ok with that. I don't know that I'll get there, but I know that I need to.

I went to my first group therapy today. I met amazing, wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, and completely charming women. I was the youngest of the group, but somehow my voice resonated within these women. I'm starting realize how much disordered eating affects women in general. It's not just the underweight and overweight. There is a therapist and a personal trainer in my group. There's a new mom and a lady with grandchildren in my group. There are women with more education than me and less education than me in my group. As heart wrenching as it was to hear their stories, to hear the years that they had been tortured by their own thoughts, to hear the passion in their voices when they talked about recovery, it was even more overwhelming to feel so connected so immediately with strangers. Every time someone spoke, every head in the room nodded in unison. They got me. They understood what it was like to turn to food to cope with life and not even realize you're doing it. They knew what it meant to just try to numb yourself enough to not have to think about how fat or skinny you are. But they also knew what it was like to want to feel free from all that. To just live and appreciate how blessed our lives are. To appreciate people and scenery and activity and love. To just be.

After my time in Michigan I headed to San Francisco with my dear friend. It was completely wonderful and I can still smell the salty air and feel the cool breeze against my face. My nose is peeling from a sunburn, my legs are sore from hauling up hills, and my heart is laying somewhere in Union Square. But it was beautiful and I guess that without the bitter, the sweet just ain't as sweet.

Take me back to the start

2007-08-02T05:59:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to fall back to sleep for the last hour, but my mind is kind of racing right now. I'm feeling better, perhaps in part to the Prozac, but also because I'm just thinking clearly. I had a really great session with Dr. Gray this week, and I feel energized and inspired. It's easy for me to make that list of things I'm not doing - working out, eating 'healthy,' journaling, meditating, etc etc. But today it's about what I am doing. I'm eating, and not just for the purpose of purging. I'm not letting myself binge. I'm intervening with that voice that says I can't do it. I'm intervening even more with the voice that says I'm going to fail.

Last weekend I had a chance to spend some time with one of my oldest and dearest friends. She's a musician who recently experienced some sort of tendonitis. It's a problem she's had for almost two years, but it gets so bad sometimes that she can't even use her right arm. I won't get into the specifics of the story, but basically she realized she had put her life on hold while she coped with this issue she had. Something about that resonated with me so deeply. I have this ideal in my head that as soon as I'm thin, I'll be able to do whatever I want. I hold back in pretty much every aspect of my life because I think I don't deserve to participate with the rest of the human race. I'm finally starting to see that I've sold myself short for as long as I can remember. No longer my friends. No longer.

Hanging on this Wire

2007-07-24T15:02:00.000-05:00

I’m not really sure where I am right now. I’ve been binging and purging pretty much daily, and I’m completely exhausted from it. I’m completely amazed at the 180 I’ve done since last month. Every night I go to bed with every intention of getting up early to workout. I feel disgusting – fat, tired, moody, and sore. It still blows my mind how much purging affects my body. When I was younger, it didn’t used to take such a toll on me – I could still find energy to work and purge and even workout. Now I’m sleeping late and passing out on the couch before 8PM. But for as bad as I feel, I can’t seem to kick this little phase. The good news is that I have a session with Dr. Gray tonight, so hopefully I can work through some of these things.

Last weekend I visiting my friend Maria in Charlotte. It had been quite awhile since we’d seen each other, and it was really good to just hang out with someone I can be completely comfortable around. Not that some major breakthrough occurred, but it was nice to see her and talk about our lives and the things we struggle with. I don’t have many friends that I can talk to frankly about my issues, but Maria is one of those people who I can pick-up with right where I left off.

Work is pissing me off. There’s this idiot in my department who makes my skin crawl. He wears some sort of strange cologne/body musk and he stands entirely too close to me when he talks. Aside from his personal creepiness, he also sucks at his job. I’m talking administrative paper-pushing 101 and this guy can’t get it together enough to move on to any other tasks. Because I’m still technically deferring to my supervisor, we continue to give him chances. I think we’re finally going to let him go in a couple weeks if he doesn’t straighten up, but I have to deal with the brunt of his moronic existence.

I don’t know, I’m having one of those days/weeks/months. I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin and I just want to sleep at the same time. I’m going on yet another weekend getaway in a few days, and then next week Andres comes. I need to decompress in a major way, but beyond the few hours I have in the evening, I’m not sure when that will happen. I wish I had a life coach whispering in my ear that I can, in fact, do this.

And I ain't in the best shape that I've Ever Been In

2007-07-18T15:28:00.000-05:00

I am at work right now, but definitely not in work mode. I’m sort of spinning from the weekend and from the things that are to come. I’m nervous about the rest of the summer. I have a couple trips planned in the coming weeks to see friends who I haven’t seen in a long time. Andres is coming down in a couple weeks, and then I have one long vacation I’m splitting between Michigan and San Francisco. That said, I am not sure what to make of the rest of this summer. Shrink and I talked about routine during my last session and that’s really resonated with me. I don’t do well unless I have a routine. I need consistency, and that’s something I require in nearly every facet of my life – my friends, my family, my workout, my eating habits etc. Routine is something that I sometimes neglect because I think I will be able to get by without it, but I’m realizing that maybe that’s not the case.

What I do know is that I have trouble dealing with curve balls – even if the curve ball is occurring in the future. It’s like I have to have a period of consistency in order to feel like I can accomplish…anything really. So right now I’m focusing on the day-to-day. I know that’s Recovery 101, but sometimes I get so caught up in the I-need-to-lose-weight-immediately machine, that I forget about just today.

I’m sort of sending this question out into the universe, but maybe some of the people who read this (all two of you) know what I’m talking about. I feel like recovery is such a whiny process, and I hate being a whiny girl. Sometimes I look back on the things I’m thinking and feeling about myself and my life, and it just seems like a really long episode of Oprah. Part of the reason I don’t think I dealt with these emotions and I found other ways to cope, is because I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself. I didn’t want to be that girl with the eating disorder who is sad and lonely and blames everything bad that happens on her problems with food.

Something that the visit from mom helped me to realize what that I don’t have to carry the issues mom has. I think I tried for a long time to sort of house that guilt and depression she had. It’s a bit refreshing to know that you can just hand that stuff back to whoever gave it to you. You don’t have to take up everybody else’s cross when your own cross is heavy enough.

'Course numb is an old hat/Old as my Oldest Memories

2007-07-13T14:14:00.000-05:00

William tells me that I need to write in this thing more often, so here I am. I’m feeling very overwhelmed with emotion lately. My mom is coming into town today for a visit, and I always have this strange sadness when she visits. I don’t think it’s that I’m homesick – usually I can’t stand a visit to the motherland for more than five days. After that, I’m not sure what it is. The last few times the family has come down I’ve been an emotional basket case afterwards. Claire and I were talking today, and she suggested that maybe there is a release that comes when you’re around those that truly know you and you feel comfortable with. I suppose that’s logical, but the feeling I get is a bit more desperate. But I digress.

I’m trying to formally dig myself out of this hole of angst I’ve found myself in. Last night I had a bunch of junk food and promptly fell asleep. I woke up a couple hours later feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. A while back I read an article written by a man who was recovering from compulsive overeating. Prior to his problems with food, he had been a drug addict. In the article he contended that breaking his addiction from food was actually more difficult than breaking his addiction to drugs. He talks about the availability of food, the cheapness of food, and the euphoria felt when you eat certain types of food. Sometimes I completely understand what he’s talking about. I’ve never been addicted to drugs, but I do know that the prevalence of food itself makes it incredibly accessible – more so than drugs. I’m not really sure where I’m going with all this, but sometimes I think I’m really hard on myself about a habit that is truly an addiction. I ended up purging last night, but it was a difficult purge because I felt so exhausted and out-of-it. I hate feeling this way. I’m tired and nauseous all day long, and then by evening I’m hungry again so I overeat. Then the whole thing starts again the next day. I just don’t understand how I can go from feeling so in-control and energized to feeling so completely dissonant and fatigued. I want to change that about myself.

I’m thinking about getting a trainer. I emailed my advisor from the gym I attend, and she is one of my favorite people at the gym. Apparently she’s not training yet, so I’m not sure who there is to pick from. I know that it really just comes down to me kicking my own ass and getting back into a routine. I’m very much lacking in routine right now, and shrink made an observation that I thrive off of a routine. At first I was a bit offended, because I visualize myself as very go-with-the-flow. I’m starting to realize that she’s right, and that having a routine doesn’t mean that I’ve turned into some mechanized machine of a woman. And I certainly know that I feel happier with a routine.

Getting to Know You...Like Julie Andrews

2007-07-10T21:02:00.000-05:00

I had a very emotional session with the shrink today. I actually feel like I may be getting somewhere with therapy. I came to the realization today that I have been living my life for what I want to be. I have this fantasy person I've created in my mind and she's beautiful and thin and only receives positive feedback on her appearance. As I was telling Kendra about this person, I realized that my current self got lost in the process. I left my session feeling really afraid of what I might find if I delve into who I really am.

My head is constantly assessing this checklist I've created. Have I drank enough water, exercised enough, eaten just enough calories, and gotten the perfect amount of sleep? I somehow fail the day if the checklist isn't complete. It's a sign of whether or not I've had a good day - if any boxes are left unchecked, the day was a waste. So how do I get to the point where I exercise because it feels good and because it makes me strong and keeps my heart healthy? How can I separate this desperate and anxious feeling from my own intuitive feelings that tell me when I'm taking care of myself for good reasons? That feeling is so unnatural for me - so forced.

So I'm trying to decompress now, trying to absorb the revelation I had today. I'm torn between feeling like a complete head case and feeling like I am on the brink of changing my idea of beautiful. I'm just afraid that this is as far as I will get.

Imagine all the People, Living for Today

2007-07-05T22:59:00.001-05:00

It's been a really surreal week and I'm ending it just feeling tired and kind of out of it. I had the flu for half the week, and the other half I just felt out of sorts. Things between Andres and me are less-than-ideal and I can't get an answer out of him that points in any direction. Every conversation I try to have with him either ends with his making jokes or just acting like he's ready to sleep. Everytime I build up the courage to call him and say that I just need to move on, he does something mildly charming and I regain hope that something might come out of this. We are a disaster. I can't even say that I'm bent out of shape about it being my fault anymore. Now it just feels sloppy and out of control and for some reason I'm afraid or just too lazy to pull in the reigns. I used to think it was because I loved him, but now I'm not so sure. I mean, I know there is love in my heart for him, but I'm not sure if it's the kind of love that can save us from this wreckage. I was thinking today about what he meant to me and how I used to feel for him, and I'm starting to think that maybe my feelings have changed. Or maybe I'm just so exhausted with waiting for my life to begin that I can't keep doing whatever it is we're doing.

I heard a quote this week, and I don't remember it was in a book I read, or in a movie I watched. It had something to do with not being able to move ahead to the future when your arms are full of the past. Hello. This is your life. How long have I done that very thing? How long have I clung to what used to be that I didn't realize what was right now? It all sounds very profound and literary, but I'm not trying to be trite. I just want my heart to catch up to my brain and get this show called My Life on the road. That's all.