Super Sucky

Diets suck.

I am hungry and would really enjoy a HUGE cinnamon roll.

One as big as my head.

(It just about killed me to find this picture.)

Sigh...

But when I think about that I have to remember how much I hate my

tubby belly and

flabby thighs and

mushy arms and

cellulite bottom and

fatty back.

Here's my eating schedule for the day. Please, share in my pain.

9:30 am: Apple

@ Noon: Noodle Soup

2:30 pm: Strawberry and Banana Crisps

5:00 pm: Veggie Sushi Roll

And I have ballet tonight and a weigh-in Friday morning so no more eating after that.

This sucks; I'm already hungry.

It's worth it, though, right?

Right?

Getting What You Want

Yeah, let's talk about being happy. Let's talk about what it means to "get what you want" and the struggle to get. Let's talk about materialism, in all its glory, and let's talk about the meaning of life.

I will open the discussion.

I ate expired soup today. Why was it expired? I have no idea -- apparently when you stuff your face with anything and everything for a two month period you skip over 100 calorie soup. Then it just sits in your pantry and goes bad. But I ate the soup, and I ate it with the looming date of November 29th 2009 heavy in my belly, and I started thinking about my life. I have so much food in my house that we literally NEVER run out. Even when we have "nothing to eat" there is PLENTY to eat. Plenty. This abundance of food makes me ponder the relevance of being on a diet, because to me, being on a diet is essentially waste. I eat smaller portions, true, but I also have to let rampant amounts of food go bad because I just didn't have the caloric allowance to eat that cantaloupe or eggplant or cheese pizza. And apparently, 100 calorie soup.

What is the point of dieting, anyway? I'm a small person. I look fairly decent clothed and not too scary naked. But to our current society "being on a diet" is like saying "I'm cool." Because it means you have self control and a life good enough that you can complain about eating TOO much. And in my mind dieting is synonymous with materialism. Even though you're doing the exact opposite (saying "no more" as opposed to gathering more and more objects) you are showing a certain lavishness, a certain type of fabulosity that only translates to being thin=more clothes=fashionable. It's a strange cycle that in a natural world could not exist but we live in a world with 9 year old twinkies and cheese from a can and diabolical corn breakdowns.

I'll tell you why I diet. Because I want to be thin and because I want to be healthy. Way healthier than is really necessary for my desk job, but nevertheless, I strive towards seeing a beautiful model-thin self in the mirror. This is not to say that I'm not happy with myself; I am. I'm truly thrilled with the way I turned out. I was a very insecure tween but somehow I blossomed and never looked back. I learned at a young age that mistakes were forgivable and that changes could be made and you could rise triumphant as whatever you wanted. I accept my flaws as challenges -- something to continuously strive to make better. And also, something to laugh about with my friends and commiserate with them. Flaws, after all, make us human and not divine. Who wants to be perfect? It's probably dreadfully boring. What do you DO each day if you can't work towards a better life and a better self? And it's fun to use your inner-eye and speculate on the future; the future can't be different or better if everything is already Utopian.

But when does the "fun" striving-for-change switch to "my life isn't good enough" and crushing waves of inadequacy? I'm not really sure. I'll be sure to let you all know when I get there. But I can see how it is easy to start thinking more about the getting and not about the here and now. Life, to me, is a two act play happening simultaneously. Act One is now, Act Two is the future. You can't enjoy the story, the journey, the plot, unless you watch Act One -- because otherwise you won't know what the fuck is going on. You won't know the characters, you won't understand their development, you won't, basically, like the show. And if the show is YOUR LIFE ... don't you want to like it? So in order to like it you've got to watch Act One.

My Act One consists of struggling with my weight and my puppy and my marriage and ballet and my career and my family and my mind and my writing and ... so many things. But. The point is -- I'm enjoying the NOW and looking forward to the future, the impossibly bright and hopeful future that will be everything it's supposed to be if I can just sit still through Act One. So I'm not going to become too bogged down by my inadequacies, and I'm not going to obsess too much about the sugar cookie I ate for breakfast yesterday, and I'm not going to worry about the job I don't have and the money I don't make, and I'm not going to stress about the people that don't like me.

Scarlett said it best: "I'll think about that tomorrow."

And today I'll think about all the good things in my life:

A family I love,

My husband and best friend rolled into one,

A puppy to cuddle,

Friends I can rely on,

New challenges,

And a full pantry.

Not-So-Busy Worker Bee

I've been busy doing too much thinking and not enough doing. And that means that I haven't been writing as much as I should because my head is too full of the ideas I should be putting into my application. (Yes, I'm going to apply for yet another job. I hope I get this one because I reeeeaaally want this one.)

What I hate most is that I'm not actually doing anything more; I just have more to think about. I'm back on my diet, that means lots of thinking about what to eat and what not to eat (exhausting). I've got to finish my application for this new position. IF I get this position I've got to decide if I'm going to apply for graduate school. I'm working on my novel -- so that's floating around in my wee head too. I have work crap to do and all the regular day to day stuff. This is one of my worst qualities. I become paralyzed by my own brain. My mind is thinking thinking thinking and it stops me from DOING. I try to organize my busy thoughts with lists and lists and lists. But it doesn't work. In order to combat the full head I try to empty it with constant entertainment; books on tape, tv, movies, music. And all the while what would really help the most is some goddamned silence but I won't give it to myself. I just keep half-assing everything, spilling out just enough from my over-crowded noggin to keep from exploding.

It took considerable effort to write this lame and scattered post. Help!

Snowed In

Obviously I am not snowed in.
But.

I have been thinking a lot about what it would be like to be snowed in like the folks back east. Their entire world has come to a halt. No metro, no driving, no going to work or school, or really even much shopping -- because how can you go to the store when you can't get there and it isn't open? I think it would be tremendous fun. No one wants to go out in the snow anyway, when it does snow, so why not be forced to stay indoors? Then you don't have to fight your way to work or dress like an eskimo or get slushy shit on your tights. As long as I had food and fun at the house I think I could be quite content. It would force me to do all the things I never get around to. For example:

Watch TV shows I've been meaning to but don't
Crochet
Sew
Organize the mail
Type letters to the outside world and mail them once free
Write and write and write
Get drunk with my husband
Take baths together
Bake cookies and cakes
Have a candlelit dinner for 3 (me, Tom, puppy)
Read all the books on the nightstand
Try on all my clothes
Call everyone in my phone
Play monopoly and FINISH the game
Make love on the counter

Doesn't that sound like tremendous entertainment? However, this fun won't ever happen because we live in Utah where the snow is no-biggy and we have multi-million dollar snow removal systems in place. But it's nice to dream about a big book, endless movies, and a warm blanket to share while the world turns to white outside.

Back to the Barre

As of tomorrow, I will become a ballerina again -- or at least on the long road back to being one. Class starts @ 7 PM. It's going to be a challenge but I am really excited. Ballet is my old flame, my first love, the first thing I committed to completely, completely surrendered to. It taught me discipline. Most of the girls I danced with in high school thought ballet was boring and old. To me, ballet is learning your body and controlling your body in a beautiful way. You learn how to hold your balance on two toes, how to slide your foot across the floor, how to hold your arm so everyone wants to look at it, how to twist your head just so, and you do all these things in a single graceful movement. I was born in the wrong body. My mind is the mind of a ballerina, but my body is only 5 feet tall and I tend towards chubbiness. So many times I have hated my body; for it has the power to be great if only it could change. But part of growing older is becoming more comfortable with your self. I know I'm not, and don't have to worry about, being the best. I can simply enjoy the process. My hand on the barre and a perfect port de bras.

Week in Review

1. Found out I didn't get the promotion -- but that's okay.
2. Finished ALL the laundry.
3. Looked fabulous *almost* every day.
4. Ate too much -- must do better.
5. Wrote too little -- must do better.
6. Finished getting over my annoying cold.
7. Bought the cutest rice cooker.
8. Ran errands for my mom -- that made me feel young again.
9. Danced the night away.
10. Celebrated being in love.

Accomplishment Is...

working for 8 hours

changing the sheets on the bed

tidying the bathroom counter

cleaning the bedside tables

organizing the hubs' desk

organizing my desk

hiding the unsightly mail pile

two loads of laundry washed, dried, and put away

taking all the garbage out

feeding the puppy

making love

sleeping at peace

Rachel Getting Married

Whilst bedridden, I watched Rachel Getting Married again.

It left me pondering and full of feeling ... feeling sad yet hopeful.

And in awe at the beautiful disaster that is life.

My favorite part? The groom's serenade vow.

The groom is mostly silent the entire film, despite the yelling and crying from everyone else.

A pillar in the storm.

And when everything has come to a head and nothing is resolved and life moves on ...

He sings:

She used to work in a diner

Never saw a woman look finer

I used to order just to watch her float across the floor

She grew up in a small town

Never put her roots down

Daddy always kept movin', so she did too

Somewhere on a desert highway

She rides a Harley-Davidson

Her long blonde hair flyin' in the wind

She's been runnin' half her life

The chrome and steel she rides

Collidin' with the very air she breathes

The air she breathes

His voice carries over the wedding guests.

Not loud, not even "good"

But that makes it better for some reason, truer somehow.

And that moment in the movie makes me feel all the power of life --

including love and hate and mistakes and regrets and perfect happiness.

All at once.

Because that's how life happens:

All at once.

Mucus, My Friend, My Enemy

Well friends. I am finally getting to the point where I can say, I'm better. I'm still coughing -- and that is gross -- but at least I'm not medicating myself up every 4 hours. This past illness experience has brought me to a revelation: human bodies are retarded.

In my imagination I think my head cold started with a simple irritant, like pollen or dust. In order to combat the irritant my body began to create a protective shield of mucus around my brain. The production of mucus grew and grew until my sinuses became infected and I wanted to die. Upon realizing that the mucus was causing the host (me) to lose the will to live, my body finally began to break up the mucus and allow me some respite from a heavy head. Then came the excessive drainage and nose blowing ... and I mean EXCESSIVE. I went through 2 boxes of kleenex and half a roll of toilet paper. My poor nose became chapped and red like a reindeer despite the fact that I'd been liberally applying aquaphor and neosporin and lotion. But it didn't do any good because about 2 minutes after applying the aquaphor/neosporin/lotion I would have to blow my fucking nose again. And you all know how much I hate to blow my nose, so much, in fact, that I nearly-never-ever blow it. Yet every morning this week I have woken up around 5 am to blow my nose some more. Of course, now I have a cough because the mucus has drained into my lungs and, surprsingly, my lungs don't enjoy mucus, they enjoy air. So I am forced to cough and cough and clear my throat all day long.

Son of a bitch.

What kind of sense does this make, body? Can't you just make the approriate amount of protective mucus and then let me go on my merry way? I don't mind being a little stuffy, but let's not let things get out of control like this again. I know that you, body, are a mark of evolutionary wonder and that I should be grateful for all the things you allow me to do. And I am. But let's not get sick again for like 2 years. Or I will punch you in the face.

Unseen

Did you know that my husband has never seen 'Gone with the Wind'?

Never.

I've been married to this man for 6 years and he has never seen the movie that made me who I am. Okay, slight exaggeration. Only slight.

I don't expect everyone to read the book -- although everyone SHOULD -- but I do expect all the fabulous people in my life to watch 'Gone with the Wind' and love it. Love it. Absolutely love it. I don't care about "how long it is" and that "it's old and in technicolor" and that "Scarlett is a spoiled bitch" and the whole "slavery is wrong" nonsense. The fact is ... the movie is a wonder. Not only is Scarlett a mark of a fully developed woman, but it also shows the beauty of love and relationships and living with our own choices and all of that. It's epic. I recently re-bought the book because the version I have/permanently-borrowed-from-mom-and-dad is super old and is definitely NOT something you read in the bathtub or throw around in your purse or let the puppy rest its wee wittle head on while you read together in bed. I'm going to re-read it as soon as I make my way through the depressing corn book and all the other library books on my nightstand. February is a perfect month to indulge in a little O'Hara-ness. And it's a great way to start out the year -- because who doesn't want to be more like Scarlett?

And get this: I don't even own it on DVD. (Say what?!?) So I had to rent it from the Library so that we can watch it sans VCR. What a great Valentine's Day present -- hint hint. Oh, but someone please tell my husband that because he doesn't read this blog, therefore making that hint completely useless. Unless one of you want to indulge in my Gone with the Wind all-out obssession ... although, honestly, I'd rather you buy it for yourself and begin your own obssession, or healthy enjoyment, whichever you prefer.

Discontinued

I am one of those people who become hideously attached to things. And lately the world has done me a disfavor by trying to discontinue many products I consider vital to my existence. It started in the fall when I wanted to buy a duvet cover from Ikea...

"Do you know when you'll be getting anymore of these in?" I asked the sales girl (I say girl because she was younger than me)
"That line is being discontinued."
"No!" I shriek.
She nods her head in sympathy (false sympathy, I am soon to find out), "I know."
"Where can I get it now? Anywhere?"
"I guess you could look online, sometimes there are discontinued items there. Have you seen what is replacing it?"
Then she walks me over to a not-even-close-to-what-I-want duvet and says, "This is nice."
This is when I ask her if I can buy the floor model and when I begin to hate her.
"No, I'm sorry. I almost lost my job because I sold someone the floor model. We can't sell it if it's already been opened. Because, like, I don't know what could be on it, like blood born pathogens, you know?"

See? No sympathy. And, excuse me, Ikea, you sell opened shit all the time; it's called the "AS IS" section.

Anyway, so that happened. And sucked.

Next, I happened to notice that my particular brand of mascara was sometimes out of stock. But I didn't panic because it would be on the shelf next time. And then I would buy 2 of them, for good measure. However, now for the past couple months I CAN NOT find it. What am I going to do? I tried some new kinds, but I need the kind that curls your lashes because mine are pin straight. I'm almost out. I'm going to die.

And then there is this air freshener we like to use after the puppy goes number two. It's the best air freshener because it smells like green apples and fresh grass -- not like flowers and potpourri and old ladies. I snagged it the first time on a whim. The second time I noticed it was on clearance ... OH NO! ... and grabbed another bottle even though the other was still relatively full. And now? Gone. Never to be had again.

Don't companies realize that picky people like me need things that they like to be around FOREVER? (By the way, I do know that I will probably turn into an insane old lady.) There isn't always something better to replace it and then I'm stuck with mediocre crap that I don't like and dreaming about the good old days when stuff I liked was in stock.