So the effort to post more frequently continues. Food-wise, today was a pretty good day for me. I actually managed to eat lunch, which brings my grand total of meals eaten in one day up to 2. Believe me, it's an accomplishment. Normally I eat one meal at around 7 p.m., then eat the gastronomic equivalent of a small village around 3 a.m. Granted, when I'm in my own apartment (please, kind baby Jesus, may it happen soon), it'll be easier to do the three-meals-a-day thing. Until then, I make do with the Halal mom-and-pop place behind my building. Which isn't bad, seeing as there's no ham or salami in sight, and I did find something healthy there that doesn't taste like shit (shoutout to Boar's Head for making salsa-flavored turkey breast!). But woman cannot live on turkey alone, and I'm definitely looking for new inspiration without having to actually cook anything. Which is not to say that I can't cook (you think I got this size by looking at food?), but ya know, it's not my kitchen, I'm not trying to change anyone else's eating habits, blah, blah, blah.
The one idea I did end up gleaning from Ruby's Diary was to make a wish list. Conversely, this is one exercise I know I'm gonna hate doing, which is pretty much how I know that it needs to be done. This whole brutal-honesty, all-my-business, here's-my-deepest-secrets-for-all-the-world-to-see shit is for the birds. Sorry, but that sentiment falls right in line with the whole honesty thing. I know that this may be helping someone, I know that expunging my subconscious is necessary for those who'd like to get to know me, or for those who'd like to get to know me better. I can comprehend all of this on a cellular level. But that sure don't make this easier.
OK, deep breath...here goes.
I wish...
* I wish I didn't have to think about buying two bus tickets to travel one-way, just to spare a stranger the embarrassment of having to sit next to me.
* I wish I could buy shoes like regular people, and wear heels.
* I wish I didn't have to sit down so often because doing the most mundane stuff leaves me out of breath.
* I wish I could buy sneakers with shoelaces and not have to wish that someone else would tie them.
* I wish I could reach around my body without the accompanying pain in my side that knocks the wind out of me.
* I wish I were small enough to do a cartwheel again.
* I wish stairs weren't the enemy.
* I wish I could regain feeling in my hips again, my weight has pinched the nerves so deeply that I have localized paralysis.
* I wish I wasn't a bigger size (26-28) than some of the plus-size stores carry clothes in.
* I wish my friends wouldn't have to slow down when they walk, just so I can keep up with them.
* I wish someone could see the pain behind my smile, the pain I carry every single day that I'm trapped in this body.
OK...I think I've done all the wishing I can do for one day.
P.S. In regards to my laptop, or DietPepsiGate, as this issue will henceforth and evermore be known as, no news to report. I've gotta work tonight, and my weekend is shot, as I prepare for an event that I've been threatened with bodily harm about, should I choose not to attend. So Monday morning, I'm off to Best Buy. As an aside, in the city that never sleeps, why is the only Best Buy in a mile around so damn far away from me? I tell ya, there's just no justice...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Snafus, Studies, and Swearing or Mission: If It Ain't One Thing...
It's an unavoidable truth that when one attempts something that drastically deviates from their day-to-day routine, some odd circumstance will rise up in an attempt to discourage them from their intended goal. Truth be told, I shouldn't have been surprised by this latest fly in the road-to-wellness soup I've got simmering here. I am not exempt from Murphy, or his law. And yes, in my mind Murphy is a man. A man who should be chained and dragged naked through the streets whilst being publicly spurned for his micropenis. But I digress.
It's also an unavoidable truth (unless you renounce earthly pleasures, in which case, what the hell are you looking at a computer for?) that denial of any particular thing can oftentimes lead to nonstop thinking about the very thing you've been denied of. Exhibit A: my laptop ran into an unfortunate incident involving an overturned can of Diet Pepsi and my less-than-catlike reflexes. Now, I realize what all of you must be thinking...and I completely agree with you. Water is a much healthier choice than diet soda. I understand that. But this is my laptop, people. My lifeline. My connection to everything, including you. And Joni Mitchell needs to get smacked right in her sassy little mouth for being such an insufferable know-it-all. You really don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. All the days I didn't blog when I should have turned from mere procrastination into wasted opportunities. Cue the self-flagellation orchestra. Opus Dei, here I come!
Fortunately, my sister (who I'm now thoroughly convinced is actually St. Agnes of God, cleverly disguised as a size-2 fashionista) has been kind enough to let me use her Mac for the purpose of MSAPF. And if you ever needed to know how technologically-deficient/image-obsessed I truly can be, no example will ever be greater than my internal response to the moment that my sister said, "You know, the Mac is just sitting there, you can always use it". I thought she was talking about makeup. Classic me. Of course, the fact that I haven't sat down to a desktop computer since my pre-collegiate years will not deter me from getting all of this stuff out of my head (and heart, because believe me, there's some serious heart-stuff coming), and onto the screen. I'm going to make a conscious effort to post on a daily basis, even if it is on my normal 3 a.m. schedule. January 4th is getting closer, and I'd like to start the new year off having purged myself of the fat-girl crap I've been holding onto in silence for so long.
But for those of you who think I've just been idling the days away while my beloved Vaio lays comatose, fear not! Let us not forget the time-tested, age-old adage: "Those who can, do. Those who can't, research the hell out of what it is they're trying to do". Or something like that. My two dearest friends and I (one being Barnes, the other being Noble) have been enjoying a number of threesomes as of late, and we're all quite satisfied, thanks for asking. I bought Ruby's Diary, by Ruby Gettinger, and finished it in one night. Ruby, for those of you who may be unawares, has an eponymous reality show on the Style Network, chronicling her weight loss from a high of 715 pounds in 1997, to her current weight of 334 pounds (as of the publication of her book). I believe she was somewhere in the 500's when the show began, and apparently her goal weight is 150 pounds. I came to a lot of conclusions at the end of her warm, funny, touching, and spirited book.
First of all, changing your life is hard work, whether you're 300 pounds or 700 pounds. There truly are no shortcuts, not if you want to remain in a healthful state for the rest of your life. And seeing as how 98% of all diets fail, you better be aiming for a drastic change of life, not some quick fix, because the odds are already stacked against you. Ruby's story forced me to come to grips with some things that I've never consciously allowed myself to even think about, things I know I'm gonna have to 'fess up to on this Mission. Things that knocked the wind out of me and started the projectile tears when I read them, because in that moment, Ruby's truth was my truth, too.
Of course, one other conclusion became painfully evident after reading Ruby's Diary...this chick and me could never, in a million years, be friends. It's not her, of course. It's me. Definitely, unquestionably me. You see, Ruby is a true Southern belle, the apple of her (late) daddy's eye, raised up a good Baptist girl (ok, I'm only guessing that she's Baptist, but having been around a good number of Baptists in my day, it's an educated guess), and all that jazz (or country, as the case may be). This beautiful woman says 'dang' instead of 'damn', 'helicopter' instead of 'hell', and refers to her backside as 'Bertha'.
And then you have me.
I was raised in a Catholic home, took a left at Catholicism, and have never looked back. I rediscovered that spirituality doesn't have to equal religion in my mid-twenties, and that's basically where I am today.
The first curse word I can remember saying was 'jackass'. I was in kindergarten.
My father and his family disowned me when I was 16. I speak to him, on average, twice a year. When he dies, I hope someone will read his obituary in the paper and call me to let me know that he's passed on. As was the case with my paternal grandmother.
And quite frankly, the stories I've got in conjunction with my every-Crayola-in-the-box colorful language would probably result in sweet Georgia peach Ruby running at full speed in the opposite direction. I have the utmost respect and admiration for people like Miz Ruby, I'm just too damn ghetto for her and her kind.
Ah, well. Another 4 a.m. bedtime, but this was so worth it. I missed this. And I missed y'all. Real talk.
(I bet Ruby don't even know what "real talk" means. So there.)
It's also an unavoidable truth (unless you renounce earthly pleasures, in which case, what the hell are you looking at a computer for?) that denial of any particular thing can oftentimes lead to nonstop thinking about the very thing you've been denied of. Exhibit A: my laptop ran into an unfortunate incident involving an overturned can of Diet Pepsi and my less-than-catlike reflexes. Now, I realize what all of you must be thinking...and I completely agree with you. Water is a much healthier choice than diet soda. I understand that. But this is my laptop, people. My lifeline. My connection to everything, including you. And Joni Mitchell needs to get smacked right in her sassy little mouth for being such an insufferable know-it-all. You really don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. All the days I didn't blog when I should have turned from mere procrastination into wasted opportunities. Cue the self-flagellation orchestra. Opus Dei, here I come!
Fortunately, my sister (who I'm now thoroughly convinced is actually St. Agnes of God, cleverly disguised as a size-2 fashionista) has been kind enough to let me use her Mac for the purpose of MSAPF. And if you ever needed to know how technologically-deficient/image-obsessed I truly can be, no example will ever be greater than my internal response to the moment that my sister said, "You know, the Mac is just sitting there, you can always use it". I thought she was talking about makeup. Classic me. Of course, the fact that I haven't sat down to a desktop computer since my pre-collegiate years will not deter me from getting all of this stuff out of my head (and heart, because believe me, there's some serious heart-stuff coming), and onto the screen. I'm going to make a conscious effort to post on a daily basis, even if it is on my normal 3 a.m. schedule. January 4th is getting closer, and I'd like to start the new year off having purged myself of the fat-girl crap I've been holding onto in silence for so long.
But for those of you who think I've just been idling the days away while my beloved Vaio lays comatose, fear not! Let us not forget the time-tested, age-old adage: "Those who can, do. Those who can't, research the hell out of what it is they're trying to do". Or something like that. My two dearest friends and I (one being Barnes, the other being Noble) have been enjoying a number of threesomes as of late, and we're all quite satisfied, thanks for asking. I bought Ruby's Diary, by Ruby Gettinger, and finished it in one night. Ruby, for those of you who may be unawares, has an eponymous reality show on the Style Network, chronicling her weight loss from a high of 715 pounds in 1997, to her current weight of 334 pounds (as of the publication of her book). I believe she was somewhere in the 500's when the show began, and apparently her goal weight is 150 pounds. I came to a lot of conclusions at the end of her warm, funny, touching, and spirited book.
First of all, changing your life is hard work, whether you're 300 pounds or 700 pounds. There truly are no shortcuts, not if you want to remain in a healthful state for the rest of your life. And seeing as how 98% of all diets fail, you better be aiming for a drastic change of life, not some quick fix, because the odds are already stacked against you. Ruby's story forced me to come to grips with some things that I've never consciously allowed myself to even think about, things I know I'm gonna have to 'fess up to on this Mission. Things that knocked the wind out of me and started the projectile tears when I read them, because in that moment, Ruby's truth was my truth, too.
Of course, one other conclusion became painfully evident after reading Ruby's Diary...this chick and me could never, in a million years, be friends. It's not her, of course. It's me. Definitely, unquestionably me. You see, Ruby is a true Southern belle, the apple of her (late) daddy's eye, raised up a good Baptist girl (ok, I'm only guessing that she's Baptist, but having been around a good number of Baptists in my day, it's an educated guess), and all that jazz (or country, as the case may be). This beautiful woman says 'dang' instead of 'damn', 'helicopter' instead of 'hell', and refers to her backside as 'Bertha'.
And then you have me.
I was raised in a Catholic home, took a left at Catholicism, and have never looked back. I rediscovered that spirituality doesn't have to equal religion in my mid-twenties, and that's basically where I am today.
The first curse word I can remember saying was 'jackass'. I was in kindergarten.
My father and his family disowned me when I was 16. I speak to him, on average, twice a year. When he dies, I hope someone will read his obituary in the paper and call me to let me know that he's passed on. As was the case with my paternal grandmother.
And quite frankly, the stories I've got in conjunction with my every-Crayola-in-the-box colorful language would probably result in sweet Georgia peach Ruby running at full speed in the opposite direction. I have the utmost respect and admiration for people like Miz Ruby, I'm just too damn ghetto for her and her kind.
Ah, well. Another 4 a.m. bedtime, but this was so worth it. I missed this. And I missed y'all. Real talk.
(I bet Ruby don't even know what "real talk" means. So there.)
Thursday, November 5, 2009
On Neglect, or Mission: One Out of Three IS Bad
I'm seriously gonna have to start blogging with greater consistency than this. Unfortunately, my inspiration only seems to hit me at 3 in the morning, so by the time I'm done editing and all, I'm spent. Definitely gonna have to pick up the pace when the Mission really takes off, though.
Argh, the Mission. I think the devil on my shoulder is rebelling against the whole idea of this thing. Case in point: my eating habits suck, y'all might as well find out now. I have this godawful habit of forgetting to eat. Not deliberately skipping meals, not knowingly putting off the eating process, just forgetting. My days are pretty full, especially now as I move full-speed ahead towards finding my own place in Brooklyn, plus the work that I do, plus social obligations, so eating, especially during the day...well, like I said, I forget. And today was no different. I woke up around 11 a.m., sit in my room for most of the day making phone calls and doing all my online crap, no breakfast. Three o'clock rolls around, I'm still on the phone, Tweeting (damn you Twitter for your heroin-esque side effects), basically doing my day. No lunch. Forgot. I mean completely slipped my mind.
So now we're at 7 o'clock. And it strikes me, "hey, you haven't eaten yet". So I throw some sneakers on and make my way to the Chinese restaurant, where I proceed to buy an obscene amount of food. Like if food was porn, this would be the equivalent of a gangbang. My rationalization behind buying this much food (nature of food addiction exhibit A coming at you in 3...2..1) was that I'd have leftovers for the next day. Of course, what I neglected to admit to myself was that I was ravenous. Which resulted in me going home and consuming enough food for all of you, your mothers, your dogs, your dogs' mothers, and well, you get the drift.
Even as I sat gnawing on a rib with the voracity of Hannibal Lecter at Thanksgiving, I was saying to myself that I must get in the habit of eating three times a day. Which incidentally, is part of my gameplan. Even if I have to stick a Post-It on my footboard just to remind myself, I have to eat 3 times a day, there's just no getting around that. And maybe it's a good thing that I'm at least thinking along those lines (because trust me, this line of contemplation never entered my cerebral cortex prior to the planning stages of MSAPF), but thinking about it isn't taking any pounds off. I've got to put this thing into action, and I feel like I've at least gotta start taking the steps now, because it's not like January 4th is about to trigger some cosmic shift in the way I think.
I know this post is shorter than usual, but it'd be real nice to get to sleep before 5 a.m. And if I wake up early enough, I promise, I'll eat a healthy breakfast.
P.S. Susan Powter (of "Stop the Insanity" fame) said hi to me on Twitter! And wished me luck on MSAPF! How cool is that?
P.P.S. In the middle of writing this post, I spilled an entire can of Diet Pepsi on my bed, forcing me to flip my mattress, change my sheets, frantically try to salvage my laptop, and all that madness. Which I am officially declaring as my first attempt at exercise. I've got the asthma attack to back up this claim. And it sucked. Just thought you should know.
Argh, the Mission. I think the devil on my shoulder is rebelling against the whole idea of this thing. Case in point: my eating habits suck, y'all might as well find out now. I have this godawful habit of forgetting to eat. Not deliberately skipping meals, not knowingly putting off the eating process, just forgetting. My days are pretty full, especially now as I move full-speed ahead towards finding my own place in Brooklyn, plus the work that I do, plus social obligations, so eating, especially during the day...well, like I said, I forget. And today was no different. I woke up around 11 a.m., sit in my room for most of the day making phone calls and doing all my online crap, no breakfast. Three o'clock rolls around, I'm still on the phone, Tweeting (damn you Twitter for your heroin-esque side effects), basically doing my day. No lunch. Forgot. I mean completely slipped my mind.
So now we're at 7 o'clock. And it strikes me, "hey, you haven't eaten yet". So I throw some sneakers on and make my way to the Chinese restaurant, where I proceed to buy an obscene amount of food. Like if food was porn, this would be the equivalent of a gangbang. My rationalization behind buying this much food (nature of food addiction exhibit A coming at you in 3...2..1) was that I'd have leftovers for the next day. Of course, what I neglected to admit to myself was that I was ravenous. Which resulted in me going home and consuming enough food for all of you, your mothers, your dogs, your dogs' mothers, and well, you get the drift.
Even as I sat gnawing on a rib with the voracity of Hannibal Lecter at Thanksgiving, I was saying to myself that I must get in the habit of eating three times a day. Which incidentally, is part of my gameplan. Even if I have to stick a Post-It on my footboard just to remind myself, I have to eat 3 times a day, there's just no getting around that. And maybe it's a good thing that I'm at least thinking along those lines (because trust me, this line of contemplation never entered my cerebral cortex prior to the planning stages of MSAPF), but thinking about it isn't taking any pounds off. I've got to put this thing into action, and I feel like I've at least gotta start taking the steps now, because it's not like January 4th is about to trigger some cosmic shift in the way I think.
I know this post is shorter than usual, but it'd be real nice to get to sleep before 5 a.m. And if I wake up early enough, I promise, I'll eat a healthy breakfast.
P.S. Susan Powter (of "Stop the Insanity" fame) said hi to me on Twitter! And wished me luck on MSAPF! How cool is that?
P.P.S. In the middle of writing this post, I spilled an entire can of Diet Pepsi on my bed, forcing me to flip my mattress, change my sheets, frantically try to salvage my laptop, and all that madness. Which I am officially declaring as my first attempt at exercise. I've got the asthma attack to back up this claim. And it sucked. Just thought you should know.
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